31745	----	WAU-NAN-GEE OR, THE MASSACRE AT CHICAGO, A ROMANCE OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, By MAJOR RICHARDSON, AUTHOR OF "WACOUSTA," "HARDSCRABBLE," "ECARTE," "JACK BRAG IN SPAIN," "TECUMSEH," &c. NEW YORK: H. LONG AND BROTHER, No. 43 ANN STREET. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year One Thousand Eight Hundred and Fifty-Two, BY H. LONG AND BROTHER, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York PREFATORY INSCRIPTION. My Publishers ask of me a couple of pages of matter to precede this Tale. It is scarcely necessary to state, that the whole of the text approaches so nearly to Historical fact, that any other preface than that which admits the introduction of but one strictly fictitious character--Maria Heywood--in the book, must be, in a great degree, supererogatory. Yet I gladly avail myself of this pleasing opportunity of manifesting the deep interest and sympathy with which I have ever regarded those brave spirits--heroes not less than heroines--who participated in the trials of that brief but horrid epoch. How can I better exemplify this than by inscribing to the descendants of the venerable founder of the City of Chicago--a prominent actor in the scene--as well as to the gallant military survivors of the Massacre, if any yet exist, the fruits of that interest and that sympathy. Dedications and Inscriptions have almost grown out of fashion--at least they are not so general in the present century as in the days of Dryden; but where, through them, an opportunity for the expression of esteem and sympathy is presented, an Author may gladly avail himself of the occasion to show that no common interest influenced the tracings of his pen--not the mere desire to make a book, but to establish on a high pedestal, and to circulate through the most attractive and popular medium, the merits of those whose deeds and sufferings have inspired him with the generous spirit of eulogistic comment. To Her Majesty's 41st Regiment, in garrison at Detroit shortly after the occurrences herein detailed, my first Indian Tale, "Wacousta," was inscribed, and this in memory of the long, and by no means feather-bed service I had seen with that gallant Corps, in the then Western wilds of America; it was a tribute of the soldier to his companions in arms. In the same spirit I inscribe "Wau-nan-gee" to those who were then our enemies, but whose courage and whose sufferings were well known to all, and claimed our deep sympathy, our respect, and our admiration,--none more than the noble Mrs. Heald, and Mrs. Helme, the former the wife of the Commanding Officer, the latter the daughter of the patriarch of Illinois, Mr. Kenzie, some years since gathered to his forefathers. THE AUTHOR. New York, March 30th, 1852. WAU-NAN-GEE; OR, THE MASSACRE AT CHICAGO. CHAPTER I. "He has come to ope the purple testament of war." --_Richard II_ It was the 7th of August, 1812, when Winnebeg, the confidential Indian messenger of Captain Headley, commanding Fort Dearborn, suddenly made his appearance within the stockade. With a countenance on which was depicted more of the seriousness and concern than usually attach to his race, he requested the officer of the guard, Lieutenant Elmsley, to allow him to pass to the apartment of the Chief. The subaltern shook him cordially by the hand as an old and familiar acquaintance; and, half laughingly taunting him with the great solemnity of his aspect, asked him where he had been so long, and what news he brought. "Berry bad news," replied the Indian gravely; "must see him Gubbernor directly--dis give him;" and thrusting his hand into the bosom of his deerskin shirt, he drew forth a large sealed packet, evidently an official despatch. "From Detroit, Winnebeg?" "Yes, come in two days--great news--bad news!" "Indeed? You shall see the commanding officer directly." "Corporal Collins, conduct Winnebeg to Captain Headley's quarters." The non--commissioned officer hastened to acquit himself of the duty, and, on the announcement of his name, the chief was admitted to the presence of the commandant. The latter saw at a glance, from the countenance of the Indian, that there was something wrong. He shook him warmly by the hand, bade him be seated, and then hastily breaking the seal of the despatch, with an air of preoccupation perused its contents. The document was from General Hull, and ran nearly as follows:-- "From the difficulty of access to your post, cut off as is the communication by the numerous bands of hostile Indians whom Tecumseh has raised up in arms against us, I take it for granted that you are yet ignorant that war has been declared between Great Britain and the United States. Such, however, is the fact, and in a few days I expect myself to be surrounded by a horde of savages, when my position will indeed be a trying one, not as regards myself, but the hundreds of defenceless women and children, whom nothing can preserve from the tomahawk and the scalping knife. I, moreover, fear much for Colonel Cass, who, with a body of five hundred men, is at a short distance from this, and will be cut to pieces the moment an attack is made upon myself. To add to the untowardness of events, I have just received intelligence that the Fort of Mackinaw has been taken by the British and their allies, so that, almost simultaneously with the receipt of this, you in all probability will hear of their advance upon yourself. The result must not be tested, and forthwith you will, _if it be yet practicable_, evacuate your post and retire upon Fort Wayne, after having first distributed all the public property contained in the fort and factory among the friendly Indians around you. This is most important, for it is necessary that these people should be conciliated, not only with a view to the safe escort of your detachment to Fort Wayne, but in order to their subsequent assistance here. There are, I believe, nearly five hundred Pottowatomies encamped around you, and such a numerous body of Indians would, if left free to act against Tecumseh's warriors, materially lessen the difficulty of my position here. Treat them as if you had the utmost reliance on their fidelity, for any appearance of distrust might only increase the evil we wish to avoid. I rely upon your judgment and discretion, which Colonel Miller assures me are great. I have preferred writing this confidential dispatch with my own hand, in order that, by keeping your exposed condition as secret as possible, no unnecessary alarm may be excited in the inhabitants of this town by a knowledge of the danger that threatens their friends." All this was indeed news, and most painful and perplexing news, to Captain Headley. He read the dispatch twice, and when he had completed the second perusal, he raised his eyes to the chief, who was regarding him at the moment fixedly as with a view to read his intentions, and asked if General Hull had at all communicated to him the contents of the dispatch. "Yes, Gubbernor," replied the Indian. "Tell him Winnebeg take soger--den come back to Detroit--what say him, Gubbernor--go to Fort Wayne?" and he looked earnestly at the commanding officer while he waited his answer. "I do not know, Winnebeg; I have not made up my mind. We must consider what is best to be done." All this was evasive. The order was conclusive with Captain Headley. Had his road led over a battery bristling with cannon, once ordered, he would have made the attempt; but, from a motive of prudence, the cause for which he could not explain to himself, he was unwilling to communicate his final determination to the chief. "Leave me now, Winnebeg; I have much to do that must be done directly; come early to-morrow, and we will talk the matter over. Meanwhile, not a word to your young men of the beginning of the war, or the fall of Mackinaw. Do you promise me? To-morrow I will hold a council." "Yes, Winnebeg promise," he said, taking the proffered hand of Captain Headley; "not speak till to-morrow? How him fine squaw, eh?" "Mrs. Headley is quite well, Winnebeg," returned the Captain, faintly smiling, "and I am sure she will be very glad to hear that you have returned. Come and breakfast with us at eight o'clock, and she will tell you so herself; so, for the present, good bye." Winnebeg departed, but, far from satisfied with the answer he had received, he repeated the question to the commanding officer--"Go to Fort Wayne?" "Maybe--perhaps--I will tell you to-morrow in council," returned Captain Headley. "What do you think, Winnebeg?" The chief looked at him steadily for some moments, shook his head in disapproval of the scheme, and then slowly and silently withdrew. "What can this mean?" mused Captain Headley, when left alone. "Whence his opposition to the will of the General? Surely he cannot meditate treachery. He does not wish to see us taken by the British here. But--nonsense! I will at once summon my officers, make known the state of affairs, and for form's sake, consult with them as to our mode of proceeding--my own determination of retreat is not the less formed. Corporal Collins!" he called to the orderly, who was pacing up and down in front of the door opening on the parade ground, "summon the several officers to attend me here within the hour." "Please your honor, sir," said the man, hesitatingly, as he raised his hand to his cap. "Well, sir, please what?" "There is only Mr. Elmsley in the fort. He is the officer of the guard." "And where is Mr. Ronayne?" "Mr. and Mrs. Ronayne and the Doctor rode out soon after dinner, sir, in the direction of Hardscrabble." "The direction of the devil," muttered the commanding officer. "This is the result of my loosening the reins of discipline; besides, there is some risk. Hostile Indians may be in the neighborhood; and what should I do without officers, pressed as we are now? Let me know, orderly, when they return. The next time they leave the fort, it will be for ever." "Sir!" said the Corporal, hearing the words, but not comprehending their meaning. "When next they leave the fort, they will never enter it again," rejoined Captain Headley, abstractedly. "Meanwhile, as soon as Mr. Ronayne and the Doctor return, let them know that I wish to see them, with Mr. Elmsley, immediately." "Certainly, sir," said Corporal Collins, again touching his cap; "but hang me," he muttered as he departed, "if I don't report to Mr. Ronayne all that he has said. Never enter the fort again! Well, here's a bobbery!" and thus soliloquizing, he resumed his accustomed walk. It was with deep concern at his heart that Captain Headley, on returning to the apartment of his wife, communicated to her the substance of General Hull's dispatch. A feeling of misgiving arose to her mind from the first, and she saw in the early future scenes and sufferings from which, only an hour before, all had believed themselves to be utterly exempt. For some moments they continued silently gazing on each other, as if to read the thoughts that were passing through the minds of each, when, taking the hand of the noble woman in his own, he pressed it affectionately as he remarked-- "Ellen, you have ever been my friend and counsellor, as well as the adored wife with which heaven has blessed me, even beyond all I could have desired on earth. Tell me candidly your opinion. What course ought I to pursue on this occasion? One passage in the dispatch leaves it, in some degree, optional to regulate my actions by circumstances. 'If it be yet practicable,' writes the General. Now, I confess my mind is pretty well made up on the subject, but, nevertheless, I should like to have your opinion to sustain me. Thus armed, I can enter upon my plans with the greater confidence of success." "But, dear Headley, tell me what is your opinion, then I will frankly state my own." "To retreat, as ordered. I have not the excuse to offer if I would, that the order of the General is impracticable; besides, to remain here longer would only be to insure our subsequent fall. Even if the captors of Mackinaw should fail to carry our weak post, some other force will be sent to succeed them." Mrs. Headley shook her head, while a faint but melancholy smile passed over her fine features. "I grieve to differ with you, Headley," she at length said; "but I like not the idea of this abandonment of the fort, to enter on a retreat fraught with every danger to us all. Here, well provisioned and armed, weak though be your force, you can but fall into the hands of a generous foe. Better that than perish by the tomahawk in the wilderness." "How mean you, my dear?" returned her husband, slightly annoyed that she differed from him, in the decision at which he had already arrived. "What chance of harm is there so great in marching through the woods as in remaining here? Have we not five hundred Pottowatomie warriors to escort us to Fort Wayne?" "Alas, my too confiding husband, it is from these very people you have named that most I fear the danger." "Nonsense!" returned Captain Headley in a tone of gentle rebuke, while he pressed his lips to the expansive brow of his companion; "this is unkind, Ellen. Why distrust these our staunchest friends? I would rely upon Winnebeg as upon myself. He is too noble a fellow not to hold treachery in abhorrence." "Nay, nay," continued Mrs. Headley; "think not for a moment that I doubt Winnebeg; but there is another in the camp of the Pottowatomies who has scarcely less influence with the tribe, and who may take advantage of the present crisis of affairs, and turn them to his own purpose. "Who do you mean, Ellen, and what purpose? Really, it is important that I should know. What purpose, what motive, can he have?" eagerly questioned Captain Headley. "The purpose and motive those which often make the gentle tigers, the timid daring, the irresolute confirmed of will--Love." "Love! what love? whose love? and what has that to do with the fidelity of the Pottowatomies?" "The love of Wau-nan-gee, the once gentle and modest son of Winnebeg, who, scarce three months since, could not gaze into a white woman's eyes without melting softness beaming from his own, and the rich, ripe peach-blush crimsoning his dark cheek." "And what now?" questioned Captain Headley, seriously. "My love," resumed Mrs. Headley, placing her hand emphatically on his shoulder, "you know I have never concealed from you anything that regarded myself. I have had no secrets from you; but this is one which affects another. Except for the present aspect of affairs, when you should be duly informed of that which bears reference to our immediate position, I should have felt myself bound by every tie of delicacy and honor, not less than of inclination, to have kept confined to my own bosom that which I am now to reveal in the fullest confidence, on the sole understanding that the slightest allusion shall never be made by you hereafter to the subject." "This becomes mysterious," rejoined the commandant, smiling; "but Ellen, pleasantry apart, I promise you most truly--and, shall I add, on the honor of an officer and a gentleman, that your disclosure shall be sacred." "Good! now that I have quieted my own mind, by exacting from you what in fact was not absolutely necessary, I will explain as briefly as I can. Do you recollect the evening of Maria Heywood's marriage with Ronayne?" "Yes." "And you remarked the agitation evinced by Wau-nan-gee, during the ceremony, and particularly at the close, when Ronayne, as customary, kissed his bride?" "I noticed that there was some confusion caused by his abrupt departure, but I neither knew nor inquired the cause; I was too interested in the performance of the ceremony to think of anything but the happiness that awaited them, and which they appeared so much to desire themselves." "Well, no matter; but you must know that all the agitation of the youth was caused by his jealousy of the good fortune of Ronayne." "Jealous of Ronayne?" exclaimed Captain Headley with unfeigned surprise. "Ha! ha! ha! excuse me, my dear Ellen, but I cannot avoid being amused at the strangeness of the conceit." "It was even so," returned Mrs. Headley, gravely, "and a source of unhappiness I fear it will prove to us all that it was so." "Proceed," said her husband. "Are you aware that the son of Winnebeg has never entered the fort nor been even in the neighborhood since the night of that marriage?" pursued his wife. "I do not believe he has been seen since," remarked Captain Headley. "I _know_ that he has not; but yet he is ever near, seemingly bent on one purpose." "Love?" interposed the Captain, smiling. "Yes, love! but a fearful love--though the love of a smooth-faced boy--a love that may bring down destruction upon us all." "Ellen, you begin to fill me with alarm," remarked her husband, gravely. "You are not a woman to be startled by trifles, and there is that in your manner just now which fully satisfies me of the importance of what you have to communicate." CHAPTER II. "You know my love for Mrs. Ronayne," continued Mrs. Headley, after a pause of a few minutes. "Even as though she were my own daughter, I regard her, and would do for her all that a fond mother could for her child. Only yesterday afternoon, while Ronayne and the Doctor were out with a party fishing on the old ground above Hardscrabble, she expressed a wish to visit the tomb of her poor mother, who, dying within a week after her marriage, had been buried near the base of the summer-house on the grounds attached to their cottage, and asked me to accompany her. Of course I consented; and as you were busily engaged, you did not particularly notice my absence. We crossed the river in the scow, and ascended leisurely to the garden. It struck me as we walked that the figure of a man, seemingly an Indian, floated rapidly past within the paling of the garden, but I could not distinctly trace the outline, and therefore assumed that I had been deceived, and so said nothing to my companion on the subject. "We had not been long in the garden when Mrs. Ronayne, leaving me to saunter among and cull from the rich flowers which grew in wild luxuriance around, begged me to wait for her a few minutes while she ascended to the summer-house to commune in private with her thoughts, and indulge the feelings which had been called up, at this her first visit since the place had been abandoned, to the once happy residence of her girlhood. At her entrance, I distinctly heard her give a low shriek, but, taking it for granted that this was in consequence of the effect upon her mind of a sudden recurrence to old and well remembered scenes with which so much of the unpleasant was associated, I paid no great attention to it. After this all was still, and nearly an hour had elapsed when, fancying that it was imprudent to leave her so long to her own melancholy thoughts, I moved towards the summer-house myself, making as much noise with my feet as possible to prepare her for my approach. I had got about half way up the ascent, when to my astonishment I beheld issuing from the entrance not Mrs. Ronayne, but the long-absent Wau-nan-gee, who, with a flushed cheek and a fiery eye, divested of all its former softness, made several bounds in an opposite direction, and, without uttering a word, rapidly disappeared among the fruit trees which bordered on the forest. "Seized with a strong presentiment of evil, I entered the summer-house. Judge my astonishment when I found it empty. Heaven! what could this mean? I had distinctly seen Mrs. Ronayne enter it, and I had scarcely since taken my eyes off the building. In an agony of despair, I threw myself upon the wooden bench, and scarcely conscious of what I did, called frantically on Maria's name. Suddenly, a sound similar to that of a faint moan seemed to proceed from beneath my feet. I rose, removed the rude Indian mat with which the centre of the floor is covered, and perceived that it had been recently cut into an oblong square nearly the size of the mat itself. The whole truth now flashed upon me--it was evident that my friend was beneath: but the great difficulty was to find the means of removing the door, which fitted so closely that it required some superinducing motive even to suspect its existence. There was nothing inside the building which could effect my purpose. I ran to the door and cast my eyes towards the cottage. Around it I saw a number of Indians stealthily moving near one of the wings to the rear. In a moment I saw the necessity for promptitude, and hastened rapidly towards the beach where I had left the crew of the boat, consisting of four men and Corporal Collins, and bade them come as far as the entrance to the garden, where they could distinctly see and be seen from the cottage. I remarked that there were Indians lurking about the grounds, and that neither Mrs. Ronayne nor myself liked being so near them without protection. 'As for you, Corporal Collins,' I added playfully, 'you must lend me your bayonet; an Indian does not like that weapon, and, should any of these people feel inclined to prove unruly, the bare sight of it will be sufficient. Remain here at the gate until I return with Mrs. Ronayne, and keep a good look out that we are not carried off.'" "But, my dear," interposed Captain Headley, anxiously, "why all this mystery about the matter?--all this beating about the bush?--why did you not take Collins and his party to the summer-house and release Mrs. Ronayne, if indeed it was she whose moan you heard? "Nay, Headley, in this I but followed your own example. There were many reasons why this should not be. Firstly, for the sake of Maria, whose actual position might be such as to render it injudicious that they be made acquainted with it. Secondly, because it would unavoidably have brought the men in collision with the Indians, which would have entailed ruin upon us all. No; I felt the mere sight of them would awe the Indians around the cottage, whom policy would prevent from open outrage, and that, provided with Collins's bayonet, I could open the trap door and deliver my friend, without any of the party knowing aught of what had occurred." "Right prudently and sagely did you act, my dear Ellen," returned her husband--"go on: I am all impatience to hear the result." "On regaining the summer-house, I applied the point of the weapon. With some little exertion the door was raised, and, looking down, I saw something broad and white in the gloom, on which lay a figure indistinctly marked in outline. Gradually, as my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, I remarked two or three rude stones placed as steps, which I placed my feet upon and descended until I had gained the bottom of the aperture and upon the white substance I have just named. It was a large piece of white calico, covering a bed of what appeared to me to be corn-leaves, on which sat or rather reclined Maria. She looked the image of despair--as one stupified--and when I first addressed her, could not speak. Her dress was greatly disordered, her hat off and lying near her, and the comb detached from the long hair. "'Oh, Maria, my child!' I said to her soothingly, 'what a terrible incident is this! Who could have believed Wau-nan-gee would have committed this outrage?' "The air let in from above tended greatly to revive her, and soon, with my assistance, she was enabled to stand. "Her voice and manner proclaimed deep agitation. 'Dear, dear Mrs. Headley,' she said impressively, as she threw herself upon my bosom, 'as you love me, not a word to Ronayne or to any other human being. Oh, merciful Providence! it can do no good that aught of this occurrence should be revealed. Promise me then, my more than mother, that what has passed since we entered this garden shall be confined to your own breast.' "'I comprehend and appreciate your motive for this concealment, Maria,' I observed, soothingly. 'The knowledge of Wau-nan-gee's wrong would arouse the anger of Ronayne in such manner as to give rise to fatal discord between the Indians around and ourselves. Depend upon it, both for the love I bear you, and the necessity for silence, the occurrences of this day never shall be disclosed by me.' "'Thanks, thanks,' she returned fervently. 'To-morrow you shall know all--the deep, the terrible secret that weighs at my heart shall be revealed to you. Yes, give me but until then to prepare myself for the full and entire disclosure of the unhappy truth, and you will not hate me for all that has taken place.' "'Maria--Mrs. Ronayne!' I said with some slight severity of manner. "'Oh, you are surprised at my language and sentiments. When the heart is full, the lip measures not its words. Yet, oh, my mother! condemn me not. Hear first what I have to say. Again I repeat, ere your eyes are closed in sleep to-morrow night, you shall know all. The tale will startle you; but now,' she added, 'I feel that I have strength enough to follow.' "During this short and singular dialogue--singular enough, you must admit, on the part of Mrs. Ronayne--I had assisted her in restoring her dress, which, as I have already said, was very much disordered. On turning to ascend by the stone steps, I remarked with surprise certain articles of food placed on the corner of the calico, which I had been too much occupied with Maria's condition to perceive before. These consisted of a wooden bowl of milk--a brown earthen pitcher of water--a number of flat cakes, seemingly made of corn meal, and a portion of dried venison ham; a wooden spoon was in the bowl, a black tin japanned drinking cup near the water, and a common Indian knife stuck into the venison. "'Bless me, Maria,' I said, with an attempt at pleasantry, after we had ascended, and closed the door, 'it was well I came to your rescue; Wau-nan-gee certainly meant to have kept you imprisoned here some time, if we may judge from the quantity of food he had provided.' "'Such, I believe, was the original intention,' gravely replied Mrs. Ronayne. "She made no other remark, but sighed deeply. We now drew near the gate where Collins and his men were stationed, looking out anxiously for our appearance. I recommended to Maria, in a low tone, not to appear dejected, as the men knew nothing of what had occurred--not even that Wau-nan-gee had been on the grounds--and any appearance of agitation might give rise to suspicion. She followed my suggestion and rallied. I returned Collins his bayonet, stating, with a poor attempt at pleasantry, that we had met with no enemy on whom to try it. He then led the way back, with his party, to the boat. "The presence of the men acting, in some degree, as a check upon our conversation, Mrs. Ronayne consequently preserved an unbroken silence. She seemed immersed in deep and painful thought, and I could see beneath the thin veil she wore the tears coursing slowly down her cheek. Her first inquiry, on landing, was whether the fishing party was returned, and, on being told that it had not, she seemed to be greatly relieved. I watched her closely, for I need not say that my own daughter could not have inspired me with deeper interest, and in the increased agitation I remarked as the hour of her husband's expected return drew nearer, I began to apprehend a fearful result. Not that, even if my suspicions were correct, she could well be blamed, as the mere victim of a violence she could not prevent; but what I did not like to perceive, and which pained me much, was her evident prepossession in favor of the impetuous boy, which induced her to abstain from all indignant censure. These, however, are merely my own, crude and perhaps unfounded impressions. That she has some terrible truth to reveal to me, there cannot be a question, nor is it likely that it can affect any but herself. This night, however, I shall know all from her own lips, which, although sealed in prudence to her husband, will not hesitate to confide to me the fullest extent of her painful secret; meanwhile, I should recommend that Wau-nan-gee be watched. His long absence from the fort, while evidently concealed in the neighborhood, looks not well. Evidently, he has been long planning the abduction of Maria, and now that he finds himself foiled by her evasion this day, he will avail himself of the present crisis to leave no means unaccomplished to possess her, no matter what blood may be shed in the attainment of his object." "Strange, indeed, what you have related," said Captain Headley, gravely, when his wife had ceased. "I confess I scarcely know what to think or how to act. I must hold council with my officers immediately--hear their opinions without divulging aught of what you have related, and act as my own judgment confirms. How unfortunate! Ronayne and his wife, accompanied by Von Voltenberg, have taken it into their heads to ride to Hardscrabble, and God knows when they will be back. Really, this is most annoying." At that moment a terrible shriek, as that of a man in his last fearful agony, was heard without. Struck with sudden dismay, both Captain Headley and his wife rushed to the door, which they reached even as Ensign Ronayne, pale, without his hat, his hair blowing in the breeze, and his cheek colorless as death, was in the act of falling from his jaded horse, whose trembling limbs and sides covered with foam, attested the desperate speed with which he had been ridden. "Oh, God! he has heard all--he knows all," murmured Mrs. Headley, as she fell back in the arms of her husband. "Now, then, is the drama of horror but commenced." Before the unfortunate officer could be--raised and carried to his apartments by the sympathizing soldiers of the garrison, another horseman followed into the fort. It was Doctor Van Voltenberg, whose flushed face and excited appearance denoted the speed at which he too had ridden. He flung himself from his horse, and followed anxiously to the apartment of his friend. But where was the third of the party? where was Maria, the universally beloved of every soldier of that garrison? where was Mrs. Ronayne? CHAPTER III. "A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, and mouncht." --_Macbeth_ "Thy abundant goodness shall excuse this deadly blot in thy digressing son." --_Richard II._ Little more than a month had elapsed since the marriage of the impetuous and generous Ensign Ronayne to the woman he adored. Absorbed by the intensity of their passion, fed by the solitude around, each day increased their attachment, and their full hearts acknowledged that the love which the man bears to his mistress--the affianced sharer of his inmost thoughts--is passionless compared with that which follows the mystic tie, linking their most secret being in fearlessness of devotion. Then, for the first time, had they felt and acknowledged all the power of the beauty of God's holy ordinance, which seemed to wed not in mere form, but in fact, the deepest emotions of their glowing souls. What was the world to them? They hoped to live and die among those wild scenes in which their passion had been cradled and nurtured, until now it had acquired a force almost more than human. Often then, and often even since the short period of their union, had they fallen on their knees in the silence and solitude of the wilderness around, and, clasped to each other's heart, returned fervent thanks to the Deity, not only for having given them hearts to comprehend love in all its mysterious and holy sublimity, but in having blessed them with the dearer self in which each other found pleasure and lived a double existence. More calm, more softened, more subdued in feeling, after this passionate ebullition, a holy and voluptuous calm would beam from their eyes; and when they alluded gently and fondly to the years and years of happiness that yet awaited them in the health and fulness of their youth, thoughts and looks, not words, attested the deep thankfulness of their hearts. All this had been up to the evening of the incidents named in our opening chapter. Then, for the first time, had a change come over Maria's feelings and manner. On leaving Mrs. Headley, she had retired to her apartments, endeavoring to prepare herself for the momentarily expected arrival of her husband, whom she longed, yet dreaded to meet. She received him with a restraint which she had great difficulty in disguising, and wept many bitter tears, as, anxiously remarking her changed and extraordinary manner, he looked reproachfully and fixedly at her, without, however, saying a word that was passing in his mind. "Nay, nay, Ronayne; you think me reserved, altered, to-day; but indeed I am not well. The cause you shall know later, not now--it would be premature. I am a bad dissembler, and cannot look gay when my heart is full of anguish to overwhelming; but, my love, I must entreat a very great favor of you, which I know you will not refuse." "Is there aught under heaven that I can refuse to my adored one?" returned Ronayne, tenderly clasping her to his breast; "no, Maria, you have a boon to ask, and the boon shall be granted." "After all, it is not a Very great deal," she remarked, with a sickly smile; "but I have a strong desire to ride to Hardscrabble to-morrow. You know it is long since I have been there, and I have a particular reason to visit it in the course of the afternoon to-morrow." Her voice trembled, and she felt ill at ease. Her husband looked grave. "Nay, Maria, is this wise? You know, as you have just said, that you have not visited that scene since the death of your father; wherefore now, and simply to reopen a fast-closing wound?" "It is for the reason," she said, "that I have so long neglected this duty that I am the more anxious to repair the seeming neglect." "Your first visit," remarked Ronayne, half reproachfully, "methinks ought to have been to the grave of your poor mother. You have not been over to the cottage since her death." Had an arrow passed through the heart of Mrs. Ronayne, it could not have imparted more exquisitely keen sensations than did that casual remark. She turned pale, but made no reply; nay, almost fell fainting on his bosom. "What, my soul's beloved, is the matter? Nay, pardon me for bringing up again the memory so suddenly upon your gentle thought! I should have used more caution in renewing the recollection of the past." "Say rather of the present," murmured Mrs. Ronayne, in a tone so low that she could not be distinctly heard by her husband. "Oh, this poor heart!" "You spoke, Maria?" "Oh, I did but repeat my dreamings to myself. I scarcely know what I said." "Well, love, since you desire to ride to Hardscrabble to-morrow, I will even meet your wishes; and yet I know not how it is, but something tells me that ill will grow out of this." "Oh, no, say not so," she suddenly exclaimed, sinking on her knees at his feet, and holding up her hands in an attitude of supplication; "can that be ill in your eyes which brings happiness to the heart of your loving wife? Pity rather the existence of those fears which cause her to tremble, lest the cup be dashed from her lips ere yet half tasted. Oh! I dare not speak more plainly--not yet--not yet--to-morrow--then shall the restraint be removed, from my lips and heart, and, whatever be the result, you shall know all. I feel that to you I must appear to speak in parables and mystery; but oh, since yesterday, I feel that I am not myself." She drooped her head upon his shoulder, and wept profoundly. "Calm yourself, dearest; I will harass you with no more converse on this subject to-night. Let one remark suffice. I am afraid that Captain Headley will refuse permission for us to venture as far as Hardscrabble; he thinks it attended by risk to the officers on the part of the Indians; of course, much more to you." "Nay, Ronayne, there cannot surely be a greater risk incurred there than in venturing on a fishing excursion, as you have done to-night. Besides, we need not let him know that we are going in that direction." "What! you wicked mutineer," chided Ronayne, playfully, "do you recommend insubordination? Would you have me to disobey the orders of the commanding officer? Oh, fie!" "Not exactly that," she returned, with a slight blush; "but gratify me only this once, and I will never allow you to break an order again." "Nay, sweetest, I did but jest; were my life the penalty, I would not deny you." "Ah! how little does he think that more than life depends upon it," murmured Mrs. Ronayne to herself. "Or who could have supposed yesterday that my heart would have been oppressed by the feelings which assail it now? Wau-nan-gee--strange, wildly--loving, fascinating, and incomprehensible boy--with what confidence do I repose on your truth; with what joy do I at length glory in that devotedness which has made you so wholly, so exclusively mine." These words were abstractedly, almost involuntarily, uttered in a low tone, as Ronayne left the room in search of Doctor Von Voltenberg, who he was desirous should, for the better protection of his wife from accident, accompany them on their ride of to-morrow. She herself soon retired for the night, but not to rest. In that wild and simple garrison, where the germs of the heart and head alone shone forth, reflecting their brilliancy and beauty more forcibly from the fact of the very limitation of their sphere of contact, there was no sacrifice to the mere conventionalisms of inane fashion. Customs there were military customs, duly observed, and not less than treason against the state would it have been considered by Captain Headley, had any officer of his sallied forth without being duly caparisoned as a member of the corps to which he belonged; but in all things else, and where duty was not involved, each was free to adopt the style of costume or the general habits that best suited his own fancy. And, whenever inclined, they were suffered to leave the fort, either dressed in the rough, shaggy blanket of the Canadian trapper or voyageur, or the more fanciful and picturesque dress of the Indian. This had not always been the case. Captain Headley had once been as severe as he now was indulgent, and the uttermost conformity of costume with the regulations of the United States had for a long period been exacted; but gradually, on finding, as he conceived, the Indians around him too favorably disposed to require the continuance of the imposing military parade with which it had been his policy to awe them, he had gradually relaxed in his system of discipline, conceding not more to his officers themselves than to his noble and amiable wife, who was ever the soother of whatever temporary differences sprang up between them, many little points of etiquette, to which formerly he had most scrupulously adhered. Among the varieties of dresses possessed by Ensign Ronayne, was a very handsome one which the mother of Wau-nan-gee, for whom it was made, had disposed of to him; and this, when preparing for the ride the next day, his wife strongly advised him to wear. As he knew there could be no objection on the part of Captain Headley only to the direction in which they rode, and that only from the possibility of encountering a party of hostile Indians, and not to the costume itself, he laughingly remarked that her old flame, Wau-nan-gee, had certainly made a deeper impression on her heart than she was willing to admit, since no dress pleased her half so well as that which had once been worn by the gentle and dark--eyed youth. For a moment or two she turned pale, and then suddenly flushing the deepest dye, as the sense of her husband's remark came fully upon her apprehension, she said, not without some pain and confusion, mingled with gentle reproach:-- "You seem to have forgotten, Ronayne, that that was the dress you wore on an occasion of danger, when life and death and happiness hung upon the issue. Might I not have the credit of prizing it on that account?" "Nay, beloved one," he exclaimed, as he pressed her to his heart, "you know I did but jest. Then was my strong love for yourself, my protection and my shield; and if that love was powerful then, what irresistible strength has it attained now. Maria, I would fain desire to live for ever, if but to show the vastness and enduringness of my love for you." "Ah! to what a trial am I to be subjected," she murmured, "and yet I would not shun it. Why has the calm deep current of our joy been thus cruelly interrupted, Ronayne? Should fate or circumstances ever interpose to separate us, will you always entertain for me the same ardent affection that you do now?" "Heavens! why do you ask? What means this question? What is there to divide us? nay, even separate us for an hour?" "Oh! I cannot explain myself," she returned. "I know I speak wildly, but I only mean in the possible event of anything of the kind. I do not say that it may or will happen; but you know it might. None of these things are impossible. We cannot control our destiny." "Well, my love," remarked Ronayne, with a sigh, while an expression of gravity and sadness pervaded his features, "it cannot be denied that you have adopted some strange fancies this morning; firstly, a desire to visit Hardscrabble, a place which you have always hitherto carefully avoided; secondly, to see me dressed in a costume which I have not worn since the occasion to which you have just adverted; and thirdly, to frighten me to death by even hinting at the possibility of separation. By the bye," he added, "it is a very long time since we have seen Wau-nan-gee. You know he disappeared the night of our marriage, and has never been seen since. I wonder what can have become of him. Would you not like once more, Maria, to see his handsome face? I shall never forget the eagerness with which he picked up the wedding-ring which I had let fall in the act of putting it on your finger, or the look of deep disappointment when I rather abruptly--nay, somewhat rudely--snatched it from him, as he tremblingly proceeded to complete that part of the ceremony himself. It certainly looked very ominous." It was a great relief to Mrs. Ronayne when, at the very moment that her husband ceased speaking, a knock was heard at the door, and in the next moment the figure of Doctor Von Voltenberg crossed the threshold. He came to announce that the horses were already saddled, and waiting for them. With a heart full to oppression, she left the room, and regained her chamber. There she threw herself upon her knees at the bedside, and burst into a paroxysm of tears. It was the first time she had been alone since the occurrence at the summer-house; the first opportunity she had had of giving unrestrained indulgence to the powerful emotions that had for many hours hung like an immovable weight upon her soul. The first outburst of hitherto-suppressed feeling over, she became more calm. She felt that her long absence might excite surprise. A basin of cold water soon removed all traces of her tears, and in less than half an hour she had regained the party, her beautiful form clad in a dark green riding habit made of cloth of the lightest texture, and her full dark hair, surmounted by a straw hat tastily plaited and fashioned by her own hands, and trimmed with a broad, pale, and richly-bordered ribbon. Ronayne's eye caught her own as she entered. Never had she appeared so strikingly beautiful. He said nothing, but the rich Virginian blood mounted to his cheek, while his expressive eye conveyed, as plainly as language itself could render it, how ardent and enduring was his love. That look heightened the color on her own enchanting face, but it was only for the moment, and evidently caused by some absorbing recollection of an absent friend. She turned away her head to conceal the tear that forced itself down her cheek, and then everything being ready--for Ronayne had availed himself of her absence to assume his Indian dress--the party went to the barrack square, and were soon in the saddle. "God bless her!" ejaculated Corporal Collins, as, after relinquishing the bridle he had held while her husband assisted her to mount, the graceful form of Mrs. Ronayne receded from his view, leaving him once more to resume his monotonous walk in front of the building. "Ah, there is nobody like that sweet lady!" "There goes an angel!" said Sergeant Nixon in a low voice to his companions of the guard, all of whom off sentry had risen, and were now standing all attention, as the little party passed towards the gate. "Isn't she a trump!" said another man of the guard--Weston. "See how she sits her horse--just as if she had been born to it." "Sergeant Nixon," said Maria, in one of her sweetest tones, as she moved her horse towards the non-commissioned officer in passing. The Sergeant touched his cap with marked respect. "Should anything occur to detain us in our ride, let this packet be given to Mrs. Headley. Mind, Sergeant, certainly not before midnight." "Your command shall be obeyed, Mrs. Ronayne. Should you return before midnight, it will be found with me; if not, I shall at once carry it to Mrs. Headley." "Just so. Good by, Nixon!" and as she placed the packet in his possession, she pressed his hand, as if to signify that the proper execution of the commission was of some importance. "What is it, Maria? what do you wait for?" asked Ronayne, reining in his horse to enable her to come up. "Nothing. I am merely sending a trifling message to Mrs. Headley by Sergeant Nixon," and then putting her horse into a canter, she joined her cavaliers, and pursued with them the road that led along the right bank of a branch of the Chicago river to the Hardscrabble farm. CHAPTER IV. You see this chase is hotly followed. --_Henry V._ The spot called Hardscrabble was distant about two miles from Fort Dearborn, and had been the scene of a recent and bloody tragedy. They who are familiar with the events that occurred during a different and earlier phase of this tale are aware that, not four months previously, the father of Mrs. Ronayne had, as well as a faithful domestic, been cruelly murdered there, during a period of profound peace, by a party of Winnebagoes, and that, on the removal of his body to the grounds of the cottage, near the fort, in which his wife and daughter resided, the house had been hermetically closed. The outrage upon Mr. Heywood had taken place early in April. It was now, as has already been said, the 7th of August, and within that period Mrs. Ronayne had drunk deeply of the cup of reciprocated wedded bliss, she had also known the anguish of the severance of every natural tie. Both her parents were buried near the summer-house, and, had it not been for the fervent love of her husband--a love that daily increased in purity and intensity--even the great strength of mind for which she was remarkable would have ill enabled her to endure the twofold shock. But, even with all his love, the natural melancholy of her character became tinged with an additional shade of seriousness, which, far from being displeasing, or detracting from the sweetness of her most expressive and faultless face, seemed to invest it with a newer and a holier charm. The perfection of her classic style of beauty given as Maria Heywood, may well justify a repetition here. Above the middle size, her figure was at once gracefully and richly formed. Her face, of a chiselled oval, was of a delicate olive tint, which well harmonized with eyes of a lustrous hazel, and hair of glossy, raven black, of rare amplitude and length. A mouth classically small, bordered by lips of coral fulness, disclosed, when she smiled, teeth white and even; while a forehead, high and denoting strong intellect, combined with a nose somewhat more aquiline than Grecian, to give dignity to a countenance that might otherwise have exhibited too much of a character of voluptuous beauty. Yet, although her features, when lighted up by vivacity or emotion, were radiant with intelligence, their expression when in repose was of a pensive cast, that, contrasted with her general appearance, gave to it a charm, addressed at once to sense and sentiment, of which it is impossible by description to give an adequate idea. A dimpled cheek--an arm, hand, and foot, that might have served the statuary as a model, completed a person which, without exaggeration, might be deemed almost, if not wholly, faultless. For some minutes, as the party rode along the road bordering on the serpentine branch of the Chicago leading to Hardscrabble, Mrs. Ronayne, apprehensive that her husband might attribute any appearance of depression of spirits to physical illness, and insist on postponing her ride to some future occasion, fell, as most people do who are sensible that for the first time in their lives they are acting with insincerity, into the very opposite extreme. With a consciousness of wrong at her heart--with a soul distracted with uncertainty and hesitancy as to the result of the course she was pursuing--she indulged in a gaiety that, in her, was wholly unnatural. She rattled, talked, laughed with ill-timed volubility--offered to make wagers with the surgeon and Ronayne that she would take her horse over the highest fallen log, or, if they preferred it, swim with either of them across the river, and lastly proposed that they should start together and see who would first reach the farm-house. All this time the deepest scarlet was on her cheek, her manner betrayed the most feverish excitement, and there was unwonted brilliancy in her eye. Ronayne looked at her earnestly. Suddenly a change came over her, for she had remarked, and felt confused under the penetrating glance which seemed to tell her that she did not feel that lightness of heart with the semblance of which she was seeking to deceive him. For the first time since his marriage--nay, for the first time since his acquaintance with her--and this had been of more than two years' date--he felt pain--pain inflicted by _her_. There was evidently some secret thought at her heart which she withheld; and she who had never before concealed a passing emotion of her soul, was now wrapped up in an unaccountable mystery. In proportion with her husband's increasing gravity, Mrs. Ronayne's spirits became depressed, until in reality enfeebled by her strong previous excitement, she looked pale as death itself, and expressed a desire for a glass of water. Deeply touched and alarmed by the sudden change which had taken place in his wife's appearance and manner, Ronayne threw himself from his horse, and, being provided with a silver drinking cup, flew to the river to fill it. In order to obtain the liquid pure and cool, however, it was necessary to turn a small and acute point of underwood, a little to the right, where a few rude stone steps led to a sort of natural well, where, even in the hottest day of summer, the beverage came fresh as from a coral fountain. It was a spot well known to every frequenter of that road, and few passers-by ever drank from any other source. The young officer was in the act of dipping his cup into the stream, when three shots were distinctly heard in the neighborhood of Hardscrabble, then about half a mile distant, and after the interval of a few seconds, the rapid galloping of horses' hoofs behind him. With an inconceivable dread of he knew not what at his heart, he sprang round the point of wood to gain the road where he had left his wife and Von Voltenberg. To his astonishment both were gone. They were the hoofs of their horses he had heard--his own was tied to a tree, as he had left him, and making endeavors to free himself, that he might follow his companions. We will not attempt to describe the feelings of Ronayne. The mere disappearance of the party might have been accounted for, had it not been for the shots which preceded. But the association was terrible. It bewildered him--almost deprived him of thought and judgment. Evidently, there was an enemy in the neighborhood; but, even if so, why the obvious advance into the very heart of danger; for, from the direction of the sound, he could have no doubt that one horse, at least, had taken the direction of Hardscrabble, and that, from the peculiar and rapid footfall of the animal, he felt assured was his wife's. What could this mean? Mrs. Ronayne's he knew to be a very spirited young horse, and the only manner in which he could explain her absence was by inferring that, startled by the report of the firearms, he had suddenly run away with her, and that Von Voltenberg had followed as speedily as he could to check him. He dashed the cup of water to the earth, mounted, and dug his spurs in the flanks of his horse, when the latter, bounding forward with agony under the exquisite sense of pain, seemed rather to leap than run over the ground Fifty yards from the point where he started, something glaringly white on the ground frightened the animal and caused him to shy so abruptly, even while continuing his speed, that Ronayne, excellent horseman as he was, had great difficulty in preserving his seat. Rapid as was the glance obtained of the object, he at once recognised it for the habit collar of his wife, and therefore all uncertainty was at an end as to the direction her horse had taken. His heart was full, but he had scarcely power to think. A thousand incidents and fears seemed to crowd upon his brain at the same time, and in such confusion that he felt as though his very reason were deserting him. The recollection of the strong presentiment of evil which he had expressed in regard to this ride came with tenfold force on his mind, and scarce left a hope to weigh against the fears that overwhelmed him. Still he dashed on, straining his eyes as though he would have doubled the extent of his vision, looking searchingly into every opening into the wood, and endeavoring to distinguish, amid the rapid sounds produced by his own horse's hoofs, those of his companions. It seemed an age while he passed over the ground that kept him from the fatal farm-house. At length the orchard attached to it came in view, and then the garden, and on the broad lane which separated both, the large walnut tree the branches of which, two months before covered with snowy blossoms, were now bent low by the weight of their own fruitfulness. In another instant, he was in the centre of the open space. Uncertain what course to follow now, he checked his generous steed so suddenly and fiercely as to throw him upon his haunches. Everything was still. Beyond the breathing of his own horse, there was not a sound to indicate the existence of animal life. The Indians had evidently destroyed all the stock on the farm since its abandonment, and melancholy appeared here to have established universal dominion. This suspense was torture--the silence horrible. He would rather have heard the Indian scalp-cry--heard the death-shriek--anything, provided it would guide him to the form of her he loved. Beyond this forest there was nothing that could be called a road. A few narrow footpaths diverged from it into the forest, but these were merely sufficiently broad for the passage by Indian file, except on the immediate verge of the river, where horse and rider might barely escape collision with the branches. The bank, over which this apology for a highway ran, was composed of a sandy soil, so that sound was not absolutely necessary to the assurance that horsemen were on that road. From its absence, however, in every other quarter, the distracted officer was naturally led to infer that they whom he so anxiously sought had taken that direction, and thither he determined to follow. But a second thought induced him to turn the angle of the house, before leaving, that he might not have to reproach himself later with having left anything unexamined behind. To his great surprise he found the door, which he had himself hermetically closed many weeks before, wide open. His first purpose, after sweeping his eye rapidly but keenly around the half-trodden cornfield in the rear, was to enter. This, in order not to lose time, and the rude aperture being sufficiently large, he did without dismounting. As his horse sprang in, he thought he could distinguish a moccasined foot just at the moment of its hurried disappearance into the loft above, but everything was so still that he felt satisfied his distempered imagination and excited feeling, running on one all-absorbing subject, had deceived him. He looked around. Two dark objects attracted his attention, in the farthest corner from him, of the room, the shutters of which being closed, yielded but an indistinct light to one coming suddenly from the open air. He moved his horse, stooping low himself as he advanced to that end of the rude apartment, and beheld to his surprise, two small trunks of black leather, on one of which was painted in rather large letters "Maria Heywood." The other had no name upon it, but he could have pledged his existence that, not one week previously, he had seen it in his own apartment, and that it was his. That, however, might be a mistake, for it was difficult to distinguish with certainty; but in regard to the proprietorship of the other there could be no question, and the only reasonable manner in which he could account for their being there at that moment, was, that the trunks had been in use by Mr. Heywood at the period of his murder, and that, having been overlooked by the Indians, they had been locked up, on closing the farm-house altogether. It must not be supposed that the young officer took as much time to comprehend and draw inferences from what he saw, as we have taken in the description. A few rapid glances only were thrown around, when, satisfied that there was no more to aid him in his search, he turned his horse's head to gain the broader pathway which, it has already been said, bordered on the river. Again he sallied from the house, but his emotions of alarm and surprise may be conceived--not springing from any personal consideration, but from the certainty he now entertained of the probable fate of his wife--when, on gaining the exterior, he perceived, not fifty yards from him, a party of Indians, about twenty in number, some scattered along the edge of the wood, and others peering cautiously around the corners of the outbuildings. Although his heart sank within him at the sight, and the image of his Maria was at the moment uppermost in his thoughts--stood palpably before him as she looked at the very moment when she stood first equipped for this most unfortunate ride--his keen and collected eye could distinguish the very color of the war paint, for they were in full costume, and the peculiar decorations that told them to be of their old and inveterate enemies the Winnebagoes. There are epochs in life when the thoughts of years crowd upon the mind in little more than moments. All the past then seems to flash full upon the recollection, and in such rapid yet distinct succession, that the only surprise is how the brain can sustain the torturing and confounding weight. No one incident of the slightest interest had ever occurred to his wife and himself that Ronayne did not recall vividly, keenly, even while gazing on those men of blood; and he suffered anguish of heart, physical as well as mental, which none can understand who have not experienced that rending asunder of the soul which follows the loss of that in which the soul alone lives. Presently, as his quick eye glanced rapidly along the wood, he saw, to his increasing dismay, Von Voltenberg brought forward to its edge by two other Indians leading the horse by the bridle. He was, evidently, a prisoner. Oh, how he strained his eyes with painful, with agonizing earnestness, to behold her whom he expected to behold next, and how rapidly rose the feeling of hope and exultation when he found no second prisoner appear. He now felt assured that his last chance of recovering the lost one lay in his pursuing the course he had at first selected. The prospect of eluding his enemies and gaining that road was poor, for there was but one way open to him--almost in their very teeth--yet this he was resolved to try. Death was before him if he hesitated; although, had he beheld his wife a prisoner, he would rather have shared a similar fate than abandoned her in her extremity, now that a hope had sprung up in his heart--his energies were aroused, and renewed activity braced his limbs. CHAPTER V. On the right of the farm-house called Hardscrabble, as it faced the water, there was a kitchen garden, the fence of which was quite five feet high, and scattered about within this were standing, now almost shrivelled up from age, many clusters of peas and beans pending lazily and languidly from their poles. To force his way across this fence, and then diagonally through the garden in order to gain the opposite corner and cross into the road beyond, was now the sole object of the young officer; but before putting it in practice, he called out in a loud and distinct voice to Von Voltenberg to know what had become of his wife, and whether she too was a prisoner. But there was no answer. The Doctor had evidently been enjoined not to reply, for, immediately after he had put his question, Ronayne saw an Indian hold up his tomahawk menacingly to the prisoner, and heard him utter some words as if to enjoin silence. Seemingly desirous, however, at all risk to satisfy his friend, Von Voltenberg suddenly raised his hand, and seemed to point significantly over his shoulder in an oblique direction to the rear. This convinced Ronayne that he had been correct in his conjecture, for the direction was the road he intended taking. Gathering himself up in his saddle, he slowly walked his horse about twenty paces towards the edge of the forest. This was done both for the purpose of preventing any suspicion of an attempt at flight, and of giving sufficient run for his leap. Then suddenly wheeling round, he put the animal to his speed, and, amid the loud shouts of the Indians, who rushed forward from every point to overtake him, accomplished the desperate leap, the tips of his horse's hoofs just grazing as he passed. Encumbered with their arms as they were, it took each Indian, however active, at least a second to clear the fence, and this gave the young officer considerable advantage of distance; but what surprised him was that not a shot was fired. It seemed as though his pursuers thought it beneath their dignity to fire at a single fleeing man, whom they were certain of taking, and matter of rivalry with all to be the first to reach and secure. Onward they pressed now without uttering a sound; but the rattling of their war ornaments, with the crackling of the decayed vegetation beneath their feet, told Ronayne that they were too near for him to hope for escape, unless his horse should clear the opposite corner of the field, and of this he almost despaired, jaded as the animal was by previous exertion through the heavy ground he was now traversing. Fortunately he found that there was a perceptible declivity as he approached the water, and not merely that, but that one of the rails of the zigzag fence had been detached. Desperate as his position was, this gave him renewed confidence, and he even ventured to turn and examine the number and position of his enemies. They were some twenty in number, all painted perfectly black, and dispersed at long intervals throughout the field. In front of all was a very young warrior, who seemed the most emulous of the party to secure the honor of the capture, for the leaps he took were prodigious, and it was evident that nothing but the clearing of the fence could save the closely-pursued officer from capture. Again his horse took the leap, and this time easily enough; and even while in the very act, he thought, he fancied, he heard a voice behind him softly pronounce his name. In the confusion of his mind, however, he could not judge distinctly of anything. It might have been the sighing of the wind among the dried leaves and tendrils that floated from the bean-poles at his side, and he regarded it not. His mind was too much intent on, too much absorbed on weightier matters to heed the occurrence. The air from the water revived, reinvigorated both himself and his horse. Again at full speed, he dashed on along its margin until suddenly, after having gone over nearly a mile of ground, the conviction arose to him that he must have been wrong in his comprehension of Von Voltenberg's sign, and that the beloved of his soul--she for the uncertainty of whose fate his heart suffered an anguish the most horrible, was not before him, but a prisoner with her companion. That thought, growing rapidly into assurance, was sufficient to destroy all energy. He checked his horse, and brought him to a full stand. As a soldier, whose services belonged to his country, he felt that he had no right to throw himself into a position that would render those services useless, but at least he would take no unnecessary trouble to avoid it. He turned to listen to the sounds of his pursuers, now fully resolved to make no further attempt at escape. He heard nothing but the rustling of the leaves and the gurgling of the water over the shallow and pebbly portions of its bed. He retraced his way at a walk. That was his direct course to the fort, and he was determined leisurely to pursue it, taking the chapter of accidents as it might be opened to him. Soon he came to the point where he had first leaped the garden fence. He looked within. There was not an Indian to be seen. That they were lurking somewhere around him, he felt perfectly assured, and at each moment he expected to see them start up and seize his horse by the bridle. But although he now rode slowly, carelessly, his eye was everywhere. The pathway he followed led along a strip some twenty feet in width, between the garden fence and the river, to the bottom of the clearing or lawn that ran to the edge of the latter. Keenly he glanced towards the skirt of the forest on his left where he had first beheld the savages with their prisoner, but not a sign of one of them was to be seen. All this was certainly most extraordinary and unaccountable, but Ronayne knew the character of Indian stratagem too well not to feel assured that the very next moment succeeding that of this serpent-like quietude, might be replete with excitement, and he was prepared for its occurrence. He dreaded to advance. He almost feared that he should not be seen. Every step forward in safety increased the distance which separated him from the idol of his soul, and the purest air of heaven had no sweetness for him that was not breathed with her. His head drooped upon his breast--he could hear the beating of his own heart. He prayed inwardly, secretly, fervently to God to restore to him his wife as by a miracle, and save him from the madness of despair. When he again raised his head, he was startled but not surprised to see his further progress interrupted by a dozen Indians, springing up as it were from the very bowels of the earth, and standing in the same careless and unexcited attitude in which he had beheld them at the outset. Mechanically wheeling his horse to escape by the lane, he beheld a similar display. He was evidently hemmed in. His further advance or retreat was completely intercepted. Truly has it been said, we are the creatures of circumstance. A moment before, and while there was no enemy visible, Ronayne had felt the utmost indifference in regard to a fate the bitterness of which would, at least, have been sweetened by the fact of his being near to solace and sustain his wife. He could not believe that it was the purpose of the warriors to do them bodily harm; for, had that been their intention, they would, without doubt, have fired at him, when they found themselves foiled in their recent pursuit; and such was the devotedness of love of the man, that forgetting under the circumstances the sterner duty of the officer, he would have preferred the tent and bonds of the savage _for ever_ with her to the comforts and freedom of his own home, when the presence of the loved and familiar being in whom alone he lived should no longer give life and interest to the latter. But now a sudden change in his plans was resolved upon, for the same glance which had fallen on the warriors in his front, had enabled him to see, in the distance, that Von Voltenberg, profiting probably by the carelessness of those left in charge, was moving stealthily and alone between the cornfield and the building, behind which he soon disappeared. The quickening sound of hoofs immediately succeeding attested that he was in full flight, and then a rapid association of ideas brought to the strongly imaginative mind of the young officer the conviction that his wife had escaped too, for he felt assured that Von Voltenberg would not abandon her. What the object was in endeavoring to secure himself he could not tell. The Indians had evidently some more than ordinary motive in his capture, or wherefore their great anxiety to take him unhurt, and their seeming indifference in regard to the other prisoners, who had been left almost unguarded. There might be two reasons for this. Firstly, they might be on their war-path, and therefore might not find it either convenient or desirable to incumber themselves, on a march, with a woman; and, secondly, having discovered the Doctor to be a "medicine man"--a fact of which he would not have failed to apprise them--they might not feel themselves permitted by the Great Spirit to detain him, and therefore, without absolutely releasing, gave him the opportunity for escape. Of course, all these reflections were the result of but a momentary action of the brain. Ronayne, with much warmth and impetuosity of character, was of quick and sound apprehension, and at once saw the advantages or disadvantages of an extreme position. To advance or retire, as has already been remarked, was impossible, for both in front and rear stood the warriors leaning carelessly on their guns, as if they expected at each moment that he would come up and surrender himself. But, whatever his previous musings, half nursed into the determination, such was now far from being the intention of the Virginian. Certain that he would be fired at, his main object was to prevent their closing with him so far as to impede his action. In order to prevent nearer advance upon him, therefore, he pulled his pocket handkerchief from the bosom of his hunting-shirt, and waved it over his head in token of submission. Guttural sounds of approbation broke from the warriors, amid which he thought he could hear the voice of his wife earnestly calling upon his name, in the distance. He looked, but saw nothing. The idea that she had been suffered to make her escape grew stronger. He felt assured, for the sounds of horses' hoofs had ceased, that she was lingering for him to join her; that she had seen him wave the handkerchief, and that, tearing he was about to deliver himself into the hands of his enemies, she had uttered that cry to indicate her position. Apparently in the certainty of their prisoner, the Indians both above and below had thrown themselves at the side of the lane under the fence, some even commencing to fill and smoke their pipe tomahawks. This again was the moment of action. To leap the fence at this time was out of all question, but the river was unusually deep immediately on his right. Rapidly he wheeled his horse, and, bearing him up with a strong arm, as he reached the bank, while he forced the rowels of his spurs into his flanks, caused him to bound over nearly one third of the narrow stream. Almost before the Indians had time to recover from their surprise and dash in after him, he was nearly across. As he ascended the opposite bank, and gained the road above, another cry from the same voice rang upon his ears. He looked and beheld at one of the windows of the farm--house a form evidently that of a woman, the outline and dress of which he could not, however, distinguish, reclining negligently, almost motionless, on the bosom of the youngest warrior, who had evinced such earnestness in his desire to capture him. Alternately, as Ronayne continued his course to the fort, along that bank of the Chicago, the youth pealed forth the peculiar war-whoop of his tribe, and waved, seemingly, the very pocket handkerchief which the unhappy officer had a few moments before thrown down as an earnest of his submission. Was this meant as a reproach or a threat? He could not tell; but certainly he felt that he deserved the former in their eyes, who had shown him so much mercy. In less than ten minutes he had passed over the intermediate ground, his ear achingly on the stretch to catch the sounds of horses' hoofs on the opposite' bank--that bank which, not two hours previously, he had traversed with a bright hope, if not with a heart wholly free from anxiety--but in vain. Furiously, wildly, he rode into the fort. He was haggard, pale, and dripping from the immersion he had so recently undergone. His first inquiry at the gate, on entering, was if Mrs. Ronayne had returned. Being answered in the negative, life itself seemed to be annihilated; and, overcome by the overwhelming agony he had endured for the last two hours, he gave a frightful shriek of despair, and, on gaining the centre of the parade, fell fainting from his horse to the ground, as we have already seen at the close of our opening chapter. CHAPTER VI. "My particular grief is of so floodgate and overbearing nature, that it engluts and swallows other sorrows." --_Othello._ Never did day close more cheerlessly on the hearts of men, than that which succeeded to the occurrences detailed in our last chapter. Yea, it was a terrible blow which had been inflicted upon all. The sun of the existence of each, from the commanding officer to the youngest drummer-boy, had been dimmed; and many a weather-beaten soldier, grown grey in the natural apathy of age, now found himself unable to restrain the rising tear. Not a woman, not a child arrived at the years of consciousness, but missed and mourned over the absence of her who had been, not merely the favorite, but the beloved of the whole garrison. The young Virginian himself was, for the moment, the only exception to this mental anguish. When taken up from the ground to which he had fallen, and borne to his room, he was in a high fever and delirious from excitement--unconscious of everything around. He did not manifest a sense of the nature and extent of his grief by exclamations of despair, or reference to the past, but lay like one stupified, his cheek highly flushed, his eyes fixed and upturned, his hands clasped across his chest, his breathing scarcely audible, and seemingly without the power of combination of thought, or the exercise of memory. When Von Voltenberg soon afterwards followed, he at once saw that congestion of the brain was rapidly forming, and immediately prepared to bleed him. The room, which, first filled with sorrowing soldiers and their wives, not only excluded the necessary air, but impeded action, was now urgently requested to be cleared, and none remained but Mrs. Headley, Mrs. Elmsley, Mr. Ronayne's servant Catherine, and Corporal Collins, who, having been relieved from his duty as orderly, had entreated the surgeon to permit him to render what service might be required during the young officer's illness. There was no fastidious or misplaced delicacy here. Mrs. Headley had ever felt as a mother towards the Virginian, Mrs. Elmsley as a sister, and, even had this not been the case, the strong affection they bore to his wife would have led them to attend the sick couch of the husband. One supported his shoulder as he was raised in his bed, the other took his extended hand, while Corporal Collins, looking much paler and more frightened than either of them, held the basin. If Von Voltenberg was not particularly given to fasting, or loved the punch made of the horrid whiskey distilled in those days in the west, he was, nevertheless, a skilful surgeon. With a steady hand he now divided the vein, when forth gushed a stream of blood so dark and discolored that the significant and triumphant shake of the head which he gave clearly indicated what would have been the result had the bleeding been delayed much longer. Greatly relieved by the removal of the oppressive weight, the unhappy ensign opened his eyes, and became sensible of objects, but it was only that consciousness might render him even more keenly alive to the horror of his position. Each article of furniture and dress around the room brought increased desolation to his heart. There was the harp Maria was wont to touch with such exquisite grace. There was the dress she had thrown off to assume her riding habit--for it will be recollected that the officers of that post had no gilded suites of apartments at their command, but barely a couple of barrack rooms for the married men, and one for the single. Now a shoe caught his eye, now a glove, a hat, a slipper, her dressing-case; even the tiny thimble with which she had worked the linen upon his back; each and all of these, endearing yet painful to the sight from the recollections they brought up, he glanced at alternately, until his feelings were so wrought upon that he was almost frantic. "Take those things away!" he cried, starting up and pointing to them; "I cannot endure the sight. They will kill me--ay, worse than kill--tear my heart-strings with slow agony. Ah! dear Mrs. Headley--Mrs. Elmsley--both of you, who loved Maria so well--can you not understand the pangs I suffer! Yesterday I could have defied the world in the vain pride of my happiness and strength; to-day I feel that I am more wretched than the slave that tugs at his chain--more feeble than a child. Would to heaven that I could die within this hour! Oh, God! oh, God! oh, God! how shall I endure this!" He turned on his side, buried his face in the pillow, and sobbed and wept, until every one around had caught the deep infection of his profound suffering. The lips of Corporal Collins, as he stood stiff in his military attitude, were closely compressed, and his brow was contracted. A sympathy, traceable on each quivering muscle, was evidently struggling for mastery, and he turned abruptly round. Had others taken time from their own sorrow to watch his next movement, they might have seen him raise his hand to his lips, and drain deeply from a flask he had taken from the bosom of his uniform. Mrs. Elmsley, with her face buried in her hands, leaned against one of the foot-posts of the bed; and Mrs. Headley--the majestic Mrs. Headley, with more complex feelings at her heart than actuated the others--knelt at the head of the bed, laid her hand upon the shoulder of the patient, and conjured him, in tones that marked her own deep sorrow, to bear the trial like a man, and not destroy himself by unavailing grief. Yet, even as she spoke, the tears fell copiously upon the bed. "Mrs. Headley," said Von Voltenberg, who afterwards admitted that, in the whole course of his practice, he had never been similarly touched, "do not check him. Let him give full vent to this emotion, for painful as it now is, both to himself and to us who witness it, this outburst once exhausted, the crisis once past, there will be less fear of a return. See, already the paroxysm is weaker--he is more calm--both mind and body are worn out, and if he can but sleep for a few hours, although he may perhaps awaken to more acute sorrow, no danger to his life need be apprehended." Notwithstanding this remark was made in little more than a whisper, it was distinctly heard by the sufferer. Suddenly starting up again in his bed, he turned quickly round to the surgeon, and said, in a tone of reproach-- "And is this all the consolation you have to offer me? What! tell me that I shall awaken to keener pain than that which now racks my being, and drag on a miserable life! Of what value that life to me? But stay, my mind is not yet itself, or how is it that I have not yet questioned you about my wife! Dear Von Voltenberg!" and he threw the hand of the recently-punctured arm upon the shoulder of the surgeon, "what news have you of Maria? Tell me of her safety say that you have rescued her and that I shall see her again, and I will for ever bless the voice that saves me from despair. Oh, Von Voltenberg! speak, speak! surely you could never have had the baseness to desert her. How were you taken? how have you escaped? and why alone?" "Poor Ronayne! would to God that I could give you consolation; but, alas! I cannot. She fell into the hands of the Indians before I did, and I saw her borne rapidly to the rear of the farm-house; me they took to the road where you saw me. From that moment I never once beheld her; but reassure yourself, all may yet be well. True, she is a prisoner, but I apprehend no violence, for the Indians offered none to myself, and I thought that they showed unaccountable moderation to you, never firing a shot when you had so completely baffled them in the chase. It was that which gave me confidence to attempt my own escape, when I saw them all pressing forward to secure you, leaving me altogether unguarded. But we will speak of this no more to-night. You must sleep, Ronayne, if you would have strength to enter upon action to-morrow. From the appearance of their encampment, not twenty paces in rear of the spot where you beheld me, I have reason to think that it has been established there many days, and that Mrs. Ronayne may yet be rescued, for the party of Indians does not exceed five-and-twenty men. What they want is, doubtless, ransom, a few blankets or guns." "Oh! say you so; bless you for that!" continued the Virginian, eagerly; "yes, I will be calm--seek rest to restore me for the morning; I will see Captain Headley, and entreat him to let me take out a detachment. Oh! he will not refuse me. Do you think he will, Mrs. Headley? Surely you will plead for me. I know twenty brave fellows who will cheerfully volunteer for the duty." "Alas!" said Mrs. Headley, with a deep despondency at her heart, "I fear I can give you no encouragement there, Ronayne; I am quite satisfied, indeed, that Headley will not suffer a man to leave the fort at this crisis." "Crisis! what crisis!" interrupted the youth vehemently. "Obdurate man, has the past not cured him of his martinetism? By heaven, let him refuse me, and I, alone and without permission, will go in search of my wife. Fool, fool that I was to return now without her; but I had hoped she was here;" and again he burst into another wild agony of grief. Corporal Collins touched his cap and advanced a pace forward. "The Captain said this afternoon that the next time your honor left the fort you should never return to it. I thought it was my duty, your honor, to tell you, for I couldn't make out what he meant." "Oh! he did, did he?" muttered Ronayne, with sudden calm. "Well, be it so!" "Corporal Collins," said Mrs. Headley sternly to him, as she arose from her kneeling posture, "you would have done better to have held your peace on a matter which you say you do not comprehend. Mr. Ronayne has annoyance sufficient without your misinterpreting to him an observation of his commanding officer, which, in all probability, was made in any other spirit than that which your words would convey." The corporal made a respectful obeisance and withdrew into the corridor, rebuked. "Ronayne," pursued Mrs. Headley, "I can make all allowance for your excited feelings. I will speak to Headley on the matter; and, although I cannot hold out to you any hope that he either will even acknowledge the necessity, much less take the action you desire, I feel perfectly assured that, when you have heard his reasons, you will agree with us both that it would neither be of avail nor politic to take a step of this kind for the recovery of her whom we all deplore--God knows, no one more bitterly than myself." "Mrs. Headley, you surprise me; I can scarcely believe that I understand you rightly. I had always thought your feelings towards Maria were those of a mother for her child?" "Even so, Ronayne. You judged them rightly. As a mother I have loved, and love her still; but we will talk of all this to-morrow morning, and I leave you now to the quiet, if rest is not to be hoped for, that you so much require; for Headley needs all his officers in important council to-morrow, prior to holding a second immediately after with our Indian allies. Nay," seeing that all present looked surprised, and a desire to know wherefore, "it were idle to enter upon the subject now; sufficient be it to know that it is one of the deepest importance, and that, even should you be carried there in a litter, Ronayne--but God forbid the necessity!--you must be present." "At what hour does that council assemble, Mrs. Headley?" asked the ensign. "At midday, I believe. Winnebeg has been desired to bring the chiefs to the glacis, between the flagstaff and the southern block-house, at two o'clock precisely." "What! Winnebeg returned?" exclaimed Ronayne, as he impetuously rose in his bed. "Ah, then there is hope. He will aid me in my enterprise. And what of Wau-nan-gee? Is he, too, here, Mrs. Headley? Yes, he must be. Oh, this is indeed providential! I shall rise with the dawn, and seek them both. Everything can be accomplished, if at all, before the hour of our own council arrives." Mrs. Headley cast a look of profound sadness on him, as, taking his hot hand in hers, she said-- "Wau-nan-gee did not come with Winnebeg, Ronayne; but there is reason to believe that he is not far from the camp of the Pottowatomies, for he was seen yesterday. Yet he will not aid you in your proposed enterprise." "Oh! Mrs. Headley, you do him wrong--indeed you do. Wau-nan-gee loves Maria too well not to risk his life for her. You little know the strength of his generous attachment, if you doubt his interest in her preservation." "I know, that his love for her is great--perhaps too much so," she replied, emphatically, after a moment's pause, while bending over to adjust his pillow, and in a voice so subdued as to be inaudible to all but himself. CHAPTER VII. Ronayne's pale cheek became suddenly scarlet. He perceived from the tone and look that accompanied the words that suspicion of some kind, whence derived he knew not, had entered into the mind of Mrs. Headley, and that she saw in the regard of the young Indian for his wife, evidence of a prepossession which might prove dangerous to his peace. But this, to a mind generous and impetuous as that of the highly-gifted officer, brought no alarm. Conscious of the entire possession of the heart and confidence of his wife, it was a source of speculative pride, rather than of concern to him, that the warm-hearted and inartificial Indian, at once brave, boy-like, and handsome, should, with a cheek glowing, and an eye beaming with overweening softness, feel and betray all the power of her beauty when exposed to the influence of its presence. It was a compliment to himself--to his own taste and judgment, and, had this been possible, would have increased his love for her on whom nature, hand in hand with the graces, had lavished such adornments of disposition and person as to compel a homage which rarely came to woman from such a quarter. The love of Wau-nan-gee had been known to both, but it had always been regarded as the innocent and enthusiastic preference of the boy who had scarcely yet learned to comprehend the new and strange emotion struggling for development at his heart. It had often been the topic of their conversation; and many a smile, half crimsoning into a blush, had Ronayne called up to the brow of his young wife, while playfully adverting to the equal right to invest her with the marriage ring, which he had so eagerly manifested on the evening of their union. And, if he had shown a humor on that occasion which displeased or hurt the Indian it was not from any unworthy jealousy of the act he had sought to perform, but because he was ashamed of his own awkwardness, exhibited on such an occasion and in presence of his bride. Since that night Wau-nan-gee had disappeared, and both by the husband and wife had his absence been deeply regretted, for they both loved the youth, not only for the services he had rendered, but the interest his gentleness of deportment and retiring modesty had inspired. If, therefore, he changed color at the remark of Mrs. Headley, it was not because a guilty passion was hinted at as influencing the boy, or because, even if it did, that he much heeded it, but because he thought it was meant to suggest that the danger would come from the tenderness of her who had inspired it. For the moment he felt mortified at the possibility of such an idea being entertained, and, had Mrs. Headley made the remark she did, except In his own ear, Ronayne would have expressed himself accordingly. "He cannot love her too well," was his reply; "oh, no, that is my chief hope. Think you that I should be calm as I am, did I not, now that I know he is returned, feel assured that his strong yet pure attachment for her will cause him to head a strong band for her rescue? I am better now--I am determined to be better; for at the first dawn I will go forth and seek Wau-nan-gee. We shall not be five hours away; and, long before the council assembles, we shall again, I am confident, be re-united. Ah, what a long night until then! would that it were dawn!" "That were of no use," returned Mrs. Headley, gravely and aloud. "I know that the strictest orders were issued immediately after your return, to allow neither officer nor man to leave the fort, unless passed by Headley himself." "Or I shall never return, I suppose," muttered the Virginian bitterly; "well, we shall see;" and he ground his teeth together fiercely. "Ronayne," said Mrs. Headley, "spare your bitterness. You will know to-morrow what Headley meant by his remark; yet promise me one thing before I leave you, that before you seek to leave the fort, you will see me in the morning, in my apartments. If, then, I fail to satisfy you of the reasons which exist against your entertaining any hopes of success in the enterprise you meditate, I think I may venture to say that I shall obtain of not to oppose you. But, stay! on consideration, it will be better that what I have to urge should be said at once. This is no time or occasion for mere forms or ceremonies. There is too much at stake. I shall leave you now, and return, alone, in little more than an hour. You will dismiss Collins for the night, desiring him to close the door--not fasten it, so that I may make no noise--find no difficulty in entering. Better that you give vent to your feelings here, in the privacy of your own room, than reveal by your excitement to others that which should be known only to ourselves." "Good heaven! what can all this mean? what can it portend?" exclaimed the startled officer. "Prepare yourself for no pleasant communication, Ronayne," continued Mrs. Headley, sadly; "I must wound, yet I trust but to heal; one point I would have you question Von Voltenberg on before I go--the manner in which Maria fell into the hands of the Indians." During this short and low conversation, Mrs. Elmsley and Von Voltenberg had been talking aside on the same subject, the former continuing to weep quietly but bitterly for the loss of her friend. Ronayne now questioned the surgeon in regard to the cause of the suddenness of their departure from the point where he had dismounted to procure water. Von Voltenberg replied that he scarcely knew himself, but his own impression was that Mrs. Ronayne had started off her horse the moment the shots were fired--he supposed in the very exaggerated spirit of wantonness which had marked her actions ever since leaving the fort. He had mechanically followed in courtesy, and the result was as has been seen--her sudden captivity by the war party, who had hurried her off, almost unresistingly, he knew not whither, while he himself was taken in the direction in which Ronayne had seen him. "Did she scream--did she express alarm when taken?" asked Mrs. Headley. "No; I cannot say that she did," returned the Doctor, somewhat surprised, and not comprehending the motive for the question; "but you know Mrs. Ronayne is a woman of great nerve and presence of mind. Moreover, as the thing was done in a moment, she must have been too greatly astonished to understand her danger, for she came abruptly on the Indians on turning the sharp angle of the road leading up to the house." Mrs. Headley's eyes met those of Ronayne with grave meaning. He seemed to understand her, and when, with Mrs. Elmsley, she had departed, he threw himself back upon his pillow, and, closing his eyes, mused deeply. To the inquiry of Von Voltenberg, he replied that, feeling disposed to rest a little, he would not trouble him to sit up longer, but begged him to retire and to send Collins to his barrack-room, leaving his door on the latch, in case he should be summoned by the commanding officer for any purpose before morning. As Mrs. Headley separated for the night from Mrs. Elmsley, and approached her own door, a man in uniform came up, touched his cap respectfully, and presented a packet. "This parcel, Mrs. Headley, I received from Mrs. Ronayne on leaving the fort this afternoon, with the direction that I should hand it to you if she did not return by midnight. Alas! ma'am, we have every reason to fear the dear lady will never return; twelve o'clock has just struck, and I am come to fulfil my trust." "Thank you, Serjeant Nixon. As you say, I fear there is little hope of Mrs. Ronayne returning; but this package may possibly throw some light on the cause of her absence." "Oh! I hope so; yet how Should it, ma'am? she could not have known what was going to happen when she went out." "No--true, Nixon, you are right. I suppose it contains something that she has borrowed, or that I have asked her for. Ah! I recollect now--it is some embroidery she worked for me. Good night, serjeant; or do you wish to see Captain Headley?" "No, ma'am, I only came to deliver the package which Mrs. Ronayne seemed so anxious you should get to-night." "There was no such very great hurry about it," returned Mrs. Headley, carelessly, yet not without agitation; "I would to heaven she had been here to give it to me herself!" "Amen!" solemnly returned the serjeant; "I would willingly lose my left arm, could I see her sweet face in Fort Dearborn again." "Good night, Nixon," said Mrs. Headley, quickly and much affected; "you are a noble fellow!" and she took and warmly pressed his hand. "Oh! Mrs. Headley, that is the way Mrs. Ronayne pressed my hand after she had placed the packet in it, and obtained my assurance that her directions should be punctually obeyed. I shall ever feel that pressure--see the look of kindness that accompanied it. I prayed inwardly to God, as I stood gazing on her while she rode gracefully away, to shower all His choicest blessings on her." "Good Nixon, no more;" and Mrs. Headley was in the next minute at the side of her husband, who, with deep care on his brow, sat at a table buried in papers, and with the despatch of General Hull in his hand. "Well, my dear, have you seen him--and how does he bear his affliction?" "Oh! Headley, I pity him from my inmost soul--pity him for what he now suffers; and, oh! how much more for the greater agony he has yet to endure!" "You have not yet, then, told him?" "No! Mrs. Elmsley and Von Voltenberg were there; and even the former must not know the secret. Let all mourn her as one lost to us for, ever, but not through her own fault. Let them continue to believe that she has been violently torn from us, not that she has proved unfaithful to her husband, ungrateful to her friends." "Think you not, Ellen, that it would be better to continue Ronayne in the same belief? As you have not opened the subject to him, it is not too late to alter your first intention." "Dear Headley, Ronayne must know all. In no other way can the wound at his heart be healed. I comprehend his noble, generous character well. Such is his love for Maria, that he will never recover the shock of her loss while he believes her to have been unwillingly torn from him. He will pine until he sickens and dies, and, indeed, unless the whole truth be told to him, he will find some means of leaving the fort in search of her; indeed he has said he will--that nothing shall prevent him; and, alas, if he does, it will be with but little disposition to return without her. Now, I know that if his love be great, his pride and proper self-esteem are not less so, and feel assured that however acute his first agony, he, will dry up the fountain of his grief, from the moment that he learns that her love for himself has been transferred to another; that, carried away by a strange and seductive fascination, she has abandoned him for an uneducated boy. His pride, even if it do not make him forget her, will so balance with his now unrequited affection, as to enable him to bear himself up, until time shall have robbed the wound of all its bitterness, and nothing remain but the scar. You will, moreover, have an efficient officer preserved to you, and one whose services may be much required in the present crisis--whose voice in the council will not be without its weight, and whose arm and example will help to instil confidence in the men, with all of whom he is a marked favorite." "You are right, Ellen, if all that you suppose be true; better that the wound should be enlarged to insure its speedier cure, than that the laceration, though less acute, should be continued. But is it not necessary to be well assured of this? Should you not have stronger ground than what you witnessed yesterday to justify the belief that this excursion was planned to insure the result that has followed?" "Depend upon it, Headley, I will not do so, for you know I am not disposed to 'aught extenuate or aught set down in malice,' but I have already prepared Ronayne, indirectly, to expect some singular relation in which Maria is concerned. I wanted him to form some idea of the nature of the revelation I had to make, in order that the shock might not be so great, when I fully entered upon the subject, I had at first intended that he should come to me in the morning, but, on reflection, I thought it better that everything should be told to him to-night where he is, and therefore stated, on leaving, that I would return within an hour. Was I right, my love?" and she took and pressed his hand to her lips. "Always right, dear Ellen--always considerate and prudent. Yes, poor fellow, it were cruel to let him slumber in hope, however faint, only to wake to confirmed despair in the morning. Besides there may be, most probably will be, a wild outbreak of his passionate grief, and that, manifested here where the servants cannot fail to hear him, may induce suspicions of the true cause that must never be entertained. No, whatever we know, however we may deplore the weakness--the infatuation of that once noble girl, within our own hearts must remain her unfortunate secret." "Generously, nobly said, my husband. Were I not certain that it would destroy, wither up the very soul of Ronayne to keep him in uncertainty and ignorance, I would not rend the veil from before his eyes; but it must be so, even for his own future peace. Besides me, therefore, for he will not know that I have entrusted you with the fact, none in the garrison will be aware of the truth, and Ronayne will at least not have to feel the mortification--the bitterness arising from the conviction that his wife is mourned by his comrades, with aught of diminution of that respect they had ever borne to her." "How annoying is this occurrence at this particular moment," observed Captain Headley, musingly pressing his hand to his brow, "and how unfortunate. Had Winnebeg brought General Hull's despatch one day sooner, all this would not have happened, for they never could have obtained permission to leave the fort, much less to visit so dangerous a vicinity as Hardscrabble. Our march from this would have changed the whole current of events." "Even so," returned Mrs. Headley; "but here is a packet, left with Serjeant Nixon, which he has just handed to me, and which may throw some light on the subject. I will first glance over it myself." She broke the seal--hurriedly read it--and then passed it to her husband, whose utter dismay, as he exchanged looks of deep and painful intelligence with her, after perusing the letter, was scarcely inferior to her own. "This is evidence indeed!" he murmured. "Who could have expected it?" CHAPTER VIII. "Grief is proud, and makes its owner stout." --_King John_ It was nearly one o'clock in the morning when Mrs. Headley, wrapped in her husband's loose military cloak and forage cap, once more approached the apartment of Ronayne, situated at the inner extremity of the low range of buildings inhabited by herself. This disguise had been assumed, not because she felt ashamed of the errand on which she was bound, but because she did not wish to provoke curiosity or remark, in the event of her encountering, while going or returning, any of the reliefs or patrols, which she knew orders had been given, for the first time that night, to have changed every half hour. In the extreme darkness of the night, the difference of her height could scarcely be distinguished from that of her husband, and it was not likely that any one would address the supposed commanding officer, whom all would assume anxious in regard to the health of his subordinate, and on his way to ascertain the extent of his malady. The lights were burning dimly in the apartment. There was a window on each side of the door, and the farthest of these she fancied she saw shaded by a human form from without. She stopped suddenly, and kept her eyes riveted on the object, holding in her breath that she might not betray her presence. Presently the shadow was removed from the window, and lost altogether to her sight. A movement of the light now made within was reflected on the figure of Ronayne, who, with a candle in his hand, seemed to be approaching the door. He was still dressed as he had thrown himself on his bed, on entering, in the deerskin hunting-frock he had worn during the day, and his temples were bound with a blue-bordered scarlet bandanna handkerchief--for he had ever loathed the abomination of a nightcap as being symbolical of the gibbet. As he came nearer to the window, the light which he bore reflected distinctly without and upon an Indian standing in the doorway, similarly habited, even to the very turban. Mrs. Headley felt that she could not be mistaken in the figure, but if any doubt had existed, it would have been dissipated when involuntarily calling out, and in a tone meant to imitate the harsher voice of her husband, the name of Wau-nan-gee, the face was wildly turned in the broad light to penetrate the darkness which half enshrouded her from view, and the features of the boy distinctly revealed. Surprised, but armed with strong resolution, she made a rapid forward movement to seize and detain him, knowing well that Ronayne, at the sound of voices, would come forth at once to her assistance; but the Indian, without uttering a sound, stole rapidly away towards the picketing in the distance, and was seen no more. As Mrs. Headley now approached the door, it was opened by Ronayne, who apologised to her for not having sooner attended to her knock, but declared it to be so low that he had not distinctly heard it. "Nay," she replied, when she had entered and taken a seat, "I did not knock, nor had I intended to knock; I have disturbed another midnight visitor." "Another visitor! To whom do you allude, my dear Mrs. Headley? I must have deceived myself, or surely I heard, soon after I had risen from my couch, the name of Wau-nan-gee." "You did not deceive yourself," she returned, gravely; "I saw Wau-nan-gee at the threshold of your door as plainly as I see you, and habited in the same manner. I called to him, but he fled." "Impossible!" said the anxious officer; "wherefore should he flee after knocking for admission? What motive could he have in coming? and how could he obtain admission unperceived? I have no doubt that fatigue and excitement and the lateness of the hour have tended to call up this vision. Would that you could make it real." "Ronayne," repeated Mrs. Headley, gravely, "you well know that I am not given much to imagine that which is not. Even to the very handkerchief you have on your head, his dress was identical, was Wau-nan-gee's; and I well recollect the occasion when, at the distribution of the annual presents to the Indians, you appropriated that handkerchief to yourself, because, as you said, Wau-nan-gee had manifested so much good taste in choosing one like it." "But, my dear Mrs. Headley," returned the officer with gravity, while, after closing the shutters, he took a seat at her side, "you must pardon me if the very fact of the resemblance in dress only increases my conviction of the illusion. In all probability, it was my shadow that you saw reflected by the strong light upon the glass upper half of the door." "As you please, Ronayne; but, for my own part, I have not the slightest doubt on the subject. You ask how he could get here? Even, as you will remember, you once made an evasion from the fort--well intended, I grant, but still an evasion from the fort--over the picketing of the fort. But the matter would not be of so much consequence at any other time. At present, it is connected with much that I have to reveal; but how so connected, I cannot even fancy myself. Ronayne," she continued, taking his hand and pressing it in her own, "disabuse yourself of the idea that Wau-nan-gee, whatever he may have been, is now your friend." "Wau-nan-gee not my friend?" returned the officer, sadly. "Well, I was prepared in some degree to hear the assertion, Mrs. Headley, our conversation an hour since being well calculated to make me revolve the subject in my mind during your short absence, and I have done so. When you mentioned a moment ago that Wau-nan-gee had been at this door, seeking for admission, I felt confident that you had done him great wrong; but now, I confess, since you so positively assert his presence and sudden evasion, I am led to apprehend, I know not what. Speak; let me hear it all," he concluded, with bitterness. "Ronayne, my almost son," she said, leaning her arm affectionately on his shoulder, "it was with the view that suspicion should be excited in your mind by my language that I stated what I did. I did not wish the truth to burst upon you with annihilating suddenness, and therefore sought to prepare you for the blow I am destined to inflict." "And that is--" he said, with stern and furrowed brow, a pallid cheek, and compressed lip. "Nay, Ronayne, I like not that tone and manner." "Proceed, Mrs. Headley, pray proceed; I am ready to hear all. Whence this sorrow so much keener than that I now endure, and how is it connected with Wau-nan-gee!" "Has it never occurred to you to connect the one with the other?" she observed, in low and uncertain accents. "Ha! is it that?" he exclaimed, vehemently starting and hurriedly pacing the apartment. "It is then even as your words had led me to infer. Still, I would not approach the subject myself. I waited for something more direct from your lips. You have uttered it, and I am now prepared to hear all. But, Mrs. Headley, mark me, be well assured of all you say; let not mere appearances be the groundwork of your suspicions, or you destroy two generous hearts for ever; but," he resumed more calmly, yet with a look of fierce determination, as he once more seated himself at her side, "although the love I bear Maria is deeper far than man ever bore for woman, assure me that it is not returned, that this soft--eyed boy, with Indian guile, has stolen the love in which I lived, and then I tear her from my heart for ever. Think me no mere puling fawnster, craving a love that is not freely given. As the passion that I feel is fire, hot as the Virginian sun that nurtured me, so will it become ice the moment it ceases to be fed by that which first enkindled it. Yes," he continued, bitterly, "I could tear my heart out if in its weakness it could pine for one, however once endeared, who had ceased to respond to all its devotedness and worship. I might think of her, but only to sustain my wounded spirit. Contempt and scorn for her fickleness, not love--base and grovelling love--should ever be associated with her image, when undesiredly it arose to my repelling memory. But oh, God!" he exclaimed, bowing his head upon hand, and yielding to his deep emotion, "is it possible that this can be! Can it be that I should ever speak and think of Maria thus! Oh, whence this too great affliction! why this separation of soul from soul! this rending asunder of the mystic bond that once united us! But stop!" and he raised his head, the hot and inflaming tears still gathering in his eyes, "she cannot surely thus have acted, and yet--and yet--oh! Mrs. Headley, if you knew the desolation of my heart, you would pity me. It is crushed, crushed!" During this painful ebullition of contradictory feeling, in which pride and love combated fiercely for the ascendency, Mrs. Headley had been deeply affected; but feeling the necessity for going through the task she had imposed upon herself, she strove as much as possible to appear calm and collected, even severe. His last appeal brought tears from her own eyes. "Indeed, indeed, Ronayne," she exclaimed, pressing his hand fervently between her palms, "I do pity you, I do sympathize with you, even as a mother, in the desolation of your heavily-stricken heart. I had dreaded this emotion, and only my strong regard for yourself gave me strength to undertake the infliction of the counter wound, which I knew alone could preserve you from utter misery and despair; and yet, if you would cherish the illusion, if you would not that the stern reality should sear up each avenue to hope, to each sweeter recollection of the past, I will, if you desire it, abstain." "Nay, not so, Mrs. Headley," replied the unhappy officer; "you are very cruel, but I know you mean it well; proceed--let me be told all. The stronger your recital, the more confirmatory of the utter destruction of my dreams of happiness, and the better for myself. I have already said that scorn and contempt alone can dwell in my heart, if that which I surmise you are about to relate be but found to be true. I am ready for the torture--begin!" and, as if with a dogged determination to hear, and suffer while he heard, he leaned his elbow on the back of his chair, and covered his eyes with his hand. The recital need not be repeated here. All that had occurred on the preceding day, and that which is already known to the reader, Mrs. Headley now communicated, adding that she had been undecided in her opinion on the subject, until the answer to the question put to Von Voltenberg convinced her that the whole thing had been planned, and that she had willingly thrown herself into the power of Wau-nan-gee. The few guns, she concluded, were evidently a signal of which she availed herself by instantly galloping off, while Ronayne was yet at some distance from her, and unhorsed. Prepared as the unhappy officer had been for intelligence involving this mysterious change of affection in his wife, he was utterly dismayed when Mrs. Headley recounted what she had witnessed in the summer-house, to which she had voluntarily gone, and from which she probably never would have returned had not accident disclosed the secret of the trap--door. "This is, indeed, a terrible blow!" he said, solemnly, removing his hand and exhibiting a pale cheek and lip, and a stern and knitted brow; "but now I know the worst, I better can bear the infliction. Strange, I almost hate myself for it; but I feel my heart relieved. I know I am no longer cared for there, and wherefore seek to force an erring woman to my will? And yet, when I think of it, of the monstrous love that weds rich intellect and gorgeous beauty to the mere blushing bud of scarce conscious boyhood, I feel as one utterly bewildered. Still, again, since that love be hers, since she may not control the passion that urges her to her fate, so unselfish am I in my feeling, even amid all the weight of my disappointment, that rather would I have her free and happy in the love she has exchanged, than know her pining in endless captivity, separated from and consumed with vain desire for a reunion with myself--her love for me unquenched and unquenchable." "Ah! what a husband has she not lost! Generous, noble Ronayne, that is what I had expected. You bear this bravely; I knew you would, or never should I have dared to enter upon the matter. But your generosity must go further; it must never be known that Maria has gone off willingly--no doubt must be entertained of her continued love for you. She must still be respected, even as she is pitied and deplored; the belief that she has been made captive and carried off must not be shaken." "The struggle at her heart must indeed have been great before she fell," remarked Ronayne, musingly, and with an air of profound sadness; "for although her appearance in the rude vault beneath the floor of the summer-house would appear to indicate compulsion, her after conduct justifies not the belief. The imploring earnestness with which she entreated you, Mrs. Headley, not to make known what you had seen to me; her abstaining from all censure of Wau-nan-gee at the moment, and her subsequent interest in him, too forcible to be concealed; her strange and unaccountable manner during our ride, as if to banish some gnawing reproach at her heart; her galloping off when freed for the moment from my presence, and at the evident signal given to announce that everything was prepared for her reception; the appearance of her trunks in the farm-house, evidently, I am now convinced, taken there within a day or two; the pretended desire of the Indians, friends of Wau-nan-gee, to make me a prisoner, and thus induce in me the belief that such was her fate. Oh! yes," he continued, rising and pacing the room rapidly, "I can see through the whole plot. His party were Pottowatomies, painted as warriors of a distant tribe, that suspicion might be averted from themselves. Their object was not to make either Von Voltenberg or myself prisoners, but merely to give such evidence of hostility as to cause us to believe they were enemies. Oh, what sin, what artifice for a woman once so ingenious, a boy so young! But now I am assured of all this, I am better--I am better. Some sudden inspiration has flashed the truth upon me, that I might, find that relief which a knowledge of her unfaithfulness alone can render me." "It must have been even so," rejoined Mrs. Headley; "for, certainly, the fact of yourself and Von Voltenberg being allowed to escape by hostile Indians, who could so easily have shot you down, or taken you prisoners, had they been really so inclined, appears to me to be incredible." "And yet, if it was planned," pursued Ronayne thoughtfully, "what opportunity of communication had they to arrange their measures? Wau-nan-gee has, we know, long been absent for weeks, or certainly not once within the fort." "Ronayne," said Mrs. Headley, significantly, "I speak to you of these things freely as to one so much younger than myself. Have I not just said that I saw Wau-nan-gee most distinctly at your door as I entered--nobody but ourselves know that he has got in, much less in what manner." "I understand you, my dear Mrs. Headley; you would infer that he has stolen in at some obscure part of the fort, and under cover of the darkness; but even if so, am I not always at home?" "Never on guard, Ronayne; or am I mistaken," she added with a faint smile, "in supposing that the officer on duty passes the night with his men?" "By heaven it is so," returned the Virginian vehemently, and striking his brow with his open palm, "this intimacy is of long standing. Though pretending absence, Wau-nan-gee has been ever present. My guard nights have been selected for those interviews. The poison of his young love has been infused into the willing woman's ear and heart, and now that I recollect it, often on my return home have I seen her, pale, dejected, and full of thought--he has entreated her to fly with him--to suffer him to be the sole, the undivided sharer of her love--she has hesitated, struggled, and finally consented. By the same means by which his entrance has been effected, the trunks of Hardscrabble have been removed, and all was prepared for her evasion yesterday, had she not been baffled in her object by your sudden appearance. Oh, I see it all!" CHAPTER IX. "Ronayne, Ronayne!" resumed Mrs. Headley, after the strong excitement of her feeling had been in some measure calmed, "how rapidly you arrive at conclusions. Much of what you say is probable--for your sake, I would it were all so, but let us be guided in our judgment by circumstances and facts alone. If it had at first been arranged that the plan adopted with such success to-day, why the visit to, and detention in, the vault of the summer-house where every preparation had been made for a long concealment?" "That," replied Ronayne, "is a mystery which time alone can unravel. I confess that it involves a contradiction susceptible of explanation only by themselves. This, in all human probability we shall never know; but then, again, forgive me, Mrs. Headley, for thus detaining you with any selfish interests, but your voice, your counsel, your very knowledge of the facts--all breathe peace to my wounded spirit; but, I ask again, why the scream she gave--why the emotion, the grief, she evinced when, on opening the trap-door, you saw her reclining exhausted on that rude couch? I would reason the matter so as to convince myself _thoroughly_ that her flight has been her own wilful act, for then I shall the less regret, even though I should not be able to banish her image wholly from my mind. You have said that you saw Wau-nan-gee leave the summer-house with an excitement in his eye and manner you had never witnessed before, and that this corresponded with the state in which you found Maria a few moments later. Now, is it probable that if she had purposed anything wrong she would have asked you to accompany her, or that she should have asked you to wait for her, while visiting a spot whence she knew she never would return? Oh, no! this could never be. Her mode of evasion, if such had been intended, would have been very different; she would have chosen a moment when you were in some distant part of the garden, and saw her not, to steal into the summer-house. All clue, then, would have been lost, and the appearance of the Indians lurking about the cottage would naturally have impressed you with the belief that she had been carried off by them. How were they dressed?" "Even as you have described the party that pursued, or affected to pursue you yesterday," exclaimed Mrs. Headley, "in the war paint of the Winnebagoes. I know it well, for their chiefs have often been in council here." "Just so," pursued Ronayne. "Is it not then reasonable to suppose--mark, I do not weakly seek to justify the wrong which but too certainly exists, but I would dissect each circumstance until the truth be known--is it not, I repeat, reasonable to suppose that, even if Maria wanted an evidence of her abduction, she would have gone towards the cottage rather than the summer-house. It would have been easy enough then for the Indians who, I have no doubt, were the same party I encountered at Hardscrabble, to have carried her off before any assistance could arrive from the fort. On the contrary, she was certain of discovery in the summer-house into which she had been seen to enter, and every part of which she would have known would have been most strictly searched. Wherefore, too, the object in keeping her confined, as it were, in a dungeon, when the free air was open to her, and the boundless wilderness offered health and freedom?" "I have thought of all that, Ronayne," replied Mrs. Headley, "and I cannot but suppose that this retreat was a temporary one. In all probability, when Wau-nan-gee issued from the summer-house, he was in the act of proceeding to make his preparations for finishing the work just begun, but seeing that I had not yet left the grounds, waited to know what my movements would be before he took any farther step. My stationing the boat's crew before the gate, where they could command the whole of the view between the cottage and the summer-house, acted as a check upon them, and little dreaming, I presume, that I had discovered the trap-door, they had intended, on my departure across the river, to avail themselves of my absence, and bear her off into the forest. As for the deep grief which I witnessed on entering the summer-house, that may easily be accounted for. A woman of refinement, education, and generous susceptibility, however unhappily carried away she may be by a resistless, and, in her view, fated passion, does not without a pang tear herself from old associations to enter upon new, especially where they are of an inferior character. She may mourn her weakness even at the moment she most yields to it. One dominant thought may fill her soul--one master sentiment influence all her actions, and govern the pulsations of her heart, but that does not exclude the workings of other and nobler emotions of the mind. Even when she feels herself most tyrannized over by the passion, the infatuation, the destiny against which she finds it vain to struggle, sorrow for her altered position will intrude itself, and then is her heart strengthened and her mind consoled only by the reflection that the sacrifice was indispensable to the attainment of that, without which, in the strong excitement of her imagination, she deems life valueless. Charity should induce us to believe that it is, what I have already termed it, a disease, for on no other principle can we account for that aberration of the passions, the intellect and the judgment which can lead such a woman to forget that mind chiefly gives value to love, and to sacrifice all that is esteemed most honorable in the sex by man, to the fascination of mere animal beauty. Ah! Ronayne, this must have been the case in the present instance. You see, I probe you deeply--but enough!" "Dear Mrs. Headley," returned the Virginian, pressing her hands warmly in his own, "I am satisfied that, humiliating as it is to admit the correctness of your impression, there is but too much reason to think that it is even as you say. When I recur to the past of yesterday and to-day, I cannot doubt it; and yet I confess there is much buried in obscurity which I would fain have explained. Were it made clear, manifest as the handwriting on the wall, that Maria had abandoned me for Wau-nan-gee, I should be at ease. It is the uncertainty only that now racks my mind. Could I _know_, not merely _believe_ her false, a weight would be taken from my heart. Oh! Mrs. Headley, why did you not suffer Wau-nan-gee to enter--why drive from me the only means of explanation at which I can ever arrive--and, yet, what could have been his object in thus venturing here after having despoiled my home of its treasure? If guilty, would he have dared to approach me? and that he might not do so with evil intent, is evident from the fact of his having knocked for admission. Oh! Mrs. Headley, I know not what to think--my mind is chaos--I am a very changeling in my mood: not from want of energy to act when once assured, but from the very doubts that agitate my mind, made wavering by the absence of all certain proof." While the soul of the unfortunate young officer was thus a prey to every shade of doubt, and manifesting the very weakness that his lips denied, Mrs. Headley regarded him with, deep concern. She could well divine all that was passing in his heart, and the chord of her sympathy was keenly touched. For some moments she did not speak, but appeared to be lost in her own painful reflections. At length, when Ronayne, who during these remarks had been rapidly pacing the room, threw himself into a chair, burying his face in his hands, evidently ill at ease, she drew forth her packet, the seal of which was broken, and handed it to him, saying with sadness-- "My dear Ronayne, I had hoped that I should not have been under the necessity of making known to you the contents of this note, but I see it cannot be withheld. It was placed in my hands, just after I had parted with Mrs. Elmsley, by Serjeant Nixon, who stated that Maria had left it with him for me, as she rode out this morning, telling him it was of the utmost importance that he should deliver it." "I saw her in conversation with him," said Ronayne, as he took the note and approached the light to read it, "and on asking what detained her, she said, hastily, that she was merely sending you a message--not a document of the importance which you seem to attach to this. I felt at the time that she was not dealing seriously with me; but as it seemed a matter of little consequence I did not pay much attention to it; but, let me read!" The following were the contents of the note, which Ronayne eagerly perused, with what profound emotion it need scarcely be necessary to describe: "My dear Mrs. Headley: When you receive this, you will have seen me, perhaps, for the last time; but I am sure that you will believe that, in tearing myself from the scene where so many happy, though not altogether unchequered days have been passed, no one occupies a deeper place in my regret than yourself, whom I have ever regarded as a second mother. The dreadful reasons which exist for it, however, prevent me, as a wife, from acting otherwise. I know you will condemn me--tax me with ingratitude and selfishness. I am prepared for reproach; but, alas! no other course remains for me to pursue. If I have yielded to the persuasions of the gentle, the affectionate, the devoted Wau-nan-gee, it is not so much on my own account as in consideration of the hope held out to me of a long future of happiness with the object of my heart's worship. For him I can, and do make every sacrifice, even to the incurring of your displeasure, and the condemnation of all who know me. But let me entreat you to remember, that if he is seemingly guilty, I alone am truly so, and chargeable for the deep offence that will of course be attributed to him. Remember that I have planned the whole; and should it be decreed by fate that we never meet again, I pray God in his infinite goodness to preserve those whom I now abandon, and spare them the distraction that weighs upon this severely-tried heart. "I promised you a candid explanation of everything relating to what you saw yesterday. This you will find fully detailed in the accompanying document, written after you had left me, and before the return of Ronayne last night from fishing." "Document! what document?" asked the Virginian, interrupting himself, and in a voice husky from emotion; "there is nothing here, Mrs. Headley, but the letter itself." "Nothing but that and the piece of embroidery which Maria had worked for me were contained in the packet," was the reply. "In her hurry she must have forgotten to inclose it." "In the accompanying document (resumed the Virginian, reading) you will find the nature of my connexion with Wau-nan-gee fully explained. You will, of course, make such use of all that is necessary to your purpose as you may deem advisable; but, as I make that part of the communication which refers to Wau-nan-gee strictly confidential, I conjure you never, in the slightest way, to allude to him as being connected either with my evasion or with the revelation I have made to you in the inclosure. Adieu, my dear Mrs. Headley. God grant we may meet again! "Your own Maria." During the perusal of this note, Mrs. Headley had watched the countenance of Ronayne with much anxiety. She saw there evidence of strong and varied feelings which he made an effort to subdue, and so far succeeded that, when he had finished he returned the note to her with a calm she had not expected. "There is no need of further confirmation now, Mrs. Headley," he said, with a bitter half-smile. "You have, indeed, probed but to heal. All my weakness is past. To-morrow I shall be myself again, and attend the council. Pardon me that I have been the cause of detaining you so late, and believe me when I say that deeply do I thank you for the interest you have taken in me." "God bless you, Ronayne! Alas, you are not alone in, your trials--much of moment awaits us all. Good night!" And, assuming her disguise, she speedily regained her home. CHAPTER X. "Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day that cries--Retire, when Warwick bids him stay." --_Henry IV._ On the western bank of the south side of the Chicago River, and opposite to Fort Dearborn, stood the only building which, with the exception of the cottage of Mr. Heywood on the opposite shore, and already alluded to, could at all come under the classification of a dwelling-house. The owner of this mansion, as it was generally called, which rose near the junction of the river with Lake Michigan, was a gentleman who had been long a resident and trader in the neighborhood, and between whom and the Pottowatomie Indians in particular, a good understanding had always existed. Several voyageurs, consisting of French Canadians and half-breeds, constituted his establishment, and in the course of his speculations, chiefly in furs, with the several tribes, he had amassed considerable wealth. He was, in fact, the only person of any standing or education outside the wall of the fort itself, and of course the only civilian, besides Mr. Heywood--whom, however, they far less frequently saw--the officers of the garrison could associate with. His house was the abode of hospitality, and as, in his trading capacity, he had opportunities of procuring many even of the luxuries of life from Detroit and Buffalo, which were not within the reach of the inmates of the fort, much of the monotony which would have attached to a society purely military, however gifted or sufficient to their mutual happiness, was thus avoided. His library was ample, and there was scarcely an author of celebrity (the world was not overrun with them in those days), either historian, essayist, or novelist, whose works were not to be found on the shelves of his massive black walnut bookcase, made by the hands of his own people from the most gigantic trees of that genus that could be found in Illinois. He had, moreover, for the amusement of the officers of the little garrison, prepared a billiard room, where many a rainy hour was passed, when the sports of the chase and of the prairie were shut out to them, and for those who asked not for either of these amusements, there was a tastefully, but not ostentatiously, furnished drawing-room, with one of the best pianos made in those days, which he had had imported at a great expense from the capital of the western world, and at which his amiable and only daughter generally presided. Margaret McKenzie had been born at Chicago, but having lost her mother at an early age, her father, profiting by one of his periodical visits to New York, had taken her with him for the purpose of receiving such an education as would enable her not only to grace a drawing-room, and make her a companion to a man of sense and refinement, but to fit her for those more domestic duties which the uncertain character of so secluded a life might occasionally render necessary, and where luxury and education alone were insufficient to a trading husband's views of happiness. After five years' absence, she had returned to Chicago, a girl of strong mind, warm affection, without the slightest affectation, and altogether so adapted in manner and education--for she eminently combined the useful with the ornamental--that her father was delighted with her, not less for the proficiency she had made in all that gives value to society, but because of the utter absence of all appearance of regret in abandoning the gay and enlivening scenes of the fascinating capital, in which she had spent so many years, for the still, dull monotony of the primeval forest in which her childhood had been passed. But here she was not doomed to "waste her sweetness on the desert air." There were only two officers in the garrison, besides Captain Headley, when Miss McKenzie returned to her native wilds--Doctor Von Voltenberg and Lieut. Elmsley. The third who made up the number of those attached to the company had a few days previously been shot and scalped by a party of Indians near Hardscrabble, while on his return to the fort from shooting the hen, or English grouse, of the prairie. His place was supplied by Ensign Ronayne, who had joined the garrison a few days after. Lieutenant Elmsley, captivated by the accomplishments and amiability of the fascinating Margaret, had offered her his heart and hand, and obtained her unreluctant promise speedily to share his barrack room, some twenty feet by twelve in dimensions. Meanwhile, in order to prove to him how well she was fitted to be a soldier's wife, not an article of food was ever placed before her father's almost constant visitors that did not in some measure pass under her supervision. Poor would have been the preparation of the grosser viands had not her directing voice presided; and, as for the tarts, and puddings, and custards, _et hoc genus omne_, no one who tasted could doubt that no hands but her own had operated in the fabrication; and the currant, the cranberry, the strawberry jelly, the peach, the plum, and the cherry preserve, and the currant and gooseberry wine! What, in the name of all that is delicate in gastronomy, could be more delicious or exhibit greater perfection of taste! So thought Von Voltenberg. He was in raptures. Such a wife, he thought, was all he wanted to his comfort; he could have dispensed, if necessary, with the more intellectual portions of the worth of Margaret McKenzie, but his imagination could not picture to itself perfection superior to that of an interesting and beautiful woman, manipulating among fruit, and sugar, and dough, until she had produced results far sweeter and much more prized by him than all the ornamental accomplishments in the world. It was even whispered that the Doctor, deeply sensible of the treasure he should obtain in the possession of so generally useful a wife, had absolutely proposed for her, but that she, without offending him, had rejected the honor. Whether it was so or not, no one knew positively, for Margaret McKenzie was not a woman to triumph in the humiliation of another, not because she considered it in any way a humiliation to a man that he did not so accord in sentiment with her as to render an union for life with him desirable, but because she knew it would, however absurdly, draw upon him the ill-natured comments of his companions. Be that as it may, whether or not he did offer and was rejected, it made no difference in his relations with the family. He ate her dinner, luxuriated over her preserves, and sipped her wine as plentifully as when first she had offered them to him; and they always were the best friends in the world. Soon after the first rumor of Von Voltenberg's offer--and if the secret was betrayed, it must have been by himself, during one of his moments of devotion to his favorite whiskey punch--it was generally known throughout the fort and neighborhood that Lieutenant Elmsley was to espouse Miss McKenzie, and that the ceremony was only delayed until the arrival of his the officer so recently killed and scalped, as has been stated, was now almost daily expected. At length he came, and soon afterwards Captain Headley, duly commissioned to perform the service, in the absence of a clergyman, married them, Ronayne assisting as groomsman, and Mrs. Ronayne--then Maria Heywood--as bridesmaid. This was two years previous to the marriage of the Virginian himself, and the occasion on which he first met her whom he subsequently so fervently adored. It was no privation to Mrs. Elmsley to forsake the almost luxurious ease of her father's house for the more sober accommodation of her husband's barrack-rooms. True, these were comfortably furnished, but still they had that primness which belongs ever to the quarters of a soldier; but from the moment of casting her destiny, she had determined in every sense to be a soldier's wife, and to inure herself from the first to the plainness incident to the condition. All she had transferred to the fort was her music and her books; and if at any moment caprice or inclination led her to desire a change, it was but to get up a little party, such as their limited social circle would permit, and transfer the amusements of the day to her father's more inviting mansion, where the servants had from herself learned all the art of management. Lively in disposition in the extreme, Mrs. Elmsley loved to promote the comfort of others; and as her husband possessed an equally happy temperament, they contributed not a little to enliven the circle of which, in point of gaiety, they might be said to be the centre. The owner of the establishment himself--Mr. McKenzie--was fond of good living, and having arrived at an age when continued prosperity permitted a relaxation from the toils of the earlier and cooler portions of the day, loved to indulge after dinner in a large arm-chair, placed in a veranda that overlooked the fort and country around, and where the light air from the lake, waving through the branches of the thin trees, swept with refreshing coolness along the broad corridor. He generally smoked the fragrant herbs of the Indians, mixed with tobacco, and sipped the delicious clarets with which his cellar was stocked, and which he kept, not for sale or barter, but for the exclusive use of himself and friends. Immediately after Winnebeg had left Captain Headley, he made his way to the mansion of Mr. McKenzie, whom he found, as usual, sitting in his veranda, enjoying his pipe and wine after dinner. The greeting was that of old friends long separated. They had known each other from their youth; and, while the Indian entertained the highest respect for the character and opinions of Mr. McKenzie, the latter in turn reposed the most unbounded confidence in the sincerity and integrity of the chief. "Well, Winnebeg, my old friend, where do you come from? Where have you been all this time? I thought you had deserted us altogether. But I recollect now; Captain Headley sent you with despatches to Detroit. What news do you bring back? But first try a glass of claret. Harry!"--calling out to a son of one of his voyageurs, who acted in his household in the capacity of his private servant--"bring another chair and a wine-glass." "Yes, come from Detroit, Missa Kenzie," replied the Indian gravely, as he seated himself, took his tomahawk from his side, filled it, and began to smoke; "bring him bad news for you--for all." "How is this, Winnebeg?" exclaimed his listener, putting down the glass which he had raised to his lips. "What bad news do you mean?" "Leave him all dis," he observed, as he swept his hand towards the fort and the outhouses and buildings containing Mr. McKenzie's property--the profits of a long life passed in a region to which he had become attached from very habit. "Leave what! my property? I do not understand you, Winnebeg; speak out! What are you driving at, man? What necessity is there for all this?" "English fight him Yankee now--big war begun. By by English come, take him Chicago!" "The war begun!" said Mr. McKenzie, rising in astonishment from his seat; "do you mean to say, Winnebeg, that the English and Americans are actually at war? that they have been fighting at Detroit? How do you know it?" "How him know it?" returned the chief; "look here, Winnebeg fight him English," and baring his thigh, just below the left hip, he showed the scar of a superficial flesh wound still encrusted with blood. "Where did you get that, Winnebeg, and how long since?" "Two week," he replied, holding up as many fingers, "near Canard Bridge, close, to Malden, Canada--General Hull angry--say Winnebeg no business fight--carry him despatches." "General Hull! How long has General Hull been there? Where, then, is Colonel Miller, of the fourth regiment, who commanded the other day?" "Colonel Miller Detroit too; but Hull big officer--great chief--come with plenty sogers--send Winnebeg with despatch to Gubbenor here." "Indeed! This is important; I must hasten to see Captain Headley, and learn from him the contents. Alas! my good friend Winnebeg, this news may, and I fear will, be the cause of my utter ruin. Of course, you have no idea of what the despatch contains?" "Yes, Missa Kenzie, Winnebeg know. Winnebeg wish to speak to you about despatch--say go directly to Fort Wayne." "The troops ordered to Fort Wayne, and all we possess left wholly unprotected. This is indeed a calamity," said the trader, raising his hand to his now thoughtful brow. "You no take him goods on pack-horses to Fort Wayne?" remarked the Indian inquiringly. "Impossible, Winnebeg! I might take a few packages of peltries, but the great bulk must be left behind; yet it seems to me folly to go to Fort Wayne. We shall be cut off before we get there." "Just so," returned Winnebeg. "See him Gubbenor, Missa McKenzie; tell him not go. Stay here--fort strong--plenty powder--plenty guns--you tell him so." "Most assuredly I will; and if he adopts the most prudent course, he will remain. With your strong force without and ours within, we may have a fair chance with any force that may be brought against us, whereas heaven only knows what may not be the result if we attempt so long a march through the wilderness, alive with Indians in the interest of the British. Good by, Winnebeg; you will excuse me, I am sure, for there must be no time lost in consulting with Captain Headley. Make yourself at home, and call out to Harry for anything you may want. That claret will not hurt you after your long journey; it is pleasant to the taste, and not very strong." "Tankee, Massa Kenzie; Winnebeg go to Pottowatomie camp--not been dere yet. Gubbenor say no tell him Ingins war begun till hold council to-morrow. Winnebeg sure him know it free, four days." "Why, do you think that, Winnebeg, since there has been no intelligence of the kind since your arrival?" "See him plenty Pottowatomie here in Detroit while Winnebeg wait for despatches." "Indeed; but they may not have returned." "Don't know--maybe no, maybe yes." "Well, to-morrow the matter will be no secret, Winnebeg; and some decision will no doubt be added. In the meantime, you will be able to learn whether anything is known in the encampment of this unwelcome news, and, if so, what your people think of it." "Kenzie," said the chief, taking and warmly grasping the trader's hand, "all Pottowatomies tink like Winnebeg--no go to Fort Wayne." CHAPTER XI. When Mr. McKenzie entered the fort, it was with a clouded brow and an oppressed heart. At the gate he met his son-in-law, Lieutenant Elmsley, who, while burning with impatience to be near and console his unfortunate friend, was without the power to leave his post, and in his vexation and annoyance, kept pacing rapidly up and down in front of the guard-house. "What is the matter, Elmsley--what disturbs you so unusually?" "Can you ask, sir," said the officer, "or have you not heard the dreadful news?" "Yes, I have heard it, but did not suppose it had as yet been generally known." "The whole garrison knows it. It could not be concealed. The poor fellow rushed like a madman to announce it. He fell fainting to the ground, and was carried to his room, where, even at this moment, Mrs. Headley and Margaret are attending him." "Attending whom?" demanded Mr. McKenzie with an air of astonishment, "and to what are you alluding?" "Why, Ronayne, of course; to whom do you allude if not to him? Have you not heard that, while riding out with his wife and Von Voltenberg this afternoon, they were intercepted by a party of hostile Indians, and poor Maria taken prisoner." "God bless my soul, is it possible? This is terrible, indeed. Are we then already surrounded by hostile Indians, and is the war already brought to our door?" "War! what war?" asked the subaltern, "and what has this fearful piece of treachery to do with open war--war with whom?" "And have you not heard that England and the United States are openly engaged in hostilities--has Winnebeg not revealed this?" "Not a word," replied Lieutenant Elmsley, astonished, in his turn, at the information. "At another moment, and on an indifferent occasion, this mutual misunderstanding might afford room for pleasantry," continued Mr. McKenzie with a grave smile; "but it is not so. Winnebeg, I see, has been true to his trust; and although cognizant of the nature of the despatches, revealed the information to no one but myself, whom he regarded as having not only a right to possess it at the earliest moment, but as being the most proper person to advise with the commanding officer, at the earliest moment, on the measures to be adopted. I am here for that purpose; think you I shall find him alone, for I wouldn't enter upon the subject before Mrs. Headley." "I have just said that Mrs. Headley and Margaret are in attendance on the unfortunate Ronayne," replied Elmsley. "You will, therefore, be sure to find him alone, and no doubt busied in the formation of plans of operations consequent on this intelligence." "Recollect, not a word of this until it is officially revealed. I shall not even let Captain Headley know that I am aware of the facts, but simply state that, having heard he was in receipt of despatches, I had come to know if there was any news of importance. But, of one thing I would warn you, Elmsley; there will be a council of war to-morrow, and I could wish that your view of the subject may lead you to prefer defending the fort to the last extremity in preference to a long and uncertain retreat to Fort Wayne, which I know is suggested in the despatch." "I shall have no difficulty in arriving at that decision," returned the officer of the guard, "for common sense only is necessary to show the advantages of one course over the other. In the meantime, I shall evince no knowledge of what you have conveyed to me, until the hour of council. Did no other consideration weigh with me, I would oppose a movement which cuts us off from all hope of restoring the dear lost wife of Ronayne to her distracted husband." "Good bye, God bless you," answered the trader, as he moved towards the quarters of Captain Headley. "Then," mused Elmsley, when alone, "are the forebodings of that fusty old number of the National Intelligencer which I have thumbed for hours over and over again for the last three months at length finally realized--and war was come at last; well be it so! My chief anxiety is for Margaret. Would that she and all the rest of the weak women in this fortress were safe within the fortifications of Detroit; but all evil seems to be coming upon us at once." "Ah! Mr. McKenzie, I am very glad to see you," said Captain Headley, rising as the trader entered the room set apart for his library and the transaction of military official business. "Take a seat. You could not have paid me a more opportune visit." "I had understood that Winnebeg had just returned with despatches from Detroit," remarked the trader, "and am come to learn the news." "Bad enough," answered Capt. Headley, gravely, as he handed to him the despatch from General Hull. "Read that!" Mr. McKenzie attentively perused the document. It was evidently of a nature not to please him, for as he read he knit his brow, bit his lip, and uttered more than one ejaculatory "pish!" "And what do you intend to do, Captain Headley?" he demanded, as he twisted the paper in his fingers impatiently. "Stay, my dear sir," said the commanding officer, anxiously, "do not thus disfigure or slight the general's official--I must preserve it as the only voucher for the course I shall in all probability pursue." "What is that course?" asked Mr. McKenzie; "surely, Captain Headley, you will not strictly follow the letter of these instructions? You are not compelled to do so. It is left optional with yourself; and there cannot be a question as to the great disadvantage attending a retreat." "Pardon me," said the commanding--officer, with something of the hauteur of one sensible of his own personal responsibility; "I consider every paragraph in this official as a direct order. The only sentence that would appear to leave a certain option with myself is where reference is made to the _practicability_ of retreat. Now, I can see nothing impracticable in it. We have nothing to apprehend, with a body of five hundred brave Pottowatomies for our escort, while, if we continue here we must expect a strong British force speedily upon us." "Let me give you a word of counsel before this question is publicly discussed," returned the trader seriously; "I know the Indians well, and how easily they are influenced by circumstances. Friendly as these Pottowatomies now seem to be, the influence of the majority of the tribes who have joined the British forces may soon change them from friends into foes." "My life on their fidelity," returned Captain Headley, with unusual energy. "While Winnebeg continues with them, I feel that I should dishonor by doubting him." "Do not mistake me," returned the trader. "Your faith in the honesty of Winnebeg, Capt. Headley, is not greater than my own--nay, not so great, perhaps, for I have known and always regarded him from his boyhood; but all the Pottowatomies are not Winnebegs, neither are the warriors so completely under the control of their chiefs as to permit their counsels alone to influence their actions." "You do not mean to say that you have reason to doubt any of these people, Mr. McKenzie?" remarked the captain, seriously and inquiringly. "Not at all; but I wish to show how much more imprudent it would be to trust to them than to ourselves; reinforcements may arrive in time if they are sent for immediately, and should they not, it will be time enough to think of evacuating when our Indian spies bring us notice of the preparations of the British to attack us." "And should they arrive before our retreat is begun, then must, we be driven into an unequal contest, for the order of the secretary at war expressly declares that no post shall be surrendered without a battle. It is evident that the fort cannot be maintained against a regular force; therefore, the garrison, or they who survive the assault, must be made prisoners in any case; whereas, by retiring now, we not only prevent the advance of the enemy, to the manifest ruin of yourself and other settlers in the neighborhood, but carry succor to Fort Wayne. This is the resolution I have taken. After first consulting with my officers on public parade in the morning, when our position shall be fully made known to all, I shall meet the Indians in council. The necessary directions have been conveyed to Winnebeg." "I can only regret, sir," returned Mr. McKenzie, with great gravity of speech and deportment, "that your determination should have been formed before consulting with your officers. In a case of this kind, involving the interests of all, it becomes, I should conceive, not a mere courtesy but a duty, that the opinions and advice of all competent to judge should be taken." "You need not be alarmed, Mr. McKenzie; I perfectly know how to act on this occasion. The opinions of my officers shall be taken, even as I have taken yours. If you have anything further to offer, therefore, I shall be happy to hear it." "Captain Headley," returned the trader, rising with dignity, and taking up his hat, "I have nothing further of advice to offer to one so confident in his own judgment; but bear in mind what I now tell you, that if you follow the letter of these instructions rather than the spirit, you will have cause to repent it. I make not this remark from mere considerations of my own personal interests, which, of course, will be greatly affected by this abandonment of the post, but because I sincerely believe that a defence will entail less disaster than a march through the vast wilderness we shall have to traverse, hampered as we shall be with women, less able to bear up against fatigue, privation, and disaster. As the Indian orators say, 'I have spoken!' and now, sir, I have the honor of wishing you a very good day." "Well, what says he--what does he intend?" asked Lieutenant Elmsley, who was lingering near the gate, waiting for the return of his father-in-law. "He is an obstinate, conceited ramrod," returned the latter, peevishly; "but you will know all to-morrow, for he really intends to do you the honor to consult you in the morning." "But what is his decision? You have not said." "To give up everything to the Indians, and retreat forthwith." "Can it be possible?" exclaimed the officer, perfectly indignant at the communication. "Even so. Alas, for the poor women, and the ladies particularly! what a march for them; but I go, meanwhile, to 'set my house in order.' Well, Elmsley, all I had garnered up through a quarter of a century of incessant toil, as a heritage for you and yours, will, I fear, be utterly lost." "God bless you," said the officer, grasping his hand, "think not of that. There are far weightier considerations at stake than those of a merely pecuniary nature. The lesson Margaret has taught herself--to be contented to live on a soldier's pay--will not have altogether been thrown away upon her. The loss of her fortune is the least calamity to be dreaded." "Nobly said, Elmsley. Well are you worthy of her!" He warmly shook the hand that still lingered in his own, and then turned the angle of the gateway leading down to his own dwelling. CHAPTER XII. "For we to-morrow hold divided council." --_Richard III._ On the following morning there was unusual commotion in the fort, and, notwithstanding the great sultriness of the weather, both officers and men appeared in the full costume of the regiment from an early hour. The bright and silken flag, worked by the hands of Mrs. Ronayne, had been hoisted by Corporal Nixon's own hands, for he knew that not a man of the garrison would look upon it without vividly interesting himself in the fate of her who had worked it, and desiring to be a volunteer of the party he fully expected would be sent out that morning to attempt her rescue. Already had he decided on five of the number who, besides himself, would be selected by Ronayne on the occasion, and these were Collins, Phillips, Weston, Green, and Watson. He knew that an early parade had been ordered by Captain Headley, and as this was a rare occurrence, he could assign no other cause for it than the desire the commanding officer entertained to send off the little expedition as speedily as possible. Precisely at eight o'clock the roll of the drum brought forth from their respective barrack rooms some sixty men, composing the strength of the little fort, with the exception of the invalids and convalescents, some fifteen in number. But even of these, such as could find strength to drag themselves, came forth and lingered in the rear of the slowly forming little line, while women and children gathered in groups near the guard-house, anxious to see who would be the fortunate ones selected for the recovery of the much-loved wife of their favorite. A few moments later, and the officers were seen approaching from their several quarters to join the parade. Captain Headley, dressed in his newest uniform, was the first on the ground; then came the Doctor, then Elmsley, for, on that occasion, the guard at the gate had been left without an officer; and lastly, much to the surprise of all, Ronayne. As he approached, all eyes were fixed upon him, and every breast acknowledged a sympathy in the pallor of his now unmoved brow, that in more than one instance moulded itself into a tear it was impossible to suppress. As for the women, they held their aprons to their eyes and wept outright. On gaining his company, the Virginian touched his cap as usual to the commander of the parade, and, passing close by Elmsley, whose eyes he saw riveted upon him with much interest, he significantly grasped his hand. "Mr. Elmsley," ordered the commandant, "let the company be wheeled inwards, to form a hollow square." The order was promptly obeyed, and within the square stood the little group of officers. "Gentlemen and men!" began Captain Headley, as he unfolded a despatch, "it is on no common occasion that we find ourselves assembled this morning." Every eye was again turned upon Ronayne. The looks of the men seemed to say, "We know it, and we are prepared to do our utmost to repair the evil." "There is not a man of us, your honor," said Corporal Collins, "who is not ready to volunteer to go out and recover Mrs. Ronayne, or die in the attempt. You have but to say the word." "Silence, sir! How dare you presume to speak in the ranks! Corporal Collins, from this day you lose your stripes,--a fit example, truly, for a non-commissioned officer to set to the men. Mr. Elmsley, you will see to this." The lieutenant gravely touched his hat, but replied not. "It is not for this purpose that I have assembled you," resumed Captain Headley. "Much as is to be deplored the unfortunate occurrence of yesterday, matters of deeper importance must engage our attention now." Many of the men shrugged their shoulders, and looked their discontent. They could not imagine what he meant, or what could be of more importance to them than the recovery of the lost lady. The parade was once more called to attention, when Captain Headley proceeded to read to them the document that has been so often before the reader. "You see, gentlemen and men," he continued, when he had finished the perusal, "how intricate is our position, and how little choice there is left to us to decide in the matter. It must be but mere form to ask your opinions on the subject, for the directions of the General are so positive that our duty is implicitly to follow them. Mr. Elmsley, as the oldest officer, what is your opinion?" All had heard with the greatest surprise the unexpected communication, but there were few who were of the opinion of their commander, that their safety would be best insured by a retreat. The men, of course, were not expected to have a voice in the consultation, but it was desirable that they should hear what their respective officers had to say, and therefore the subject had been opened to the latter in their presence. "My opinion, Captain Headley," returned his lieutenant, "can be of little weight in a matter which you appear to have decided already; however, as it is asked in presence of the whole garrison, in presence of the whole garrison will I give it. On no account should we retire from this post. Our force, it is true, is small, but we have stout hearts and willing hands, and, with four good bastions to protect our flanks of defence, we may make a better resistance than it appears they have done at Mackinaw, should the British deem it worth their while to come so far out of their way to attack us. My own impression is that they will not, for there is nothing to be gained by the conquest of a post which commands no channel of communication, and therefore offers no advantage to compensate for the sacrifice of life necessary to take it. Certainly, nothing will be attempted unless Detroit itself should fall. The British forces will have too much to occupy them there to think of weakening by dividing the troops they have in that quarter. On the other hand, should we undertake a protracted march to Fort Wayne, encumbered as we are with women, and children, and invalids, there is but too great reason to infer that parties of British Indians, apprised of our march, will hasten to the attack, and then our position in the heart of the woods will be hopeless indeed. These, sir, are my views on the subject nor can I conceive how a man of common discernment can entertain any other." "Mr. Elmsley, I merely asked you, in courtesy, to pronounce your own opinion, not indirectly to pass censure on those of your superiors. I have stated not only my opinion, but my decision. Even were I desirous to remain I could not, for our provisions are nearly consumed." "Why, captain," said Phillips, speaking from his place in the ranks, "I know that we have cattle enough to last the troops six months." "Who speaks? Who dares to question my assertion?" thundered Capt. Headley. "We may have cattle enough," he added, in a milder tone, feeling that some explanation was due to the men generally, "but we are deficient in salt to cure the meat when killed." "A sheer pretence!" muttered another voice not far from Phillips; "where there is a will, there is a way." "Who spoke?" demanded Captain Headley, angrily. "I did, sir," answered Collins; "you have taken the stripes from me, you can do no more." "Drummers, into the square!" ordered the captain. "Gentlemen, before we proceed further in this matter, this man must be tried for insubordination--a drum head court martial immediately. Sergeant Nixon, go to the orderly's room and bring the articles of war." "Nay, Captain Headley," interposed the sergeant, "poor Collins!" "What, sir! do you, too, disobey?" "No, sir," returned the non-commissioned officer, respectfully, "but I thought when brave men would so soon be wanted for the defence of those colors, your honor could not be serious in your threat to score their backs; and a braver and a better soldier than Corporal Collins is nowhere to be found in the American ranks. He is excited, sir, by the loss of Mrs.--" "Stay, Nixon," interrupted Ensign Ronayne, "not another word. Captain Headley," he resumed, sternly, turning round to his commandant, "if Corporal Collins is punished, you will have to punish me also, for I swear that be but a hand laid upon him, and I will incur such guilt of insubordination as must compel you to place me under arrest. This severity, sir, at such a moment, is misplaced, and not to be borne." "Mr. Ronayne, depend upon it, this conduct on your part shall not pass unnoticed. When the proper time arrives, expect to be put upon your trial for this most unofficer-like interference with my authority. At present, I can ill afford to spare your services, and placing you in arrest now would only be to affect the interests of my command. When we reach Fort Wayne, you may rely upon a proper representation of your behavior. Private Collins, retire to your place in the ranks." "Reach Fort Wayne!" returned the Virginian, emphatically. "Mark me, sir, we shall never reach Fort Wayne. Captain Headley," he continued, more calmly, "look at those colors; do you not think we shall find more spirit to defend them while floating there (and he pointed to them), calling upon us, as it were, to remember the day when first they were unfurled before the British Lion, than when carrying them off encased and strapped with the old kettles and pans of the company upon some raw-boned old pack-horse, as if ashamed to show themselves to an enemy." "And those colors especially," ventured Sergeant Nixon, emboldened by the warm language in his defence used by the high-spirited young officer. "They are the same worked by the hands of Mrs. Ronayne, and run up there on the day of her own marriage, on the fourth of July. I hoisted them with my own hands this morning, because I believed we were going out to the rescue of that dear lady, and, in my mind, I can only say that it would be much easier to send out half the force for her, with a few Indians for scouts to point out where the red devils are, and then, when we have got her safe, to return here and defend the place, or perish under the ruins." "God bless her!" exclaimed nearly half the men, turning their eyes towards the rustling flag, which a slight and rising breeze now displayed in all its graceful beauty of color and proportion. "Sure enough she worked it, and we are ready to die under the same, if she only be here to see us." "God bless her!" repeated the women in the distance. "If our prayers could be of any use, our husbands should run all risk from the Indians, so that we might see her sweet face again. Oh, let them go, captain!" Despite all the determination he had formed, Ronayne could not stand this new feature in the scene unmoved. He drew his handkerchief hastily from the bosom of his uniform, and carried it to his eyes. The recollection of the fourth of July, so recently passed, came with irresistible force upon his memory, and even while his own heart was made more desolate, this universal manifestation of the regard in which his wife was held affected him deeply. "Nay, Mr. Ronayne, rather than exhibit this emotion before the men, had you not better retire?" remarked Captain Headley, in a low tone; "their excitement, too, will the sooner subside when you are gone." "Sir, if you assume a weakness in me," returned the officer, haughtily, as he removed the handkerchief from his eyes, "you are wrong. I came here not to advert to the past, but to do my duty. I confess I am touched by the honest and noble feeling of my comrades, but nothing more. No entreaty of mine will be urged in support of their prayer. I am prepared to sink my individual loss in consideration of the general danger." All the men were taken by surprise. They had wondered from the first at seeing Ronayne come upon parade, with a manner so different from that which he had shown on the preceding evening; but they had taken it for granted that he knew of an intended sortie, and, relying on its successful issue, was only waiting for the order from Captain Headley. A loud shout was now heard from the common, and presently one of the two sentinels that had been stationed at the gate walked quickly up with his firelock at the recover, and reported to Captain Headley that the Indians were mustering strongly about their encampment, and seemingly more painted than usual. "This is as it should be," replied the commanding officer. "The day of council should be a gala day, whatever the occasion, and doubtless they are making preparations accordingly. It is well, however, that I have changed the hour of our consultation from twelve to eight. We have now more leisure for our own preparations." "And these are, Captain Headley, permit me to ask?" remarked Mr. McKenzie, who had stood at some distance from the parade, without interfering with the preceding discussion. "To distribute, sir, as directed, the stores belonging to the United States then dismantle the fort, and depart at once for Fort Wayne. Those noble and faithful Pottowatomies, who are now assembling for the council, will bear us bravely through." One or two shots were now heard from the gate. The men were startled; still more so when they heard a loud mocking laugh succeed to the report. Several of them turned their heads and looked around. They saw that the flag, then wheeling and tossing, as if indignant at the outrage, had been cut by the bullets. The Indians had never before attempted this. "That, sir, is the work of your friendly Pottowatomies," remarked Ronayne, With a sneer; "their friendship is truly very remarkable at this particular moment. They show their regard for us by insulting the American flag in a way in which they never did before." "March off your guard immediately, Mr. Elmsley; let the sentries be posted, and all remain armed until further orders; yet mark, both officers and men, no distrust must be openly shown. Do not let it appear that the inconsiderate act of one or two young men has raised your unfounded and ungenerous suspicions of a whole tribe. It is not that I have any doubt as to their truth, but my policy has ever been to show them we are never unprepared for an emergency. Corporal Collins, you will resume your Stripes." In obedience to his order, the guard was relieved at the gate, and the whole of the men made to linger about the parade, preparatory to the hour of council. CHAPTER XIII. While Lieutenant Elmsley was occupied as acting adjutant--a duty which he was called upon to perform, as well as that of regimental subaltern--Ronayne sauntered mechanically towards the gate. Notwithstanding the seeming indifference he had at first manifested in regard to the absence of his wife, there were few among the men who, whatever their surprise at his language, were not afterwards made sensible that he was profoundly affected; and as he somewhat sternly passed each soldier on his way, they silently and with unusual deference--a deference that indicated their own strong sympathy--touched their caps to him. Arrived at the gate, he looked long and anxiously, almost incessantly, even as one without an object, towards Hardscrabble, the forest road to which was dotted, here and there, with occasional openings, enabling the eye to distinguish the serpentine course of the silver river. All around and before him were the lounging Indians to whom allusion has just been made. There appeared to be unusual excitement in their manner, and groups of the younger warriors particularly were to be seen in animated conversation. He was about to retire from the gate and join Lieutenant Elmsley, who had now nearly finished distributing his guard, but anxious to take one last look of the neighborhood of Hardscrabble, his eyes suddenly fell upon the outline of a horse just emerging from a wooded part of the road upon the plain, and partially concealed by the figure of an Indian that stood at the side of the horse. He looked again--the distance was too great to enable him to judge distinctly, but he felt convinced the rider was a woman. There was A telescope kept in the bastion near the flagstaff, for the use principally of the officer of the guard. He walked rapidly to this, and drew the instrument to its proper focus, but when he looked in the direction in which he had before gazed nothing was to be seen. Vexed and annoyed beyond all measure, he descended again rapidly to the gate, but with no better success. He could not doubt that it was his wife whom he had seen, yet unwilling to breathe the knowledge even to himself, his heart was a prey to the most contradictory feelings. In a few moments, however, the horse he had before remarked again appeared emerging from the same point of road, but this time he no longer carried a woman but a warrior, so that all means of identifying the former were denied to him. But still there was evidence sufficient. The horse was evidently Maria's, though with its tail twisted and plaited as for disguise; and as Ronayne with the glass brought fully to bear upon him, saw the rider throw over his shoulders and fasten round his neck, a blanket, and place on his head a colored calico turban, such as was in common use among the Pottowatomies, he felt satisfied that it was the same youth who, in the disguise of a Miami, had pressed him so closely in the chase of the preceding day. Strange to say, he entertained no feeling of enmity towards the youth, even when he turned away with feelings of mingled bitterness and mortification, and silently ascended the bastion to replace the glass. Never was his mind more unsettled--never had he entertained so perfect a sentiment of indifference for everything around him. It was very well to talk of pride, and scorn, and fortitude, but existence to him had become a dull weight, a rayless future, and nothing would have pleased him better at that moment, than the sudden announcement of a British force being at hand. In the stirring excitement of action only could he hope to find distraction, and the ball aimed at his heart, the sword pointed to his throat, he would have scarcely deemed it worth his while to seek to turn aside. The roar of artillery and of musquetry would, he felt, be music to his ears, provided it shut out from memory the recollection of what had been. But the idea of a long and monotonous march to Fort Wayne, even provided it should be effected without interruption, bringing with it at each moment recollections of the past was a horror not to be endured; and he determined, by every means in his power, to oppose the resolution of the commanding officer to the uttermost. He was already under the ban of one threatened court-martial, and it mattered little to him what steps Captain Headley might adopt in regard to him for the future. He had passed some moments in these reflections--fitful, varied, and broken as those of a disconnected dream--when turning his eyes again towards the gate where the sentinels had been posted, he saw one of them bring his musket to the charge as if to prevent the ingress of some one seeking admittance. Struck by the circumstance, Ronayne hastened below, and as he advanced he saw the same sentinel pick up a piece of paper, the superscription of which he was endeavoring to examine. Before he had time to do this, however, the officer had come up, and the sentinel promptly handed it to him. "Good God! what does this mean?" It was the handwriting of his wife. Ronayne looked forward upon the common, and saw at about a hundred yards before him, and retiring rapidly, the horseman whom he had just before remarked. There was no necessity for asking any questions. The whole thing explained itself. "What can she have to say to me?" he mused to himself, as he broke the bark string with which the note was tied; his competitor of yesterday, too, the bearer! Hastily he unfolded it. It contained these few words, hastily written in pencil on a leaf torn from her memorandum book--"Go not to the council!" He examined the paper closely--he could find no more. The feelings of Ronayne, on reading these few words, traced by his wife's well-remembered hand, may be comprehended. All the stubbornness of his indifference was shaken; and sinking every consideration of self he found a strange, wild pleasure in the knowledge that she was free from personal restraint, and had power to command the services of those whom she willed to do her bidding. What the meaning of the caution was, in regard to the council, he could not divine, neither wherefore it had been couched in such laconic terms; but it was evident that, as the new wife of Wau-nan-gee, she had obtained information of some danger of which they in the garrison knew not, and that the recollection of those she had left behind was not so weakened as to prevent her from imparting to those most interested what she had learned. Feeling the necessity of communicating instantly with Elmsley on the subject, yet scarcely knowing how, without exposing Maria, to account to him for the manner in which he had received the singular warning, he sought his friend, who had now finally disposed of his men at their several posts, and told him that, without feeling himself at liberty to reveal to him the medium through which the suspicion had been awakened in his breast, he had every reason to believe that some treachery was intended at the council called by Headley, and that he had come to consult with him accordingly. With infinite good taste and tact, Elmsley utterly abstained from making the slightest allusion to Mrs. Ronayne, not only because he had perceived that her husband did not seem to encourage any approach to a subject which gave him pain, but because he felt that the consolation of those words, on an occasion of such bereavement, was rather a mockery than a sympathy. Without, therefore, making the slightest allusion to the past, he answered gravely-- "If you have reason to apprehend this, Ronayne, we can take our precautions accordingly. As the whole object and intent of the council is to _seem_ to hold a consultation as to the course we ought to pursue in this emergency, whereas it is simply in fact to enable Headley, who is becoming stubborn and pompous as of old, to tell the chiefs that he intends at once to distribute the public stores among themselves and warriors, and then march with little more than the men can carry on their backs; as this only, I repeat, is his object in holding a council at all, I see no great reason why either you or I, who have already given our opinions on the matter, should attend it. We may do the 'state some service' by remaining within." "Would it not be well," returned the Virginian thoughtfully, "to give Headley some hint of false dealing on the part of the Pottowatomies? not such as to lead him to believe that any direct intelligence has been received of that fact, but simply that some loose hints have been thrown out." "My dear fellow," returned the lieutenant, with a faint smile, "do you think there is anything under the sun--scarcely even the tomahawk in his own brain--that could persuade Headley to mistrust his pet Pottowatomies? No, not even his long experience of the treachery of the race--not all his knowledge of the fickleness of their character--of the facility with which they turn over in a single day from the American to the British flag--would convince him." "And yet," pursued Ronayne, musingly, "they know nothing of the war. What could be their motives, where their immediate interests will be rather retarded than promoted by the maintenance of peaceful relations?" "How do we know what passes without the fort? They may have had their runners and news brought to them of the war before Winnebeg returned." A sudden thought flashed across the brain of Ronayne. Could tidings of the event in any way be connected with the flight of his wife? and had that, at the instigation of Wau-nan-gee, accelerated the moment of her departure? But Elmsley knew not what _he_ knew, and he offered no remark on the subject. "It wants now an hour," resumed Lieutenant Elmsley, looking at his watch, "to the time named for the council which is to be held on the glacis immediately in front of the southern bastion, and, therefore, immediately under the flag. Join me here then, Ronayne, and I shall have made the necessary arrangements. All the responsibility I take upon myself, my friend, not only as your senior, but as one who is perfectly willing to take the lion's share of the anger that has been showered so plentifully upon both this day. Now I must hasten and regulate the '_imperium in imperio_' for I am afraid that if, as you say, we trust alone to Headley's reading of Pottowatomie faith, we shall have rather a Flemish account of satisfaction to render to ourselves. Goodbye. In half an hour--not later." Ronayne, having nothing in the meantime to do, sauntered towards his own apartments. When he entered his chamber, Catharine, the faithful servant of his wife, was leaning along the foot of the bed, her face buried in the covering and sobbing violently. The depth of her sorrow was anguish to him. He shuffled his feet along the floor to make her sensible of his presence. The girl heard him; she looked up--her face and eyes were so swollen with tears that she could scarcely see. She started to her feet, and raising her apron with both hands to her eyes, left the room sobbing even more violently than before. "Poor girl--poor girl!" murmured Ronayne, while a tear forced itself into his own; "indeed I feel for your grief; but it will soon subside; you will soon be well, while I ---" He threw himself, dressed as he was, even without removing his sword, upon, the bed--he took out Maria's hasty note--he read the words "Go not to the council" at least fifty times over. There was not the minutest particle of each letter of each word that he did not typify in his heart. Her delicate and expressive, yet faithless hand had traced the whole. It was enough. It was the last relic of herself. CHAPTER XIV. "I would have some conference with you that concerns you nearly." --_Much Ado About Nothing._ When Ronayne rejoined his friend, all the preparations he intended making had been completed, and Mrs. Elmsley having despatched a servant to say that breakfast was waiting for them, the latter, after having stationed Corporal Collins at the gate to give early notice of the approach of the Indians, linked his arm in that of Ronayne, and conducted him to his rooms. It was, of course, the first time the Virginian had seen Mrs. Elmsley since the preceding evening, when, with Mrs. Headley, she had been a pained witness of the desolating grief she so deeply shared herself. The swollen eyelid and the pale cheek attested that little sleep had visited her eyes during the subsequent part of the night; and when she affectionately took the proffered hand of Ronayne, whose composedness she was greatly surprised and pleased to witness, there was a melancholy expression of sympathy in her glance that tried all the powers of self-possession of the latter. How different was that breakfast table from what it had been on former occasions! How often, both before and after their marriage, had Ronayne and his wife partaken of the hospitable board, with hearts light as gratified love could render them, and exhilarated by the witty tallies of the amiable hostess, who, full of life and gaiety herself, sought ever to render her more sedate friend as exuberant in spirit as herself. How graceful the manner in which she recommended her exquisitely-made coffee, her deliciously-dried bear and venison hams, the luxuriously-flavored and slightly-smoked white fish from the Superior and the Sault; and with what art she allured the appetite from one delicacy to another, until scarcely an article of food at her table was left untasted. And yet all this, not in a spirit of ostentatious display of her own aptitude in these somewhat sensual enjoyments, but from a desire, by the exercise of those little niceties of attention which insensibly win upon the heart, to please, to gratify--to make sensible that she sought to please and to gratify--those whom both herself and her husband so deeply regarded. The breakfast was now a hurried one. It had not been prepared with the usual care. The directing hand of the mistress seemed not to be visible--it was heavy as the hearts of those who now partook of it, and even the never failing claret, of which Elmsley compelled his friend to swallow several goblets, had lost more than half its power to exhilarate; for, oh! there was one of that once happy party gone for ever from their sight, and the solemn and restrained manner of each was sufficient evidence of the deep void her absence had created. It was a relief to all when Corporal Collins hurriedly appeared at the door and announced that the greater portion of the warriors of the Pottowatomies, with Winnebeg at their head, were now advancing towards the glacis, where a large awning, open at the sides, had been erected soon after the morning's parade. "Winnebeg at their head, did you say, Collins?" "Yes, sir, Winnebeg, and with him--for I know them as well--Wau-ban-see, Black Partridge, To-pee nee-be, Kee-po-tah, and that tall, scowling chief that never looks friendly, Pee-to-tum. They are all in their war dresses, and their young men as well." "I am glad, at least, Winnebeg is with them," remarked Elmsley to his friend. "Whatever may be purposed by the others, neither he nor Black Partridge can have any knowledge of it. Has Serjeant Nixon had that three-pounder run up into the upper floor of the block-house, Collins?" "They are at work at it now, sir. I expect it will be all ready by the time your honor gets there, Mr. Elmsley." "You are on guard at the gate?" "I have been where you posted me, sir." "Good! Is Captain Headley gone out yet?" "Not yet, your honor. I saw him, as I came along, go towards Doctor Von Voltenberg's rooms." "We had better wait then, Ronayne, until he goes forth to assemble the council; otherwise he may interfere and play the devil with us all, by countermanding my arrangements." "And do you really mean to say that you would permit him to do so, Elmsley? I am sure I would not; for, if ever disobedience to orders could be justified it is on this occasion." "I do not exactly say that I would, Ronayne; but it is just as well to avoid clashing if possible. I confess I am no particular advocate, where the thing can be avoided, of wilfully and deliberately thwarting the authority of a commanding officer. But once he is out of the fort I shall be in command." Another non-commissioned officer entered. It was Weston, who, that morning, had been promoted to the dignity of lance corporal, and the commanding officer's immediate orderly. "Lieutenant Elmsley, the captain desires me to say that he is waiting for you and Mr. Ronayne to accompany the doctor and himself to the council." "Then," said the subaltern addressed, "you will give my compliments, Weston, to Captain Headley, and say to him that both Mr. Ronayne and myself decline attending that council--that we do not think it prudent to leave the fort without an officer, and that we conceive that having given our opinions on the matter for which the council is called, we can be of much more service here than there. Now mind, Weston, you will deliver this message respectfully, and in a manner befitting a soldier to his superior." "Certainly, sir," replied the corporal, as he touched his, cap and withdrew. "You will have a visit from himself next, Elmsley," remarked his wife. "But why refuse to attend the council? There is no enemy near us, and surely half an hour's absence on the glacis cannot much endanger the safety of the garrison, surrounded as we are by friendly Indians." "Margaret, my love," said her husband, taking her hand affectionately, "we must trust nothing to chance. No one can tell what may not occur in the interim of our absence. Who, for instance, could have foretold yesterday morning that we should be as we are to-day!" "True," said Ronayne, as he paced the room with sudden and bitter excitement; "who could have told yesterday that we should be as we are to-day? There is nothing certain in life--no, nothing--all is vanity." This painful change of feeling and of manner, from the self-control so recently imposed upon himself, had not been without its cause. The tenderness of his friends brought back to his memory the recollection of many an hour of happiness passed in that room--when the same manifestations of affection had been exhibited in presence of the wife. But where was she now--where was his own share in that happiness which, for the first time, he almost half envied in his friend? The door was again opened, and in walked not Captain Headley but Mr. McKenzie; his brow was overcast, and there was evidently deep care on his mind; but after tenderly embracing his daughter, he remarked to the officers, "I am glad you have come to the decision of not leaving the fort. I met Headley going out, and he is very angry. He has made me promise, however, to follow him in a few moments. I should have gone at once, but I could not resist the twofold temptation of pressing this dear girl to my heart, and telling you both how much I approve your prudence. For once you and Headley seem to have exchanged characters." "No doubt," returned Elmsley, smiling, "that if we ever get to Fort Wayne, both Ronayne and myself will be hanged, drawn, and quartered by sentence of a court-martial, as a just punishment for our most glaring disobedience of orders here; but that will not be worse than being scalped here for obeying them; besides, there is this advantage attending the first--we shall have a little longer lease of life. But seriously, sir, there is now no time to lose. The moment you are out of the gates, I shall cause them to be fastened until the council is over. I have had cause for entertaining some little suspicion of your friends the Pottowatomies--nay," seeing that the trader looked surprised, "there is no time to enter into explanation now. Later, I will state to you." "I have no doubt you have been correctly informed," replied Mr. McKenzie, as, after throwing his arm around the waist of his daughter, he replaced his hat and prepared to depart. "Great as is the confidence I have in Winnebeg and the majority of the chiefs, I confess there has been a boldness--an almost insolence--perceptible in the behavior of many of the young men, seemingly urged on by Pee-to-tum, that I neither understand nor approve; but, as you say, there is no time to lose. God bless you, Margaret!" When he had passed the gates, to which he had been accompanied by his son-in-law and Ronayne, Serjeant Nixon, who, as previously instructed, stood near for the purpose, fastened the bars and turned the lock. What men could be spared for the purpose were divided between the two subalterns. The one took his post in the upper floor of the block-house nearest to and overlooking the glacis; the other ascending the south bastion, manned two of the guns--the burning matches of both being concealed. Not less than four hundred warriors could have followed their leaders to this council. The chiefs had already assembled and taken their places under the awning, while a little above them sat Captain Headley, the Doctor, and Mr. McKenzie, when the great mass moved towards the glacis. All were habited in half war dress, if the term may be permitted, and a formidable number separated from the main body and drew near to the gate. This, much to their surprise, was in the very act of being closed as they appeared before it. Much dissatisfaction was expressed in guttural sounds and exclamations, and one young Indian, more daring than the rest, struck his tomahawk deeply into the door. No notice was taken of this at first; but finding that the Indians persevered in their clamor and demand for admittance, Ronayne, who was in the block-house, ordered the three-pounder to be fired over their heads. This at once had the effect of dispersing and driving them towards the glacis, which they now tumultuously crowded, speaking loudly and angrily to the chiefs, who interrupted at the very opening of the council, yet not more surprised than the two officers were on hearing the gun, had started to their feet and turned their eyes towards the fort--the flashing light of the torches being now distinctly visible. There being no repetition, however, of the report, Captain Headley, who had been questioned by the chiefs as to the cause, explained the discharge by attributing it to accident, or an intention on the part of Lieutenant Elmsley to compliment the opening of the council. But though he stated this, he did not himself believe that either was the reason, for he was well aware that no piece of ordnance had been in the block-house early that morning, and consequently, that it must have been placed there from some vague idea of danger connected with his officers' refusal to attend the council. He had observed, with some anxiety, the gathering of the Indians around the gate, and without being able to understand its exact character, entertained a vague impression that some danger was impending, yet by a strange contradiction, not at all uncommon, was more than ever annoyed with Elmsley for manifesting thus openly and markedly the distrust he entertained of their allies. In an increased desire for conciliation he now resumed the council. The chiefs were duly informed, through Winnebeg, that war had been declared between Great Britain and the United States; that the American general commanding on the frontier had sent orders to evacuate the fort immediately, and make the best of their way to Fort Wayne, under the escort of the Pottowatomies then present: but that, before the march commenced, he (Captain Headley) was, in order to show the friendship of the United States, to distribute among the chiefs and warriors in the neighborhood all the property of the government in equal shares--"not only all stores of clothing and implements of the chase shall be divided among you," he concluded, "but the provisions and ammunition, which latter we have in abundance. All we ask in return is safe escort to Fort Wayne." No sooner was this last announcement made when the glacis was filled with triumphant yells from the warriors. The chiefs themselves, with the exception of Pee-to-tum, whose cry had been the signal for their clamor, preserved a dignified silence. The eyes of Mr. McKenzie and Winnebeg sought each other, and there was a pained expression of disappointment in both that revealed at once the cause of their concern. The former bit his lip and muttered, as he turned away from the Indian to Captain Headley, the word "fool." "Sir, did you speak?" asked the latter, half coloring as he fancied he had caught the word. "I have said and think, Captain Headley, that in this last act of folly--the promise of ammunition to the Indians--you have signed our death-warrant. No one acquainted with Indian character can misunderstand the feeling which pervades, not the chiefs but the warriors. If anything were wanting to satisfy me it would be found in the yell of satisfaction with which that promise was received. They are too drunk with hope even to stop to inquire. Tecumseh's emissaries have been among them. British influence has been at work; but we will talk of this later. The chiefs seem surprised at this discourse between ourselves." "Gubbernor," said Winnebeg, solemnly, and in his own broken English phraseology, "as the head chief of the Pottowatomies, I return thanks to our Great Father for the liberal presents he has made to our nation; but I think it will be better not to go away or give up the ammunition, because we have plenty of everything to defend the fort for a long time. Give my warriors blankets and cloths, and the squaws trinkets, and keep the powder safe here. We can kill the cattle and make pimmecan. If a force comes to attack you, we can attack them from the woods and, the sand-hills. This, gubbernor, is what I have to say." "And I," remarked Pee-to-tum, starting to his feet and with fierce gesticulation, "insist, in the name of the warriors, that the wishes of our Great Father of the United States be done. He has said we shall have the powder, and we will have it--and the rum, and Kenzie's strong drinks too. Father, I have spoken." Another loud and triumphant yell from the warriors grouped around too clearly evinced that there was danger to be apprehended from those they had hitherto looked upon as their friends. Captain Headley felt ill at ease, for he was conscious that he had irrevocably committed himself; and, what was more mortifying to his pride, he was compelled inwardly to admit that his subalterns, although at the price of disobedience of orders, had, in this instance, evinced far more judgement and prudence than himself. Still, the pride of superiority--mayhap of vanity--was in some measure deprived of its humiliation, as he consoled himself with the reflection that their precaution must have been the result of an intimation of some change of feeling on the part of the warrior, whereas he himself had been left, wholly in ignorance on the subject, and led to repose confidently on their good faith. Still he shuddered as he thought of those within, at what might have been the turbulence of the young men, evidently encouraged by the dark Pee-to-tum, had they gained admission into the fort. Feeling that things had arrived at a crisis and that it would not be prudent to provoke those in whose power they now unquestionably were, he remarked calmly to Winnebeg that the word of the Father of the United States was pledged, could not be withdrawn without dishonor, and that, therefore, his resolution was unchanged in regard to the distribution of the powder with the other presents, which should take place on that very spot on the morrow. Winnebeg looked angrily round as the yell of Pee-to-tum marked the triumph and satisfaction of the latter at this renewal of the promise of Captain Headley. It was uttered, not in gladness for the gifts, but as thought it would express the knowledge that the donation was compelled--not to be avoided. Mr. McKenzie had difficulty in restraining the nervousness of his annoyance. "Then, sir," he said, addressing the commanding officer, "since we are to assist in cutting our own throats, it seems to me that the most prudent course to pursue will be to leave everything standing as it is, and allow the Indians to help themselves, while we march as rapidly as possible to our destination." "What! and without escort? That, indeed, would be madness," exclaimed Captain Headley. "It is from the escort we have most reason to apprehend danger," returned the trader. "What say you, Winnebeg?" "Winnebeg say, suppose him Gubbernor not stay fight him English--go directly. Leave him Ingin here divide him presents." Black Partridge and all the other chiefs, except Pee-to-tum, gave the same opinion. Whether nettled at the support given to the proposition of Mr. McKenzie by Winnebeg, or more immediately influenced by his strict sense of obedience to the order he had received from General Hull, or by both motives, Captain Headley firmly repeated his determination to distribute everything, as he promised, on the following day. The hour of twelve was named, and the council broke up, the younger Indians leaping and shouting with joy as they separated in small parties, some yet lingering about the fort and glacis, but the main body moving off again to their encampment. CHAPTER XV. The remainder of the day passed heavily and gloomily. All felt there was a crisis at hand, and the insolent tone which the younger Indians had assumed, left little hope with any that the escort of their allies on the long and dreary route on which they were about to enter would bring with it anything but despair and disaster. Captain Headley had exerted his prerogative. He had, as commanding officer, decided upon his course in opposition to the judgment even of his Indian counsellors; but he was not happy--he was not satisfied himself. On re-entering the fort, after the council had been broken up, he had felt it necessary to the maintenance of his own dignity to summon the subalterns before him, and read, or rather commence to read to them, a lecture on their disobedience of his command to them to follow him to the council; but, with strong evidence of contempt in their manner, they had turned on their heels and walked away without replying, leaving him deeply mortified at a want of respect for him, which was rendered the more bitter to his pride by a certain latent consciousness that it had not been wholly unmerited. On entering his apartment, he found his noble wife preparing at her leisure the private arrangements for departure, and calm and collected as if no circumstances of more than ordinary interest were agitating the general mind. He caught her in his arms; he sat upon the sofa, and drew her passionately to his heart. Never in the course of twenty years' marriage had he more fondly loved her. There was a luxury of endearment in that embrace that renewed all the earlier and more vivid recollection of their union, and for many minutes they remained thus, each wishing it could last for ever. When this full outpouring of their souls had subsided, their hearts beat lighter, felt freer, and there was less scruple in entering on the subject of the immediate future that awaited them. While they thus sat conversing in a strain of confidence and tenderness, which the immediate trials to which they were about to be exposed rendered, more exquisitely keen, Mr. McKenzie and Winnebeg entered unannounced. At the sight of Captain Headley, hand in hand with his wife, who sat upon his knee, the former would have retired, but Mrs. Headley, without at all displacing herself or affecting a confusion she did not feel, begged him to remain, adding that, as she supposed Winnebeg and himself had important business with Captain Headley, she would retire into the adjoining room. She rose slowly and majestically, bowed gracefully to the trader, and took the hand of the chief, who as heartily returned the warm pressure she gave it. "God bless him squaw!" he said, feelingly; "Winnebeg always love him. Lay down life for him." "Thank you, good Winnebeg," returned Mrs. Headley, warmly, while a faint smile played upon her features; "I am sure you would do that, but let us hope it will never come to the trial." "Hope so," returned the chief, as he shook his head gravely, and followed with a mournful glance the receding form of the noble-minded woman. "Captain Headley," remarked Mr. McKenzie with severity, when the door was closed on her, "I am come to use strong language to you, but the occasion justifies it. If you do not rescind your promise of powder to the Indians, the blood of your wife, of my daughter--of every woman and child--of every individual in the garrison, be upon your head! Sir, you will be a murderer, and without the poor excuse of even being compelled to pursue the course you have. Was it not enough to promise them the public stores, without exciting their cupidity still further? Did you not hear the insolent Pee-to-tum declare that not only he would have all the ardent spirit as well, and not merely that, but what was contained in my cellar? When men--and Indians, in particular--use such language, do you think it prudent to put the means of our certain destruction in their hands? Do you think it likely that, when once they have drained to repletion of the maddening liquor, they will hesitate as to the manner of disposing of the powder so recklessly, nay, so guiltily, given to them? No, sir; let those articles be theirs, and we are lost, irrevocably lost! Speak, Winnebeg--you hear--you understand all I say--am I right?" "Yes, Kenzie right," returned the chief; "sorry give him powder--young warrior not obey Winnebeg--Pee-to-tum bad man--make him wicked:--no give him powder, Gubbernor!" All the extent of the indiscretion of which he had been guilty now, for the first time, occurred to Captain Headley, and he could not but agree with the trader, that the results he foretold were those the most likely to follow the distribution. "But how am I to act?" he returned (his pride causing him to reply rather to Winnebeg than to Mr. McKenzie); "how can I retract the promise I have so solemnly made without incurring the very danger you seem to apprehend? It will never do. Pee-to-tum will then sow disunion between us and our allies, and then where will be our expected escort?" "Captain Headley, are you wilfully blind that you do not perceive you have lost all power, all influence to command where most you seem so much to rely? Why, sir, it is clear that they are only waiting for the delivery of the presents to throw off the mask. Better would it have been had you allowed them to gut the fort and choose for themselves. In their eagerness for plunder, they would have lingered at least a couple of days behind, thus enabling you to effect your march without them. Better that, I say, than the suicidal course you have adopted; but far better still it were had you boldly resolved to defend the post to the last. Your daring and your determination would have awed the Indians. Your present evident weakness and vacillation but inspire contempt." "Mr. McKenzie," said the captain, rising with strong indignation in his manner, "this language I may not, will not hear with impunity." "Nay," continued the trader, "you shall hear, for I have a right to speak. By your conduct, all are imperilled. For the men it were not so bad; but the women! Indeed, no language can be too strong to express the dangers you have drawn around us all. Have you no thought of your own noble wife?" The door opened, and Mrs. Headley stood once more before them, calm and composed, but with a countenance slightly flushed. "Headley--Mr. McKenzie, excuse my intrusion, but I could not avoid overhearing this unpleasant argument, which can tend to no benefit in our strong emergency. Think me not bold if I intrude in this matter, and, as a woman who has passed not a few summers of existence in these wilds, offer my opinion. With you, Mr. McKenzie, I perfectly agree that it would be highly imprudent, in the present changed state of feeling of the Pottowatomies generally, to supply them with ammunition which may be used against ourselves, and, with Captain Headley on the other hand, deem that it would be impolitic to exasperate the young men by denying that which they now so confidently expect." "And how, dear Ellen, would you solve the difficulty?" asked her husband, smiling. Mr. McKenzie spoke not; but his eyes were bent upon her with mingled surprise, respect, and admiration. "You may keep the word of promise to the ear, but break it to the hope," she replied. "Did you not say you had appointed to-morrow for the delivery of the presents?" "I did. To-morrow at twelve. Everything will then be handed over." "Then," resumed Mrs. Headley, "what more simple than to produce, among the other parcels, a single cask of powder and another of rum; and if asked why there is not more, to offer in excuse that you had not known your supply was so low. No doubt, Pee-to-tum and those who, with himself, are discontented, will express disappointment, even indignation; but that is a very secondary consideration, when we consider the importance of withholding the gift. One cask of powder and one of rum divided among four hundred warriors will not amount to much after all." "All very well, Ellen; but what is to prevent them, if they fancy themselves duped, from forcing the store and discovering the deceit that has been practised? Then, indeed, will they have some just ground for their fury." "I have provided against that," she replied. "I mean that Winnebeg shall call a council of his young men this night at twelve, so as to keep them away from the fort that they may not know what is going on; then, when all is still, the whole of the men can be employed in removing the casks of powder and liquor, rolling them some into the sallyport, and emptying their contents into the well, which you know is built there as a reservoir in the event of a siege; the remainder, conveyed through the northern gate, the heads knocked in, and the contents thrown into the river. If they should search, they will find nothing." "Good!" said Winnebeg, who perfectly understood the proposition, and had listened to every word. "Indeed, indeed, Mrs. Headley," remarked the trader, "who will not admit that there is more resource on an emergency in a woman's mind than in all our boasted wisdom put together? A better plan could not have been devised. You will adopt it, Captain Headley?" "Most certainly," he said, fervently grasping the hand of his wife. "When did my Ellen ever fail to better my judgment by her sound advice?" "And yet, but for our little misunderstanding, Captain Headley--a misunderstanding not personal, but simply of opinion--we should never have had the advantage of her most wise umpiry. This is certainly an illustration that good sometimes comes of evil." "And now, gentlemen," said Mrs. Headley, playfully, "that I have conferred upon you the benefit of that wisdom you seem so properly to appreciate, I will again leave you to yourselves." "God bless him!" said Winnebeg, as he took the hand that was again proffered to him in the most friendly manner. "My ammunition and liquors must be destroyed in the same manner," said the trader, who now rose to take his leave. "Only three or four of my voyageurs are at home just now. You will allow some of your own men to assist them, Captain Headley." "The moment the public stores are destroyed, they shall all do so," replied the captain; "the work cannot be too speedily done. Think you, Winnebeg, you can keep your young men in the encampment to-night?" "Try him Gubbernor--call him council--speak him of march to Fort Wayne; spose young Ingin come, good--spose him no come, sleep till to-morrow." "Very well, Winnebeg, you must arrange it as best you can, but contrive at least to keep them from prowling around the fort. At midnight, then, Mr. McKenzie, we shall commence the work of destruction. When you have made your own preparations, and wish to come in for aid, follow the subterranean passage that leads from the river near your warehouse to the sallyport; you will find the men there busily engaged, and ready for you the moment they have emptied the contents of our casks." The commandant waved his hand in a familiar manner as he concluded, and the trader and the chief withdrew. CHAPTER XVI. "But I am constant as the northern star." --_Julius Caesar._ The remainder of that day, the 12th of August, passed over without incident, but not without anxiety; for the Indians, no longer indulging in the indolence of the wigwam or the activity of the chase, occupied themselves with running, leaping, wrestling, jumping, throwing the rude stone quoit, and firing at a target with the bow. It might have seemed as though they sought to intimidate, as much by exuberance of spirits as by a display of numbers, the little garrison, who, it was clear, from the closing of the gate and the firing of the gun, no longer regarded them with the confidence they had ever hitherto manifested. These sports were evidently the prelude to some ulterior purpose, either immediate or not distantly remote, and the energy with which they were followed, attested the excitement with which the accomplishment was looked for. It seemed as though none would permit a moment of repose to the blood until the fond object for which it had been excited should have been attained. All this was remarked from the fort; but, notwithstanding a vigilant lookout was kept up, Captain Headley had given orders that if small parties of the Indians should seek admission, it was not to be refused to them. This made the duty exceedingly severe, for the men, being compelled to work in harness under a scorching sun, suffered greatly, and none were sorry when, at the close of the day, not only their own task had partially terminated, but the jaded Indians, drunk with too much joy and excitement, were seen wending lazily for the night to their several places of repose. At about midnight Captain Headley and his officers stood, not together, but on different parts of the rampart, watching the encampment of the Pottowatomies. Most of their fires had been extinguished, but towards the centre where stood the tent of Winnebeg, there was a bright flickering glare, around which forms of men could be seen moving to the measured sound of the faintly audible and monotonous drum. "Now, then, gentlemen, is the moment for exertion. Winnebeg has evidently found it easier, in their present humor, to get his warriors into a war-dance than a sober council; but no matter in what manner, provided their detention be secured. You will now move your men to the stores, and, in order not only to prevent accident, but noise, see that all are provided with their moccasins. Mr. Elmsley, you will take command of the party conveying the ammunition through the sallyport, and empty it into the well; and you, Mr. Ronayne, will proceed through the northern gate, roll the casks which I have directed each to be covered with a blanket to the edge of the river, cause their heads to be forced in noiselessly with chisels, then empty the contents--powder as well as rum--into the stream. No light must be used to betray your movements to the Indians, or to incur the risk of explosion. One lantern only hangs up in the store out of the reach of all harm, and it is transparent enough to enable you to see what you are about, to distinguish the several casks, those containing the powder and rum, from those in which are packed the bags of shot, flints, gun-screws, &c. All these latter you will throw into the well, with the spare muskets, the stocks of which must be noiselessly broken up. This operation will take up some hours, gentlemen. The nights are not long, and it will require all the time until dawn to complete the work. Now, then, that you have your instructions, proceed to work with your respective parties. For myself, I shall superintend the whole." Without replying, the two officers departed to execute the but too agreeable duty assigned to them, while Von Voltenberg, who had paid his professional visits for the night, was instructed to keep a vigilant lookout on the common until dawn, in order to detect any movement on the part of the Indians, singly or in parties, to approach the fort. Corporal Green, whose sight was remarkable for its keenness, was instructed to keep pacing the circuit of the rampart during the night, and to report to the doctor, for whom, in consideration of his being a non-combatant, a chair had been placed in a sentry box overlooking the encampment, anything remarkable that he might observe. Nothing particular at first occurred during the execution of this important duty. The casks were silently rolled, knocked in, and emptied in the well and river. This took up many hours; but towards dawn, as Ensign Ronayne was following at some little distance in the rear of his men, he thought he observed a dark moving form as of a man crawling upon his belly, and endeavoring to approach as near as possible to the spot where the men were at work. Impressed at once with the assurance that it was some one sent by Pee-to-tum to watch the actions of the garrison, he advanced boldly up to him, being then distant at least fifty feet from his party, and near the awning which had been left standing for the accommodation of the Indians who were to receive their presents the next day. The prowler, finding it impossible to elude the officer in the position in which he was then gliding, suddenly started to his feet, and sought to escape detection in flight; but Ronayne, who was a very quick runner, and moreover wore moccasins as well as his men, soon came up with him, when the Indian rapidly turned, and, upraising his arm, prepared to strike a desperate blow at the chest of the unarmed youth. But even while the knife was balancing, as if to select some vulnerable part, another figure started suddenly from behind a part of the awning, close to which they all were, and grasping the arm of the assailant, dexterously wrested the weapon from his hand, and flung it far away from him upon the glacis. All this was the work of a moment. The spy turned fiercely upon the intruder, and, saying something fiercely and authoritatively to him in Indian, strode leisurely away. Ronayne could not be mistaken. The first was Pee-to-tum, and even if he could not have traced the graceful outline of the well--knit figure, the soft and musical voice which replied to the scorning threat of the fierce chief sufficiently denoted it to be Wau-nan-gee. "Heavens! how is this? Wau-nan-gee!" he asked, sternly, yet trembling with excitement in every limb, "why came you here? Why have you saved my life? Speak! are you not my enemy? Where is my wife?" All these questions were asked with the greatest volubility, and in a state of mind so confused by the host of feelings the presence of the young Indian inspired, that he scarcely comprehended the latter as he replied:-- "All! love him too much, Ronayne wife--love him Ronayne too--Wau-nan-gee friend, dear friend--Wau-nan-gee die for him--Ronayne wife in Ingin camp--pale--pale, very much!" "Answer me," said Ronayne, grasping him by the shoulder in pure excitement, "tell me truly, Wau-nan-gee--I will not hurt you if you do--but tell me, on the truth of an Indian warrior, is not my wife your wife? did she not go to you? does she not love you?" "Ugh?" exclaimed the boy, with an expression of deep melancholy in his manner; "Wau-nan-gee love him too much, but not make him wife. Spose him not Ronayne wife, then Wau-nan-gee; die happy spose him Wau-nan-gee wife. Feel him dere, my friend--feel him heart--oh much sick for Maria--but Wau-nan-gee Ronayne friend no hurt him wife." "Can all this be possible?" he exclaimed, vehemently to himself. "Oh, what a noble, what a generous being; he restores life and happiness to my heart! But still I am not yet convinced, the joy is too great for such light testimony. One question more, Wau-nan-gee: why did my wife leave this? Did you persuade her to go?" "Yes, Ronayne, Wau-nan-gee tell him go. Shuh!" he continued, as if enjoining silence, and looking cautiously round, "no speak, Ronayne--Ingin very wicked--kill him garrison by by--Ronayne and Maria--Wau-nan-gee friend, dear friend--Wau-nan-gee save him--Ingin kill him--Maria cry very much, promise no." Then drawing a handkerchief from his pocket, which the officer recognised, even in the gloom, as that which he had thrown down at Hardscrabble, and which was subsequently waved from the window of the farm-house, he handed it to him. "Now, then," he exclaimed, "is all my doubt removed, and again am I the happiest of men in the assurance of the continued love of the adored one. Oh, Wau-nan-gee, my friend, my brother!" He threw himself into his embrace; he pressed him forcibly to his heart. "Oh, how true, how just was the feeling which caused me not to hate, even when I fancied you had most injured me! Wau-nan-gee, you must always be my friend; you must be Maria's friend; you must love us both!" "Yes," said the Indian, warmly and with difficulty maintaining the stoicism of his race; "Wau-nan-gee happy to lay down his life for Ronayne and Maria; oh! Ronayne," and he took the hand of the Virginian and placed it on his chest which he bared, "can't tell how much Wau-nan-gee love him Maria--want to make him happy. Suppose Ronayne come now with Wau-nan-gee--take him to squaw camp. Stay there till battle over. Yes, come, come!" "Noble and generous boy! how do you win my very soul to you!" returned the officer, as he again affectionately embraced him. "No, no, I cannot do that, great and severe as is this sacrifice of inclination. But what battle do you speak of?" "Letter tell him all," said the youth. "Not say Wau-nan-gee say so." "Wau-nan-gee," said Ronayne, impressively, "no doubt there is danger. We all know it. Was it not you who brought me a line from Maria this morning?" "Yes, my friend. Pee-to-tum say attack him council. Wau-nan-gee tell him Maria write--afraid to say much." "No doubt, then, we shall be attacked before many days are over; but thank God, she at least is safe. Wau-nan-gee, you must take care of her in the camp of your women. When all is safe, you will come to me with her." "Mr. Ronayne," called a voice near the river, "where are you?" It was Captain Headley. "Good by, Wau-nan-gee," said the officer, "I must go. Give my love to Maria, and tell her I am sick to see her," and he put his hand over his heart, "and that I will join her when all danger is over; to-morrow night I shall have a letter for her. You can contrive to steal into the fort at night, and into my room unnoticed, Wau-nan-gee?" "Spose him come," again urged the Indian, "Wau-nan-gee find him little tent for Ronayne and his wife for two three days? Wau-nan-gee wait upon him, bring him food. Maria say come--must come." "No, Wau-nan-gee, my dear friend, you know I cannot as a warrior think of myself alone; I must do my duty; but I am called. Good by, my noble boy. To-morrow night at twelve. God bless you! I leave my wife wholly to your care." "Wau-nan-gee die for him," said the youth energetically, as, after again pressing the extended hand of the Virginian, he traced his way cautiously to the encampment. "Mr. Ronayne," repeated Captain Headley, "where are you?" "Here, sir; I have for a few moments been absent from my post, but I thought I remarked an Indian skulking near to watch our movements, and I followed him. I was not wrong; it was Pee-to-tum. When discovered, he rose to his feet and would have stabbed me, but Wau-nan-gee was near and warded off the blow." "Wau-nan-gee! said you, Mr. Ronayne? Did he ward off the blow aimed at your life?" "He did, sir; why should he not? We have always been friends." Had it not been dark, Captain Headley would have looked as he felt, exceedingly puzzled for a reply. "To tell the truth, Mr. Ronayne, I had not suspected this. I should rather have imagined that he was the chief instigator of the young men to discontent; but I am glad to find it otherwise." For a moment it flashed across the mind of the Virginian that Mrs. Headley had, from policy or in confidence, communicated all she knew in regard to Maria's evasion to her husband. The idea of any man possessing the slightest knowledge of wrong in his wife would have maddened him; but now that he in some measure knew the facts, and looked upon her in all the purity of her spotless nature, he was not sorry to have an opportunity to remove the impression; he, therefore, answered calmly, yet without adverting to the actual position of his wife. "So far from that being the case, Captain Headley, Wau-nan-gee is the last person to engage in an outrage of the kind. Doubtless these letters, of which the youth has been the bearer, will explain much that is now a mystery." The laborious duty of the night being now ended, the gates were once more fastened; and as the officers passed the lamp which hung over the entrance of the commandant's quarters, Ronayne glanced at the superscriptions of the two missives. The one was written in ink, and directed to Mrs. Headley; the other in pencil, and addressed to himself. Ronayne was too impatient to know the contents of the letters to waste further time in conversation. At the invitation of Captain Headley, he entered and unfolded the note, while the commandant sought the apartment of his wife. Mrs. Headley had thrown herself towards morning on her bed, but not to sleep; her mind was too full of apprehensions for the fast coming future, and for the melancholy, sad past; and, even at the moment when her husband entered, her thoughts were of the unfortunate Mrs. Ronayne. "From Maria! is it possible?" she exclaimed, as she broke the seal. "Whence comes this? who brought it?" "What think you of Wau-nan-gee!" he answered, significantly--"Wau-nan-gee, who saved within the hour her husband's life!" "Then, by my soul, is she innocent!" exclaimed the generous woman, rising up. "Almighty God, I thank thee. Oh, how rashly have we judged; but let me read. The document is dated from this, the night before her departure; it is the same, no doubt, she should have inclosed before--not a word in addition. I will read it later. Where is Ronayne?" "In the next room. He, too, has received a communication, which he is now reading. You had better go in to him, while I give some directions to Elmsley, which require to be attended to immediately. I shall rejoin you presently." CHAPTER XVII. When Mrs. Headley entered, unannounced, into the apartment where the Virginian was sitting, he brushed his hand across his eyes, but now they wept not only the emotion of grief that he betrayed, but of joy, of pride, of the fulness of life. He rose, pressed her hand warmly, and, giving her Maria's note to read, took the letter which she proffered in return. "Ah! Ronayne," began the first, "what language can express my feelings--my fears--my agony. For the last week I have not seemed to live a human existence. My mind has been all chaos and confusion. I have been feverish, excited, scarcely conscious of my own acts, and filled with a strong dread of an evil which I know will come, must come, although only protracted. And yet, with all the horror of my position, how much more bitter might have been my self-reproach, my remorse, in having neglected, in my distraction, to inclose the packet for Mrs. Headley, which the noble-hearted, the devoted Wau-nan-gee now conveys. I thought I had given it to Sergeant Nixon, but Wau-nan-gee found it in the pocket of my saddle only yesterday. Oh, but for the arrival of Winnebeg with the intelligence he brings, it would now be too late, and what, then, would have been my sensations? His appearance has altered the plans of the unfriendly portion of the Indians, who, presuming that the troops will soon leave the fort, have determined to wait for the division of the stores, and attack you on the march. But still they could not restrain their impatience, and the day of the council was fixed. All this I learned from Wau-nan-gee, who makes me acquainted with everything that is going on, and is both hated and suspected by Pee-to-tum, who would willingly find him guilty of treachery, and destroy him if he could. I begged him, in my deep sorrow, to be the bearer to you, even amid all danger of detection, of a few words of warning which I knew you would sufficiently understand. He did go, while dashing up seemingly in defiance to the gate; and with a joy you may well understand, I marked the result. So far, then, has the step which my great love for you induced me to take, regardless of minor considerations, been of vital service to you all; for good and generous as Wau-nan-gee is, nothing short of his deep and respectful attachment would have led him to reveal the secrets of his people, and thus defeat their cruel purpose. But, oh! when I think that the danger is only deferred, not removed, how poor is the consolation! Dear Ronayne, my heart is sad, sad, sad! Last night I dreamed you were near, and this morning I awoke to horror, to know that, perhaps, your hours are numbered, while for me there is no hope of death, which then would be a blessing, except from my own hand! Oh, suffer me not to pray in vain if you would have me live! Once you evaded (oh, how cruelly!) the stratagem which would have saved your life and honor--which would have made you an unwilling prisoner with those who, for my own safety, hold me captive. "Alas! had I not hoped that you would have been compelled to share my weary bondage until the dread crisis had passed, I had never been here; and now that the great object of my heart has failed, I would return, and share the danger that surrounds you. One more embrace would give me greater strength to die. One more renewal of each well-remembered face would make me firmer in resolve to meet the coming danger, that danger shared by all. But Wau-nan-gee, in all things else docile as a slave, in this denies me. In his mother's tent I dwell, disguised from the wretch Pee-to-tum in Indian garb, and, although she does not seem to do so, she watches my motions closely. Oh! then, since I may not go to you, come for a brief period to your adoring wife! Come with the occasion back with Wau-nan-gee. He will conduct you to the tent where now I am, some little distance from the general encampment, and never visited but by Winnebeg and his son. You will say I am but an indifferent soldier's wife to give such counsel to a husband. I confess it; my love for you is greater than my regard for your glory. But what glory do you seek? March with the troops and ingloriously you perish; for what can avail defence against the strong force I know to be fully bent upon your destruction. Join me here and you are saved--saved for a long and future course of glory for your country--and, oh! far dearer to me, for a long and future course of wedded happiness. Yet, oh, God! how can my pencil trace this icy language, while my heart is desolate--longing--pining for your presence. Oh, beloved Ronayne! by all the vows of love you ever poured into my willing ear--by all the fires of passion you ever kindled in my heart, I conjure you to come, for I can endure this suspense, this cruel uncertainty no longer. To-night I shall count the long, long hours; and, oh! if Wau-nan-gee return without you, without one ray of hope to animate this breaking heart, I will not leave him until I have won his promise to conduct me at midnight to the secret entrance through which he has so often gained admission into the fort; or failing in my plea to him, I will make the attempt to fly myself. But, dear Ronayne, if you come not, the measure of my grief will be full indeed to overflowing. I can no longer endure this." Such was the last note of the unhappy and distracted Maria Ronayne. The document addressed to Mrs. Headley was more voluminous, and written of course under the impression that when read by the latter, her own husband would be secure from the danger it detailed. It was in substance as follows: Wau-nan-gee, who had been absent for nearly a month in the immediate theatre of war near Detroit, and heard rumors of an intended attack upon Chicago, had hastened back with great expedition to announce to his friends the approaching danger; but much to his surprise, he found on his arrival that the news of that event had been known in the camp several days previously through the agency of certain emissaries who used every exertion to win the Pottowatomies over to Tecumseh and the British cause. A council had been secretly held before the return of Winnebeg with the despatch from General Hull, and terms had been offered and proposals made on that occasion which were variously received, according to the humor, interests, and rapacity of the parties. By the majority of the chiefs, to their honor be it said, the proposal of treachery to the Americans was sternly rejected, but there was one of their number--Pee-to-tum--not a full-blooded Pottowatomie, but a sort of mongrel Chippewa, adopted in the tribe for his untamably fiendish disposition, connected with certain other mere animal qualities, who was loud in his invectives against the Americans for their asserted aggressions on the Indian territory, and he, by pointing out the advantages that would accrue to themselves by an alliance with England, won upon almost all the young warriors to decide in abandoning the American cause immediately. Thus, although there was no decided treaty made, there was a tacit understanding that all possible advantage was to be taken of circumstances, and whenever a favorable opportunity presented itself, the mask was to be thrown off. In vain Black Partridge, Kee-po-tah, Waubansee, and other Pottowatomie chiefs declared they washed their hands of all wrong that might be perpetrated. The young men, or the great majority of them, wanted excitement, blood, plunder; and they sustained Pee-to-tum in all that he advanced. Hoping, however, that the tumult would subside with the absence of those who first incited it, the chiefs did not like to alarm the commandant by a knowledge of what was going on among themselves, but were contented with recommending, as has already been seen, that he should remain in defence of his own post rather than confide himself to the safe keeping of those on whom he depended for an escort. The night of the arrival of Wau-nan-gee he gleaned all this information; and filled with anxiety for the danger that threatened the wife of Ronayne, whom really he loved with a deep passion--yet one utterly unfed by hope or expectation of any kind whatever--he determined that night to enter the fort while her husband was on guard, and acquainting her with her danger, entreat her to allow him to conceal her until all was over. He succeeded, though not without some risk of being discovered in consequence of the exclamation of surprise and almost terror, which Mrs. Ronayne uttered on his appearance so suddenly and unexpectedly before her; but the humble manner of the boy--the deprecating yet earnest look he threw on her, and the lowly posture in which he crouched, soon satisfied her that there was some important reason for his appearance at that hour of the night, which it was essential she should learn. She, therefore, took his hand to reassure him, and with an attempt at lightness, bade him tell her what brought him there after so long an absence at that late hour of the night, and when he must have known that Ronayne was on guard and herself alone? The boy shook his head with a solemn, sad expression, "Come alone, come!" he replied; "no speak him Ronayne. Pottowatomie kill him Wau-nan-gee--oh, Wau-nan-gee very sick!" Those few brief sentences, delivered in that melancholy and significant manner, rendered Mrs. Ronayne extremely nervous. She made him sit on the sofa. She took his hand--she asked him what he meant. With tears swimming in his large, soft, languishing black eyes, he told her everything relating to the subject--of his own return for the express purpose of looking to her safety--of the secret council of the Indians--of the fierce determination of Pee-to-tum and the misguided young men whose cupidity and passions he had so strongly awakened. He said he came to save her, to take her out of the fort until all the trouble was over, to conceal herself in a spot, to watch her, and to protect her as a brother. "And Ronayne--your friend, my husband--what will you do with him?" exclaimed Mrs. Ronayne, greatly excited and terrified by what she had heard. "Oh, Wau-nan-gee, can you not save us all? Will it not be enough to tell Capt Headley what you know, and thus put him on his guard!" "Suppose him tell Captain Headley, Ingin knew it--Ingin know Wau-nan-gee tell him. Kill him Wau-nan-gee like a dog. Save him Maria!" "And will you not save Ronayne? If you care for me, Wau-nan-gee, you will save my husband." "Spose him love him very much husband?" he said, fixing a penetrating yet softened look on her. "Yes, Wau-nan-gee, very much," returned Mrs. Ronayne with emphasis. "If you save one you must save the other." Without pursuing the conversation further, it may suffice to remark that Wau-nan-gee left not Mrs. Ronayne until he had exacted her promise to meet him on the following afternoon in the summer-house, when he said he would be enabled to show her a place where, with her husband, she might be concealed as soon as it was known on what day the Indians should have decided on their attack. This he pledged himself to have arranged in the course of the morning, so that by the afternoon she should be enabled to judge of the convenience it afforded. The trunks seen by Ronayne at Hardscrabble, were hastily packed by Mrs. Ronayne with articles of clothing for both, and conveyed by Wau-nan-gee that night through his secret entrance to the summer-house, and subsequently removed. Not liking to call attention to the circumstance of her crossing the water unaccompanied, and moreover, really desiring the presence of one of her own sex to sustain her in the course that had been forced upon her, she had requested Mrs. Headley to bear her company. On her entering the summer-house, the trap-door, which appeared to have been made that very morning, was open; but instead of Wau-nan-gee, she beheld standing near its entrance another dark Indian whom she had too much reason to fear and dread. It has already been remarked that Pee-to-tum was not a genuine Pottowatomie, but one of that race whose very name is a synonym with treachery and falsehood--a Chippewa. With low, heavy features; a dark, scowling brow; coarse, long, dark hair, shading the restless, ever-moving eye that, like that of the serpent, seemed to fascinate where most the cold and slimy animal sought to sting; the broad, coarse nose; the skin partaking more in the Chippewa, of that offensive, rank odor peculiar to the Indian, than any others of the race; with all these loathsome attributes of person, yet with a soul swelling with the most unbounded vanity and self-sufficiency, based on ignorance and assumption; this man, although having a wife and children grown up, had dared to cast the eye of desire on Mrs. Ronayne. Long had he watched her, not as the gentle, the pure, the self-sacrificing Wau-nan-gee, but as a tiger gloating for his prey. To possess her had been one of his leading motives in urging the alliance with the tribes in the British interests--to hasten the moment she might become a prisoner in his hands, his chief aim in stirring up the young warriors into a determination of early attack. Only two days prior to the return of Wau-nan-gee he had been in the fort, and passing near Mrs. Ronayne as she was amusing herself at battledore with her friend, Mrs. Elmsley, remarked to a companion as he bent his eyes insolently upon her: "The white chiefs' wives are amusing themselves. They are wise. In a few days we shall have them in our wigwams." No notice was taken of the remark at the time. Mrs. Ronayne had more than once noticed the eyes of the loathsome Chippewa fixed upon her with an expression she shuddered at but could not define, and she had attributes his words on that occasion to impotent anger and disappointment, at the dislike she had conceived for him. This was the loathsome being she now met, and knowing, as she did from Wau-nan-gee, all that he meditated in regard to himself and friend, the horror she experienced may be conceived. Rapidly, and in time to suppress in a great measure the scream she attempted to give, the savage placed one hand upon her mouth, and clasping her tightly round the waist, bore her to the opening through which he made her rudely descend, still keeping his hand upon her mouth. When the feet of Mrs. Ronayne touched the bottom of that seemingly living tomb, she was so paralysed by fear that she had not strength to support herself, and but for the arm of the dark chief still clasped around her waist, she must have fallen. The very sight of her weakness inflamed the Chippewa the more. He removed her hat and threw it on the ground. The vast volume of her brown hair he unfastened from the comb. It fell, enveloping her figure to her knees. The eyes of the brutal Chippewa flashed fire in the half darkness that prevailed around. The hand hitherto held upon her mouth, now fell upon and fiercely pressed her bosom, and his hideous lips sought hers. With a violent effort she tore them from the pollution of his touch, and uttering a fault cry of despair, sank fainting from his now loosening grasp. What followed she could not tell; but when some minutes afterwards she came to her senses, weak and exhausted from excitement, Wau-nan-gee was sitting at her side chafing her palms with his own, and with the large tears coursing down his cheeks. At the first sight of the boy Mrs. Ronayne started, for she fancied that she must have been laboring under the influence of a dream, and that not Pee-to-tum, but himself, had used the violence she experienced; but when she recalled all that had passed, perceived her own disorder of dress, and remarked the unfeigned affliction of the youth, she knew that it could not be so. Still deeply agitated, she asked him anxiously where the Chippewa was, and wherefore, he and not Wau-nan-gee had been in the summer-house as promised, when she came in. With every appearance of profound sorrow and sincerity, the youth replied that he knew not how Pee-to-tum had got there--that he himself, after leaving the trap-door open ready for the descent of Mrs. Ronayne, had gone to the further extremity of the vault for the purpose of removing a large stone which blocked up a hole admitting the fresh air from above near the cottage, and that he was returning by this passage, which was narrow but nearly six feet in height, when he heard the cry for aid, and knowing it to be hers he had flown to her assistance, but that the sound of his approaching footsteps must have alarmed the Chippewa and caused him to fly--stopping motionless, perhaps, till he, Wau-nan-gee, had passed him, and then escaping by the same outlet. He it must have been whom Mrs. Headley had remarked stealing across the garden just before she entered it with Maria. Once reassured of the fidelity and truth of the boy, Mrs. Ronayne, although painfully, distractingly ignorant of the extent to which the insolence of Pee-to-tum had been carried, was too much absorbed in the consideration of her husband's safety to lose sight of the subject more immediately at her heart, in mere personal regrets that now were of little avail. She said to Wau-nan-gee that the place in which she then was would certainly have been well suited to the purpose intended but for two reasons; firstly, that now having been discovered by Pee-to-tum, it would no longer be secure; and secondly, that her husband would never consent to abandon his comrades to secure his own safety. She proposed, instead, that a plan should be arranged to make them both prisoners while out on the following day, and in such manner that it should be supposed in the garrison that the capture had been effected by hostile Indians; and to this the youth joyfully assented, stating that a number of his friends less hostile in their intentions might be procured to aid him in the matter. It was arranged that this should be done on the following day, and this at so great a distance from the encampment that Pee-to-tum should know nothing of the occurrence till both husband and wife were beyond his reach. "It is a strange and a wild project," she remarked, "but the crisis is desperate, and anything to save my husband's life. But now I must go, dear Wau-nan-gee; Mrs. Headley is in the garden waiting for me." "No, no go," he said; "spose him Mrs. Headley go home. Wau-nan-gee take Maria home by by. Got canoe here. No let him go home. Pee-to-tum wicked--Pee-to-tum got Ingin plenty yonder," and he pointed in the direction of the cottage; "Pee-to-tum carry off Maria--go see where he is. Shut him door till Wau-nan-gee come back. Mrs. Headley come, no see him here; no tink him here." He accordingly ascended, fastened down the trap-door and departed, as we have said, little anticipating to have been seen by Mrs. Headley. He had not been five minutes gone when she heard a dull, heavy sound which satisfied her that the stone was being rolled from the orifice spoken of by Wau-nan-gee. Feeling assured that Pee-to-tum had seen him depart, and knowing her to be there and helpless, was returning to renew his odious and brutal passion, she sought to rise in order to force up and escape by the trap-door. This she did, regardless of her disordered appearance, and without even thinking of hat or comb; but she had no sooner moved a step forward when she again fell down, as much paralysed by fear as exhausted by weakness. In her helplessness she could only sob and moan and vainly deplore the absence of her late rescuer, while all her thoughts and feelings were of her husband. The footsteps advanced; she grew at each moment more nervous, more terrified. She had scarcely the power to move herself on the spot where she half sat, half reclined. Presently the trap-door was heard to move, soon it opened, and there to her astonishment, yet not less to her exceeding embarrassment, inasmuch as she could not, without compromising the saviour of her honor--the purposed saviour of her life, explain in what manner she had been placed in the strange position in which she had been found, she beheld Mrs. Headley. What followed is known to the reader. It was not, however, Pee-to-tum whom Mrs. Ronayne had heard rolling away the stone, but Wau-nan-gee returning to set her free for the present, as he had seen the soldiers at the gate and knew that she was safe. CHAPTER XVIII. "This is my glove--by this hand I will take thee a box on the ear." --_Henry V._ The following morning was as bright and glorious as an August sun could render it, but its very brilliancy seemed a mockery to the gloom and despair that filled the hearts of the little garrison. Still, notwithstanding the treachery few were ignorant the Indians intended, there was a bearing among all, from the commanding officer down, that, while attesting determination and confidence in themselves, left no ground for a suspicion that the designs of their treacherous allies had been revealed. The guard was mounted, as usual, and the customary formalities of the military service complied with, and arrangements were made, soon after the men had eaten their breakfasts, for the conveyance of the stores to the glacis. At twelve o'clock all was ready, and the mass of Indian warriors, painted and armed, moved in loose and disorganized bodies across the plain, and grouped around their chiefs, who, seated on the ground, received for the young men the presents which had been set apart in divisions for every ten. The cloths, blankets, trinkets, and provisions, were first handed over, but when on coming to the ammunition and liquor only one cask of each was, found, the indignation of the whole band, the chiefs excepted, was, as had been expected, excessive. "My Father promised us plenty of powder and plenty of liquor," exclaimed Pee-to-tum, stamping with his feet and gesticulating violently; "Where is it?" "This is all that is left of the stores," exclaimed Capt. Headley. "When we reach Fort Wayne you shall have more." "My Father lies," returned the Chippewa. "Pee-to-tum did not sleep like a lazy hound in his tent last night; he crawled near the fort; he heard the powder barrels knocked in with axes; he heard the rum poured into the river like water. Even to-day," and he pointed with his clenched tomahawk, "the river is red with liquor till it is 'strong grog.' What should prevent us from avenging ourselves for this cheat, by mixing the blood of our father with the same water till it looks like strong rum also?" A terrific yell burst from the surrounding warriors, who all brandished their tomahawks in a menacing manner. "What should prevent you?" said Capt. Headley, suddenly carried out of his usual prudence by the insolence of the ruffian--"what should and will prevent you!" and he pointed to the bastion, which had been manned as on the former occasion, while the burning matches seemed only to await his signal. "Each of those guns contains a bag of fifty bullets, and each bullet can kill its enemy. Now then, have but the courage to lay a hand upon me and you will see the result. See, I am alone--only Mr. McKenzie to witness the act." There was a pause of a few moments, during which low murmurs broke from the younger Indians, and the dark and subtle eye of Pee-to-tum quailed before the bold look of the commanding officer, who continued: "As for you, vile Chippewa, you are the sole cause of all these troubles, all this excitement in the young men of the Pottowatomie Nation. You are of that dark and malignant race, as far below the Pottowatomie in everything that is noble and generous and good as the Evil Spirit is below the Good Spirit. There is nothing but falsehood and treachery in their selfish and avaricious nature. They are deceitful, and so given to love rum that when an Indian is seen wallowing like a hog in the gutter, and with the foam disgorging from his blue and lizard-like lips, stabbing right and left indiscriminately, as if hatred and the sight of blood were essential to his very existence, you may at once know him to be a Chippewa. How then can such a man, and of such a race, disgrace and dishonor the councils of the war path of the nobler Pottowatomies? How, I ask, can Black Partridge, Winnebeg, Waubansee, To-kee-nee-bee, and Kee-po-tah consent to allow such a mongrel chief to exercise an influence among their warriors hostile to the Americans, who have ever treated them with kindness, even when they themselves do not seem to second him in his views?" The scorn Captain Headley threw into his voice and manner as he uttered these words, which they perfectly understood, was such that Pee-to-tum, whose fingers played tremulously with the handle of his tomahawk, could not, without difficulty, refrain from using it; but when he glanced upwards and saw Lieutenant Elmsley attentively watching all that passed with his glass, his rage was stifled, but inwardly he vowed to be revenged. The young men evinced great excitement also; and from that moment, on this occasion particularly, it was evident to Captain Headley that they were entirely under the influence of the Chippewa. "Father," said Black Partridge, rising and solemnly replying to the appeal just made by Captain Headley, "this medal I have worn for many years upon my breast. It was given me by the Great Father of the Americans as a token of a friendship I never have broken; but since everything tells me that my young men, who I grieve to say will no longer obey the voice of their grey-headed chiefs, have determined to wash their hands in American blood, it would not be right in me to keep this token of peace any longer. Father," he concluded, removing the ribbon by which it was suspended over his chest, "I deliver the medal back to you, and may you live to see and tell our Great Father that Black Partridge was ever faithful to the United States, and washes his hands of all that may now happen." The same disclaimer was made by "Winnebeg and the other friendly chiefs; lastly, Pee-to-tum rose: "Dog!" he said, insolently, as he tore his medal from his chest and held it up for a moment, dangling in his hands, "tell him you serve, if you live to see him, that Pee-to-tum, the dark Chippewa, is for ever his enemy--that wherever he can do so he will spill the blood of the Yankee, till it runs like the rum your warriors spilt last night; tell him that Pee-to-tum spits upon his face thus!" Then, throwing it contemptuously on the ground and stamping upon it with his moccasined feet, he burst forth into a laugh intended to be as insulting as the act itself. This profanation was too much for Captain Headley. He rose from his chair, and exclaiming in his fury, "take that, damned Chippewa, in return!" first spat in his face and then hurled at him his heavy military glove, which happening to strike the pupil of his eye while in full glare of indignation at the first insult, it was deprived of sight for ever. Great was the tumult that now ensued. Incapable of acting himself from the intensity of agony he suffered, Pee-to-tum could only utter fierce howlings and threats of vengeance, but several of the warriors advanced furiously upon the commanding officer with the most startling yells and threatening manner. The latter, hopeless of escape, but determined to sell his life dearly, drew his sword while he presented a pistol with his other hand. "McKenzie," he said quickly, "get out of the way! remember me to Ellen!" and then elevating his voice to such a pitch as he knew would be heard in the fort, he distinctly uttered the command "fire!" But the order had been anticipated. Even as the word fell from his lips the curling smoke from a gun was seen, and loud cheers succeeding to the report burst from every man upon the ramparts, while a second and smaller American flag was waved triumphantly by the hand of Ronayne above the piece which had just been discharged. Astonished at this unexpected scene, the Indians, who had been greatly startled not only at the command which had been so coolly given by the commanding officer, but by the discharge they had incorrectly deemed aimed at themselves, suddenly ceased their clamor, and following the course to which the attention of those within the garrison appeared to be directed, beheld, to their surprise, five-and-twenty tall and well--mounted horsemen dressed in the costume of warriors, and headed by a man of great size, pushing rapidly along the road leading from Hardscrabble for the fort. The nearer they approached the louder became the shouts of the soldiers, until finally the latter all left the ramparts, evidently to open the gates and welcome the new-comers, who soon disappeared through the opening. The arrival of these strangers, small as their number was, had evidently an effect upon the Pottowatomies, who for a moment looked grave, and attempted no longer to molest Captain Headley. Mr. McKenzie, who was still present and knew how to take advantage of the occasion, profited by the surprise, and suggested to the commanding officer, that as the conference was now over and the presents all delivered, they should return to the fort to know who the new-comers were. The friendly chiefs were, moreover, invited to accompany them; and thus they returned leisurely, without further interruption, into the stockade. Pee-to-tum, suffering severely, had been led to his tent; and the threat bulk of the warriors, freed from the excitement of his presence, busied themselves with collecting together their individual shares of the presents they had received. During the whole of the afternoon they were to be seen wending their way leisurely, and in small and detached groups--sometimes in single file--from the glacis to their own encampment. "Headley, my dear fellow," exclaimed the leader of the party--a tall, powerful, sunburnt man, dressed like his companions, who now stood dismounted, holding the bridle of his jaded horse and conversing with the Doctor, for the other officers were still at their posts. "Is what I hear then true--and have I only arrived in time to be too late? Is all your ammunition then destroyed--all, all, all--none left?" These questions were anxiously put as the stranger held the hand of the commanding officer grasped in his own. "It is even so," returned Captain Headley, impressed with deep regret for the act, for in a moment he saw that this addition to his little force would have enabled him to maintain his post until the arrival of the British at least--"all that remains are twenty rounds of cartridges for the pouches of the men, and a single keg for use if necessary on the march--not six rounds of ammunition remain for the guns." "By G--, how unfortunate!" returned the stranger, striking his brow with his palm; "had I been but eighteen hours sooner you were all saved, for here are five-and-twenty as gallant and willing hearts as ever wielded tomahawk or rifle. Hearing of your extremity I had hastily collected them to afford you succor. Oh, I could eat my heart up with disappointment!" he continued, "to think that all my exertions, my speed, have been in vain. Headley, what could have induced you to destroy the ammunition--your only hope of salvation?" "What has been done," replied the commanding officer, with unfeigned sorrow at his heart as he reflected on the subject, "cannot be undone; but, ray dear Wells, it was impossible that we could divine the generous interest which was sending you to our rescue; and had not the powder and other ammunition been destroyed it must have fallen into the hands of those who I grieve to say are but too ready to use it against us. Moreover, purposing as I did, and do, to march to-morrow morning, at all risks and under whatever circumstance, I had given up this day all provisions not necessary for our subsistence on the march. If then even the ammunition had remained, we must have suffered from want of food." "What, with those five-and-twenty horses, Headley?" returned the other, pointing to the group that stood in the centre of the barrack square. "Not so. They would have been sufficient when killed and dried to have yielded us food for a month. No man knows better how to make pimmecan than myself. Still," he continued, with greater vivacity, "there is a hope. I have shown the manner in which the provisions can be replaced, and I know you have a well within the sally-port into which can be received the waters of Lake Michigan--let search be made and instantly, and no doubt out of all that you have thrown away, sufficient serviceable powder may be found to enable us to defend the fort for ten days longer, when something will assuredly turn up to better our condition." "Would that it could be so," returned Captain Headley, with a solemnity rendered more profound from the very smallness of the contingency on which the safety of so much depended, "but there is no hope. Anticipating that the Indians would attempt the very course you now suggest--that of saving what powder might be uninjured by the slimy bed into which it was thrown, all has been so mixed up with rum and other liquids as to be rendered utterly useless. Everything seems to be against us." "Then, since all hope is over," returned the stranger with marked disappointment, "we will not indulge in vain regrets for the past, but make the best preparation for to-morrow. It is only to die in harness after all. But, alas! I pity the poor women. How is my dear Ellen--how does she support this severe affliction?" "Bravely--nobly, like herself," returned the commanding officer with emotion. "She will be delighted, yet grieved to behold you--delighted at the generous devotion that has brought you so far, and at the head of so small a force to our assistance; grieved because she will know that you have only come in time to share our fate. But dispose of your party and come in. Serjeant Nixon," he called to that official, whom he saw passing from the rampart to the guard-house. The non-commissioned officer was soon at his side, and the captain having given him directions to quarter the Indians for the night in the officers' mess-room, liberally supplying them and their horses with whatever they might require, and the stranger having himself addressed some remarks to his people in the Miami tongue, they both repaired with heavy hearts to the quarters of the former. The meeting between Captain Wells and Mrs. Headley--the uncle and niece, both of whom entertained a strong natural affection, founded as much on similarity of character as on mere blood connexion--was a very affecting one. They had long been separated, and year after year a visit of a few weeks had been promised by the former to Chicago; but the multiplicity of his public duties, for he was an active agent in the Indian Department, had always prevented him from carrying his intention into execution. But now when he heard of the danger to which the garrison was exposed, and his beloved niece in particular, he lost not a moment in appointing a deputy to perform his duties during his absence, and collecting five-and-twenty warriors whom he knew to be not only devoted to him but the most resolute of the Miami race, he hurried off with the object of forming a sort of body-guard to the ladies of the detachment which he had been informed had received the instructions of General Hull to proceed forthwith to Fort Wayne. Had he had reason to doubt the faith of the Pottowatomies intended to form the escort of the detachment generally, he might and would have brought with him a much larger force; but it was not until after he had traversed almost the whole of the one hundred and eighty miles which he and his party had ridden without rest, that he obtained information of the Indian disaffection. Alarmed lest he should be too late, he and his party urged their harassed steeds to greater speed, and having made a signal to the garrison, which was seen by Ronayne through the telescope he kept constantly to his eye, the gun was fired, the flag waved, and the shouts pealed forth that, in all probability, in drowning his words of command saved the life of his friend and relative. "Well, Ellen, my love," proposed Capt. Headley, after a good deal of conversation on the subject of their position had taken place, "as this is to be the last of the many days which, until within a week, we have passed so happily in Chicago, what say you to our all dining here together? With many of us it will, doubtless, be for the last time. We have still a few bottles of claret left in which to drink your uncle's health, mixed up only with a regret that his visit to us had not occurred at a happier period." "Most willingly, Headley, I approve your suggestion, and shall cause the dinner to be prepared. All I ask is the assistance of Mrs. Elmsley and Ronayne's servants. With their aid my own servants can even contrive to manage something for a dinner." "_Dum vivimus, vivamus!_" exclaimed the herculean and resolute captain. "I can see no reason why, because we are to be shot down and perhaps eaten to-morrow, we should not enjoy the pleasure of a little social eating and drinking ourselves to-day! I am not one to lament fruitlessly over that which cannot be avoided. Sufficient for the day, as scripture has it, is the evil thereof. I certainly go in for the dinner and a glass of claret. It will help to wash down half the dust I have swallowed within the last forty-eight hours." "Well, gentlemen," said Mrs. Headley, with a playfulness extraordinary for the occasion, but which was induced solely by a design to set the minds of her friends at ease, by impressing them with a belief that her unconcern was greater, than it really was, "while I prepare the feast, go you out into what highways and byways are left to us and invite our friends. Uncle, you have not seen Mrs. Elmsley since she was a young, clashing, and unmarried belle. She will be delighted to meet with you. Tell her I will take no denial--both herself and husband must attend. We shall dine at five, becoming fashionable as we stand on the brink of the grave; and by the way, Headley, all these troubles have made me quite forget it, but this is the anniversary not only of my birth but wedding day." "God bless you!" said her husband, tenderly embracing her, "and grant of his great mercy that you may see many returns of the day under far brighter and more auspicious circumstances!" CHAPTER XIX. It was a curious sight--one that could only have been witnessed in a military community, used to scenes of excitement and ever prepared for danger--to see under the roof of the commanding officer of Fort Dearborn, not only men but delicate and educated and highly accomplished women, partaking, with seeming unconcern, of a meal which each felt might be the last but one they were fated to taste on earth, and as it were with the sword of Damocles suspended over their heads. There was an evident desire to banish from the mind any thought of the morrow--to sustain each other, yet with the conviction strong at their hearts that none of them would ever live to see Fort Wayne. They, nevertheless, talked seriously and deprecatingly of the change they would find between the two quarters--the one just overtopping the wild flats of Ohio, like a solitary oasis in the desert; the other, that which they were about to leave--rich in rides and drives, offering every facility and amusement to the lover of the gun and of the rod--to those whose taste led them to prefer rowing over the comparatively tiny waters of the Chicago, or sailing along the broad expanse of the noble Michigan. But they could not wholly succeed in cheating themselves into temporary forgetfulness of the much that was to intervene before that change could be effected. Now and then there would be a painful pause in the conversation; and then as each glanced into the eyes of each, and could distinctly read the dominant thought that was passing in his mind, another attempt would follow to give a tone of indifference to the subject. Not so with the humbler portion of the garrison. On the contrary, there was no attempt to conceal from each other, or from themselves, the magnitude and extent of the danger that awaited them; but in proportion as they even magnified the peril, so was their determination increased to defend themselves and families if attacked, to the last. The single men talked in groups, and hesitated not to condemn in strong language, the course pursued by their commanding officer, for it was obvious to all that had he at the first decided on defending the fort, the Indians never would have acted in the insolent and hostile manner they had manifested; and even if they had, the provisions and ammunition preserved, they might, with this newly arrived strength, have made a defence of months against their treachery. The principal spokesmen were Serjeant Nixon, Corporals Green and Weston, and Phillips, Case, Watson, and Degarmo, who having been the last whose fortune it had been to smell powder against the Indians, were considered as being more immediately competent to speak on the occasion. Such of the married men as were off guard passed what hours they could in consoling and sustaining the courage of their poor wives, who wept bitter tears and uttered ceaseless lamentations, not so much on account of the trials that awaited themselves as their helpless children, in a distressing march through the wilderness, which they regarded with nearly as great horror as the tomahawk of the Indian itself. To return, however, to the quarters of the commandant. It must not be assumed that because the excellent claret of that officer, to which had been added a few bottles saved from Mr. McKenzie's private stock, was enjoyed with a gusto not habitual to men in the same position with our little band of martyrs, there was the disposition to drown care through that very tempting medium, or to indulge in the slightest degree in excess; or if there was an exception it was to be found in Von Voltenberg, who managed now and then dexterously to top off an extra glass, until by repeated little manoeuvres of this kind he had in the end been one bottle ahead of his companions. Soon after dinner Ronayne, whose spirits had been cheered on the one hand and depressed on the other by the letter of his wife, had, at the suggestion of Mrs. Headley, read for the satisfaction and information of all the document addressed to himself; and when this was concluded, exciting in the minds of all, and particularly those yet unacquainted with the contents, renewed interest in her fate, the ladies withdrew to complete such of their arrangements for the march as were still necessary. On their departure followed by the customary and, in this instance, heart-impelled honors, and the health of the newly-arrived guest being drunk, as "The Hero of the Valley of the Miami," Mr. McKenzie took the occasion to remark: "I have heard much of the prowess evinced by Captain Wells, both against General St. Clair's army and while acting with that of General Wayne, and should like much to know from his own lips whether report speaks correctly of him or not. Come, captain, the opportunity may not soon occur again--will you indulge us?" "Willingly," returned the captain, raising his tall and herculean frame in his chair and draining off his claret; "As you say, the opportunity may not again soon occur; there is something here," and he pointed with his finger to his breast, "that tells me that of the many fights in which I have been engaged, that of to-morrow will be the last." All looked grave, but no one answered. Each seemed to think that such would be his own individual case. "Pass the wine, Headley," resumed his relative. "Gentlemen, you must not expect me to enter into a history of all my old fights, both against and in defence of my own country. That would occupy me until to-morrow morning; and you know we have other work cut out for us. I will simply give you an outline--a very skeleton of the causes which found me first fighting against St. Clair, and subsequently in the ranks of Wayne." Without encroaching on the patience of the readers of this tale by using his precise words, it can only be necessary here to give an epitome of the military career of Captain William Wells, which was indeed one of no ordinary kind. He was a native of Kentucky, and in early boyhood--being scarcely ten years of age--had been taken prisoner, during a foray into that then wild state by the Miami Indians. Being a boy of remarkable symmetry, resolution, and intelligence, he was greatly noticed by one of the principal chiefs of the tribe, who adopted him as a son, and trained him to battle, into which he invariably went whenever most was to be done. This mode of life young Wells loved so greatly, and the kindness shown him was such that he never entertained the slightest regret at the loss of old associations, or a desire to return to them. At the time of the great battle between the Indians and General St. Clair, he had gained the reputation of being one of the most formidable warriors, both from his skill and great personal strength in the ranks of the Miamis; and entertaining no scruple of conscience, simply because he had not taken the trouble to reflect on the subject, entered with all the ardor of his nature into that contest, and it was said that a greater number of the American soldiers fell by his hand than any other individual warrior engaged, and now he rose higher than ever in the estimation of his tribe. But the very circumstance of his prowess and success had the effect of dissociating him for ever from those in whose cause he had triumphed. After that sanguinary battle, so fatal to the American arms, he for the first time began to reflect on the great wrong he had done to his own race, and resolved to atone for the past by killing, in fair fight, one Indian at least for every American that had fallen beneath his tomahawk and rifle. Acting promptly on this suddenly-formed resolution he at once abandoned his adopted father, and his Indian wife and children, and hastened to Gen. Wayne, to whom he offered his services. By that officer he was gladly employed, principally as a scout, almost up to the close of the war; and during its continuance many were the daring feats he performed. One example must suffice. A short time previous to the great battle of 1794, Wells, on whom General Wayne had conferred the rank of captain, took with him a subaltern and eleven men, for the purpose of watching the movements of his old companions in arms. His men were all well trained to the peculiar duty they were called upon to perform, and, after having marched three days with a caution and knowledge of the forest scarcely surpassed by the Indians themselves, found that they were on the fresh trail of the enemy, although how many in number they could not tell. They followed leisurely until night, when having seen but one large encampment, Capt. Wells came to the determination, if the disparity of numbers should not be too great, of attacking them. Every disposition was made. The party crept cautiously near them and then lay down in ambush, while their leader, as had been arranged, entered their camp fearlessly and as a friend, and sat himself down on the right of the circle, rapidly counting their numbers as he did so. There were found to be twenty-two warriors with one squaw. On being interrogated he stated that he had just come from the British Fort Miami, and was on his way to stir up the Indians to fight General Wayne. As he declared himself very hungry the squaw hospitably put some hominy on the fire to warm for his supper, of which he had intended to partake abundantly had not a misapprehension on the part of his men hastened the moment of action, and embittered all the satisfaction he would otherwise have derived from his success. A motion of his hand was to have been a signal to fire, each selecting his man; and the party, conceiving that he had given this, acted prematurely, not only depriving him of his supper, which was not yet ready, and of which he stood in great need, but killing the unfortunate squaw who was standing up stirring it at the time, and whom he had intended to save. The next moment the formidable and dreaded tomahawk of the captain went to work among the survivors, and out of the twenty-two warriors but three escaped; he himself receiving a wound from a ramrod shot through his wrist, and his lieutenant being hit by a bullet in the thigh. The greatest havoc committed on this occasion was by Wells himself, and it was his boast that in Wayne's war he had slain a far greater number of Indians than he had killed Americans throughout the contest with St. Clair; and cool indeed must have been the determination of the man who could composedly sit down alone and in the face of twenty-two warriors, some of whom it might have been expected would have recognised him, or to whom accident might have betrayed the proximity of his party, and resolve to dispatch an ample supper before proceeding to the work of blood. But these were the usages of the war in which he had been educated, and a nobler and more generous heart than that of Captain Wells never beat beneath the war-paint of an Indian. Such was the man, the outline of whose story we have necessarily condensed, who now, at the head of those Indians whom he once fought for, and subsequently against, came to proffer his aid to the unfortunate garrison of Fort Dearborn. What such an arm and such daring might have accomplished, had circumstances combined to second his efforts, can easily be surmised; but, unfortunately, all was now of no avail, for the very sinews of success had been wrung from him, and he felt that the utmost desperation of courage must be insufficient to stem the tide of numbers that would lie in wait for their prey on the morrow. But although h was not mad enough to expect that if attacked anything but defeat and slaughter could ensue, nothing would have pleased him more than an encounter on the open prairie with the false Pottowatomies, notwithstanding their great odds, had not the lives of women and helpless children been at stake. These were the considerations that weighed with him the most; for independently of his strong affection for his noble niece, and his interest in her companions, he had never forgotten the occasion when the poor Indian squaw was shot down across the fire over which she was performing an act of kindness to himself; and often and often, during his after life of repose from the toils of war, had her blood risen to his imagination as if in reproach for the act. If this could be called a weakness, it was the only weak point that could be found in his character. As there was little reason to apprehend that the Indians would occasion any annoyance during the night to those whom they were so certain to take at an advantage in the morning, when far removed from their defences, Captain Headley had caused the garrison to be divided into two watches--the one being stationed on the ramparts until midnight, when they were ordered to be relieved by the second party, who in the meantime slept--thus affording to all a few hours of that repose of which for the last week they had scarcely tasted. Midnight had arrived. The watches had been changed, and Corporal Collins being of the new relief, had, after disposing his men in the most advantageous manner to detect an approach, taken his own station near the flag-staff, a point where the greater vigilance was necessary, by reason of the storehouses and other outbuildings of Mr. McKenzie; under cover it was not difficult for a cautious enemy to approach the place unperceived. He had not been at this point half an hour when he fancied he could discover in the darkness the outline of a man moving cautiously across the ground which had been used for the council, and seemingly endeavoring to gain the rear of the factory. He challenged loudly and abruptly, but there was no answer. Expecting to see the same figure emerging from the opposite cover of the building, he fixed his keen eye on that spot, when, as he had conjectured, it fell upon the same, outline, but now performing a wider circuit. The challenge was repeated, but the figure instead of answering remained perfectly stationary. A third time the corporal challenged, and no answer being returned he very indiscreetly fired, when the figure fell to the earth apparently shot dead. The report at that hour of the night naturally caused a good deal of commotion, and brought every one to the spot--not only the officers from their rooms but the watch that had thrown themselves, accoutred as they were, upon their beds. Ronayne, who had retired early for the purpose, was at the time in the act of completing a long letter which he had written in reply to his wife, in which, after pouring forth his soul in the most impassioned expressions of devotion, he urged her in the strongest manner, and by every hope of future happiness on earth, not to adopt the rash step she had threatened, and paralyse his courage, and lessen his fortitude to bear, by her presence in the midst of danger, but to remain secure where she was, with Wau-nan-gee's mother, until the crisis had passed. "I shall fight valiantly and successfully," he concluded, "if you are not near to distract me by a knowledge of your proximity to danger. If, on the contrary, you, in your great and dear love, persist in your design, I feel that I shall perish like a coward. I inclose you a part of myself, in the meantime--a lock of my hair." On hearing the report of the musket a fearful misgiving had oppressed him, for he knew that this was about the hour when Wau-nan-gee had promised to come for his letter, and he hurried to ascertain what had occasioned the discharge. The result of his inquiry was not satisfactory. Had the whole Indian force been discovered stealing upon and surrounding them for a night attack, they would not have carried half the dismay to his soul that he experienced when Corporal Collins told him that he had fired at a solitary individual who was creeping up to the fort and would not answer, although challenged three times. "Corporal," he said, in a low tone, "I have ever been a staunch friend to you, and by that unlucky shot you have destroyed me. The person you fired at was Wau-nan-gee, I feel assured. He was coming for a letter from me to Mrs. Ronayne who is a prisoner, not with other Indians as we had supposed, but in the Pottowatomie camp. The only way you can repair this wrong is by going out secretly through the sally-port and examining the body to see if it really is he." "Look, look, look!" said the corporal, who had kept his eye fixed on the dark shadow hitherto motionless on the ground; "he is not dead--see, he rises, and walks rapidly but stealthily in the direction he was taking when I fired." "And that is to the rear of the stockade, where he has discovered some secret entrance, perhaps in consequence of the picketing having rotted away below. Not a word of this, Collins. If it is he, as I feel assured it is, he will go out again soon, and you must see that he is not interfered with. He must bear my letter to my wife." "You may depend upon it, Mr. Ronayne, he shall not be touched. I will again keep that post myself." The Virginian was right. He had not two minutes regained his room, when a slight tap at the window announced his young and faithful visitor. He flew to the door, opened it, and taking the boy by the hand, let him in. He was paler than usual, and the expression of his countenance denoted emotion and anxiety. As Ronayne cast his eye downwards he remarked that his left hand was bound round with, a handkerchief of a light color, through which the blood was forcing its way. "My God! Wau-nan-gee, is it possible?" he exclaimed, as he grasped him fervently by the opposite palm; "were you hurt by that shot fired just now?" The Indian nodded his head affirmatively, as with an air of chagrin and disappointment, he said, "No good fire, Ronayne--Wau-nan-gee no mind him blood--Ingin Pee-to-tum hear gun fire--see Wau-nan-gee hand--know Wau-nan-gee visit fort." Ronayne, seeing that the youth was mortified at the manner of his reception after the service he had rendered, explained to him fully the facts of the case. He, however, told him that he had spoken to the man who had fired at him under the idea of his being a spy, and that he might rely that nothing of the sort would happen on his return. Anxious to see the extent of the injury he had received, he untied the handkerchief, washed the wound, and found that the bullet had cut away the fleshy part of the palm just under the thumb, but without touching the bone. A little lint and diachylon plaster soon afforded a temporary remedy for this, and the whole having been covered with a light linen bandage, he gave the youth a half worn pair of loose gauntlets to wear if he felt desirous to conceal the wound from the observation of his fellow warriors. This done, and his letter to his wife folded and given to the safe guardianship of the boy, with whom he made his final arrangements for a reunion as circumstances might render prudent and expedient, he finally drew him to his heart, and expressed in tones that could not fail to carry conviction of their truth as well as deep gratification to the generous heart of Wau-nan-gee the extent of his gratitude and friendship. When the young Indian had departed, not before renewing his strong persuasion to induce the officer to accompany him to his wife, Ronayne, determining that no mistake should occur in the compliance of both his directions to Corporal Collins, once more ascended to the bastion from which, he had soon the satisfaction to see Wau-nan-gee glide away in the direction of his encampment, until his figure was soon lost in the distance. CHAPTER XX. "Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed which his aspiring rider seemed to know." --_Richard II._ As if in mockery of the climax of trial they were to be made to undergo before its close, the 15th of August, 1812, dawned upon the inmates of Fort Dearborn with a brilliancy even surpassing that of the preceding day. Well do we, who chronicle these events, recollect it; for while the little garrison, in recording whose fate we take not less an interest than our readers can in the perusal, were preparing to march out of the fort--to abandon scenes and associations to which long habit had endeared them, and with the almost certainty of meeting death at every step, we stood at the battery which vomited destruction into the stronghold of him who had counselled and commanded the advance upon Fort Wayne. It has been a vulgar belief, fostered by his enemies, by those who were desirous of relieving themselves from the odium of participation, and of rising to power and consideration by the condemnation of their chief, that the position of General Hull was one fraught with advantage to himself and of disadvantage to his enemies. Nothing can be more incorrect. The batteries, to which we have alluded, had so completely attained the range of the Fort of Detroit, in the small area of which were cooped up a force of nearly twenty-five hundred men, that every shot that was fired told with terrible effect, and not less than three officers of the small regular force were killed or mutilated by one ball passing through the very heart of their private apartments, into which it had, as if searchingly and insidiously, found its way. To the left, moreover, was another floating battery of large ships of war, preparing to vomit forth their thunder, and distract the garrison and divide their fire, which could be returned only from their immediate front bearing on the river, that it soon became evident to the besiegers that their enemy had no power to arrest or effectually check the fury of their attack. But not this alone. Thousands of Indians had occupied the ground in the rear, and only waited the advance of the British columns, furnished also with artillery for an assault in another quarter, to rush with the immolating tomahawk upon the defenceless inhabitants of the town, and complete a slaughter to which there would have been no parallel in warfare. They could not have been restrained; their savage appetite for blood must have been appeased, and of this fact General Hull had been apprised. Moreover, five hundred of his force who had been detached under Colonel Cass, were at no great distance, and had an effectual resistance been made at Detroit--had blood been, as they would have conceived, wantonly spilt, the exasperation of the Indians would have been such that, in all probability, Colonel Cass would not at the present day be a candidate for presidential honors, nor would any of his force have shared a better fate. All these things we state impartially and without fear of contradiction, because they occurred under our own eyes, and because we believe that the people of the United States do not understand the true difficulties by which General Hull was beset. It may be very well, and is correct enough in the abstract, to say that an officer commanding a post, armed and garrisoned as Detroit was, ought to have annihilated their assailants, but where, in the return of prisoners, is mention made of artillerymen sufficient to serve even half the guns by which the fortress was defended? The Fourth Regiment of the line was there, but not the gallant Fourth Artillery, and every soldier knows that that arm is often more injurious to friends than to foes in the hands of men not duly trained to it. With the exception only of the regiment first named, the army of General Hull consisted wholly of raw levies chiefly from Ohio, expert enough at the rifle, but utterly incompetent to serve artillery with effect. Again, the greater the number of men the greater the disadvantage, unless at the moment of assault, for it has already been shown that the British battering guns had obtained the correct range, and half the force had only canvas to cover them. We pretend not, assume not, to be the panegyrist of General Hull, but we have ever been of opinion that, as he expressed himself in his official despatch to the commandant at Chicago, his principal anxiety was in regard to the defenceless inhabitants; and that had his been an isolated command, where men and soldiers only were the actors, no consideration would have induced him to lose sight of the order of the Secretary of War--that no post should be surrendered without a battle. If he erred it was from motives of humanity alone. But we return from our short digression to the little party in Fort Dearborn. As we have before remarked, the sun rose on their immediate preparation for departure with a seemingly mocking brilliancy. None had been in bed from early dawn; and as both officers and men glanced, for the last time, from the ramparts upon the common, they saw assembled around nearly the whole of the Indians, with arms in their hands, and though not absolutely dressed in war dress, without any of those indications of warriors prepared for a long march, such as that meditated by the troops, while their tents still remained standing. "The prospect is gloomy enough," remarked Captain Wells, gravely; "those follows have evidently been up all night and watching the fort from a distance, to see whether an attempt might not be made to 'steal a march' upon them in the dark--look yonder to the loft, do you see that band crouching as the light becomes stronger behind those sand hills? Mark me well if that is not the point from which they will make their attack, if attack us they do! For myself, I am prepared for the worst; and in order that they shall know how much I mistrust them--nay, how certain I am of what they intend, I shall head the advance with my brave warriors painted as black as the devil himself. And so to prepare ourselves." "Corporal Nixon, pull me down that flag," ordered Ensign Ronayne, pointing to it, when the commanding officer had descended to give directions for the formation of the line of march--"that is my especial charge, and he who may take a fancy to it must win it with my life." The corporal replied not. He was not aware of the true position of his young officer's lady, and he was afraid to give him pain by making allusion to her. He, however, promptly obeyed, and when the flag was lowered, and the lines cut away, assisted him in enfolding it somewhat in the fashion of a Scotch tartan round his body. At the moment when the flag came down, the Indians on the common set up a tremendous yell. It was evidently that of triumph at the unmistakable evidence of the immediate evacuation of the fort. The hot blood of Ronayne could not suffer this with impunity. At the full extent of his lungs he pealed back a yell of defiance, which attracted the general notice towards himself, standing erect as he did with the bright and brilliant colors of the silken flag flashing in the sun. Among those who were nearest to him was Pee-to-tum, over whose wounded eye had been drawn a colored handkerchief as a bandage. The Chippewa shook his tomahawk menacingly at him, and motioned as though he would represent the act of tearing the flag from his body. The shout and its cause were heard and known below. Captain Headley returned to the rampart, and with much excitement in his manner and tone, inquired of the young officer what he meant by such imprudence of conduct at such a moment--when they were about to place themselves, almost defenceless, at the mercy of those whom he so wantonly provoked. "It ill becomes you, sir," returned the Virginian, fiercely and sarcastically, "to talk to me of imprudence, who but follow your example of yesterday. Where was the prudence, I ask, which induced you to compromise not only your own life, but the lives of all, in spitting first, then dashing your glove, into the face of the Chippewa?" "If you dare to question the propriety of my conduct, sir," returned his commanding officer, "know that the act was provoked--unavoidable, if we would respect ourselves and command the respect of our enemies. Pee-to-tum had insulted the American people by contemptuously trampling under foot the medal that had been given to him by the President. Join your company, sir! What tomfoolery is that?" alluding to the manner in which the colors were disposed of. "Remove those colors!" "That tomfoolery," returned Ronayne, his cheek paling with passion as he descended to the parade, "means that I know what you do not, Captain Headley--how to defend the colors intrusted to my care. I will not remove them." "This fills the measure of your insolence, Mr. Ronayne," returned the commandant; "you will have a heavy account to settle by the time you reach Fort Wayne." "The sooner the better; but if we do reach it, it will be from no merit of arrangement of yours," returned the subaltern, as he placed himself in his allotted station in the company. It may and must appear not only surprising, but out of character to the reader, that such language should pass between two officers--and these unquestionably gentlemen--of the regular service--the one in command, the other filling the lowest grade of the commissioned service; but so it was. The high spirit of the Virginian had ever manifested deep impatience under what he considered to be the unnecessary martinetism of Capt. Headley, and there had always existed, from the moment of joining of the former, a disposition to run restive under his undue exercise of authority. This feeling had been greatly increased since the resolution taken by Capt. Headley to retreat after giving away the presents and ammunition to the Indians, not only because it was a most imprudent step, but because while the fort was maintained, there was the greater chance of his again being reunited, through the instrumentality of Wau-nan-gee, to his wife. Perhaps had he known the sincere sympathy which Capt. Headley entertained for him at the grief occasioned by her loss, or the knowledge he had obtained of her supposed guilt, which, notwithstanding all their little differences, he guarded with so much delicacy, this bitterness of feeling would have been much qualified; but he was ignorant of the fact, and only on one occasion, and for a moment as has been seen, suspected that Mrs. Headley had, under the seal of confidence and from a presumed necessity, betrayed his secret. If the history of that time did not record these frequent and strong expressions of dissatisfaction and discontent between the captain and the ensign, we should feel that we were violating consistency in detailing them; but they were so, and the only barrier to an open and more marked rupture existed in the person of Mrs. Headley, whom Ronayne loved and honored as though she had been his own mother, and who, on her part, often pleaded his generous warmth of temperament and more noble qualities of heart in mitigation of the annoyance and anger of her husband. CHAPTER XXI. All being now ready, the gates were thrown wide open for the last exit of the detachment, and the little column sallied forth. In the van rode Captain Wells and his little band of Miamis, whose lugubrious appearance likened the march much more to a funeral procession than to the movements of troops confident in themselves, and reposing faith in those whose services had been purchased. Next came thirty men of the detachment, and to them succeeded the wagons, containing, besides the women and children and sick, such stores of the garrison, including spare ammunition, with the luggage of the officers and men, as could not be dispensed with. Thirty men, composing the remaining subdivision of the healthy portion of the detachment, brought up the rear. Their route lay along the lake shore, while the Indians moved in a parallel line with them, separated only by a long range of sandhills. Both excellent horsewomen, and mounted on splendid chargers whose good points had for years been proved by them in their numerous rides in the neighborhood, Mrs. Headley and Mrs. Elmsley, with Ronayne on horseback, brought up the extreme rear. The former, habited in a riding dress which fitted admirably to her noble and graceful figure, was cool and collected as though her ride were one of mere ordinary parade. Deep thought there was in her countenance, it is true. Less than woman had she been had none been observable there; but of that unquiet manner which belongs to the nervous and the timid, there was no trace. She spoke to Mrs. Elmsley--who also manifested a firmness not common to a woman, to one under similar circumstances, but still of a less decided character than that of her companion--of indifferent subjects, expressing, among other things, her regret that they were then leaving for ever the wild but beautifully romantic country in which they had passed so many happy days. "How we shall amuse ourselves at Fort Wayne," she concluded, after one of those remarks, "heaven only knows; for although I spent a great part of my girlhood there, I confess it is the most dull station in which I have ever been quartered." "How," remarked Ronayne, with an effort at gaiety his looks belied, "can the colors be better flanked than by two ladies who unite in themselves all the chivalrous courage of a Joan d'Arc and a Jeanne d'Amboise. Really, my dear Mrs. Headley," glancing at the black morocco belt girt around her waist, and from which protruded the handles of two pistols about eight inches in length, "I would advise no Pottowatomie to approach too near you to-day." "I think I may safely second your recommendation, Ronayne," she answered, as uncovering the front of her saddle she exhibited a short rifle which her riding habit concealed, "or they may find that my life has not been passed in the backwoods, without some little practical knowledge of the use of arms. When we were first married at Fort Wayne, Headley taught me to fire the pistol and the rifle with equal adroitness, and I have not forgotten my practice." "And I," said Mrs. Elmsley, "though less formidably provided, have that which may serve me in an emergency--see here," and she drew from the bosom of her riding dress a double-barrelled pistol, somewhat smaller than those of Mrs. Headley. "Well provided, both of you," said the Virginian, "and I was correct in saying that the color and the color-bearer were well guarded, but hark! what is that!" Several shots were fired. They were discharged by the Indians, wantonly destroying the cattle browsing around the road by which they advanced. "Such will be our fate," exclaimed the officer with the excitement of indignation; "shot down, no doubt, like so many brutes." At that moment Captain Headley galloped up from the rear, he having been the last to leave the fort. Ronayne's words were overheard by him, and he demanded, hastily and abruptly: "Are you afraid, sir? You seem well protected." "Sir!" thundered the ensign, "I can march up to the enemy where you dare not show your face." And, apologizing hurriedly to the ladies, he dashed the spurs furiously into his horse's flanks and followed his captain, who had hastened to the front. As the latter gained the head of the column which was only rendered of any length by the dozen bullock wagons containing the stores and luggage, he saw Capt. Wells, who was about a hundred yards in the advance, suddenly wheel round with his Miamis, and push rapidly back for the--main body. "They are preparing to attack us, sir," he shouted. "There is not a moment to be lost in making your arrangements." Scarcely had these words been uttered, when a volley came rattling across the sandhill from the level of the prairie, wounding, but not disabling, two of his men. "We must charge them," he answered, "it is our only hope. Keep them in check, Wells, while I form line. Now, my lads, it is death or victory for us. Baggage wagons halt, and form hollow square, to shelter the women and children from the bullets of the enemy. Rear subdivision, to the front! Right subdivision, halt!" "Left subdivision, halt!" ordered Lieutenant Elmsley, when they had come up. "Front!" pursued the captain, and the line was formed. "Men, throw off your packs--you must have nothing to encumber you in that sand; the drivers will carry them into the square. Ladies, you had better retire there too." "To a soldier's wife the field of battle were preferable on a day like this," calmly returned Mrs. Headley, who, with Mrs. Elmsley, had ridden up with the rear. "Better to be shot down there than tomahawked near the wagons. Besides our presence will encourage the men--will it not, my lads?" A loud cheer burst from the ranks. Each man, certainly, felt greater confidence than before. "Then forward, charge!" shouted Capt. Headley, availing himself of this moment of enthusiasm; "recollect, you fight for your wives and children; if you drive not the Indians, they perish!" "Nay, forget not, you fight for your colors!" cried Ronayne, galloping furiously through the sand to the front, and heading the centre. The ascent was not very steep, and as the colors, tightly girt over the shoulders of Ronayne and hanging from the flanks of his horse, first appeared crowning the crest, and then the little serried line of bayonets glittering like so many streams of light in the sun's rays, exclamations of wonder, mingled with fierce shouts, burst from the Indians, who up to this moment had, after their first volley, been wholly occupied by Captain Wells and his party of horsemen, whom they seemed more anxious to make prisoners than to fire at, and this in consideration of their horses, which they were anxious to obtain unwounded. "Wells," shouted Captain Headley, on whose little line the Indians now began to open their fire, "send half your people to protect my right flank. Charge, men! It is all down hill work now, and we are fairly in for it. If we are to die, let us die like men." Simultaneously, and without the order, the men shouted the charge as, with their commanding officer and the colors full in view before them, they dashed forward where their enemies were the thickest, and such was the effect of their unswerving courage that the latter, although in numbers sufficient to have annihilated them, were awed by their resolution; and in many instances, those who were not in the immediate line of their advance, stood leaning on their guns watching them and without firing a shot; nor was this strange, for it must be recollected that the hostile feeling to the garrison had not been shared by all the Pottowatomies, especially by the chiefs and more elderly warriors. Before the determined advance of the gallant little band the Indians gave way, until they had retired again nearly as far as their own encampment, but the ranks were fast thinning by the distant fire of the enemy, whom it was found impossible to reach with the bayonet. "This will never do," thundered Capt. Headley; "halt! form square!" The order was speedily obeyed; but on hearing firing behind and looking round for his wife and Mrs. Elmsley, to place them in the centre, Captain Headley saw that a great number of the Indians whom they had driven before them had turned aside and reunited behind--thus cutting them off from their party. It has already been observed that the horse Mrs. Headley rode was a magnificent animal, docile yet full of life and spirit, and the excitement and sound of battle had, on this occasion, given to him an animation--a-grace, if it may be so expressed, which, rendered even more remarkable by the superb figure of his rider, excited in several of the Indians a strong desire to get possession of him uninjured. Her own scalp they were burning with eagerness to secure; for from the first moment of the charge down the hill, she had used her little rifle so successfully that of three Indians hit by her two had been killed, and they had evinced their deep exasperation. The anxiety to extricate herself, without the horse being wounded, in all probability saved her; for they fired so high that almost all the bullets passed over her head, although not less than seven did reach their aim--one of them lodging in her left arm. The Indians were now pressing more closely upon her, when Captain Wells, seeing the danger to which the noble woman was exposed, dashed back at the head of his brave horsemen, and used the tomahawk with such effect without the enemy being able to guard themselves against the rapidity of his movements, that he soon cleared a passage to her, cleft the skull of a Pottowatomie who had reached her side, and was in the very act of removing her riding hat to scalp her alive, and lifting her off her horse, covered with wounds and faint from loss of blood, bore her rapidly down towards the lake. As he approached it, he met Winnebeg and Black Partridge returning to the scene of blood, to save her if possible, as they had previously saved Mrs. Elmsley, who had had her horse shot under her, and been wounded in the ankle. Both were hurried into a canoe, and concealed under blankets by those good but now powerless chiefs, while the brave but desperate captain returned to head his warriors and try the last issue of the fight. Meanwhile, Captain Headley had been again attacked and with great fury by the rallying Indians, while the only diversion in his favor was that made by the little band of Miamis, who, however, could not be expected to render efficient aid much longer; besides, whatever immediate advantage might be gained, the final result when the darkness of night should set in, was but too certain. Not only his officers and himself, but his men felt this, and they could scarcely be said to regret it, when, surrounding them from a distance, the Indians renewed a fire which, from the moment of their first being thrown into square, had in a great degree been lulled. During that short interval they had been made to moisten their parched lips from their canteens of water into which had been thrown a small quantity of rum at starting, and no one who has ever donned the buckler need be told the exhilarating, the renewing influence of this upon men jaded with long previous watching and fighting at disadvantage. "Men, husband your ammunition," enjoined the captain, "keep cool, and when I give the word, level low and deliberately. Our position cannot be better, for the country is all clear and flat around us. God defend the right." "Commence file-firing from the right of faces," he ordered, as he remarked that the Indians, rendered bolder by has inactivity, were evidently closing upon him, as for the purpose of a rush. Steadily and coolly the men pulled the trigger for the first time; and the effect of the caution he had given was perceptible. The Indians were no less galled than astonished when turning from one face to get out of the way of danger, they found the bullets coming upon them from every point of the compass--not very many, it is true, but quite enough to stay and to warn them that a nearer approach was dangerous; and before the little band had discharged a dozen cartridges each--few failing to tell--they had withdrawn entirely out of reach of danger either to themselves or to their enemies. While thus they stood, as it were, at bay, they for the first time had leisure to look around and observe the havoc that had been done along the slope of the sandhill and on the plain below. Nearly half of their gallant comrades lay there scalped and tomahawked, and with their bodies and limbs thrown into those strange contortions which mark the last physical agony of the soldier struck down by the bullet in the midst of life and health; but for every private lay two Indians at least--a few of them who had been overtaken in the furious charge down the hill, but most of them sufferers from their fire while formed in their little but compact square. Capt. Headley and his lieutenant looked anxiously, but silently, towards the sand hill, where they had last seen their wives exposed to the most imminent danger, yet gallantly defended by Captain Wells and his Miami warriors, three of whose horses, shot under them, encumbered the ground, but nothing was to be seen of either; and the bitterness of sorrow was in their hearts, for they believed them to be dead, and that their bodies were lying beyond the crest of the hill, whence occasional shouts were heard. As for Ronayne, he kept his eye fixed in the opposite direction, for they were not far from the encampment of the Pottowatomies, and he felt satisfied that his beloved Maria, who, after the great peril to which he had fears Mrs. Headley and Mrs Elmsley were exposed, he deeply rejoiced to know was in a place of safety, was then not far from him, and no doubt forcibly detained from the field by the mother of Wau-nan-gee, or by the youth himself. "'Twere folly to remain here longer and thus inactive," remarked Captain Headley. "The Indians are evidently waiting for night to renew their attack, for they are sensible that, as few of them are provided with rifles, our muskets have greatly the advantage of range. Hark! do you hear the yells and shouting of the hell-hounds in the fort? It is well for us that nearly half their force has been attracted thither by the thirst of plunder and the hope of obtaining rum. But let us resume our position on the hill. Now that we shall be enabled to command every thing around us, if we are to die let us fall together like men and soldiers in our little serried square." "Long live our brave captain!--huzza! We will light to the last cartridge, and bayonet in hand," exclaimed Paul Degarmo, raising his cap excitedly. The cheer was taken up and prolonged until the forest that bounded the places they were in sent back the echo. Scarcely had this subsided, when terrific shrieks and cries, mingled with fierce yells, burst from the opposite side of the sandhill. This lasted for about five minutes, and then gradually died away. Then many straggling shots were heard, and these died away in distance. Captain Headley, who had deferred his movement towards the sandhill during this manifestation of the presence of the enemy on the other side of the ridge, now moved his men to its base, and there halted them. After a little time, ordering a rush with the bayonet on the first Indians who should show themselves in any force, he stepped out of the square, and moved in a stooping posture to gain the summit, that he might reconnoitre the enemy and see what they were about. But scarcely had he reached the top when he again rapidly descended. His face was pale--his lips compressed. He had seen a sight to shake the nerves of the sternest soldier, and gladly did he swallow, from the canteen of Sergeant Nixon, who offered it to him, the cordial beverage that carried renewed circulation to his veins. "Forward, men, with as little noise as possible, and gain the crest of the hill; but, whatever you see, let not your nerves be shaken into indiscretion. If you fire without orders from me, you are lost without a hope. Be cool, and when I do give the command to fire, let the front face of the square exchange their discharged firelocks for those of the rear face, in order to be always loaded. Now, men, be cool." Captain Headley was wise in issuing this precautionary order, for the sight the little square beheld, on gaining and halting on the ridge, was one not merely to render men reckless and imprudent, but in a great measure to drive them mad. CHAPTER XXII. "A crimson river of warm blood like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind." --_Titus Andronicus._ To understand the horrible scene that met the view, first of the commanding officer, and subsequently of the little square, it will be necessary to go back to certain events of the past half hour. When Captain Wells had returned from delivering over his wounded niece to the charge of Black Partridge and Winnebeg, both of whom had, with deep sorrow, beheld the fiendish excesses of their young men, but without being able to prevent them, he was pursuing his way across the sandhill to the assistance of Captain Headley. Suddenly, while looking around to find out in what part of the field his Miamis were, he saw several Pottowatomies approach the spot where the baggage wagons were drawn up, and commence tomahawking the children. The cries and shrieks of the mothers, as the helpless victims perished one after the other, under their eyes, until nearly a dozen had fallen, brought with it all the renewal of the horror he ever experienced when women and children were the assailed, and drove him almost frantic. "Is that your game?" he exclaimed furiously in their own language!--"thank God, we can play at that too." The attempt to check the strong party assembled round the wagons, he felt would be unavailing, but resolving to venture, single-handed, into the encampment of the enemy, where their children had been left unguarded, he turned his horse's head, dashed past the fort again at his fullest speed, and with revenge and a threat of retaliation racking his very heart strings, made for their wigwams. Alarmed, in turn, for the safety of their squaws and children, the murderers now desisted from their work and followed as vapidly as they could on foot, the flight of the Miami leader. Every now and then they stopped and fired, but at the outset all their shots were in vain, for the captain, accustomed to that sort of warfare, throwing himself along the neck of his horse, loading and firing in that position, baffled all their attempts to bring him down, while he waved his tomahawk on high, as if in triumph at the successful issue of what he meditated. As the pursuing Indians passed the gate of the fort, now filled with plunderers, many intoxicated, Pee-to-tum, who had been there from the first--his love of drink being even stronger than his thirst for revenge--came staggering forth, suddenly aroused to a consciousness of what was going on without, and demanded to know the cause of this new and immediate tumult. The young Indians hastily informed him; when the Chippewa, dropping on one knee, and holding his ramrod as a rest upon the ground, ran his right and uninjured eye along the sight, pulled the trigger, and brought down the horse of the fugitive, which fell with a heavy plunge. A tremendous shout followed from the band who had lost, four warriors by his fire, and who, consequently deeply enraged, now made the greatest efforts to come up with and secure him. Before he could disengage himself from his horse, under which he lay severely wounded himself, two other Indians came up from an opposite quarter, and, taking him prisoner, sought to bear him off before the others could reach him. These were the chiefs Waubansee and Winnebeg, the latter of whom, seeing the danger of the captain from the moment when the massacre of the children commenced, had left Mrs. Headley and Mrs. Elmsley under the care of Black Partridge, and hastened to be of service to him if possible. But all their efforts to save him were vain. With rapid strides, and shouts rendered more savage than ever by the fumes of the liquor he had swallowed, and with the scalp of the unfortunate Von Voltenberg--who had been killed while returning to the fort for a small flask of brandy which he had forgotten--dangling at his side, Pee-to-tum advanced with furious speed, and, stabbing the captain in the back, put an end to his misery. No sooner had he fallen, than, like a vulture, the Chippewa sprang upon the lifeless body, and, making an incision with his knife upon the strong and full-haired crown, tore the reeking covering away, and thus added another trophy to his disgusting spoils. This was the signal for further outrage, Exasperated by the knowledge of the revenge he had meditated, and the loss he had already occasioned them, the warriors who had first followed the ill-fated Miami leader, cut open the left side with their knives, and tore forth the yet warm and bleeding heart, which, as well as the body itself, they bore back in triumph to the very spot whence they had set out, Pee-to-tum carrying his heart, pierced by the ramrod, as it protruded a couple of feet from the barrel of his rifle. Squatted in a circle, and within a few feet of the wagon in which the tomahawked children lay covered with blood, and fast stiffening in the coldness of death, now sat about twenty Indians, with Pee-to-tum at their head, passing from hand to hand the quivering heart of the slain man, whose eyes, straining, as it were, from their sockets, seemed to watch the horrid repast in which they were indulging, while the blood streamed disgustingly over their chins and lips, and trickled over their persons. So many wolves or tigers could not have torn away more voraciously with their teeth, or smacked their lips with greater delight in the relish of human food, than did these loathsome creatures, who now moistened the nauseous repast from a black bottle of rum which had been found in one of the wagons containing the medicine for the sick--and what gave additional disgust was the hideous aspect of the inflamed eye of the Chippewa, from which the bandage had fallen off, and from which the heat of the sun's rays was fast drawing a briny, ropy, and copious discharge, resembling rather the grey and slimy mucus of the toad than the tears of a human being. At the moment when the little square thus reappeared unexpectedly before them, the revellers, who had supposed them either in the hollow below, or long since disposed of by their comrades, were almost instantly sobered and on their feet. Quickly they flew to secure their guns, which lay at a little distance behind them; but, before they could reach them, a volley from the front face of the square was poured in with an effect which, at that short distance, could not fail to prove destructive; and of the twenty Indians who had composed the circle, more than a dozen of them fell dead, or so desperately wounded, that they could not crawl off the ground. "Good, men!" shudderingly remarked Capt. Headley, "we have revenged this slaughter at least. Cease firing. Pull not another trigger until I order you. If there be a hope left for us, it must depend wholly upon our coolness. What a pity you missed that scoundrel Pee-to-tum. Hark, Elmsley, do you hear his brutal voice calling upon the Indians to renew the attack!"--and then in a lower tone to the same officer: "What can have become of our wives? Yonder rides a Pottowatomie mounted on Mrs. Headley's charger. I pray God they may not have made them prisoners!" "Heaven grant it may be so, sir!" solemnly returned his subaltern; "but, in their present exasperated state, I fear the worst. Why, while we were in the hollow, I distinctly saw Mrs. Headley bring down two Indians with her rifle. They would not easily forget that." "And I, sir," said Sergeant Nixon deferentially, as if fearing to intrude, "saw Mrs. Elmsley's horse shot under her; and when an Indian came up and struggled with her, she threw her arm around his neck, and presented and fired a pistol at him, and then tried to get at his scalping knife which was suspended over his chest. What the result was, I could not make out; but the last I saw of her, she was seized by another Indian and carried in his arms across the very spot where we now stand. See, sir, that is her horse!" and he pointed to the animal, which lay only a few feet from the square, and which, among the dead bodies of soldiers, Pottowatomies, and Miamis, had hitherto escaped their attention. "See, sir, they are collecting in great force near the gate," observed the lieutenant--"I can distinctly see Pee-to-tum, who has joined them, motioning with his hand to advance." "Then is this the best position we could have chosen," returned Captain Headley; "courage, men! A taste of biscuit from your haversacks while you have time, a teaspoonful of rum, and then we must at it again. Mind, above all things, that you keep cool, and do not fire a shot without orders." From the moment that Ronayne had placed himself, with the colors, at the head of the little party when advancing up the sandhill, he had not spoken a word, but continued to gaze fixedly and abstractedly upon that part of the plain or prairie which led to the inner encampment of the Indians. His whole thought--his undivided attention was given to his wife, whose anxiety, nay, anguish, at hearing the sounds of conflict which denoted his imminent peril, he knew must be intense. True, he himself was spared the anxiety and uncertainty which filled the breasts of his comrades on seeing those they loved best on earth exposed to all the fearful chance of battle, but even in that there was an excitement which in some degree compensated for the risks they ran. The very fact of their presence had sustained them; but now that the final result seemed no longer doubtful, and that the annihilation of the whole party was to be momentarily expected, he felt that one last look, one last embrace of her he loved, would rob death of half its horrors. But this was but the momentary selfishness of the man. When Mrs. Headley and Mrs. Elmsley were known to have disappeared, he more than ever rejoiced in the circumstances which had removed his beloved wife from the horrors of the day, and placed her under so faithful a guardianship as that of the generous Wau-nan-gee. But there was another reason for the calm, the serious silence which the Virginian had preserved. Independently of the aching interest he took in all that he supposed to be passing at that moment in the mind of his absent wife, he had been deeply galled by the last insulting remark of Captain Headley, to which he had, it is true, replied in a similar spirit, yet which nevertheless had continued to give him much annoyance. His duty as bearer of the colors being rather passive than active, he had not found it necessary to open his lips, except to utter a few words of encouragement and approval to the men. Formed in hollow square, as the little force now was, there was no opportunity for display of individual or personal prowess, or he certainly would have sought an opportunity to test with his commanding officer the extent of their respective daring. But now an occasion at last presented itself, and in a manner least expected. CHAPTER XXIII. From the position now occupied by the devoted little band, a view of the whole adjacent country was distinctly commanded, even to the very gates of the fort, from which they had never advanced more than half a mile on their retreat, and within a mile of which their movements had again brought them. On looking anxiously around to see from what direction the most imminent danger would proceed, Captain Headley remarked a largo body of Indians issuing from the gateway, and moving slowly from the fort towards them. "Give me the glass, Mr. Elmsley," he said to that officer, who had it slung over his shoulder, "let me see if I can make out what they intend. Ha! by heaven they are moving one of the field pieces towards us. Could they but manage a few rounds of that, they would soon make short work of the affair, but the simpletons seem to have overlooked the fact of the gun being spiked--even if they knew how to aim it." "If it is the gun that was in the block-house, it is not spiked, sir," remarked Sergeant Nixon. "Not spiked! how is that?" asked the captain quickly--almost angrily. "The spikes were too large, sir; and Weston, whose duty it was, broke a ramrod off instead." "Ha! is it so? What a thought strikes me! Could we get hold of that gun, we might yet make terms with those devils. Who will lead a forlorn hope and volunteer to take it?" "I will," thundered Ronayne, with sudden vivacity, his eye flashing fiercely as he met the glance of his commanding officer. "Spare me three men from each face of the square, and I will bring it to you or die in the attempt." The captain colored and looked annoyed with himself. "One moment, Mr. Ronayne. Have we the means of removing the broken ramrod if we should get the gun? Where is the armorer?" "I have them, sir," returned the man. "I thought a drill and a hammer would be useful on the march, and so I put them in my pack." "Pish! there is another difficulty. Your pack is as difficult to reach as the gun. It is in the wagon, is it not?" "Yes, sir, and the hammer in it, but I have the spike thrust through a piece of beef in my haversack." "All right. There are stones enough around to supply the absence of a hammer." "Volunteers to the front!" said Ronayne, in a low, firm tone, and with compressed lip. "What Hardscrabble men will follow me?" Simultaneously, Sergeant Nixon, Corporals Collins and Green; Phillips, Watson, Weston, and Degarmo, stepped forth, with several others, anxious to be of the party, until the number was made up, and again the diminished square closed upon its centre. "Not yet," cried Captain Headley, who, having once more applied the glass to his eye, was closely watching the movements of the Indian mass. "Nothing must be left to mere chance. Mr. Elmsley, what is the position of the wagon which contains the ammunition?" "It was the leading one, sir," returned the officer addressed. "What alteration has been made in the act of throwing them into square, I cannot possibly tell." "See, is not that it?" asked the commanding officer, pointing to one from the top of which several casks protruded. "It is," was the reply. "Then, Mr. Ronayne, first lead your party to the wagons and let each man load himself from the keg of ball cartridge, and as many grenades as he can carry--these must supply the place of larger shot, if we get the gun. Lose no time. There is not an Indian on that side of the sandhill now, and you will easily accomplish your object. Sampson," addressing the armorer, "you may as well avail yourself of the opportunity to get your heavy hammer. The stones about here are brittle, and may break." In little more than five minutes, this first part of their duty was accomplished, although under circumstances far more painful and repugnant than the more dangerous one in reserve. On their way to the wagons they were compelled to pass close to the scalped and disembowelled body of the brave but unfortunate Wells, whose still bleeding heart, only half eaten, was encrusted with sand, and bore the ragged impress of teeth driven furiously and voraciously into it. On their arrival near the wagons, their nerves were further tried by the horrible and disgusting spectacle of the slain children, whose scalped heads and mutilated remains gave unmistakable evidence of the fate that awaited themselves unless Providence should interpose a miracle in their favor, while their ears were assailed by the stifled groans and sobbings of mothers who had covered their heads up with blankets and sheets, not only with a view to shut out the appalling sight of their murdered offspring, but to seek exemption from a similar fate. So confused was the perception of those poor, unhappy creatures, that they could not identify either the voices or the language of those who were now near them--some, the fathers of the innocents they mourned--but believed them to be Pottowatomies, and it was not until they had departed, and were out of sight, that they ventured again to uncover their heads, and breathe a pure air. By the time the party returned, and had deposited within the square the keg of ball cartridges, and some fifty hand grenades, the Indians in great numbers had brought the three pounder, which was now made out to be the calibre of the gun, to the very spot where Capt. Headley had first formed the square, and just without the present range of the heavy muskets of the men. There was a great deal of clamor and bustle about the manner of manoeuvring the piece, and with the aid of the glass it could be distinctly seen that they once or twice applied a burning torch to the breech, for, when this was done, the Indians grouped around retired quickly from its neighborhood, but, on finding it did not explode, seemed for the first time to be sensible of the cause, and again gathered near it. "Now, Mr. Ronayne, is your time," said Capt. Headley to the young officer, whose volunteers, twelve in number, with a hand grenade in each haversack, and a second in his right hand, now stood ready, with their muskets at the trail, to ignite the port fire, and descend upon the formidable mass below them. "Sampson, the moment you reach the gun, drive in the spike, and turn the muzzle towards the thickest of the enemy. Every bullet will, doubtless, tell. The discharge will throw them into confusion, and enable you, Mr. Ronayne, to retire under the cover of our musketry. The gun once here, and we may change the fortune of the day. Are your port fires all lighted? Forward, then!" And down in silence dashed the little party into the midst of their enemies. Taken completely by surprise, and dismayed at the sight of the hissing port fire, which they did not comprehend, the Indians at first drew back and opened a running fire from their inferior guns, but seeing how small was the number of their assailants, they again advanced and waited for their nearer approach, determined apparently to save their powder and make the tomahawk alone perform its work. Suddenly, Ronayne, who had dismounted on the hill, halted within twenty paces of the spot, and with his men at extended order. The Indians dared not to provoke a hand-to-hand encounter, for that would have brought them within the range of the muskets they saw levelled above. This was a most critical and anxious moment to the young officer. He had descended the hill too rapidly for the port fire to be sufficiently consumed for ignition of the shells generally, and for nearly a minute they stood thus, their muskets still at the trail, and at every moment expecting the Indians to make a final spring upon them. At length, after the lapse of a few seconds, which seemed ages, the fire rapidly approached the iron. "Now, my lads," shouted the Virginian, "throw them in lustily." A loud cheer burst from the lips of each, as, after having hurled the missives of death into the dense groups of the astonished savages, they followed up the advantage created by the confusion of the bursting shells, by a rush upon the gun, the drag-ropes of which were seized amid many distant shots, and so effectually used that, before the former could recover from their panic, the piece was withdrawn under cover of the fire from the square, and its muzzle turned to the enemy. A second loud and triumphant cheer followed from the hill, and the strong voice of Captain Headley could be distinctly heard when it had ceased. "Quick, quick, Mr. Ronayne; there is another strong band approaching the wood on your left. The work is but half done." "Light your second grenades," ordered Ronayne. "The sight of the burning port fires will keep them in check. Sampson, will you never have finished with the gun? what are you fumbling about that you do not drive in the ramrod?" But the man spake not; he reclined motionless over the breech of the field piece. The next moment the brazen plated cap fell from his head, and a white forehead was exhibited, with a slight incrustation of blood on the temple showing where the fatal rifle ball had entered. "Ha! dead!" exclaimed Ronayne, excitedly, as he caught the man by the collar and gently lowered him to the ground. "I must then perform your duty." He caught up the drill and the heavy hammer which the stiffening armorer had dropped, and so well and powerfully did he use it, that after a few blows the end of the ramrod, broken short off at the touch--hole, fell into the body of the gun, and the vent-hole was clear. "All right," he exclaimed; "quick, Collins, a couple of cartridges to prime with." In another moment the gun was ready. The officer passed his eye along the sight, and saw that the muzzle pointed fully at the large body that was approaching a small patch of brushwood to take him in flank. "The moment I fire," he ordered, "throw in your second grenades, seize the drag-ropes and retire with all speed with the gun. I see the fuses are nearly burnt out; this is rather a short one for my purpose, Collins, but it must answer." Stepping to the right side of the gun, he held forth the grenade with his left hand, and applied the port fire to the touch-hole. There was a fizz of a few seconds, and then the gun went off with a loud explosion, and a fierce recoil. Yells and shrieks rent the air, and in a moment the whole of the new band were scampering away in full flight, leaving behind them some five-and-twenty of their party killed and disabled by the discharge of the piece, loaded, as has been seen, with musket bullets. Profiting by the consternation into which this murderous fire had thrown the whole body of Pottowatomies, the men pealed forth another cheer even louder than the first, hurled forward their grenades, not yet ready for explosion, as far as they could throw them, and seizing the drag-ropes, ran fleetly with it towards the hill. Stricken with disappointment, the Indians lost sight of their usual caution, and rushed furiously forward to recover the gun, which, however, being now discharged, was of no actual use to them. "Leave the gun where it is, and bring off your officer," shouted Captain Headley in a clear voice. "See you not that he is wounded, and the Indians advancing to dispatch him?" This was the first intimation the men had of the fact. In their anxiety to secure the gun, they had not observed that Ronayne, hit by a rifle bullet while in the very act of firing his piece, had been brought to the ground with a broken leg, and rendered unable to follow them. But, no sooner had Captain Headley uttered the order than all hastened back to the spot where the Virginian reclined on one side, with the musket of the armorer tightly grasped, and his look still bent upon the distant forest. Just as they had reached, and were preparing to lift him up, the Indians again rushed forward to dispute his possession. They were within twenty paces, and brandishing their tomahawks triumphantly, when, suddenly, and one after another, burst in the midst of them, the grenades which had been hurled prematurely on the discharge of the field piece, and striking panic into their body, caused them once more hurriedly to retire. But this check was only momentary. Rendered reckless at every moment from the liquor which all had more or less imbibed at different periods of the battle, and ashamed that they should be kept at bay by so mere a handful of men, the dark mass now fiercely closed upon the little party that bore off the wounded officer, and commenced their attack. Meanwhile, Captain Headley, seeing this resolute forward movement of the Indians, and anticipating the certain destruction of the whole, moved his little square rapidly towards the gun, causing his men to take with them the ammunition which had been collected there, and soon the piece was again loaded and turned to his front. But it was found impossible to discharge the gun without endangering the lives of his own men more than those even of the enemy, for the Indians in immediate pursuit kept themselves so cautiously in the rear of the former, that, in the position he then occupied, it was impossible to reach them alone. The only movement that could save them was a rapid change of ground, so as to enable him to take the enemy in flank, and of this he hastened to avail himself by again occupying the sandhill. This was done; but in the short time taken to effect the movement, the bloodhounds had too well profited by their advantage. At the head of the pursuers was the Chippewa, Pee-to-tum. His voice had been loudest in the war whoop, as his foot had been the most forward in the advance; and his denunciations of the dog Headley, as he called him, were bitter, and he called loudly for him that he might kill him with his tomahawk. "Save yourselves, men, and leave me to my fate," exclaimed the Virginian, as he heard the voice of the Chippewa almost in his ear. "Nixon, remove the colors from my shoulders and take them into the square. I shall not die happy until I know them to be secure." "Nay, sir," said the non-commissioned officer, "we will not, cannot desert you; and, if we would, it is now out of our power--we are too closely pressed--we must fight to the last." "Then drop me, and turn and fight. Let us not be struck down like dastards, with our backs to the enemy. Where is that musket?" "Here it is, sir," said the serjeant; "but in your present disabled state you cannot make use of it." "At least I will try," returned the Virginian. "If I could but slay the black-souled Pee-to-tum, I should revenge the treachery of this day, and perhaps be the means of saving the remnant of our brave fellows." "Oh!" gasped Nixon, as he fell suddenly dead upon the body of his wounded officer. He had been shot through the back and under the left rib. A fierce veil followed, and Ronayne beheld the hellish face of the Chippewa, looking more disgusting than ever in the loss of his left eye, as, with shining blade, he bounded forward to take the scalp of his victim. The body of the serjeant lay across his shattered leg, and not only gave him great anguish, but impeded his action, faint, moreover, as he was from loss of blood from several subsequent wounds received during his transit from the spot where he first had fallen. But the opportunity of avenging his wife, himself, and his slaughtered companions--the latter all murdered at his instigation--was one that would never occur again, and all his energies were aroused. Even while the half--drunken savage was in the act of taking the scalp of the unfortunate Nixon, Ronayne removed the bayonet from the musket, and grasping it with all the fierce determination of hatred, drove the sharp long instrument with such force through his exposed body, that not only the point protruded several inches on the opposite side, but the inner edge of the socket itself cut deeply into the flesh. Absolutely roaring with pain, the Chippewa left his bloody work unfinished. The knife fell from his grasp. He sprang to his feet, and having at once seen by whose hand the blow had been inflicted, a sudden thought appeared to occur to him. Down again he threw himself furiously upon the body of the wounded officer, who, anticipating the act, had by this time armed himself with the knife that lay with its handle on the ground and the trickling blade across the down-turned cheek of the serjeant. He sought to encircle him in his death grip, but, in falling, the handle of the bayonet had struck the ground, driving the weapon even deeper in, and thus adding to his torture. But the greater his suffering, the more desperate became his thirst for revenge. He now managed to throw his arms round the neck of the Virginian, and said something in broken English, which, accompanied as his language was by a fiendish laugh rendering his countenance more hideous than ever, caused the latter to make the most furious endeavor to release himself, while with his right and disengaged hand he struck blindly with his knife at the uncovered throat of the Indian. But the weapon was soon wrested from his enfeebled hands, and the Chippewa, dexterously turning himself so as to get the body of his enemy completely under him, now tried to scalp him alive. Weak as he was, the young officer did not lose sight of his presence of mind. Scarcely had the scalping knife touched his head, when it was again withdrawn with the most horrible contortions of the whole body of the Chippewa. Fixing his eye on the Indian's face above that he might feast on the agony of the wretch who had just avowed himself to be the violator of his wife, while threatening a repetition of the outrage when the battle should be over, the Virginian had seized the handle of the bayonet, and turned the weapon so furiously in the wound as to cause one general laceration, the agony arising from which could only be comprehended from the spasmodic movements and wild bellowings of the savage. In order to free himself from the torture he was too much distracted by pain to think of removing by the instant death of his enemy, the Chippewa sprang suddenly upwards, but this movement only tended to increase the torments under which he writhed, for, as the Virginian held the handle firmly in his grasp, the bayonet was half withdrawn, and the sharp point forced, by the down-hanging weight of the socket, into a new direction. Wild with revenge and pain, he was at length in the act of raising his tomahawk to dispatch the Virginian, who had abandoned his hold of the bayonet, when a shot came from the front of the square, and Pee-to-tum fell dead across the bodies of both his immediate victims. Singular to say, the ball, aimed by Captain Headley himself at the upper part of his person, and during the only period when the Indians could be reached without danger to some one or other of the men, entered his brain over his injured eye, and forced out the other. The fall of the detested Chippewa--the head and stay of their battle--seemed greatly to dispirit the Pottowatomies, a band of about fifty of whom had followed them in this fierce onset. Of that number, some fifteen had perished, both in the hand-to-hand encounter with the immediate followers of Ronayne and several shots from the square. On the other hand, but four of the volunteers remained--Corporal Collins, Phillips, Weston, and Degarmo--the latter severely wounded. All the others had fallen, and, with the exception of Serjeant Nixon, been scalped. A cessation of the contest now ensued, and the Indians, holding up what was intended to be a flag of truce, asked permission to carry off the body of the Chippewa. Sensible how impolitic it would be to exasperate them without necessity, Captain Headley granted their request, adding that now the bad man who counselled them had been stricken down by the anger of the Great Spirit, he hoped they would come to their senses and obey their legitimate chiefs. A low murmuring among themselves was the only reply, as they placed the body in a blanket, drew the bayonet from the wound, from which followed a copious dark stream, and leisurely proceeded with their burden and the scalps they had secured to rejoin another body of their tribe who had been watching them in the distance, and who now rapidly advanced to meet them, evidently anxious to know why they returned unmolested, and what tidings they brought. Advantage was taken of this cessation of combat to bring back what remained of the gallant little band of volunteers within the square. The dead were left to moisten the sands on which they had so bravely fallen. Ronayne still lived, but he could not be removed. The slightest motion of his body brought with it agony little less excruciating than that which his enemy had experienced. He knew he must die, and he begged Captain Headley to let him perish where he was, under the shadow of the guns of his comrades, and in full sight of the forest which he knew contained all that he loved on earth. What he asked to be spared to him was a cloak to shield him from the burning heat of the sand, and a little water to moisten his parched lips. Oh! what would he not have given for a draught of the cool claret of the dinner of yesterday! CHAPTER XXIV. "He that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood." --_All's Well._ "What nearer debt in all humanity, than wife is to the husband." --_Troilus and Cressida._ It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and a burning sun threw its strong rays upon the sandhill where stood prepared, for whatever further emergency might occur, the little band of American soldiers now reduced to less than one half of their original number. The acquisition of the three-pounder had greatly encouraged them for the moment, but, during the inaction that succeeded to the death and removal of the body of the fierce Chippewa, each had leisure to reflect on the but too probable issue of the struggle. As long as day remained to them, they felt that they could, while possessed of the gun and a sufficient quantity of ammunition, defend themselves; but when the darkness of night should come on, enabling their enemies to approach and surround them from all quarters, it must be vain to expect they could maintain the contest with the same success that had hitherto attended their extraordinary efforts. Inactivity, in a position of that kind, ever brings despondency, and from one evil the mind is prone to revert to another. The married men thought of their wives and children and the horrible fate that awaited them, and from the men of strong nerve which they had manifested themselves to be while in positive action, they now were fast becoming timid, and irresolute, and anxious. The sight of the many dead and scalped bodies of their comrades around them was not much calculated to reassure them. Meanwhile, Captain Headley had kept his glass almost constantly directed towards that part of the common adjoining the fort, where the great body of the Indians had now collected, and appeared to be in earnest deliberation. Among the number of those assembled he could distinctly make out Winnebeg, Waubansee, and Tee-pee-no-bee, the former of whom seemed to be addressing the younger Pottowatomies in energetic terms, while he frequently pointed to the blanket which contained the body of the slain Chippewa. At length, when he had been succeeded by the two other chiefs just named, who seemed to deliver themselves in a similar spirit, a yell apparently of assent and approval came from the dark mass, and in a few minutes a party of about a hundred detached themselves from the group, and preceded by the same flag that had been raised by the immediate followers of Pee-to-tum, slowly advanced towards the little square. "Courage, men," said Captain Headley, "we have not fought our steady battle for nothing; but let us give the credit of success where most it is due, We owe our preservation, if we are preserved, wholly to the gallantry of Ensign Ronayne. Had he not removed the spike from that gun, and fired it at the eventual sacrifice of his own life--nay more, had he not slain Pee-to-tum, our most bitter and relentless enemy--we should all have slept upon this field--that sight we should never have seen;" and he pointed to the rude flag of which Winnebeg was the bearer, and which was then half way from the point of departure of the band. "Even so," observed Lieutenant Elmsley--"to poor Ronayne, if this rag means anything pacific, and, from the fact of its being borne by Winnebeg, I have no doubt it does, must be ascribed our exemption from the fate of our unhappy comrades. Your ball was well aimed, Captain Headley, and hastened the death of the loathsome and vindictive savage; but never could he have survived that bayonet wound. Life must have ebbed away with the blood that followed its removal; yet," and this was said with a significance which his commanding officer seemed to understand, "it must be not a little satisfactory to you to know that your shot saved him from the tomahawk that was already raised to dispatch him." "Would that in doing so I had saved his life," returned Captain Headley, seriously. "How doubly unfortunate is our position--without a surgeon to attend the wounded. Von Voltenberg I have not seen during the day--I greatly fear he has fallen also." At this moment the Indians had come within about twenty paces of the square, one face of which Captain Headley had ordered to be opened to make a display of the gun behind which stood a man with a lighted match. Here they halted, looking with mixed regret, awe, and anxiety upon what they had so recently had in their own possession, while Winnebeg advanced a few paces to the front. "What would the chief Winnebeg?" asked Captain Headley, with dignity. "He brings with him a flag. Are the Pottowatomies sick with blood?" "The Pottowatomies are strong," returned the old warrior, in the figurative language of his race, "but they would not slay the brave. If the warriors of the white chief will lay down their arms and surrender themselves prisoners, their lives shall be spared." "This is well to promise," rejoined the commanding officer; "but what reason have we to believe that the Pottowatomies are serious? They know that we will fight to the last, and they seek to save their own lives by fair words." "On the faith of a chief, I pledge myself that their word shall be kept. Pee-to-tum is dead--he has no longer power over the young men, and they will now obey the voice of their own leaders." "The word of Winnebeg is always good," replied Capt. Headley, "but I distrust his young men; they received presents from their Great Father, and promised to escort his soldiers to Fort Wayne. How have they kept their word? Look around. More than half my soldiers lie there; but, not alone. If the Pottowatomie count well, they will find more than two Indians for every white man." "Our Father's warriors are brave," returned the chief, "and so the Pottowatomies would spare their blood. If they surrender their arms, I promise, in their name, that no more shall be spilt." "I will consult my brave soldiers--they shall decide," observed the commandant, "not that I doubt your word or your good intentions, Winnebeg, but as you had not the power to restrain your young men at first, how am I to know that you can do so now? At present we have arms in our hands, and can defend ourselves; but if we yield them up, we may be tomahawked the next moment. However, as I said before, my brave, followers shall decide." "Mr. Elmsley," he added, turning coolly to his subaltern, "count up our little force, and ascertain how many men of the detachment remain." "Two-and-twenty, sir," returned his subaltern, who had taken but a few minutes to enumerate them. "Two-and-twenty out of sixty with whom we advanced to the charge this morning, besides two officers--one mortally wounded, the other missing. Well, this is rather hot work; but you see, Winnebeg, that if our loss has been more than forty, including the Miamis, the Pottowatomies killed are more than double in number." Winnebeg replied not, but he looked imploringly at Captain Headley, as if desirous that he should accept the offered terms without irritating his people with allusions to their heavy loss. "Well, men," continued that officer, who had remarked the particular expression of the countenance of the chief, "what is your decision? I am perfectly ready to act as you shall say, either to fight to the last, or to surrender, with the chance of being knocked on the head afterwards." "Had we not better put it to vote, sir?" suggested Lieut. Elmsley; "the responsibility will then rest with the majority." "A good idea, Mr. Elmsley. So be it. The majority of votes shall decide whether we fight or surrender." The votes were accordingly taken, and the result was an equal division--eleven for surrendering and taking the chances of good faith--the other eleven, chiefly the unmarried men, for fighting to the last. "The casting vote is with you, Mr. Elmsley; that given, we return our answer," remarked Captain Headley. "Winnebeg," said the lieutenant, addressing him for the first time, "one question I would ask you first: know you anything of our wives--are they dead--and where is Mr. McKenzie?" "They are all alive," returned the chief with animation--"bad wound, though--Winnebeg help save him himself." Human nature could stand no more. Both officers, as if actuated by the same common impulse, met and embraced each other warmly. A mountain weight seemed to be taken from their oppressed hearts, and those two men, who had preserved the most cool and collected courage through the fearful, the appalling scenes of that day, stilling all their more selfish feelings, now suffered the warm tears to gush in silence from their eyes. The men beheld this sight with an emotion little inferior to their own, and many a tear trickled over their faces and moistened and mixed with the dark deposit left by the bitten cartridge, as they too rejoiced in the safety of those brave and noble women. "There can be no doubt what my decision in this matter will be now," remarked the lieutenant, when he had a little recovered from his emotion. "The good Winnebeg who has done thus much--saved those most dear to us--cannot want the power to save ourselves. My vote is for the surrender." "Winnebeg," said Captain Headley, with great feeling, "whatever doubts may have existed in our minds as to the propriety of surrendering, they are now wholly removed. We know your worth and humanity, and commit ourselves wholly to your good faith. Indeed, from the moment I saw you coming at the head of this party, after the death of the black-hearted Pee-to-tum, I felt that we were safe from further attack. Still, it was my duty to consult the men who had so bravely fought with me. We consent to become your prisoners, on three conditions--first, that we be suffered to retain our colors, which you see there wrapped round the dying body of Mr. Ronayne, the friend of your son; secondly, that we be permitted to bury our dead comrades; and thirdly, that we be surrendered to the nearest British post at the earliest opportunity." Winnebeg, after looking at the spot where the young officer lay, spoke for a few moments with his followers, who did not seem to relish the arrangement, for a good deal of animated conversation ensued between themselves; but at length the point was satisfactorily settled, and the former assented to the conditions of surrender Captain Headley had imposed. To have reposed any faith in the warriors themselves after what had occurred, that officer was now fully sensible would have been an act of madness; but he confidently hoped that, although Winnebeg and the other friendly chiefs might not have had the power to restrain the excitement of their young men in the first outburst of their rage for blood, their influence would to a certain extent be regained, now that the fiercest act in the drama had been played, and the chief actor was no more. The only thing that created uneasiness in him was the apprehension that the severity of their own loss might induce such a desire of vengeance in the minds of the warriors as to cause in them a renewal of their fury, and an utter disregard of the pledges of their leaders. Something however--indeed much--must be left to chance. As prisoners they might and would be saved, if the influence of their sager warriors and their own better feelings prevailed, while, as combatants, every man, without an exception, must have fallen. Moreover, the reason which had decided Lieutenant Elmsley in giving his vote had an equal influence in sustaining himself in the expediency of surrender. Their wives were prisoners, and a reunion with them was not impossible; whereas if they had resolved on defending themselves with the obstinacy of despair, that hope must have been for ever cut off, and the noble women--not to speak of the partners of their brave and humble followers--who had taken so prominent a share in the combat, wounded and sustained only by the faint possibility of a meeting with their husbands, would assuredly be made to undergo a similar fate. And now commenced the most humiliating part of the movements of the day--the breaking up of the gallant little square, and the return, flanked by their Indian captors, of the remains of the detachment to the fort. In compliance with the wish of Captain Headley, expressed at the suggestion of his men, instead of taking the route selected by Winnebeg in his advance, the party were suffered to return past the wagons. The scene which took place here was one of mingled consolation and despair. Such of the married men as had survived the conflict anxiously sought their wives, many of whom, with pale cheeks and sunken eyes, and hearts nearly crushed by the pitiless murder of their children, still wrung comfort in the midst of their despair, as they gazed once more on the features of those whom they had given up as lost for ever. But then, on the other hand, was the soul's misery complete of the poor women, widowed within the past few hours, who sought eagerly but in vain to distinguish the features of him who alone could console her under a similar bereavement, and who, with tears and sobs, sank back again into the wagon, in all the agony of increased and confirmed despair. It required stern hearts to behold all this unmoved; but the knowledge that their wives had been unharmed, whatever the savage destruction of their children, brought some little relief to the overcharged hearts of such of the married men as had been spared, and in their secret hearts they returned thanks to the Providence that had guarded not only their own lives, but the lives of those most dear to them. CHAPTER XXV. And with what feelings did they now re-enter the fort, and what an aspect did it present! Half-drunken Indians were yet engaged in the work of plunder and destruction, insomuch so that it scarcely appeared to them the same place from which they had sallied out in the morning; and there were moments when the stoutest-hearted wished that they had never returned to it, but perished on the field where their comrades lay, unconscious of the past, regardless of the future of desolation, of which all they saw seemed to give promise. The officers' quarters, and the blockhouses, which had afforded them protection and shelter during many a long year, were now burst open, and every article of heavy bedding and furniture hurled into the square--the latter ripped open, and broken, and the feathers and fragments strewn around as if in mockery of the neatness that had ever been a distinctive characteristic of the well--swept parade ground, where heretofore a pin might have been picked up without a finger being soiled in the act. These were, seemingly, too minute considerations to have weighed at such a moment when higher and more important interests were at stake; but, to the well-regulated eye of the soldier, accustomed to order and decorum, they were now mountains of inequality and discomfort, which contributed as much to the annoyance and mortification of his position as the very fact of captivity itself; and if this was the feeling generally of the men, how deep must have been its effect on the officers, and particularly on Capt. Headley, who had ever been punctilious to a nicety in all that regarded the internal arrangements of Fort Dearborn. But, offensive as this was, how much more so was it to behold many of the band fantastically arrayed, not only in their own clothing, but in that of their wives, desecrating, as it were, the terrible solemnity of the day, and mocking at the severity of suffering to which the latter had been subjected. Of the Indians who had formed their escort, some stopped outside the gate, others mixed with the spectators, and only about a dozen followed them to the mess room, which Winnebeg said he had selected for their temporary quarters, as being the least liable to interruption or molestation. He promised to send them food, and later in the evening, when all was quiet, to conduct the two officers to their wives, who, for greater quiet and security, were still lying concealed in the canoe where he had first placed them. "Winnebeg, Winnebeg," said Capt. Headley, solemnly, "how can we ever sufficiently repay you for your noble conduct to-day? Depend upon it, I shall not fail to make known to our Great Father that you have saved the lives of one third of the detachment; but let me remind you of the first part of our contract--the burial of the dead. There is plenty of daylight, and I wish to send out a dozen men for the purpose of digging one common grave for them all. Mr. Ronayne must, if not dead, be brought in on a litter; if, however, he is no more, no grave can be more honorable to him than that shared with his followers. You know, Corporal Collins, where the spades and picks are kept." "Yes, sir, I know where they are usually kept, and where it is not likely they have been disturbed. What men, sir, am I to take?" Almost every man in the detachment expressed his anxiety to be of the party; but the remainder of those who had been with the Virginian when he fell, and a few others, all unmarried men, were selected. "Do you not think, sir," said Lieutenant Elmsley, "that I should command this party and superintend the arrangements? Poor Ronayne must be delicately handled." "If you will do so, Mr. Elmsley, I shall be most glad; but not deeming it absolutely necessary, I did not propose it as a point of duty. But there is another thing to be considered: Winnebeg, what escort will you give to my people? You know your young men are excited, and many may not know of the conditions of our surrender." During this conversation, almost the whole of the Indians, to the number of eighteen or twenty, who have been alluded to as having plundered and offensively arrayed themselves in the dresses of the officers' wives, and who were evidently the most turbulent of the band, had been drawing gradually closer around the little party of prisoners. All were more or less ludicrously painted, and exhibited the most grotesque appearance. When the remnant of the detachment first entered the fort, it was remarked that one of them--a mere youth--had closely, almost impertinently, examined the features of the officers, and had followed, with most of his companions. When Captain Headley made his request for an escort, this individual suddenly went up to Winnebeg, tapped him on the shoulder, and said something, not in Pottowatomie but in Shawnee, accompanied by much gesticulation, which seemed to have great weight with the chief. "Give him escort, dis," said the latter in reply, as he glanced his eye quickly upon the group, and with seeming intelligence. "What! those men!" returned Captain Headley, with a shadow of remonstrance in his tone. "Yes, all good Pottowatomie--all brave warrior--no give him dis," and he pointed to those who had accompanied them from the field, "all too much tired with fight already--dis men stay here all day. No fight." Although by no means persuaded by the reasoning of Winnebeg, that men who had been plundering and drinking what they could find, during the whole of the morning, were the most proper persons to guard prisoners from the violence of excited enemies, Capt. Headley felt that it would be imprudent to urge any further opposition. For a single moment, it occurred to him that the chief had offered this escort with a hostile motive, but it was a thought which, involuntarily forced upon his mind, was as instantly discarded as unworthy of the chief, and, whatever might have been his latent misgivings, he no longer opposed an objection. The preparations were soon made; the litter, and materials for digging found, and the little party, who had taken off their uniforms to avoid particular remark, and to be more free in their movements, sallied forth. On passing near the gate, and in a direction opposite to that by which they had just entered, they beheld the body of Doctor Von Voltenberg, within a few paces of the pathway by which they now advanced, which was the route taken by the Indians with the three-pounder. He was stripped to the skin, scalped, and with a profusion of large green flies and ants of the prairie settled on and seemingly disputing possession of the dark and coagulated blood that was already incrusted on the festering wound. The body was fast becoming bloated and discolored under the rays of an August sun, but no one could mistake the black and the peculiarly cut whisker, and the good natured and smiling expression of face which even in death had not wholly deserted him. They had now reached the point where the Indians stood when the first grenades were thrown in among them by the followers of Ronayne. From this could be commanded a full view of the theatre of contest as far as the crest of the sandhill, being a full musket-shot from the spot where he had last fallen. The intermediate space, as has already been remarked, was thickly strewn with dead bodies amounting in all to upwards of a hundred, and the place chosen for interment by Lieutenant Elmsley was the small copse of underwood, from which the flank movement had been made upon Ronayne by the fresh band of Indians upon whom he had directed the fire of the three-pounder. While occupied in digging a grave of about twenty feet square, their strangely attired looking escort amused themselves with examining the dead uniformed bodies that lay strewed thickly around, and it was remarked that they showed no such curiosity in regard to their own people who were indiscriminately mixed up with them. Gradually they approached the crest of the hill, and Lieutenant Elmsley, who was distrustful of their intentions, and kept a close eye upon their movements, saw the youth, already noticed, suddenly bound with uplifted tomahawk towards the spot where poor Ronayne was known to lie, and, after addressing a few words to his companions, stoop over his body, with what intention he could not make out, but he presumed to dispatch and to scalp him, for the cry uttered by the Virginian and heard even at that distance, was piteous to hear. Desiring the men to go on with their work, and collect the bodies as soon as it was completed, he hurried rapidly to the scene of this new action, and as he advanced saw another and a much stronger party of Indians approaching the same spot. Rapidly their escort closed in upon the officer over whom the young warrior was kneeling, and stooping down, drew from their victim another moan of inexpressible anguish. All then rose, and, grouped together, moved away parallel with the said ridge until they were finally lost behind a sudden elevation that continued the hill in an obtuse angle towards the forest. Startled by the appearance of these fresh comers, Lieut. Elmsley paused for a moment in his advance, but feeling that any appearance of mistrust might act unfavorably upon the band, he renewed his course, expecting at every moment to reach the mangled body of his friend. The Indians approached the same point at the same time, and he saw at once that the majority were composed of those who had accompanied Winnebeg when he came to offer terms to Captain Headley. Trusting, therefore, that there was no violence to be apprehended from those who were aware of the fact of the surrender, towards himself or party, he proceeded to search for his friend; but, to his surprise, his body was not to be seen. He could not be mistaken as to the spot where it had lain, close to Sergeant Nixon; but, though the latter was nearly in the same position in which he had fallen, the knife which he had used upon the throat of the Chippewa, and the imprint of his body upon the sand, deeply moistened with the blood of both, was the only indication of Ronayne's having been there. It was evident that he had been carried off by the strange party who had formed their escort, and that the cries of agony uttered by him had been produced by the torture of moving his broken limb. What the motive for this new outrage could have been, it was difficult to conjecture, unless it was to secure at their leisure, and before the other party of Indians came up to dispute possession of the spoils with them--not only his scalp, but the blood-stained colors which he bore--perhaps to sell the latter as a trophy to the British. Without condescending to bestow the slightest notice upon the officer, the Indians approached the bodies, and leisurely proceeded to strip them of their clothing. Their leader, uttering a yell of delight and surprise as he came near it, sprang upon the sergeant and secured the scalp, which Pee-to-tum had failed to take. This piece of good fortune led the others to hope for something similar, and they accordingly dispersed themselves rapidly over the scene of combat, examining every head and stripping everybody. All this was done without Lieut. Elmsley having the slightest power to interfere, for he knew that any attempt at remonstrance would only be to provoke a similar fate, and thus the party passed on, stripping every soldier to the skin. While he lingered hesitatingly near the spot whence his friend had been so singularly removed, waiting for the plunderers of the dead to depart before he should rejoin his men, his ears were suddenly assailed by a piercing shriek from the further extremity of the underwood in which the latter were digging, and which extended about two hundred yards on the left of the plain below. At once he knew the cry, and comprehended its cause; and rushing down the sandhill without thought of the new danger to which he might be exposed, turned the corner of the small wood, and stopping abruptly at a point where he could see without being noticed himself, beheld A sight as distressing as, a few moments before, it had been unexpected. With his uncovered head slightly raised, and reposing upon the projecting root of a tall tree that rose capriciously, yet majestically, amid the stunted growth around, lay the enfeebled and dying Ronayne extended upon a pile of clothing formed of the very dresses that had now been doffed for the purpose by his escort. By his side knelt his wife, disguised in the neat dress of one of Wau-nan-gee's sisters, and gazing into his pale face with a silent expression of agony which no language could render. But though his face was wan, and his eye gradually losing its lustre, the arm of the officer closely clasped around the waist of his wife, ever and anon strained her so passionately, so convulsively to his heart that a new fire seemed at these moments to be enkindled in both--and to prove all the intensity of the undiminished love he bore her. Neither spoke. Speech could not so well convey what was passing in their sad souls as could their looks, while the exhausted state of the wounded officer rendered exertion of any kind not merely painful but impossible. On the other side of the Virginian, who held his hand affectionately in his feeble grasp, stooped the young Indian already noticed, and standing grouped round, and gazing with evident sorrow on the scene, were his companions. The youth was Wau-nan-gee. His companions were his immediate and devoted friends--those who had sought to make the young officer a prisoner on a former occasion, when, had they succeeded, all this trial of the wife's agony might have been spared. On the first exit of the troops they had rushed into the fort on the pretence of plunder and excess, in the hope that their example would be imitated by many, and that thus the detachment might be left to pursue its route comparatively unharmed. And to a certain extent they succeeded, for many did follow them, and Pee-to-tum among the rest, whose absence in the first onset of the battle had dispirited the Indians, whom he had first excited, and given the Americans an advantage of which they never lost sight until the close. To have taken an active part in the defence, would have been not only impossible but impolitic, but in the course they had pursued they had no doubt saved such of the detachment as remained, for had all been engaged--had all borne a prominent share in the attack, the event, from the great disparity of numbers, could not have long been doubtful. When Wau-nan-gee, whose anxiety to know his fate had been great, first heard from his father of the wounded condition of Ronayne, he had proffered himself and friends as the escort of the detachment, intending to bear off the body, without being seen by the other Indians, to his mother's tent, where his wounds might be dressed and his life saved by the care and attention of his own wife. All these particulars Lieut. Elmsley subsequently ascertained from Winnebeg, for anxious as he was to take a last leave of his dying friend, and to express his joy at once again beholding, even under these disheartening circumstances, her for whom both himself and his wife had ever entertained the strongest friendship, the officer was afraid to move from the spot where, unseen himself, he had witnessed all, lest by suddenly exciting and agitating, he should abruptly destroy the life which was evidently fast drawing to a close. To have broken that solemn and silent communion of spirits, would, he felt, have been sacrilege, and he abstained; and yet, as if fascinated by the sight, he could not leave the spot--he could not abandon his dearest and best friends without lingering to know how far his services might yet be available to both or one. Apparently, Mrs. Ronayne had not uttered a sound since that piercing cry had escaped her which attested her first knowledge of the hopeless condition of her wounded husband. The attempt to carry him off the field, with the view not only of preventing him from being scalped, as he certainly would have been by the party then advancing, but of conveying him to the Indian camp of the women, had been productive of the greatest suffering; so much so that when he had gained the point where he now lay, and where his wife had first met him, he declared to Wau-nan-gee his utter inability to proceed further, and prevailed on him to place him on the ground that he might die in quiet. It was now near sunset, and the condition of the Virginian was momentarily becoming weaker. He suddenly made an attempt to rally, and for a moment or two raised himself upon the elbow of the hand that still encircled the waist of his wife. "Maria, my soul's adored!" he murmured, "I feel that I have not many moments left, and I should die in despair did I not know that there is one who will protect you while he has life. God knows what has been the fate of our poor companions, but even if living, they cannot shield you from danger. Wau-nan-gee," he said, turning faintly to the youth, "two things I am sure you will promise your friend--first, to conduct yourself in all things as my wife--your sister--desires; secondly, to conceal and guard these colors until you can deliver them up to the nearest American fort." Then, when the youth had solemnly promised, with tears filling his dark eyes, that he would faithfully execute the trust, he turned again to his wife, and said in a tone that marked increased exhaustion at the effort he had made, "Maria, sweet, it is hard to die thus--to leave you thus; but yet you will not be alone--Wau-nan-gee will love and protect you, obey your will: yet you need not now fear, I have avenged your wrong--that wrong of which the ruffian boasted when I slew him--tortured him--the monster. How different the gentle love of this affectionate boy! But I have not strength--oh, what sickly faintness comes over me! surely this must be ----." "Death!" he would have added, but silence had for ever sealed the lips that never more would speak his undying affection for his noble, graceful, and accomplished wife. For some moments the unhappy woman continued to gaze upon the still features of her husband as though unconscious of the extent of her great misery, and when the reaction came, it was not expressed in shrieks or lamentations, or strong outward manifestations of emotion, but in the calm, serene, condensed silence of the sorrow that stultifies and annihilates. Her cheek was pale as marble, and there was a fixedness of the eye almost alarming to behold, as she rose erect from her bending position, and said, with severity, "This and more have your cursed people done, Wau-nan-gee! I shall ever hate to look upon an Indian face again! Yet that body must be buried deep in the ground, and in a spot known only to us both, where none may violate the dead. You have promised to obey me in all things. This is the first charge upon you. Let us go--the night is fast approaching, and the place remains to be reached, and the grave is to be dug. By to-morrow's dawn we travel together and alone through the wilderness, in execution of the will of your friend and my husband. Mark that, Wau-nan-gee! It is his will that we travel together--that you shall be my guide and protector. See this dress, how well it disguises me. I shall be taken, as we journey, for your squaw. Ha! ha! That will be excellent, will it not? Maria Heywood--Ronayne's wife--the mistress of a fiend--then Wau-nan-gee's squaw--and not yet six weeks married to the first!" She suddenly paused, put her hand to her brow--seemed to reflect, and then turning to Wau-nan-gee, inquired why he lingered so long and wherefore he did not replace the body in the litter and depart. With a pensive and serious mien the youth, who had been still kneeling, absorbed in sorrow at the strange coldness of Mrs. Ronayne's manner, and afraid to disturb her in a distraction which he comprehended more from her looks and actions than her language, now rose, and saying something in a low tone to his companions, who had also regarded her throughout with silent surprise, the covering on which the body of the unfortunate officer reposed, was placed upon the blanket, which four of the party held extended, and at the direction of Wau-nan-gee the whole proceeded towards the forest. When this strange and dispiriting scene had terminated, Lieut. Elmsley, who felt at each moment in a greater degree the uselessness of any interference in his powerless position, was rejoiced that at least the last moments of his friend had been consoled by the presence of his wife; he was led to hope that it had been the result of a momentarily-disordered brain, on which despair had now wreaked its worst, and which, therefore, might be expected to regain a stronger if not its wonted tone when the bitterness of grief should have somewhat subsided. Proposing to prevail on Winnebeg to obtain for him a meeting with her on the morrow, when the remains of her husband should have been consigned to their rude resting-place, he returned towards his party, whom he found in the act of covering up the bodies which they had, unmolested by the Indians, brought in from the different points where they had fallen. The grave was soon filled up--a short and mournful prayer read by the officer from memory, and the party returned full of gloom, and with hearts bowed down by sorrow, to the dismantled and desolate-looking fort. CHAPTER XXVI. "This act is an ancient tale twice told." --_King John._ The wretchedness of that night who can tell! the despondency that filled the hearts of all, not so much in regard to the present as from apprehension for the future, who, untried in the same ordeal, can comprehend? but the feelings of the remnant of that little band, who were indebted for their safety to their own bravery, were not selfish. They lamented as deeply the fate of the fallen, as the dark and uncertain future that awaited themselves--uncertain because, although the chiefs had promised, and with sincerity, that they should be given up as prisoners of war at the nearest post, they had seen too much of the falsehood of the race generally to rely implicitly on its fulfilment by the warriors. Alas! where were their comrades--friends, nay, brothers of yesterday? Where was the brave, the noble-hearted Wells--where the once gay, ever high-spirited Ronayne--where poor Von Voltenberg--the manly Sergeant Nixon, a Virginian also--the faithful Corporal Green--and nearly two thirds of the privates of the detachment? The very fact of being in the fort again, and everywhere surrounded by objects rendering more striking the contrast between the past and the present, was agony in itself. There was scarcely a man among them who would not have preferred bivouacking, in the wild wood, amid storm and tempest, and the howling of beasts of prey, to resting that night within the polluted precincts of what had so recently been their safeguard and their pride. Fortunately, the two surviving officers were, in some measure, exempt from these mortifications. True to his word, Winnebeg had caused Mrs. Headley and Mrs. Elmsley to be conveyed undercover of the darkness from their place of concealment to the mansion of Mr. McKenzie, which, from the great popularity of the trader with the whole of the Indian tribes, had been left untouched--he himself having been looked upon as a non-combatant, and, therefore, spared from all personal outrage. The meeting between the husbands and their wives--both the former also slightly wounded during the day--was, as may be supposed, most affecting. Neither had ever expected, on parting in the morning, to behold each other; and now, although more or less injured, to find those who were preserved, as it were, by a miracle from a cruel death, with a prospect of future happiness, the past was for the moment forgotten, and gratitude to God for their preservation the dominant feeling of their souls. The examination of the wounds of the heroines was the next consideration. Most fortunate was it that of all the wounds received by the ladies--seven by Mrs. Headley and three by Mrs. Elmsley--not one was of a nature to disable or impede the motion of their lower limbs. A ball that had lodged in her arm, however, gave the former great pain; but, alas! there was no Von Voltenberg to cut it out. In this extremity, Winnebeg said he knew an Indian who was very expert at incision, and that he would procure his attendance. Meanwhile the party were enabled to partake of some refreshments which had been ordered on the departure of Winnebeg for his charge; and exhausted as all had been by intense anxiety and emotion, from the moment of their setting out almost to the present, this was truly acceptable, especially to the two officers. In the course of the repast, allusion was made to the gallantry and suffering of the unfortunate. Ronayne, when, on Captain Headley asking, for the first time, what had been done with the body, Lieut. Elmsley proceeded to relate all that he had heard and witnessed a few hours previously. This singular detail excited not only surprise but pain, especially in Mrs. Headley, whose deep friendship for, and interest in, both husband and wife had already been so strongly exhibited. It is not often that, in the hour of our keenest suffering, we have much sympathy to bestow upon others; but the noble woman had known the ill-fated Maria too intimately--known her too well--not to feel deep sorrow for the double affliction under which she labored. In the confession, if such it can be called, which he had committed to writing and subsequently transmitted by Wau-nan-gee, as well as in her wild and unconnected language on the day of the fatal occurrence itself, she had alluded to something terrible--an attempt at outrage, but in those vague terms of violated modesty which left the extent only to be surmised. No one of those who knew the contents of her communication, had suspected or presumed the worst, and had it not been for the avowal by Ronayne of his vengeance for the avowed fulfilment of the hellish and sacrilegious lust of the hideous monster, and the strange admission that fell in her despair from Mrs. Ronayne herself, the secret must have died with themselves. It was not exactly a subject for discussion, under ordinary circumstances, and before everyday women; but here not only were the parties cognizant few in number, but actuated by nobler motives than those which would have governed mere worldly and censuring people. Moreover, the nature of their connexion with each other, and with the victims themselves--for it was shown that Ronayne had received his mortal wound from the rifle of the Chippewa--even the atrocity complained of, connected as it was with all the horrors of the past day, not only justified but compelled it. "She must not be left where she is," gravely remarked Mrs. Headley, after some moments of reflection; "cannot Winnebeg, the good Winnebeg, whom, perhaps, we have taxed too much, be persuaded to bring her to us? Now that the worst has happened she will be far happier--more contented, by sharing our fortunes, whatever they may be, than remaining in the Indian encampment, cut off from every kindred association. What think you, Mrs. Elmsley?" "Oh, I shall be too delighted to see, and to soothe her sorrow. As a sister, I have ever loved her--as a sister, I love her still." "Then, assuredly," returned Mrs. Headley, "will she not hesitate to overcome her false delicacy, and to consider herself, what she really is, the victim of misfortune, and not of guilt, when a mother and a sister united look upon her as pure in thought as in the days of her unwedded innocence, and offer her what home may be preserved to themselves." "Generously, nobly said!" remarked Lieutenant Elmsley, pressing the hand of his wife and looking his feelings as he caught the eye of the last speaker. "I had intended to ask Winnebeg not to simply go himself, but to permit me to accompany him, that I might know her intention and offer her my aid. What I have now heard confirms me in my design. Early to-morrow morning, if he assents, we shall go over. But here he is himself, with the Indian who is to perform the operation on your arm, Mrs. Headley." The door opened, and Winnebeg entered, followed by a tall, powerful, good-looking Pottowatomie, who glanced inquisitively around the apartment with the air of one who expects an unpleasant recognition, nor was it apparently without reason, for the moment Mrs. Elmsley beheld him, she uttered an involuntary shriek, and drew back with every manifestation of disgust. The Indian remarked it, and sought to retire, but Mrs. Elmsley, suddenly recollecting herself, and fearing so to offend him as to prevent the aid he had come to render, rose and held out her hand to him, saying, with an attempt at a smile-- "Never mind--although we have fought a hard battle together to-day, it is all over now. Let us be friends. Winnebeg, explain this to him." Winnebeg did so, when, with a mingled look of astonishment and pleasure, the Pottowatomie warmly returned her pressure. It was the same warrior with whom she had grappled, in the desperation of a last hope, when so opportunely extricated from her perilous position by Black Partridge. As he had the reputation of much expertness in making incisions and removing balls lodged in the flesh, his attendance had been requested. Calm and composed, although evidently laboring under deep dejection for the loss of her uncle, the horrible mode of whose death had, however, been kept back from her, Mrs. Headley, dressed in the light-textured riding habit in which she had gone forth in the morning, and which, it has already been remarked, set off her finely moulded bust and waist to the best advantage, prepared to submit herself to the operation. As she raised herself up on the ottoman on which she reclined, Mrs. Elmsley cut open the sleeve to the shoulder, thus laying bare one of the most magnificent arms that ever was appended to a woman's body, the dazzling whiteness of whose contour was only dimmed in the fleshy part above, and in the immediate vicinity of the spot where the ball had entered. At a sign from Captain Headley, the Indian, who had been talking aside with his chief, now approached, but no sooner did he behold the uncovered limb, when, either dazzled by its brilliancy, which to him must have seemed in a great degree superhuman, or shocked that anything so beautiful should have been thus wounded, he suddenly stopped, and while his eyes were as if fascinated, the blood could be seen suddenly to recede from his dark cheek. "No, father," he said to Winnebeg, "I cannot do it. I cannot cut that arm open--the very thought makes me sick here"--and he pointed to his heart. "I cannot do it." Although this involuntary homage to the rich, full, and moulded beauty of a limb which was but a sample of the perfection of the whole person, and which in a woman seldom attains its fullest harmony of proportion before the mature age which Mrs. Headley had attained, was not exactly that of the porter who, at an earlier period, solicited the famous Duchess of Gordon to permit him to light his pipe at her ladyship's brilliant eyes, it was certainly conceived in much of a similar spirit, and Mrs. Headley could scarce herself suppress a smile when she remarked the effect upon the Indian. And yet this man had been one of the foremost in the attack, and at his waist, even then, dangled more scalps than had been taken by any other warrior during the day. "Well," said Mrs. Headley, on the Pottowatomie continuing resolute in his refusal to touch the wound--"somebody must do this act of charity, for the ball gives me much pain. Mr. McKenzie," she added, with that sort of smile that may be attributed to a person seeking to assume an air of unconcern even when most disheartened--"you have long been accustomed to use the dissecting knife on the buffalo and the bear: do you not think that you could find the courage necessary for the occasion!" "Most decidedly; I will make the attempt if you desire it," returned the trader; "but I fear that my surgical apparatus is Very limited indeed. Von Voltenberg having been stripped, all his instruments have, doubtless, been plundered, so it is no use to look for aid there; and the only thing with which I can try my skill is a common but very sharp penknife." "Try whatever you please," said Mrs. Headley; "only relieve me of this suffering; that which you may inflict cannot possibly be worse"--and unflinchingly extending her arm, she waited for him to begin. For the first time in his life Mr. McKenzie felt nervous. There was a greater amount of courage required to cut into the delicate flesh, of a woman than even to _kill_ a bear or a buffalo; but as he had promised, he summoned up his resolution and skill to the task. The Pottowatomie, bedizened with scalps as he was, had remained to witness the cutting out of the ball; and nothing could surpass the expression of surprise that pervaded his features, as he keenly watched the almost immovability of Mrs. Headley from the moment that the blade of the penknife, dexterously enough handled, entered into the flesh and effected the incision necessary to enable the ball to be removed. When the operation was finished, and the ball produced, he started suddenly to his feet, and uttered a sharp exclamation, denoting approbation of her wonderful courage. He asked, as a favor, to retain the ball as a testimony of her heroism; when Mrs. Headley presented it to him with her own hand. And with this he departed, exulting as though he had taken a new scalp. This incident, perhaps unimportant in itself, was not without some moment in the results to which it led. On the day following the fort was filled with Indians and their squaws not only endeavoring to assert their claims to individual prisoners, but infuriated at the losses, seeking a victim to the manes of their deceased relatives. Among others was an aged squaw, who had lost a favorite son in the battle, and who, having been told by a warrior that he had distinctly seen him killed by a shot from Mrs. Headley's rifle, repaired to the house of Mr. McKenzie, where she knew she then was, bent upon exciting the general sympathy of the warriors in her favor, and obtaining their assent that she should revenge his death upon the "white squaw." It happened, however, that the noble woman, feeling great relief from the abstraction of the ball from her left arm the preceding evening, and feeling secure in the pledge entered into by Winnebeg, and confirmed in a measure by his people, had fearlessly mounted her horse, which had been recovered for her, and ridden alone to the baggage wagons for the purpose of procuring some article which, at the moment, she much required. As she was returning, and when near the entrance to the fort, she was met by the vixen, furious with rage and disappointment at not having found her. Advancing with a cry that might be likened to that of a fiend, she seized the bridle of the horse, and attempted to drag his rider by her habit to the ground--shrieking forth at the same time her determination to have her life who had taken the life of her son. But Mrs. Headley was not one, as the reader of this by no means fictitious narrative already knows, to be thus intimidated. She possessed too much of the high spirit, the resolute nature of her unfortunate uncle to submit quietly to the outrage, and, moreover, she knew enough of the Indian character to be sensible that it was not by any manifestation of submission that she could hope to escape the threatened danger. Her course was at once taken. She struck the gaunt and shrivelled hag such a violent stroke over her shoulder with the horsewhip of cowhide she held, that the latter was compelled to release her hold; and, as she rushed into the fort, calling on the Indians to revenge her son and kill the white squaw, the latter followed her completely round the square, using her cowhide with a dexterity and an effect, as she leaned over her saddle, that drew bursts of laughter and approval from the warriors eagerly gazing on the scene. At one moment, there was a manifestation of a desire to carry out the wishes of the crone and kill Mrs. Headley, and several voices were loud in the expression, but suddenly then stood forth the Pottowatomie of the preceding evening, the antagonist of Mrs. Elmsley, who, from his commanding appearance, not less than by the prestige of his bravery imparted by the numerous fresh scalps at his side, soon made himself an object of attention. None of the chiefs were present. "The white squaw shall not be killed," he pronounced, as he held up his tomahawk authoritatively; "she is brave like a Pottowatomie warrior. See here," holding up first five and then two fingers--"so many balls have hit her, and yet she is here, on horseback, as if nothing had happened. What Indian would have courage to do that? Speak!" "Pwau-na-shig lies," returned the beldam, whom Mrs. Headley had now ceased to punish, yet who, panting from the speed she had used in her flight, was almost inarticulate, thereby provoking the greater mass of the Indians knowing its cause to increased mirth--"the white squaw has no wounds--where are they--she cannot show them. If she had wounds she could not sit on her horse; but she has killed my son, and I demand her blood. Let her be given up to my tomahawk." A loud and confused murmur burst from many of the group, influenced by the words of the last speaker. Mrs. Headley sat her horse with indifference, patting his head gently with the whip, yet looking earnestly towards Pwau-na-shig, upon whom she now altogether relied. "The mother of Tuh-qua-quod is a foolish old woman, and knows not what she says," vociferated the tall warrior; "do you doubt the word of Pwau-na-shig--see here," and he took from his pouch and held up to view between his finger and thumb the bullet which had been extracted the preceding evening. "That," he said, "I saw taken from her flesh with my own eyes--she did not move--she made no sign, of pain--she was like a warrior's wife; but you shall see what Pwau-na-shig says is true." He approached Mrs. Headley, who, comprehending his object, shifted her rein to the whip hand, and calmly extended her left arm. Where it had been cut open, the sleeve of her riding habit was fastened from the wrist to the shoulder by narrow dark ribbons, which had been sewn on the previous evening by Mrs. Elmsley, and these the Pottowatomie proceeded to untie; then turned back the sleeve, as well as the snow--white linen of the upper arm, soiled only with her own blood, until the whole was revealed. Apparently as much struck by the brilliancy and symmetry of the limb as Pwau-na-shig himself had been, the warriors--even those who had been most clamorous in support of the demand of the old squaw--were now unanimous in their low expressions of admiration; nor was this sentiment at all lessened when, following from the wrist the rich contour of the swelling arm, it finally rested upon the wound she herself had divested of its slight drapery. The incision made by the penknife of Mr. McKenzie, at least three, inches in length, had assumed a slight character of inflammation, and contrasting as it did with the astounding whiteness of every other portion of the limb, gave it the appearance of being much more severe than it really was. But it was not the wound alone that enlisted the feelings of the Indians in favor of Mrs. Headley. Connected with that was the coolness she had evinced throughout the whole affair from the persevering flogging of the harridan, who sought her scalp, to the graceful unconcern with which she sat her horse when she must have known that it was then a question under discussion whether her life should be taken or not. This, with the fact of the wound which they then saw, and their no longer doubt of the existence of many others, were undeniable evidences of her heroism, and at that moment Mrs. Headley was regarded by these wild people with a higher respect than she had ever commanded in the palmiest days of her husband's influence with the race. "No kill him," said Pwau-na-shig, exultingly, as he remarked the effect produced on his companions--"white chiefs wife good warrior." "No, no kill him," answered another voice, in broken English also. "Dam fine squaw--wish had him wife--get brave papoose." A general expression of assent came from the band, when Mrs. Headley, whose sleeve had again been rudely tied by Pwau-na-shig, fearing that if she remained longer another reaction might take place, pressed the hand of the Indian with a warmth of gratitude that brought the strong fire into his eye and the warm blood into his cheek, turned her horse's head, and cantered out of the fort, followed by the wild ravings of the beldam, who tore her long and matted grey hair and stamped her feet in fury at the disappointment. In a few minutes she was again at the door of Mr. McKenzie, and alighted in the arms of her husband, who, alarmed at her long absence, was in the act of leaving the house in search of her when she arrived. "There come Elmsley and Winnebeg, but unaccompanied," remarked Captain Headley, when, in reply to his inquiry as to the cause of her long absence, she said she would tell him later. "I fear that they have been unable to prevail upon Maria to leave the new home of her election." "I am sorry for it," gravely returned his wife. "I must say her choice is not exactly what I should have expected; but here they are--we shall soon know. Well, Mr. Elmsley," she added, as that officer ascended the veranda, followed by Winnebeg, "what news do you bring of the truant?" "I scarcely know whether to consider it good or bad," returned the lieutenant, with an air of disappointment; "but I have not seen Mrs. Ronayne. There seems to have been more method than madness in her language to Wau-nan-gee of yesterday, for this morning she departed with him to Detroit." "Indeed," remarked Mrs. Headley; "you surprise me, Mr. Elmsley; but does she perform that long journey on foot?" "No; Winnebeg ascertained from his wife that she was mounted on her own horse, and that Wau-nan-gee, having visited and returned from. Hardscrabble during the night with a couple of trunks, she had made up two large packages, which were tied to the back of her saddle, while the youth strapped two others similarly prepared with provisions, behind his own pony. Thus provided, and Wau-nan-gee with his rifle on his shoulder and otherwise well armed, they set out at daybreak. "Poor Maria! what your eventful destiny will be, heaven only knows," sighed Mrs. Headley; "for not only the road but the course you pursue is one beset with danger. But our lots are now cast in different channels, and we have need of attention to ourselves. Come in, Winnebeg, while I relate to you the somewhat narrow escape I have again had from the tomahawk since you left this morning." "Good God! what do you mean?" simultaneously exclaimed the two officers. Winnebeg stared and looked as if he did not fully comprehend. "Oh! quite an adventure, I can assure you; and who do you think was my devoted knight-errant?" "What a subject to jest about, Ellen!" remarked her husband, half reprovingly. "To whom do you allude?" "Only the tall warrior who tried so desperately to get your wife's scalp, Mr. Elmsley." "What, Pwau-na-shig?" "The same. You cannot imagine what a conquest I have made; but let us go in--the story is too good not to be told to all, and I presume both Mrs. Elmsley and her father are in." "They are," said Captain Headley, as the lieutenant gave his arm to conduct her into the house. ------ Little remains to be added to our tale. Of the incidents that occurred to Wau-nan-gee and his charge, after their departure from the camp of the Pottowatomies, we might, and may, speak hereafter; but, as it is not essential to our present design, and would necessarily occupy far more space than is consistent with the limits we have been compelled to prescribe to ourselves for the detail of the attack and partial massacre of the garrison of Fort Dearborn, we forbear. We had always intended the facts connected with the historical events of that period to be divided into a series of three, like the Guardsmen, Mousquetaires, and Twenty Years After, of Dumas. Two of these, embracing different epochs and circumstances, we have completed in "Hardscrabble" and "Wau-nan-gee;" and whether the third, on a different topic than that of war, and which, as we have just observed, is not necessary to the others, ever finds embodiment in the glowing language and thought of Nature, nursed and strengthened in Nature's solitude, will much depend on the interest with which its predecessors shall have been received. Yet, whether we do so or not, we trust the sweet, the gentle Maria Ronayne--the loadstone of attraction to all who knew her, will have excited sufficient interest in those of her own sex who have followed her in her hitherto chequered fate to induce in them a desire to know more of the destiny to which she seemed to have been born. Of the other characters, scarcely less interesting, we can speak with greater confidence. On the third day after the battle, the prisoners, including Mr. McKenzie and the members of his household, were removed from Chicago, and scattered about in small and separate parties, at various intervals of distance from Mackinaw, then in possession of the British. Here Mrs. Headley remained some time, in order that she might recover sufficiently from her troublesome wounds, when Winnebeg, in whose immediate charge she and her husband were, learning that his people manifested impatience at the indulgence shown to them, and with their usual fickleness and inconsistency, desired to have them given up to their own custody, paddled them, aided only by his squaw, from their village, a distance of three hundred miles along the shores of Lake Michigan to the post of Mackinaw, whence the prisoners, who had been received with all the courtesy the knowledge of their position and the fame of their deeds could not fail to inspire, by the gentlemanly commander of that post, were subsequently transferred to the general then commanding at Detroit. And great was the curiosity of the young British officers then in garrison at the latter post, to behold this noble and accomplished woman, the reputation of whose coolness and courage, under the most trying circumstances, had been widely circulated by her friend, Mrs. Elmsley, who, with her father and husband, had some weeks preceded her to the same quarter. Little did we at the time, as we shared in the general and sincere homage to her magnificence of person and brilliancy of character, dream that a day would arrive when we should be the chronicler of Mrs. Headley's glory, or have the pleasing task imposed upon us of re-embodying, after death, the inimitable grace and fulness of contour that then fired the glowing heart of the unformed boy of fifteen for the ripened and heroic, although by no means bold or masculine woman of forty. THE END. 
34486	----	Among the Red-skins, by W.H.G. Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ AMONG THE RED-SKINS, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. MISSING. AN UNEXPECTED RETURN--HUGH IS ABSENT--NO KNOWLEDGE OF HIS WHEREABOUTS-- UNCLE DONALD'S APPREHENSIONS--A HURRIED SUPPER, AND PREPARATIONS FOR A SEARCH. "Hugh, my lad! Hugh, run and tell Madge we have come back," cried Uncle Donald, as he and I entered the house on our return, one summer's evening, from a hunting excursion in search of deer or any other game we could come across, accompanied by three of our dogs, Whiskey, Pilot, and Muskymote. As he spoke, he unstrapped from his shoulders a heavy load of caribou meat. I, having a similar load, did the same--mine was lighter than his--and, Hugh not appearing, I went to the door and again called. No answer came. "Rose, my bonnie Rose! Madge, I say! Madge! Where are you all?" shouted Uncle Donald, while he hung his rifle, with his powder-horn and shot-pouch, in their accustomed places on the wall. On glancing round the room he seemed somewhat vexed to perceive that no preparations had been made for supper, which we expected to have found ready for us. It was seldom, however, that he allowed himself to be put out. I think I can see him now--his countenance, though weather-beaten and furrowed by age, wearing its usual placid and benignant expression; while his long silvery beard and the white locks which escaped from beneath his Highland bonnet gave him an especially venerable appearance. His dress was a plaid shooting-coat, and high leggings of well-tanned leather, ornamented with fringe after the fashion of the Indians. Upright as an arrow, with broad shoulders and wiry frame, he stood upwards of six feet in his mocassins, nor did he appear to have lost anything of the strength and energy of youth. As no one appeared, I ran round to the back of the house, thinking that Rose and Madge, accompanied by Hugh, had gone to bring in the milk, which it was the duty of Sandy McTavish to draw from our cows, and that he, for some cause or other, being later than usual, they had been delayed. I was not mistaken. I presently met them, Madge carrying the pails, and Rose, a fair-haired, blue-eyed little maiden, tripping lightly beside her. She certainly presented a great contrast in appearance to the gaunt, dark-skinned Indian woman, whose features, through sorrow and hardship, had become prematurely old. I inquired for Hugh. "Is he not with you?" asked Rose, in a tone of some little alarm. "He went off two hours ago, saying that he should be sure to fall in with you, and would assist in bringing home the game you might have killed." "Yes, Hugh would go. What he will he do," said the Indian woman, in the peculiar way of speaking used by most of her people. "He felt so much better in the afternoon that he was eager to go out and help you," said Rose. "He thought that Uncle Donald would not be angry with him, though he had told him to remain at home." We soon got back to the house. When Uncle Donald heard where Hugh had gone, though he expressed no anger, he looked somewhat troubled. He waited until Rose had gone out of the room, then he said to me-- "I noticed, about four miles from home, as we went out in the morning, the marks of a `grizzly,' which had been busy grubbing up a rotten log, but as his trail appeared to lead away up the mountains to the eastward I did not think it worth my while to chase him; and you having just before separated from me, I forgot to mention the fact when you came back. But vexed would I be if Hugh should have fallen in with the brute. He's too venturesome at times; and if he fired and only wounded it, I doubt it would be a bad job for him. Don't you let Rose hear a word about the `grizzly,' Archie," he hastily added, as she re-entered the room. Both Madge and Rose were, however, very anxious when they found that Hugh had not returned with us. There was still an hour or so of daylight, and we did not therefore abandon the hope that he would return before dark. Uncle Donald and I were both very hungry, for we had been in active exercise the whole of the day, and had eaten nothing. Madge knowing this set about preparing supper with all haste. She could not, however, help running to the door every now and then to ascertain if Hugh were coming. At length Sandy McTavish came in. He was something like Uncle Donald in figure, but though not so old, even more wiry and gaunt, looking as if he were made of bone and sinews covered with parchment. He at once volunteered to set out and look for Hugh. "Wait till we get our supper, and Archie and I will go too. What's the use of man or boy with an empty stomach?" said Uncle Donald. "'Deed an' that's true," observed Sandy, helping himself from the trencher which stood in the centre of the table. "It's a peety young Red Squirrel isna' here; he would ha' been a grand help if Maister Hugh's missin'. But I'm thinkin' he's no far off, sir. He'll have shot some beast likely, and be trying to trail it hame; it wud be a shame to him to hae lost his way! I canna believe that o' Maister Hugh." Sandy said this while we were finishing our supper, when, taking down our rifles, with fresh ammunition, and bidding Rose and Madge "cheer up," we three set out in search of Hugh. Fortunately the days were long, and we might still hope to discover his track before darkness closed upon the world. CHAPTER TWO. AN INDIAN RAID. SCENE OF THE STORY--HISTORY OF ARCHIE AND HUGH--A JOURNEY ACROSS THE PRAIRIE--A VILLAGE BURNT BY THE INDIANS--UNCLE DONALD PURSUES THE BLACKFEET--ARRIVAL AT THE INDIAN CAMP. But where did the scene just described occur? And who were the actors? Take a map of the world, run your eye over the broad Atlantic, up the mighty St. Lawrence, across the great lakes of Canada, then along well-nigh a thousand miles of prairie, until the Rocky Mountains are reached, beyond which lies British Columbia, a region of lakes, rivers, and streams, of lofty, rugged, and precipitous heights, the further shores washed by the Pacific Ocean. On the bank of one of the many affluents of its chief river--the Fraser--Uncle Donald had established a location, called Clearwater, far removed from the haunts of civilised man. In front of the house flowed the ever-bright current (hence the name of the farm), on the opposite side of which rose rugged pine-crowned heights; to the left were others of similar altitude, a sparkling torrent running amid them into the main stream. Directly behind, extending some way back, was a level prairie, interspersed with trees and bordered by a forest extending up the sides of the variously shaped hills; while eastward, when lighted by the rays of the declining sun, numberless snow-capped peaks, tinged with a roseate hue, could be seen in the far distance. Horses and cattle fed on the rich grass of the well-watered meadows, and a few acres brought under cultivation produced wheat, Indian corn, barley, and oats sufficient for the wants of the establishment. Such was the spot which Uncle Donald, who had won the friendship of the Sushwap tribe inhabiting the district, had some years ago fixed on as his abode. He had formerly been an officer in the Hudson's Bay Company, but had, for some reason or other, left their service. Loving the country in which he had spent the best years of his life, and where he had met with the most strange and romantic adventures, he had determined to make it his home. He had not, however, lost all affection for the land of his birth, or for his relatives and friends, and two years before the time I speak of he had unexpectedly appeared at the Highland village from which, when a young man, more than a quarter of a century before, he had set out to seek his fortune. Many of his relatives and the friends of his youth were dead, and he seemed, in consequence, to set greater value on those who remained, who gave him an affectionate reception. Among them was my mother, his niece, who had been a little blooming girl when he went away, but was now a staid matron, with a large family. My father, Mr Morton, was a minister, but having placed himself under the directions of a Missionary Society, he was now waiting in London until it was decided in what part of the world he should commence his labours among the heathen. My two elder brothers were already out in the world--one as a surgeon, the other in business--and I had a fancy for going to sea. "Let Archie come with me," said Uncle Donald. "I will put him in the way of doing far better than he ever can knocking about on salt water; and as for adventures, he'll meet with ten times as many as he would if he becomes a sailor." He used some other arguments, probably relating to my future advantage, which I did not hear. They, at all events, decided my mother; and my father, hearing of the offer, without hesitation gave his consent to my going. It was arranged, therefore, that I should accompany Uncle Donald back to his far-off home, of which he had left his faithful follower, Sandy McTavish, in charge during his absence. "I want to have you with me for your own benefit, Archie; but there is another reason. I have under my care a boy of about your own age, Hugh McLellan, the son of an old comrade, who died and left him to my charge, begging me to act the part of a father to him. I have done so hitherto, and hope to do so as long as I live; you two must be friends. Hugh is a fine, frank laddie, and you are sure to like one another. As Sandy was not likely to prove a good tutor to him, I left him at Fort Edmonton when I came away, and we will call for him as we return." I must pass over the parting with the dear ones at home, the voyage across the Atlantic, and the journey through the United States, which Uncle Donald took from its being in those days the quickest route to the part of the country for which we were bound. After descending the Ohio, we ascended the Mississippi to its very source, several hundred miles, by steamboat; leaving which, we struck westward, passing the head waters of the Bed River of the north, on which Fort Garry, the principal post of the Hudson's Bay Company, is situated, but which Uncle Donald did not wish to visit. We had purchased good saddle-horses and baggage animals to carry our goods, and had engaged two men--a French Canadian, Pierre Le Clerc, and an Irishman, Cornelius Crolly, or "Corney," as he was generally called. Both men were known to Uncle Donald, and were considered trustworthy fellows, who would stick by us at a pinch. The route Uncle Donald proposed taking was looked upon as a dangerous one, but he was so well acquainted with all the Indian tribes of the north that he believed, even should we encounter a party of Blackfeet, they would not molest us. We had been riding over the prairie for some hours, with here and there, widely scattered, farms seen in the distance, and were approaching the last frontier settlement, a village or hamlet on the very outskirts of civilisation, when we caught sight of a column of smoke ascending some way on directly ahead of us. "Can it be the prairie on fire?" I asked, with a feeling of alarm; for I had heard of the fearful way in which prairie fires sometimes extend for miles and miles, destroying everything in their course. Uncle Donald stood up in his stirrups that he might obtain a better view before us. "No; that's not the smoke of burning grass. It looks more like that from a building, or may be from more than one. I fear the village itself is on fire," he answered. Scarcely had he spoken when several horsemen appeared galloping towards us, their countenances as they came near exhibiting the utmost terror. They were passing on, when Uncle Donald shouted out, "Hi! where are you going? What has happened?" On hearing the question, one of the men replied, "The Indians have surprised us. They have killed most of our people, set fire to our houses, and carried off the women and children." "And you running away without so much as trying to recover them? Shame upon ye!" exclaimed Uncle Donald. "Come on with me, and let's see what can be done!" The men, however, who had scarcely pulled rein, were galloping forward. Uncle Donald shouted to them to come back, but, terror-stricken, they continued their course, perhaps mistaking his shouts for the cries of the Indians. "We must try and save some of the poor creatures," said Uncle Donald, turning to our men. "Come on, lads! You are not afraid of a gang of howling red-skins!" and we rode on, making our baggage horses move much faster than they were wont to do under ordinary circumstances. Before reaching the village we came to a clump of trees. Here Uncle Donald, thinking it prudent not to expose his property to the greedy eyes of the Indians, should we overtake them, ordered Corney and Pierre to halt and remain concealed, while he and I rode forward. By the time we had got up to the hamlet every farm and log-house was burning, and the greater part reduced to ashes. No Indians were to be seen. According to their custom, after they had performed their work they had retreated. I will pass over the dreadful sights we witnessed. Finding no one alive to whom we could render assistance, we pushed on, Uncle Donald being anxious to come up with the enemy before they had put their captives to death. Though darkness was approaching, we still rode forward. "It's likely they will move on all night, but, you see, they are loaded, and we can travel faster than they will. They are sure to camp before morning, and then we'll get up with them," observed Uncle Donald. "But what will become of our baggage?" I asked. "Oh, that will be safe enough. Pierre and Corney will remain where we left them until we get back," he answered. I was certain that Uncle Donald knew what he was about, or I should have been far from easy, I confess. We went on and on, the Indians keeping ahead of us. From this circumstance, Uncle Donald was of opinion that they had not taken many prisoners. At length we came to a stream running northward, bordered by willows poplars, and other trees. Instead of crossing directly in front of us, where it was somewhat deep, we kept up along its banks. We had not got far when we saw the light of a fire, kindled, apparently, at the bottom of the hollow through which the stream passed. "If I'm not far wrong, that fire is in the camp of their rear guard. Their main body cannot be far off," observed Uncle Donald. "Dismount here, Archie, and you hold the horses behind these trees, while I walk boldly up to them. They won't disturb themselves much for a single man." I dismounted as he desired, and he proceeded toward the fire. I felt very anxious, for I feared that the Blackfeet might fire and kill him without stopping to learn who he was. CHAPTER THREE. WITH THE RED-SKINS. UNCLE DONALD AND THE BLACKFEET--THE CHIEF'S SPEECH--A FORTUNATE RECOGNITION--PONOKO GIVES UP A LITTLE GIRL TO UNCLE DONALD--IMPOSSIBLE TO DO ANY MORE--PONOKO URGES DEPARTURE--ROSE IS ADOPTED BY UNCLE DONALD--HUGH MCLELLAN--MADGE--STORY OF A BRAVE INDIAN MOTHER--RED SQUIRREL--THE HOUSEHOLD AT CLEARWATER. I waited with intense anxiety for Uncle Donald who appeared to have been a long time absent. I dared not disobey his orders by moving from the spot, yet I felt eager to creep up and try and ascertain what had happened. I thought that by seeming the horses to the trees, I might manage to get near the Indian camp without being perceived, but I overcame the temptation. At length I heard footsteps approaching, when, greatly to my relief, I saw Uncle Donald coming towards me, carrying some object wrapped up in a buffalo-robe in his arms. I will now mention what occurred to him. He advanced, as he told me afterwards, without uttering a word, until he was close up to the fire round which the braves were collected, then seating himself opposite the chief, whom he recognised by his dress and ornaments, said, "I have come as a friend to visit my red brothers; they must listen to what I have to say." The chief nodded and passed the pipe he was smoking round to him, to show that he was welcome as a friend. Uncle Donald then told them that he was aware of their attack upon the village, which was not only unjustifiable, but very unwise, as they would be certain to bring down on their heads the vengeance of the "Long-knives"--so the Indians call the people of the United States. That wide as was the country, the arm of the Long-knives could stretch over it; that they had fleet horses, and guns which could kill when their figures appeared no larger than musk rats; and he urged them, now that the harm was done, to avert the punishment which would overtake them by restoring the white people they had captured. When he had finished, the chief rose and made a long speech, excusing himself and his tribe on the plea that the Long-knives had been the aggressors; that they had killed their people, driven them from their hunting-grounds, and destroyed the buffalo on which they lived. No sooner did the chief begin to speak than Uncle Donald recognised him as a Sioux whose life he had saved some years before. He therefore addressed him by his name of Ponoko, or the Red Deer, reminding him of the circumstance. On this the chief, advancing, embraced him; and though unwilling to acknowledge that he had acted wrongly, he expressed his readiness to follow the advice of his white friend. He confessed, however, that his hand had only one captive, a little girl, whom he was carrying off as a present to his wife, to replace a child she had lost. "She would be as a daughter to me; but if my white father desires it, I will forego the pleasure I expected, and give her up to him. As for what the rest of my people may determine I cannot be answerable; but I fear that they will not give up their captives, should they have taken any alive," he added. "It would have been a terrible thing to have left the little innocent to be brought up among the savages and taught all their heathen ways, though they, no doubt, would have made much of her, and treated her like a little queen," said Uncle Donald to me; "so I at once closed with the chief's offer. Forthwith, a little girl, some five years of age, was brought out from a small hut built of boughs, close to where the party was sitting. She appeared almost paralysed with terror; but when, looking up, she saw that Uncle Donald was a white man, and that he was gazing compassionately at her, clinging to his hand, she entreated him by her looks to save her from the savages. She had been so overcome by the terrible scenes she had witnessed that she was unable to speak." Uncle Donald, lifting her up in his arms, endeavoured to calm her fears, promising that he would take care of her until he had restored her to her friends. He now expressed his intention of proceeding to the larger camp, but Ponoko urged him on no account to make the attempt, declaring that his life would not be safe, as several of their fiercest warriors were in command, who had vowed the destruction of all the Long-knives or others they should encounter. "But the prisoners! What will they do with them?" asked Uncle Donald. "Am I to allow them to perish without attempting their rescue?" "My white father must be satisfied with what I've done for him. I saw no other prisoners taken. All the pale-faces in the villages were killed," answered Ponoko. "For his own sake I cannot allow him to go forward; let him return to his own country, and he will there be safe. I know his wishes, and will, when the sun rises, go to my brother chiefs and tell them what my white father desires." Ponoko spoke so earnestly that Uncle Donald, seeing that it would be useless to make the attempt, and fearing that even the little girl might be taken from him, judged that it would be wise to get out of the power of the savages; and carrying the child, who clung round his neck, he bade the other braves farewell, and commenced his return to where he had left me. He had not got far when Ponoko overtook him, and again urged him to get to a distance as soon as possible. "Even my own braves cannot be trusted," he said. "I much fear that several who would not smoke the pipe may steal out from the camp, and try to kill my white father if he remains longer in the neighbourhood." Brave as Uncle Donald was, he had me to look after as well as the little girl. Parting with the chief, therefore, he hurried on, and told me instantly to mount. I was very much astonished to see the little girl, but there was no time to ask questions; so putting spurs to our horses, we galloped back to where we had left our men and the baggage. As both we and our horses required rest, we camped on the spot, Pierre and Corney being directed to keep a vigilant watch. The little girl lay in Uncle Donald's arms, but she had not yet recovered sufficiently to tell us her name, and it was with difficulty that we could induce her to take any food. Late in the day we met a party going out to attack the Indians; but, as Uncle Donald observed, "they might just as well have tried to catch the east wind. We waited to see the result of the expedition. They at length returned, not having come near the enemy. The few men who had escaped the massacre were unable to give any information about the little girl or her friends, nor could we learn to whom she belonged. All we could ascertain from her was that her name was Rose, for her mind had sustained so fearful a shock that, even after several days had passed, she was unable to speak intelligibly. "Her fate among the Indians would have been terrible, but it would be almost as bad were we to leave her among the rough characters hereabouts," observed Uncle Donald. "As none of her friends can be found, I will be her guardian, and, if God spares my life, will bring her up as a Christian child." It was many a long day, however, before Rose recovered her spirits. Her mind, indeed, seemed to be a blank as to the past, and Uncle Donald, afraid of reviving the recollection of the fearful scenes she must have witnessed, forbore to say anything which might recall them. However, by the time we reached Fort Edmonton, where Hugh McLellan had been left, she was able to prattle away right merrily. The officers at the fort offered to take charge of her, but Uncle Donald would not consent to part with his little "Prairie Rose," as he called her; and after a short stay we set out again, with Hugh added to our party, across the Rocky Mountains, and at length arrived safely at Clearwater. Corney and Pierre remained with us, and took the places of two other men who had left. Hugh McLellan was a fine, bold little fellow, not quite two years my junior; and he and I--as Uncle Donald had hoped we should--soon became fast friends. He had not much book learning, though he had been instructed in the rudiments of reading and writing by one of the clerks in the fort, but he rode fearlessly, and could manage many a horse which grown men would fear to mount. "I want you, Archie, to help Hugh with his books," said Uncle Donald. "I believe, if you set wisely about it, that he will be ready to learn from you. I would not like for him to grow up as ignorant as most of the people about us. It is the knowledge we of the old country possess which gives us the influence over these untutored savages; without it we should be their inferiors." I promised to do my best in fulfilling his wishes, though I took good care not to assert any superiority over my companion, who, indeed, though I was better acquainted with literature than he was, knew far more about the country than I did. But there was another person in the household whose history is worthy of narration--the poor Indian woman--"Madge," as we called her for shortness, though her real name was Okenmadgelika. She also owed her life to Uncle Donald. Several years before this, she, with her two children, had accompanied her husband and some other men on an expedition to trap beavers, at the end of autumn, towards the head waters of the Columbia. While she was seated in her hut late in the evening, one of the men staggered in desperately wounded, and had just time to tell her that her husband and the rest were murdered, when he fell dead at her feet. She, instantly taking up her children--one a boy of six years of age, the other a little girl, an infant in arms--fled from the spot, with a horse and such articles as she could throw on its back, narrowly escaping from the savages searching for her. She passed the winter with her two young ones, no human aid at hand. On the return of spring she set off, intending to rejoin her husband's people far away to the westward. After enduring incredible hardships, she had been compelled to kill her horse for food. She had made good some days' journey, when, almost sinking from hunger, and fearing to see her children perish, she caught sight of her relentless foes, the Blackfeet. In vain she endeavoured to conceal herself. They saw her and were approaching, when, close to the spot where she was standing, a tall white man and several Indians suddenly emerged from behind some rocks. The Blackfeet came on, fancying that against so few they could gain an easy victory; but the rifles of the white man and his party drove them back, and Uncle Donald--for he was the white man--conveyed the apparently dying woman and her little ones to his camp. The house at Clearwater had not yet been built. By being well cared for the Indian woman and her children recovered; but though the boy flourished, the little girl seemed like a withered flower, and never regained her strength. Grateful for her preservation, the poor woman, when she found that Uncle Donald was about to settle at Clearwater, entreated that she might remain with her children and labour for him, and a faithful servant she had ever since proved. Her little girl at length died. She was for a time inconsolable, until the arrival of Rose, to whom she transferred all her maternal feelings, and who warmly returned her affection. But her son, whose Indian name translated was Red Squirrel, by which appellation he was always known, had grown up into a fine lad, versed in all Indian ways, and possessing a considerable amount of knowledge gained from his white companions, without the vices of civilisation. He was a great favourite with Uncle Donald, who placed much confidence in his intelligence, courage, and faithfulness. Nearly two years had passed since Rose, Hugh, and I had been brought to Clearwater, and by this time we were all much attached to each other. We had also learned to love the place which had become our home; but we loved Uncle Donald far more. CHAPTER FOUR. THREE GRIZZLIES. THE START AFTER HUGH--A FOOT-PRINT--FOLLOWING THE TRAIL--ARCHER MEETS A GRIZZLY--A MISS-FIRE--DISCRETION THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR--FAR MORE BEARS--HELP, AND A JOINT ATTACK--HUGH UP IN A TREE--THE RESULT OF DISOBEDIENCE. I must now continue my narrative from the evening Hugh was missing. The moment we had finished our hurried meal we set out. Sandy, in case we should be benighted, had procured a number of pine torches, which he strapped on his back; and Uncle Donald directed Corney and Pierre who came in as we were starting, to follow, keeping to the right by the side of the torrent, in case Hugh should have taken that direction. Whiskey, Pilot, Muskymote followed closely at our heels--faithful animals, ready to drag our sleighs in winter, or, as now, to assist us in our search. We walked on at a rapid rate, and were soon in a wild region of forests, rugged hills, and foaming streams. As we went along we shouted out Hugh's name, and searched about for any signs of his having passed that way. At length we discovered in some soft ground a foot-print, which there could be no doubt was his, the toe pointing in the direction we were going. "Now we have found the laddie's trail we must take care not to lose it," observed Uncle Donald. "It leads towards the very spot where I saw the grizzly this morning." On and on we went. Soon another foot-print, and then a mark on some fallen leaves, and here and there a twig bent or broken off, showed that we were on Hugh's trail. But the sun had now sunk beneath the western range of mountains, and the gloom of evening coming on would prevent us from tracing our young companion much further. Still, as we should have met him had he turned back, we followed the only track he was likely to have taken. We were approaching the spot where Uncle Donald had seen the bear, near a clump of trees with a thick undergrowth, a rugged hill riding beyond. We were somewhat scattered, hunting about for any traces the waning light would enable us to discover. I half feared that I should come upon his mangled remains, or some part of his dress which might show his fate. I had my rifle, but was encumbered with no other weight, and in my eagerness, I ran on faster than my companions. I was making my way among some fallen timber blown down by a storm, when suddenly I saw rise up, just before me, a huge form. I stopped, having, fortunately, the presence of mind not to run away, for I at once recognised the animal as a huge grizzly, which had been engaged in tearing open a rotten trunk in search of insects. I remembered that Uncle Donald had told me, should I ever find myself face to face with a grizzly, to throw up my arms and stand stock still. The savage brute, desisting from its employment, came towards me, growling terribly, and displaying its huge teeth and enormous mouth. I was afraid to shout, lest it might excite the animal's rage; but I acted as Uncle Donald had advised me. As I lifted up my rifle and flourished it over my head, the creature stopped for a moment and got up on its hind legs. Now or never was my time to fire, for I could not expect to have a better opportunity, and bringing my rifle, into which I had put a bullet, to my shoulder, I took a steady aim and pulled the trigger. To my dismay, the cap snapped. It had never before played me such a trick. Still the bear kept looking at me, apparently wondering what I was about. Mastering all my nerve, and still keeping my eye fixed on the shaggy monster in front of me, I lowered my rifle, took out another cap, and placed it on the nipple. I well knew that should I only wound the bear my fate would be sealed, for it would be upon me in an instant. I felt doubly anxious to hill it, under the belief that it had destroyed my friend Hugh; but still it was sufficiently far off to make it possible for me to miss, should my nerves for a moment fail me. As long as it remained motionless I was unwilling to fire, in the hope that before I did so Uncle Donald and Sandy might come to my assistance. Having re-capped my rifle, I again lifted it to my shoulder. At that moment Bruin, who had grown tired of watching me, went down on all fours. The favourable opportunity was lost; for although I might still lodge a bullet in its head, I might not kill it at once, and I should probably be torn to pieces. I stood steady as before, though sorely tempted to run. Instead, however, of coming towards me, to my surprise, the bear returned to the log, and recommenced its occupation of scratching for insects. Had it been broad daylight I might have had a fair chance of shooting it; but in the obscurity, as it scratched away among the fallen timber, from which several gnarled and twisted limbs projected upwards, I was uncertain as to the exact position of its head. Under the circumstances, I considered that discretion was the better part of valour; and feeling sure that Uncle Donald and Sandy would soon come up and settle the bear more effectually than I should, I began slowly to retreat, hoping to get away unperceived. I stepped back very cautiously, scarcely more than a foot at a time, then stopped. As I did so I observed a movement a little distance off beyond the big bear, and presently, as I again retreated, two other bears came up, growling, to the big one, and, to my horror, all three moved towards me. Though smaller than their mother, each bear was large enough to kill me with a pat of its paw; and should I even shoot her they would probably be upon me. Again, however, they stopped, unwilling apparently to leave their dainty feast. How earnestly I prayed for the arrival of Uncle Donald and Sandy! I had time, too, to think of poor Hugh, and felt more convinced than ever that he had fallen a victim to the ferocious grizzlies. I still dared not cry out, but seeing them again turn to the logs, I began, as before, to step back, hoping at length to get to such a distance that I might take to my heels without the risk of being pursued. In doing as I proposed I very nearly tumbled over a log, but recovering myself, I got round it. When I stopped to see what the bears were about they were still feeding, having apparently forgotten me. I accordingly turned round and ran as fast as I could venture to go among the trees and fallen trunks, till at length I made out the indistinct figures of Uncle Donald and Sandy, with the dogs, coming towards me. "I have just seen three bears," I shouted. "Come on quickly, and we may be in time to kill them!" "It's a mercy they did not catch you, laddie," said Uncle Donald, when he got up to me. "With the help of the dogs we'll try to kill them, however. Can you find the spot where you saw them?" "I have no doubt about that," I answered. "Well, then, before we go further we'll just look to our rifles, and make sure that there's no chance of their missing fire." Doing as he suggested, we moved on, he in the centre and somewhat in advance, Sandy and I on either side of him, the dogs following and waiting for the word of command to rush forward. The bears did not discover us until we were within twenty yards of them, when Uncle Donald shouted to make them show themselves. I fancied that directly afterwards I heard a cry, but it might only have been the echo of Uncle Donald's voice. Presently a loud growl from the rotten log showed us that the bears were still there, and we soon saw all three sitting up and looking about them. "Sandy, do you take the small bear on the right; I will aim at the big fellow, and leave the other to you, Archie; but do not fire until you are sure of your aim," said Uncle Donald. "Now, are you ready?" We all fired at the same moment. Sandy's bear dropped immediately, but the big one, with a savage growl, sprang over the logs and came towards us, followed by the one at which I had fired. Uncle Donald now ordered the dogs, which had been barking loudly, to advance to the fight; but before they reached the larger bear she fell over on her side, and giving some convulsive struggles, lay apparently dead. The dogs, on this, attacked the other bear, which, made furious by its wound, was coming towards us, growling loudly. On seeing the dogs, however, the brute stopped, and sat up on its hind legs, ready with its huge paws to defend itself from their attacks. We all three, meantime, were rapidly reloading, and just as the bear had knocked over Whiskey and seized Muskymote in its paws, Uncle Donald and Sandy again fired and brought it to the ground, enabling Muskymote, sorely mauled, to escape from its deadly embrace. I instinctively gave a shout, and was running on, when Uncle Donald stopped me. "Stay!" he said; "those brutes play `possum' sometimes, and are not to be trusted. If they are not shamming, they may suddenly revive and try to avenge themselves." "We'll soon settle that," said Sandy, and quickly reloading, he fired his rifle into the head of the fallen bear. "Have you killed them all?" I heard a voice exclaim, which seemed to come from the branches of a tree some little distance off. I recognised it as Hugh's. "Hurrah!" I shouted; "are you all right?" "Yes, yes," answered Hugh, "only very hungry and stiff." We quickly made our way to the tree, where I found Hugh safe and sound, and assisted him to descend. He told us that he had fallen in with the bears on his way out, and had just time to escape from them by climbing up the tree, where they had kept him a prisoner all day. "I am thankful to get ye back, Hugh. You disobeyed orders, and have been punished pretty severely. I hope it will be a lesson to you," was the only remark Uncle Donald made as he grasped Hugh's hand. I judged, by the tone of his voice, that he was not inclined to be very angry. Having flayed the bears by the light of Sandy's torches, we packed up as much of the meat as we could carry, and hung up the remainder with the skins, intending to send for it in the morning. We then, having met the other two men, hastened homewards with Hugh; and I need not say how rejoiced Rose and Madge were to see him back safe. CHAPTER FIVE. AN EXPEDITION. WAITING FOR THE MESSENGERS--TWO TIRED INDIANS--BAD NEWS OF ARCHIE'S FATHER--UNCLE DONALD DETERMINES TO CROSS THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS-- PREPARATIONS--NEWS OF THE BLACKFEET--INDIAN CANOES--THE EXPEDITION STARTS. Summer was advancing, and we had for some time been expecting the return of Red Squirrel and Kondiarak, another Indian, who had been sent in the spring to Fort Edmonton with letters, and directions to bring any which might have come for us. At length we became somewhat anxious at their non-appearance, fearing that some serious accident might have happened to them, or that they might have fallen into the hands of the savage Blackfeet, the chief predatory tribe in the country through which they had to pass. Hugh and I were one evening returning from trapping beaver, several of which we carried on our backs. Though the skins are the most valued, the meat of the animal serves as food. We were skirting the edge of the prairie, when we caught sight of two figures descending the hills to the east by the pass which led from Clearwater towards the Rocky Mountains. "They are Indians," cried Hugh, "What if they should be enemies?" "It is more likely that they are friends," I answered. "If they were enemies they would take care not to show themselves. Let us go to meet them." The two men made their way slowly down the mountains and had got almost up to us before we recognised Red Squirrel, and his companion Kondiarak ("the rat"), so travel-stained, wan, and haggard did they look. They had lost their horses, they said, after our first greetings were over. One had strayed, the other had been stolen by the Blackfeet, so that they had been compelled to perform the greater part of the journey on foot; and having exhausted their ammunition, they had been almost starved. They had succeeded, however, in preserving the letters confided to them, and they had brought a packet, for Uncle Donald, from a white stranger at whose hut they had stopped on the way. On seeing the beavers we carried they entreated that we would give them some meat without delay, saying that they had had no food for a couple of days. Their countenances and the difficulty with which they dragged their feet along corroborated their assertions. We, therefore, at once collecting some fuel, lighted a fire, and having skinned and opened one of the beavers, extended it, spread-eagle fashion, on some sticks to cook. They watched our proceedings with eager eyes; but before there was time to warm the animal through their hunger made them seize it, when tearing off the still uncooked flesh, they began to gobble it up with the greatest avidity. I was afraid they would suffer from over eating, but nothing Hugh or I could say would induce them to stop until they had consumed the greater part of the beaver. They would then, had we allowed them, have thrown themselves on the ground and gone to sleep; but anxious to know the contents of the packets they had brought, relieving them of their guns, we urged them to lean upon us, and come at once to the farm. It was almost dark before we reached home. Madge embraced her son affectionately, and almost, wept when she observed the melancholy condition to which he was reduced. He would not, however, go to sleep, as she wanted him to do, until he had delivered the packets to Uncle Donald, who was still out about the farm. He in the meantime squatted down near the fire, where he remained with true Indian patience till Uncle Donald came in, when, rising to his feet, he gave a brief account of his adventures, and produced the packets, carefully wrapped up in a piece of leather. To those which came by way of Edmonton I need not further refer, as they were chiefly about business. One, however, was of great interest; it was in answer to inquiries which Uncle Donald had instituted to discover any relatives or friends of little Rose. To his secret satisfaction he was informed that none could be found, and that he need have no fear of being deprived of her. As he read the last packet his countenance exhibited astonishment and much concern. "This letter is from your mother, Archie," he said, at length, when he had twice read it through. "Your father has brought her and the rest of the family to a mission station which has been established for the benefit of the Sercies, on the other side of the Rocky Mountains. Scarcely had they been settled for a few months, and your father had begun to win the confidence of the tribe among whom he had come to labour, than the small-pox broke out in their village, brought by the Blackfeet from the south; and their medicine-men, who had from the first regarded him with jealous eyes, persuaded the people that the scourge had been sent in consequence of their having given a friendly reception to the Christian missionary. Some few, whose good will he had gained, warned him that his life was in danger, and urged him to make his escape from the district. Though unwilling himself to leave his post, he had proposed sending your mother and the children away, when he was attacked by a severe illness. She thus, even had she wished it, could not have left him, and they have remained on at the station, notwithstanding that she fears they may at any time be destroyed by the savages, while the medicine-men have been using all their arts to win over the few Indians who continue faithful. These have promised to protect them to the best of their power, but how long they will be able to do so is doubtful. Their cattle and horses have been stolen, and they have for some time been short of provisions; thus, even should your father regain his health, they will be unable to travel. He, like a true missionary of the Gospel, puts his confidence in God, and endeavours, your mother says, ever to wear a cheerful countenance. She does not actually implore me to come to her assistance, for she knows the length and difficulties of the journey; and she expresses her thankfulness that you are safe on this side of the mountains, but I see clearly that she would be very grateful if I could pay her a visit; and I fear, indeed, unless help reaches your family, that the consequences may be serious. I have, therefore, made up my mind to set off at once. We may manage to get across the mountains before the winter sets in, though there is no time to be lost. I will take Pierre and Corney, with Red Squirrel and a party of our own Indians, and leave Sandy, with Hugh and you, in charge of Clearwater." "May I not go, also?" I asked, in a tone of disappointment. "Surely I may be able to help my father and mother, and Hugh would be very sorry to be left behind." "It is but natural that you should wish to go; and Hugh, too, maybe of assistance, for I can always trust to your discretion and judgment should any difficulty occur," he observed. "Then you will take us, won't you?" we both cried at once. "Yes," he answered. "I would not take one without the other, so Hugh may go if he wishes it." "Thank you, thank you!" I exclaimed, gratified at Uncle Donald's remark; "we will try to deserve your confidence. What shall we do first?" "We must have the canoes got ready, and lay in a stock of provisions so that we may not be delayed by having to hunt; indeed, except some big-horns, and perhaps a grizzly, we shall not find much game on the mountains," he remarked. That evening all our plans were completed, and Sandy and the other men received their directions. Saddle and pack horses were at once to be started off by a circuitous route, carrying only light loads however, and were to meet us at the head of the river navigation, however, while we were to go as far up the stream as we could in canoes, with as large a supply of provisions as they could convey. The very next morning at daybreak while we were engaged in preparing the birch bark canoes by covering the seams with gum, and sewing on some fresh pieces of bark with wattap, which is formed of the flexible roots of the young spruce tree, an Indian was seen on the opposite side of the river making a signal to us that he desired to cross. One of the canoes which was ready for launching was sent for him and brought him over. "He had come," he said, "to bring us information that a large body of Blackfeet were on the war-path, having crossed the Rocky Mountains at one of the southern passes, and that having attacked the Sinapools, their old enemies on the Columbia, they were now bending their steps northward in search of plunder and scalps. He came to tell his white friends to be prepared should they come so far north." On hearing this I was afraid that Uncle Donald would give up the expedition and remain to defend Clearwater, but on cross-questioning the Indian, he came to the conclusion that the Blackfeet were not at all likely to come so far, and Sandy declared that if they did he would give a very good account of them. Still, as it was possible that they might make their appearance, Uncle Donald considered that it was safer to take Rose with us notwithstanding the hardships to which she might be exposed. "Then Madge will go too," exclaimed Rose; "poor Madge would be very unhappy at being left alone without me." "Madge shall go with us," said Uncle Donald; and Rose, highly delighted, ran off to tell her to get ready. The horses had been sent off at dawn, but we were not able to start until the following morning as it took us the whole day to prepare the packages of dried fish, pemmican, and smoked venison and pork, which were to serve us as provisions. On a bright clear morning, just before the sun rose over the hills to the east, we pushed off from the bank in four canoes. In each were five people, one to steer and the others to paddle. Uncle Donald took Rose in his as a passenger. Hugh and I went together with Red Squirrel to steer for us, and Corney and Pierre had each charge of another canoe. I will describe our canoes, which were light, elegant, and wonderfully strong, considering the materials of which they were formed. They were constructed of the bark of the white birch-tree. This had been peeled from the tree in large sheets, which were bent over a slender frame of cedar ribs, confined by gunwales, and kept apart by thin bars of the same wood. The ends were alike, forming wedge-like points, and turned over from the extremities towards the centre so as to look somewhat like the handle of a violin. The sheets of bark were then fastened round the gunwales by wattap, and sewn together with the same materials at the joinings. These were afterwards covered by a coat of pine pitch, called gum. The seats for the paddlers were made by suspending a strip of board with cords from the gunwales in such a manner that they did not press against the sides of the canoe. At the second cross-bar from the bow a hole was cut for a mast, so that a sail could be hoisted when the wind proved favourable. Each canoe carried a quantity of spare bark, wattap, gum, a pan for heating the gum, and some smaller articles necessary for repairs. The canoes were about eighteen feet long, yet so light that two men could carry one with ease a considerable distance when we had to make a "portage." A "portage," I should say, is the term used when a canoe has to be carried over the land, in consequence of any obstruction in the river, such as rapids, falls, or shallows. As soon as we were fairly off Pierre struck up a cheerful song, in which we, Corney, and the Indians joined, and lustily plying our paddles we urged our little fleet up the river. CHAPTER SIX. PADDLING UP STREAM. THE FIRST CAMP--RAPIDS--A PORTAGE--INDIANS ATTACK THE CANOES--A RACE FOR LIFE--HE'S WON JUST IN TIME--MORE RAPIDS IN AN AWKWARD PLACE--THE CANOES POLED UP STREAM--AN UPSET--THE INDIANS AGAIN, AND HUGH IN DANGER--OTHER CANOES TO THE RESCUE. For the first day we made good progress, stopping only a short time to land and cook our provisions. We then paddled on until nearly dark, when we went on shore, unloaded our canoes, hauled them up, lighted a fire for cooking, and pitched a small tent for Rose, in front of which Madge, as she always afterwards did, took up her post to be ready to guard her in case of danger. As soon as supper was over, two men were placed on watch, and the rest of the party lay down round the fire with our buffalo-robes spread on fresh spruce or pine boughs as beds. Before dawn we were aroused by Uncle Donald. The morning was calm, the stars were slightly paling, a cold yellow light began to show itself. Above the river floated a light mist through which objects on the opposite bank were dimly seen, while on the land side a wall of forest rose up impenetrable to the eye. From the dying embers of the camp fire a thin column of smoke rose high above the trees, while round it were the silent forms of the Indians, lying motionless at full length on their backs, enveloped in their blankets. To stretch my legs I walked a few paces from the camp, when I was startled by a sudden rush through the underbrush. For a moment I thought of the Blackfeet, but the movement proved to be made by a minx or marten, which had been attracted to the spot by the remains of last night's meal. On hearing Uncle Donald's voice the Indians started to their feet, and after a hurried breakfast, the canoes being launched and the baggage stowed on board, we proceeded on our voyage. The mist by degrees cleared away, the sun mounting over the hills, lighted up the scenery, and our crews burst into one of the songs with which they were wont to beguile the time while plying their paddles. Having stopped as before to dine we were paddling on, when we heard a low ceaseless roar coming down between the high banks. In a short time we saw the waters rushing and foaming ahead of us, as they fell over a broad ledge of rocks. "Can we get over there?" asked Hugh. "No," I answered; "see, Uncle Donald is steering in for the shore." We soon landed, the canoes were unloaded, and being hauled up the bank, each was placed on the shoulders of two men, who trotted off with them by a path parallel to the river; the rest loaded themselves with the bales. Hugh and I imitated their example, Madge carried as heavy a package as any of the men, and Rose begged that she might take charge of a small bundle, with which she trotted merrily off, but did not refuse to let Madge have it before she had gone half-way. After proceeding for nearly a mile among rocks and trees, the canoes were placed on the banks where the river flowed calmly by, and the men returned for the remainder of the baggage. Three trips had to be made to convey the whole of the cargoes above the falls. This is what is called "making a portage." Re-embarking, on we went until nightfall. During the next few days we had several such portages to make. We were at times able to hoist our sails, but when the stream became more rapid and shallow, we took to poling, a less pleasant way of progressing, though under these circumstances the only one available. Occasionally the river opened out, and we were able to resume our paddles. We had just taken them in hand and were passing along the east bank when Hugh exclaimed, "I see some one moving on shore among the trees! Yes, I thought so; he's an Indian," and he immediately added, "there are several more." I shouted to Uncle Donald to tell him, and then turned to warn Pierre and Corney. Scarcely had I spoken than well-nigh fifty savages appeared on the banks, and, yelling loudly, let fly a cloud of arrows towards us, while one of them shouted to us to come to shore. "Very likely we'll be after doin' that, Mister Red-skins," cried Corney. And we all, following Uncle Donald's example, turning the heads of our canoes, paddled towards the opposite bank. We were safe for the present, and might, had we chosen, have picked off several of the savages with our rifles; Corney and Pierre had lifted theirs for the purpose, but Uncle Donald ordered them not to fire. "Should we kill any of them we should only find it more difficult to make peace afterwards," he observed. The river was here wide enough to enable us to keep beyond range of their arrows, and we continued our course paddling along close to the western bank. After going a short distance we saw ahead of us a lake, which we should have to cross. The Indians had disappeared, and I hoped we had seen the last of them, when Corney shouted out that he had caught sight of them running alone; the shore of the lake to double round it. Their object in so doing was evident, for on the opposite side of the upper river entered the lake, rounding a point by a narrow passage, and this point they hoped to gain before we could get through, so that they might stop our progress. "Paddle, lads--paddle for your lives!" cried Uncle Donald. "We must keep ahead of the red-skins if we wish to save our scalps." We did paddle with might and main, making the calm water bubble round the bows of our canoes. Looking to our right, we every now and then caught a glimpse of the Blackfeet, for such we knew they were by their dress. They were bounding along in single file among the trees, led apparently by one of their most nimble warriors. It seemed very doubtful whether we could pass the point before they could reach it. We persevered, for otherwise we should be compelled either to turn back, or to run the risk of being attacked at one of the portages, or to land at the western side of the lake, and to throw up a fort in which we could defend ourselves should the Blackfeet make their way across the river. It was not likely, however, that they would do this. They had already ventured much farther to the north than it was their custom to make a raid; and should they be discovered, they would run the risk of being set upon by the Shoushwaps, the chief tribe inhabiting that part of the country, and their retreat cut off. Still it was of the greatest importance to lose no time, and we redoubled our efforts to get by the point. The Indians had a greater distance to go; but then they ran much faster than we could paddle our canoes. As we neared the point, I kept looking to the right to see how far our enemies had got. Again I caught a glimpse of their figures moving among the trees, but whether or not they were those of the leaders I could not distinguish. Uncle Donald reached the point, and his canoe disappeared behind it. Hugh and I next came up, closely followed by the other two. We could hear the savage shouts and cries of the red-skins; but there was now a good chance of getting beyond their reach. "There goes the captain's canoe," I heard Corney sing out; "paddle, boys, paddle, and we'll give them the go-by!" We had entered the upper branch of the river; the current ran smoothly. Still we were obliged to exert ourselves to force our canoes up against it. Looking back for a moment over my shoulder, I could see the leading Indians as they reached the point we had just rounded. Enraged at being too late to stop us, they expended another flight of arrows, several of which struck the water close to us, and two went through the after end of Pierre's canoe, but fortunately above water. Though we had escaped for the present, they might continue along the eastern bank of the river, and meet us at the next portage we should have to make. The day was wearing on, and ere long we should have to look out for a spot on which to camp, on the west bank, opposite to that where we had seen the Indians. We had got four or five miles up the river when the roaring sound of rushing waters struck our ears, and we knew that we should have to make another portage. The only practicable one was on the east bank, and as it would occupy us the greater part of an hour, we could scarcely hope to escape the Indians, even should they not already have arrived at the spot. On the left rose a line of precipitous rocks, over which we should be unable to force our way. At length we got up to the foot of the rapids. Uncle Donald took a survey of them. I observed on the west side a sheet of water flowing down smoother and freer from rocks than the rest. "We must pole up the rapids, but it will need caution; follow me," said Uncle Donald. We got out our long poles, and Uncle Donald leading the way, we commenced the ascent. While resting on our paddles Corney and Pierre had overtaken us, and now followed astern of Uncle Donald, so that our canoe was the last. We had got nearly half-way up, the navigation becoming more difficult as we proceeded. The rocks extended farther and farther across the channel, the water leaping and hissing and foaming as it rushed by them. One of our Indians sat in the bows with a rope ready to jump out on the rocks and tow the canoe should the current prove too strong for us. Red Squirrel stood aft with pole in hand guiding the canoe, while Hugh and I worked our poles on either side. Corney and Pierre were at some little distance before us, while Uncle Donald, having a stronger crew, got well ahead. "We shall soon be through this, I hope," cried Hugh; "pretty tough work though." As he spoke he thrust down his pole, which must have been jammed in a hole, and his weight being thrown upon it, before he could recover it broke, and over he went; I in my eagerness, leaning on one side, attempted to grasp at him, the consequence was that the canoe, swinging round, was driven by the current against the rock. I heard a crash, the foaming water washed over us, and I found myself struggling in its midst. My first impulse was to strike out, for I had been a swimmer from childhood. Notwithstanding, I found myself carried down. I looked out for Hugh, but the bubbling water blinded my eyes, and I could nowhere see him nor my Indian companions; still I instinctively struggled for life. Suddenly I found myself close to a rugged rock, whose sides afforded the means of holding on to it. By a violent effort I drew myself out of the water and climbed to the top. I looked round to see what had become of the rest of the crew; my eye first fell on the canoe, to which Hugh was clinging. It was being whirled hurriedly down the rapids; and some distance from it, indeed, almost close to where I now was, I saw the head of an Indian. His hands and feet were moving; but instead of trying to save himself by swimming towards the rock on which I was seated, he was evidently endeavouring to overtake the canoe. I could nowhere see our other companion; he had, I feared, sunk, sucked under by the current. A momentary glance showed me what I have described. Directly I had recovered breath I shouted to Pierre and Corney, but the roar of the waters prevented them from hearing my voice; and they and their companions were so completely occupied in poling on their canoes that they did not observe what had occurred. Again and again I shouted; then I turned round, anxiously looking to see how it fared with Hugh and the Indian. The canoe had almost reached the foot of the rapids, but it went much faster than the Indian, who was still bravely following it. He had caught hold of one of the paddles, which assisted to support him. I was now sure that his object was to assist Hugh, for he might, as I have said, by swimming to the rock and clutching it, have secured his own life until he could be taken off by Corney or Pierre. Hugh still held tight hold of the canoe, which, however, the moment it reached the foot of the rapids, began to drift over to the eastern shore. Just then what was my dismay to see a number of red-skins rush out from the forest towards the bank. They were those, I had no doubt, from whom we were endeavouring to escape. They must have seen the canoe, and were rejoicing in the thoughts of the capture they were about to make. Hugh's youth would not save him from the cruel sufferings to which they were wont to put their prisoners, should they get hold of him, and that they would do this seemed too probable. I almost wished, rather than he should have had to endure so cruel a fate, that he had sunk to the bottom. Even now the Indian might come up with the canoe, but would it be possible for him to tow it to the west bank, or support Hugh while swimming in the same direction. Though the rock was slippery I at length managed to stand up on it, and as I did so I gave as shrill a shout as I could utter. One of the Indians in Corney's canoe glanced at me for a moment. He at once saw what had happened, and I guessed from his gestures was telling Pierre as well as Corney of the accident. In an instant the poles were thrown in, and the Indians seizing their paddles, the canoes, their heads turned round, were gliding like air bubbles down the torrent. CHAPTER SEVEN. A NARROW ESCAPE. HUGH'S CANOE ARRESTED BY RED SQUIRREL JUST IN TIME--THE CANOE SAVED--ALL GOT UP THE RAPIDS AT LAST--CAMP AT THE TOP--THE BLACKFEET REACH THE CAMP TO FIND THE PARTY GONE--THE INDIANS PURSUE, AND UNCLE DONALD LIES BY FOR TWO DAYS ON AN ISLAND--END OF THE WATER PASSAGE--THE HORSES DO NOT APPEAR. As Corney and Pierre approached I waved to them to go on, pointing to the canoe to which Hugh was clinging. They saw the necessity of at once going to his rescue, and so left me on the rock, where I was perfectly safe for the present. There was need, in truth, for them to make haste, for already Hugh was drifting within range of the Indians' arrows, and they might shoot him in revenge for the long run we had given them. The overturned canoe seemed to be gliding more and more rapidly towards them, when I saw its progress arrested. The brave Indian had seized it, and was attempting to tow it away from the spot where the savages were collected. But all his efforts could scarcely do more than stop its way, and he apparently made but little progress towards the west shore. Corney and Pierre were, however, quickly getting up to it. I shouted with joy when I saw Hugh lifted into Corney's canoe, and the Indian with some assistance clambering into that of Pierre. Not satisfied with this success they got hold of the canoe itself, determined to prevent it from falling into the hands of the enemy. This done, they quickly paddled over to the west shore, where a level spot enabled them to land. They had not forgotten me; and presently I saw Corney's canoe, with three people in her, poling up towards the rock on which I stood, while Pierre's was engaged in picking up such of the articles of baggage as had floated. It was not without some difficulty that I got on board. My first inquiry was to ascertain which of the Indians had assisted to save Hugh, and I was thankful to hear, as I had expected, that it was Bed Squirrel who had behaved so gallantly. We then had to decide what to do--whether to continue our course upwards, to let Uncle Donald know what had happened, or to rejoin Pierre. Though I had managed to cling on to the rock I found my strength so much exhausted that I could afford but little help in poling up the canoe. While we were discussing the matter, what was my dismay to see an Indian on the top of the western cliff. "Our enemies must have crossed, and we shall be attacked," I exclaimed. "Sure no, it's one of Mr Donald's men who has been sent to see what has become of us," answered Corney. Such I saw was the case. We could not hear his voice, but getting closer to us he made signs which his own people understood, that he would go back to Uncle Donald and learn what we were to do. In reply our two Indians pointed down to where Pierre's party were now on shore, letting him understand exactly what had happened. He quickly disappeared, and we had to wait some time, hanging on to a rock by a rope, until he returned with two other men. They then pointed up the stream as a sign to us that we were to proceed. We accordingly did so, poling up as before. By the time we got to the head of the rapids we saw that Pierre was coming after us, apparently towing the shattered canoe. Above the rapids we discovered a small bay, towards which Uncle Donald's voice summoned us. As we landed he grasped my hand, showing his joy at my escape. It was some time before Pierre arrived. Hugh came in his canoe, while the rest of the men had arrived over land with the luggage which had been saved, as also with our rifles, which, having been slung under the thwarts, had fortunately not slipped out. We immediately began our preparations for camping, but had, besides doing what was usual, to collect materials for a stockade, which might enable us to resist a sudden onslaught of the Blackfeet should they cross the river. One of the men was also placed on watch all the time to prevent surprise. While most of the party were thus engaged, Red Squirrel and Jock, who were the best canoe builders, were employed in repairing the shattered canoe, and making some fresh paddles and poles; indeed there was so much work to be done, that none of us got more than a few hours' rest. We had also to keep a vigilant watch, and two of the men were constantly scouting outside the camp, to guard in more effectually from being taken by surprise. All was ready for a start some time before daylight, when Uncle Donald, awakening the sleepers, ordered every one to get on board as noiselessly as possible. He, as usual, led the way, the other canoes following close astern. The last man was told to make up the fire, which was left burning to deceive the enemy, who would suppose that we were still encamped. We had got some distance, the wind being up stream, when just at dawn I fancied that I heard a faint though prolonged yell. We stopped paddling for a moment, I asked Red Squirrel if he thought that the Blackfeet had got across to our camp. He nodded, and uttered a low laugh, significant of his satisfaction that we had deceived them. Daylight increasing, we put up our masts and hoisted the light cotton sails, which sent our canoes skimming over the water at a far greater speed than we had hitherto been able to move. Another lake appeared before us. By crossing it we should be far ahead of the Blackfeet. We had brought some cooked provisions, so that we were able to breakfast in the canoes. It was long past noon before, the river having again narrowed, we ventured on shore for a brief time only to dine. The next portage we came to was on the east bank. It was fortunately a short one, and Uncle Donald kept some of the men under arms, a portion only being engaged in carrying the canoes and their cargoes. No Indians, however, appeared. "I hope that we have given them the go-by," said Hugh, "and shall not again see their ugly faces." "We must not be too certain; I'll ask Red Squirrel what he thinks," I replied. "Never trust a Blackfoot," was the answer. "They are as cunning as serpents, and, like serpents, they strike their enemies from among the grass." We expected in the course of two or three days more to come to an end of the river navigation at a spot where Uncle Donald had directed that the horses should meet us. We were not without fear, however, that some, if not the whole of the animals, might have been stolen by the Blackfeet should they by any means have discovered them. Occasionally sailing, sometimes paddling and poling, and now and then towing the canoes along the banks, we continued our progress. As we went along we kept a look-out for the Blackfeet, as it was more than possible that they might pursue us. We accordingly, in preference to landing on either bank, selected an island in the centre of the stream for our camping-ground. We had just drawn up the canoes among the bushes and formed our camp in an open spot near the middle of the island, when one of the men who was on the lookout brought word that he saw a large number of savages passing on the east bank. We were, however, perfectly concealed from their keen eyes. Watching them attentively, we guessed by their gestures that they were looking for us, and not seeing our canoes, fancied that we had passed on. Night was now approaching. We were afraid of lighting a fire, lest its glare might betray our position to our pursuers. They would, however, on not discovering us, turn back, so that we should thus meet them, and Uncle Donald resolved, therefore, to remain where we were, until they had retreated to the southward. Even should they discover us we might defend the island more easily than any other spot we could select. We had plenty of provisions, so that we could remain there without inconvenience for several days, except that we should thus delay our passage over the mountains. Hugh and I were, much to our satisfaction, appointed by Uncle Donald to keep watch, Hugh on one side of the island and I on the other, for fear lest, should the red-skins find out where we were, they might attempt, by swimming across, to take us by surprise. None appeared, however, and two more days went by. At last Uncle Donald began to hope that they, supposing we had taken another route, were on their way back. We accordingly, seeing no one the next morning, embarked, and the river here expanding into a lake, we were able to paddle on without impediment across it, and a short distance up another stream, when we came to a fall of several feet, beyond which our canoes could not proceed. This was the spot where we had expected to find the horses, but they had not arrived. We were greatly disappointed, for, having been much longer than we had calculated on coming up, we naturally expected that they would have been ready for us. Winter was rapidly approaching, and in the autumn before the streams are thoroughly frozen the dangers of crossing the mountains are greater than at any other period. As the canoes could go no higher we took them up the stream and placed them "en cache," where there was little chance of their being discovered. They were to remain there until the return of our men, who would accompany us to the foot of the mountains and go back again that autumn. On not finding the horses Uncle Donald went to the highest hill in the neighbourhood, overlooking the country through which they had to pass, in the hopes of seeing them approach. He came back saying that he could perceive no signs of them, and he ordered us forthwith to camp in such a position that we might defend ourselves against any sudden attack of hostile Indians. CHAPTER EIGHT. AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. THE HORSE PARTY ARRIVES AT LAST, BUT WITH HALF THE HORSES STOLEN--THE START ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS--MORE BLACKFEET IN THE WAY OBLIGE THE PARTY TO TAKE A STRANGE PASS--IT BECOMES COLDER--SNOW COMES ON--A PACK OF WOLVES--SLEIGHS AND SNOW-SHOES--IN THE HEART OF THE "ROCKIES"--CORNEY HAS A NARROW ESCAPE AND A COLD BATH--SNOW IN THE CANOES--DIFFICULTIES OF THE WAY--THE PASS AT LAST--A FEARFUL AVALANCHE. Several days passed by. We were not molested by the Indians, but the horses did not arrive. Uncle Donald never fretted or fumed, though it was enough to try his temper. I asked him to allow me to set off with Corney and Pierre to ascertain if they had gone by mistake to any other place. We were on the point of starting when we saw a party of horses and men approaching. They proved to be those we were expecting, but there were only eight horses, less than half the number we had sent off. The men in charge had a sad account to give. The rest had been stolen by Indians, and one of their party had been killed, while they had to make a long round to escape from the thieves, who would otherwise very likely have carried off the remainder. The men also had brought a dozen dogs--our three especial favourites being among them--to be used in dragging our sleighs in case the horses should be unable to get through. We had carried the materials for forming sleighs with us in the canoes, while the harness had been transported thus far with the other packages by the horses. The poor beasts, though very thin, were better than no horses at all. There were a sufficient number to convey our stores and provisions, one for Uncle Donald, who carried Rose on his saddle, and two others for Hugh and me. The rest of the party had to proceed on foot. I offered mine to Madge, but she declared that she could walk better than I could. We made a short day's journey, but the poor animals were so weak that we were compelled to camp again at a spot where there was plenty of grass. It was here absolutely necessary to remain three days to enable them to regain their strength. While we were in camp Uncle Donald sent out Pierre and one of our Indians to try and ascertain if any of the Blackfeet were still hovering in the direction we proposed taking across the mountains. We did not wait for the return of our scouts, but started at the time proposed, expecting to meet them on the road we should travel. We were engaged in forming our camp, collecting wood for the fires, and putting up rough huts, or rather arbours of boughs, as a protection from the wind--which here coming off the snowy mountains was exceedingly cold at night--while the gloom of evening was coming on, when one of the men on watch shouted-- "The enemy! the enemy are upon us!" While some of our people ran out intending to bring in the horses, the rest of us flew to our arms. Uncle Donald, taking his rifle, at once went out in the direction in which the sentry declared he had seen the band of savages coming over the hill. Our alarm was put an end to when, shortly afterwards, he came back accompanied by Pierre and his companion, who brought the unsatisfactory intelligence that a large body of Blackfeet were encamped near the pass by which we had intended to descend into the plains of the Saskatchewan. Ever prompt in action, Uncle Donald decided at once to take a more northerly pass. The country through which we were travelling was wild and rugged in the extreme; frequently we had to cross the same stream over and over again to find a practicable road. Now we had to proceed along the bottom of a deep valley among lofty trees, then to climb up a steep height by a zigzag course, and once more to descend into another valley. Heavily laden as were both horses and men, our progress was of necessity slow. Sometimes after travelling a whole day we found that we had not made good in a straight line more than eight or ten miles. The weather hitherto had been remarkably fine, and Hugh and Rose and I agreed that we enjoyed our journey amazingly. Our hunters went out every day after we had camped, and sometimes before we started in the morning, or while we were moving along, and never failed to bring in several deer, so that we were well supplied with food. The cold at night was very considerable; but with good fires blazing, and wrapped up in buffalo-robes, we did not feel it; and when the sun shone brightly the air was so pure and fresh that we were scarcely aware how rapidly winter was approaching. It should be understood that there are several passes through the lofty range it was our object to cross. These passes had been formed by the mountains being rent asunder by some mighty convulsion of nature. All of them are many miles in length, and in some places several in width; now the pass presents a narrow gorge, now expands into a wide valley. The highest point is called the watershed, where there is either a single small lake, or a succession of lakelets, from which the water flows either eastward through the Saskatchewan or Athabasca rivers, to find its way ultimately into the Arctic Ocean, or westward, by numberless tributaries, into the Fraser or Columbia rivers, which fall, after making numerous bends, into the Pacific. We had voyaged in our canoes up one of the larger tributaries of the Fraser, and had now to follow to its source at the watershed one of the smaller streams which flowed, twisting and turning, through the dense forests and wild and rugged hills rising on every side. The country had become more and more difficult as we advanced, and frequently we had to wind our way in single file round the mountains by a narrow path scarcely affording foothold to our horses. Sometimes on one side, sometimes on the other were steep precipices, over which, by a false step, either we or our animals might be whirled into the roaring torrent below. Now we had to force a road through the tangled forest to cut off an angle of the stream, and then to pass along narrow gorges, beetling cliffs frowning above our heads, and almost shutting out the light of day. At length we camped on higher ground than any we had yet reached. On one side was a forest, on the other a rapid stream came foaming by. The sky was overcast, so that, expecting rain, we put up all the shelter we could command. The hunters having brought in a good supply of meat, our people were in good spirits, and seemed to have forgotten the dangers we had gone through, while they did not trouble themselves by thinking of those we might have to encounter. We had no longer hostile Indians to fear; but we still kept a watch at night in case a prowling grizzly or pack of hungry wolves might pay the camp a visit. The wind blew cold; not a star was visible. The light from our fire threw a lurid glare on the stems and boughs of the trees and the tops of the rugged rocks which rose beyond. Having said good night to Rose, whom we saw stowed away in her snug little bower, Hugh and I lay down a short distance from the fire, sheltered by some of the packages piled up at our heads. Uncle Donald was not far from us. On the other side were Pierre and Corney and Red Squirrel, while Madge took her post, disdaining more shelter than the men, close to Rose's hut. Two of the men kept awake, one watching the camp, the other the horses, and the rest lay in a row on the opposite side of the fire. Such was the scene I looked on till, completely covering my head up in a buffalo-robe, I closed my eyes. I was awakened by finding an unusual weight above me. I threw my arms about, when down came a cold shower on my face and clearing my eyes I could just see the snow on every side, while my body was completely covered up. I was perfectly warm, however, and felt no inclination to get out of my cosy bed to brush the snow away. I drew my robe again over my head; being well assured that Uncle Donald would arouse us if there was any risk of our being completely covered up. How much longer I had slept I could not tell, when I was once more awakened by a terrific howling, yelping, the barking of dogs, the trampling and snorting of horses, followed by the shouts and shrieks of our men. I speedily drew myself out of my snowy burrow, and through the gloom I caught sight of our horses endeavouring to defend themselves by kicking out with their heels against a pack of wolves which had followed them up to the camp, and Uncle Donald with the men engaged, some with their rifles and others with sticks, in endeavouring to drive off the savage brutes, but they were afraid of firing, for fear of wounding the horses. I felt about for Hugh, who being covered up by the snow, had not been awakened by the din. "What is happening?" he exclaimed, sitting up. "Are the Indians upon us?" "Only some hungry wolves, and we are all right," I said. "Why, I fancy it has been snowing!" he exclaimed. "I should think so," I answered. "Come, jump up, we'll help put those brutes to flight." When the wolves found themselves encountered by human beings, they quickly turned tail, but we had some difficulty in catching the frightened horses, and I was just in time to seize one which was on the point of dashing into Rose's hut. As it was almost daylight, no one again turned in; the fires were made up, and we began cooking our morning meal. The snow continued to fall so heavily, that Uncle Donald decided to remain where we were, or rather to form another camp more under shelter of the trees. To proceed with the horses would have been almost impossible, and he therefore settled to send them back and to prepare the sleighs and snow-shoes for the rest of our journey. A sleigh is simply a thin board, ten feet long and about a foot broad, turned up at one end. The baggage is secured to it by leathern thongs. To form a cariole, a cradle or framework like the body of a small carriage is fixed on a sleigh such as I have just described, and is covered with buffalo skin parchment, the inside being lined with a buffalo-robe. When the traveller is seated in a cariole with outstretched legs, he is only separated from the snow by the thin plank which forms the floor. The dogs which drag the sleighs are attached to them by leathern thongs and collars generally decorated with bead work and tassels, surmounted by arches, to which are suspended strings of small bells. We had brought a supply of snow-shoes and moccasins for all the party. The snow-shoe is an oval frame five or six feet in length, about one in width, the intermediate space being filled with network, except a hole in the centre for the heel of the wearer. It is attached to the foot by leathern thongs. All hands were busily engaged in putting the sleighs together, fitting the harness to the dogs, and arranging the cargoes. The horses were sent back. The canoe men had taken their departure, and our party now consisted of Uncle Donald, Rose, Hugh and I, Pierre, Corney, Madge, Red Squirrel, and four Indians. We had to wait until the snow had somewhat hardened, and the stream up which we were to proceed had been frozen over. Uncle Donald had made for Rose to sleep in a bag of buffalo-robes lined with softer furs, which kept her perfectly warm. She was the only person who was to enjoy the privilege of a sleigh, drawn by Whiskey and Pilot, and guided by Uncle Donald. The rest of us were to travel on snow-shoes, a mode of proceeding which, though fatiguing, kept us warm. The last night of our stay in camp arrived. We were to start, should the weather be propitious, the next morning. Soon after we turned in for the night, before I had fallen asleep, I was greatly surprised to hear the sound of chopping in a wood at no great distance off. I called to Hugh, he heard it also, as did Uncle Donald. One after the other the men expressed their wonder at the sound. Corney, who was on guard, walked a few paces in the direction from whence it came, evidently thinking that something was wrong, but he soon returned, declaring that he could see no one. Suddenly there came the crash of a falling tree. After this mysterious occurrence, nothing could induce him to go up to the spot, though it could not have been more than two hundred yards off. No one had been seen on the previous evening, and had Indians been there, they would have observed our fire, and would long ere this have gathered round it. What Uncle Donald thought I could not tell, he certainly did not get up to try and solve the mystery, nor did any of the Indians. Night passed away without disturbance, and the next morning, though Hugh, and Pierre, and I made a circuit of the camp, we could discover no footsteps to indicate that any one had been in the neighbourhood, nor signs of chopping, nor a fallen tree, so that the mystery remained unexplained. Breakfast over, our four Indians were sent ahead to trample down the snow with their snow-shoes, the loaded sleighs following, driven by the other men and Madge, who was as good a driver as any of them, Uncle Donald in charge of Rose bringing up the rear with Hugh and me. Such was to be our proceeding for many a day, until we were over the mountains. We were now in the heart of the "Rockies." The valley of the river we were following was about a mile wide, and on either side rose high rocky peaks, covered with perpetual snow, among which big-horns could be seen watching us, the intruders into their domains, and daring us, as it were, to scale the glaciers and meet them on their own ground. We several times met with moose, one of which was shot nearly every day to supply our camp with meat. We were anticipating getting through the pass without difficulty, when we found ourselves at the bottom of a fall a hundred feet in height, with thickly timbered hills on each side, which, rising abruptly from the water's edge, seemed to offer no footing even for a snow-shoe, much less a practicable trail for dog-sleighs. Uncle Donald was not to be defeated, however, and at once ordered a regular track, graded round the face of the bluffs, to be formed. By using snow-shoes as shovels, and poles and brush for bridges, we crossed the intervening gullies and reached the edge of the first fall. Going on a mile further, we found the river confined between perpendicular walls of rock, up which there was no climbing. We had to form another path, carrying it over ledges of rock, banks of ice and snow, making bridges from one huge boulder to another with the dark water boiling at our feet ready to engulf any one who might make a false step. To our joy, the formidable obstacle being surmounted, the good ice was reached at last, when we pushed on, the dogs trotting gaily along, and we following behind. But ere long another fall barred our progress. Before attempting to surmount it, we halted for dinner. As I was looking up I espied a big-horn, or mountain goat, and believing that we could get near enough to shoot it, Hugh and I set off with our guns. The animal is about the size of a common sheep, with conical horns, nearly three feet long, and forming a complete circle, but so thick is the wool which covers its head and body that their full length is not seen. "Sure, you'll not be gettin' up after that baste!" I heard Corney say, he having followed us. "We'll try," I answered, and began ascending the steep rocks. The difficulties were greater than we expected, but still we did not like to be defeated. We had been deceived by the clearness of the atmosphere, and after climbing up and up, the goat appeared as far off as ever. Presently he saw us, and off he bounded, springing along places where it would have been madness to follow. "I tould ye so!" cried Corney from below, for he had still followed us. "Ye must git above one of those gentlemen if you want to shoot him. Now dinner will be cooked, and we had better be after getting down to eat it." We accordingly descended to where we had left our snow-shoes. "Stop a moment!" cried Corney. "Just let me get a drink of water, for I see a rill dripping over a rock there." Corney accordingly made his way up to the perpendicular bank, but scarcely had he reached it, when, to our horror, there was a crash, and he suddenly disappeared, leaving, however, his long pole behind him. I knew that the river was running like a mill sluice down below, so rushing forward I shoved the pole across the opening, and holding it in one hand, as I threw myself flat on the ice, I thrust down my arm. To my relief, I felt Corney's head as he came to the surface, and seizing his hair, hauled away with might and main. Hugh now assisted me, and we managed to drag up the Irishman from his fearfully perilous position. It required caution, however, to get him on the ice, as that at any moment might give way, and we should have to share the fate from which we were trying to rescue him. "Arrah! the spalpeens! why don't they help us?" cried Corney. "Shout, Mr Archie! shout, Mr Hugh!" Our cries brought Pierre, who was nearest at hand, carrying a long rope and a pole. By resting on the poles, and lowering the rope with a bowline knot at the end, we got it under his arms, and soon hauling him upon the ice, we hurried away from the dangerous spot. He was none the worse for his dip, though it was no joke to be plunged head over ears in that icy cold water. Several of the other men fell in at different times, for although it was freezing hard the rapidity of the current prevented the ice forming securely in many places. We had occasionally, therefore, to leave the river and to make our way through the forest--no easy undertaking. But we could get through any places, provided they were more than two feet wide. When camping, we shovelled away the snow until we reached the moss on which we formed our beds; then we made our fire in the centre of the hole, and took our places round it. When we went to sleep it was pretty deep, but in the morning, on getting up, I found that I could not see over the wall of snow. By beating down the edges, however, we managed to climb out. In spite of the depth of the snow, we travelled on, though as our snow-shoes sank in places nearly a foot deep, the fatigue was very great. Rose laughed heartily as she saw us trudging on, and wanted Hugh to take her place in the sleigh and let her go on foot while he rested. Again we came to a more mighty canyon than any we had yet encountered. This necessitated a detour, to avoid it, of about three miles overland. A canyon, from the Spanish, is a deep gully or gorge, either with a river or stream flowing through the bottom or not, but the canyons in this part of the Rockies nearly always have a stream at the bottom. We had again reached the river where it flowed on a more even course. It was entirely frozen over, but we were high above it, and the difficulty was to get down. Pierre was the first to start. Away went the dogs with the sleigh, Pierre hauling it back and trying to stop its way. But all would not do, and presently he, dogs, and sleigh, went rolling over and over, until they plunged into the snow at the bottom, to a considerable depth. "Och sure I'll be wiser," cried Corney; and he made fast a tail rope to a tree, thus enabling him to lower it gently for a short distance at a time. In slipping it, however, from one tree to another, the sleigh gathered way, but scarcely had it got abreast of the dogs than it sheered off on one side of a small tree, the dogs rolling on the other. The tree--a mere sapling--bent, and the impetus carried the whole train nearly twenty feet out towards its end--the dogs hanging by their traces on one side, counterbalancing the sleigh on the other, where they swayed to and fro in the most ludicrous fashion, yelping, barking, and struggling to get free, and running a great risk of being hanged. "Surely I'll be afther losin' me dogs, and the sleigh will be dashed to pieces!" cried Corney, wringing his hands in his despair. Uncle Donald told us to take charge of Rose; then springing down the bank with the agility of a young man, axe in hand, with a few blows he cut the traces and set the poor dogs free, while the sleigh bounded down the hill into the snow at the bottom, where Pierre was trying to put his train to rights, the new arrival adding not a little to his difficulties. Fearing that Rose might meet with a similar accident, Uncle Donald, taking her in his arms, carried her down, while Hugh and I managed the sleigh. As soon as we were all to rights, we had the satisfaction of seeing before us a clear "glare" of ice. The dogs, entering into our feelings, set off at a scamper to cross it. In less than an hour we had got over a greater distance than we had the whole of the previous day. We had now reached the entrance to the pass. On either side rose pyramidical peaks, covered with perpetual snow, three thousand feet above the valley. Shortly afterwards we came to the foot of a magnificent glacier, which must have been scarcely less than a mile in length and several hundred feet in height. As we had made a good day's journey, and evening was approaching, Uncle Donald was looking out for a place at which to camp. We had just fixed on a spot on the bank of the river at the edge of a thick belt of trees, which here intervened between it and the cliffs, when a roar as of distant thunder reached our ears. "Look out! look out!" cried the Indians in chorus, and they pointed upwards. We did look, and there we saw the whole side of the mountain, as it seemed, in movement. Huge rocks and vast masses of ice came rolling down towards the spot we were passing over, threatening to overwhelm us. Down rushed the fearful avalanche. One huge rock was so directing its course that our destruction seemed certain, when it crashed in among the trees, tearing several up by the roots, but meeting with one of a larger size, just before it readied us, it was turned aside, and forcing its way through the remainder, it plunged into the river, not many feet from where we stood. As may be supposed, we did not camp at that spot, but, thankful for our preservation, pushed on to where, the valley slightly widening out, we ran less risk of being overwhelmed by an avalanche. CHAPTER NINE. LOST IN THE SNOW. THE DIVIDING RIDGE--A MISHAP--MORE DIFFICULTY WITH THE SNOW--THE PROVISIONS RUN SHORT--THE DOGS BEGIN TO SUCCUMB--HUGH, ARCHIE, AND RED SQUIRREL ARE LOST IN A SNOW-STORM--DONE UP, AND NO SHELTER. "The first part of our difficulties are approaching an end," said Uncle Donald the next morning, as we were starting. "It is possible that we may reach the dividing ridge by nightfall." The news caused every countenance to assume a cheerful expression. We pushed on in high spirits. The river, which had been growing less and less as we proceeded, at length became a small stream, fed by a fall down a steep slope, up which we had, as before, to make our way by a zigzag path. On reaching the summit we found ourselves in an elevated valley, with mountain peaks on each side towering magnificently to the sky, the rays of the rising sun glancing on their snow-clad sides. The surface of the lakes afforded a level and easy road. Away went the dogs at a brisk trot, the men shouting with glee as they thought our difficulties were over. Climbing up the banks of one lake, we crossed over the ground to another, and then went on again as before. We quickly got over seven or eight miles, when we saw a stream, which, issuing from the eastern end of the last lake, ran down a gentle incline. The bright rivulet was a feeder of one of the vast rivers which flow towards the Arctic Ocean. A joyous shout was raised; we had crossed the dividing ridge, and the vast plain through which flow the Saskatchewan and Athabasca lay below us. Several trees which grew by the lakelet were marked, to show the boundary of the North West Territory, into which we had now entered. Having quenched our thirst from the little stream, we again set out, the ground sloping perceptibly towards the east. The rivulet widened as we advanced, and after we had gone a short way we found it completely frozen over. The ice being of sufficient thickness to bear our weight, we at once descended on to it, and away we went at a greater speed than we had hitherto gone, every one being in the highest spirits. We had now to make a long circuit through a dense forest, keeping away from the river, for fear of slipping down over the precipices which formed the side. Hugh and I, while sitting on our snow-shoes, were gliding downwards, fancying that we should reach the bottom of a hill without difficulty, when presently I saw him, on coming to some object concealed by the snow, give an unintentional jump, and over he went, head first, clutching at the shrubs and trying to stop himself. I was laughing at his mishap, when I felt myself jerked forwards, and then away I went in the same fashion. After some tumbling and rolling, with arms and legs outstretched, we were both pitched into a deep snow reef at the foot of the hill. One of the loaded sleighs, driven by Corney, before he had time to unharness the dogs, as he was about to do, broke away from him, and away it went, the poor dogs, terribly frightened, endeavouring to keep ahead of it, but it went faster than they could. In vain Corney and Red Squirrel tried to stop it. Had it kept clear of all impediments no great harm would have happened; but, unfortunately, it came in contact with a log, turning the poor dog who had the leader's place into a pancake, while the front part of the sleigh itself was shattered to fragments. We hurried to the spot. The poor dog lay dead, with its head and limbs fractured. We were some time occupied in repairing the broken sledge and harness. Continuing our journey, the river level was at last reached, when, on looking up, we saw that we had stood on a projecting ledge of ice not more than two feet in thickness, which might have given way beneath our weight and carried us down to destruction. Hitherto, when not travelling on the ice, we had to make our way over snow seldom less than two feet deep, but as we reached the base of the mountains it suddenly disappeared. As far as we could see to the eastward, not a patch was visible. Had it not been for the frozen rivers and the leafless trees, we might have fancied that summer was returning. This phenomenon occurs along the whole base of the Rocky Mountains, where there is a belt of nearly twenty miles in width perfectly free from snow. The ground being hard, we made good way over it, directing our course about south-east towards a stream running into the Saskatchewan. The stream we were steering for was reached. Travelling over the ice, we were soon again in a region where the snow lay thicker than ever, and it became very trying to our dogs. Our special favourites, Whiskey, Pilot, and Muskymote, went on bravely, in spite of their hard labour by day and the intense cold to which they were exposed by night. They, knowing fellows, whenever they stopped, carefully picked out the snow which, getting between their toes, would have cut them severely; but some of the younger ones, not understanding the necessity of so doing, allowed it to accumulate, and became lame. The snow now lay two feet in thickness over the whole surface of the country, making it fearfully heavy work to get along. We frequently had to go ahead to form a track; and even so soft was the snow, that the poor dogs would wallow through it up to their bodies, until they were well-nigh worn out with their incessant labour. We, however, pushed on, for had we ventured to stop our whole party might have succumbed. Our provisions were well-nigh exhausted, and neither buffalo, nor deer, nor smaller game appeared to enable us to replenish our stock of food. Our object was to get on a stream with a southerly or south-easterly course, on which we could travel until we could strike a line across the country leading to the missionary station. We made short journeys between sunrise and sunset. At the end of each day our first task was to clear away the snow, so as to have a space for our camp fire and room for the party to stretch themselves round it. The most sheltered spot was selected for Rose's hut, which, when wood was wanting, was formed of buffalo-robes. She seemed to enjoy the journey, and was as blooming and merry as ever. The poor dogs were the greatest sufferers. They had hard work and scanty food. First one stretched out its legs and died, and then another did the same; and one morning, when we were starting, even Pilot could not be coaxed away from the camp fire. No one had the heart to kill him, but stand on his legs he either could not or would not, so he was left to his fate in the faint hope that in an hour or so he might recover his strength and overtake us. As we pushed forward, on one side rose the lofty peaks of the Rocky Mountains, and on the other stretched out a vast extent of comparatively level land, in some parts open prairie, in others dense forest. The boughs of the trees were thickly laden with snow, the whole country, indeed, was wrapped in a white wintry mantle. The scenery was dreary in the extreme. Our spirits sank; it seemed that we should never come to an end of our long journey. The sky, hitherto bright, became overcast with clouds about the time that we had got over about two-thirds of the day's journey. Hugh and Red Squirrel and I were at some distance in the rear of the party, when snow began to fall and the wind to blow with unusual violence. The snow came down so thickly that it seemed as if the contents of a huge feather-bed had suddenly been emptied upon us. Thicker and thicker it fell; so great was the obscurity that we could scarcely see a yard ahead, while the tracks of our companions were almost instantly obliterated. We shouted, expecting that they would reply, and that we should be guided by their voices, but no sound came in return. We tried to run on, hoping to overtake them, when Hugh fell and broke one of his snow-shoes. We, of course, stopped to help him up, and in so doing must have turned slightly about. Red Squirrel, ever fertile in resources, set to work to mend the shoe. This he did very rapidly; but even that short delay was serious. As soon as Hugh was on his legs we again hurried on, supposing that we were following close behind the rest of the party. We shouted and shouted, but still there was no reply. I asked Red Squirrel if he thought we were going right. He did not answer. It is seldom that an Indian loses his way, but at length I began to fear that he was at fault. He acknowledged, indeed, that he was so. We unslung our guns, hoping that if we fired our friends would hear the report, and fire theirs in return, but neither Hugh's nor mine would go off. We put on fresh caps, and both again snapped. I felt in my pouch for my pricker, to try and clear out the nipple, but could not find it. I asked Hugh for his. "I'm afraid that I dropped it yesterday evening in the camp, and I thought that I would look for it in the morning, but forgot to do so," he answered. At last we gave up the attempt in despair. More valuable time had thus been lost. Red Squirrel urged us to go on, saying that he thought he could guide us by the wind. On and on we went. The snow fell as thickly as ever. At last Hugh declared that he could go no further. We were both suffering from fearful pains in our ankles--the _mal de raquette_, as the French Canadians call it, produced by the pressure of the snow-shoe straps. I looked anxiously about, hoping to discover some trees or shrubs which might afford us shelter and enable us to light a fire, but a thick veil of falling snow shrouded us on every side. I consulted Red Squirrel as to what we should do. One thing was certain--that if we remained in the open, exposed to the biting blast, we should perish. I feared that such would be our fate. Poor Hugh gave way altogether, and, casting off the straps from his ankles, threw himself down on the snow, and begged us to leave him. CHAPTER TEN. SNOWED UP. RED SQUIRREL AND ARCHIE DIG A HOLE IN THE SNOW--THE SNOW SHELTER-- SLEEP--NO FOOD, AND BURIED IN SNOW--EFFORTS TO DIG OUT--SOME ANIMAL SCRATCHES AT THE HOLE--LAST EFFORTS AT DEFENCE. To leave Hugh was not to be thought of. "Oh, say what we must do!" I exclaimed, addressing Red Squirrel. "Make haste," he answered, taking off his snow-shoes. I took off mine also, and using them as spades, we energetically set to work to shovel up the snow until we had got down to the ground, building up a wall with what we had thrown out. There was just sufficient space to hold three. We then placed Red Squirrel's shoes on the top, for they were the longest, and Hugh's above them, while with mine we threw up more snow to form a roof. As soon as we had got thus far, we lowered Hugh into our burrow, that he might be sheltered from the wind, placing the guns beside him. We then continued throwing up the snow until we had completely surrounded the hole, leaving only a small aperture through which we could crawl in on hands and knees. We next covered one of my snow-shoes with snow, patted it down until it was like a board, and this served as the door of our burrow. We had just space sufficient to sit up, or lie down packed close together, for we knew that the smaller its size the warmer it would be, or, rather, the less should feel the cold. The change from the outer biting air made us feel tolerably comfortable, and we had no great fear of being frozen to death. Hugh, from not having exerted himself in building the hut, suffered more than Red Squirrel or I, and as soon as the door was closed I set to work to rub his hands and feet to restore circulation, for I was afraid that they might have been frost-bitten. A very faint light at first came in through the snowy walls, but this lessened, until we could not see our hands held close to our faces. Night we knew must have at length come on. We were very hungry, but as we had not a particle of food, there was no use in complaining. For a long time neither Hugh nor I could go to sleep. At last Red Squirrel set us the example, and when, some time afterwards, I addressed Hugh, he did not answer, so that I knew he had forgotten his troubles, and I hoped that perfect rest would enable him to recover from the pain he had been suffering. I at last also dropped off to sleep. When I awoke the darkness was as complete as ever, though supposing it was still night, I once more went to sleep. The next time I opened my eyes it was still dark as before. I felt warmer than I had expected, but I was desperately hungry. From this I fancied that another day must have begun. In a short time my companions awoke. Hugh said the pain in his instep had gone, but that he would give much for something to eat. Red Squirrel did not suffer as much as we did, for Indians are able to endure hunger and pain a much longer time than can white people. "Surely it must be day," said Hugh. "We ought to try and get out, and find our friends. Rose and Uncle Donald will be dreadfully frightened at having lost us." "I hope that no accident has happened to them," I could not help saying, for the recollection came upon me that they also had been exposed to the snow-storm; but then I reflected that they were a large party, and might have reached the shelter of a wood. This was some consolation. "Oh, how hungry I am!" cried Hugh. "We must get out." I took up my rifle and tried to open the door with the barrel, but, although I ran it up to the lock, on again withdrawing it I could not see daylight through the hole. "I am afraid that the snow must be very thick," I said. The dreadful idea now occurred to me that we were buried alive in a snow tomb. Such had happened to other people, I knew, and it might be our fate, for if the snow once froze over us we might be unable to force our way out. I asked Red Squirrel what he thought. He answered with an ominous "Very bad! Try," he added, and I found that he was groping about to find the door. He did not speak, but I heard him scraping away with his hands, just as a terrier does at the entrance of a rabbit burrow, with a vehemence which showed how much he feared that we were completely buried. I could feel the snow which he dug up coming down on my legs. At last he asked for my gun. He thrust it into the hole he had formed, but still no light streamed through it. We must, however, by some means or other, force our way out or perish. "We had better try to work upwards," I observed. "The falling snow has surrounded the walls of our hut, and though we made the roof pretty thick, we are more likely to reach the open air through it than by working at the sides." The Indian followed my suggestion. Of course, we could all work together, but then we might have pulled a mass of snow down on our heads. Our object was simply to make a hole through which we could look out and ascertain if it were daylight, and if so to try and find out whereabouts we were. We might all the time be close to our party. I earnestly hoped that we were, so that we might satisfy the cravings of hunger without delay. The Indian tried to force off the snow-shoe which formed the door, but found that impossible. He then worked away above it. The snow he brought down considerably decreased the size of our hut. Still he persevered in working away, until I thought that he would never get through the roof. At last he asked me again to hand him up my gun, and having forced the barrel upwards, as he withdrew it we could feel the cold air coming down, while a gleam of daylight entered our burrow. But it would still require much labour before we could enlarge the hole sufficiently to enable us to force our bodies through it. At last, by dint of hard work, standing on the snow he had brought down, Red Squirrel got out his head. The report he gave was unsatisfactory. Scarcely, however, listening to what he said, I jumped up and thrust out my head, eager to ascertain the state of affairs. I could see nothing but a vast plain of snow on every side without a single object to direct our steps. Snow was still falling and had already reached above the level of our hut. We could not make our way over the vast plain without our snow-shoes, and it would take a considerable time before we could dig them out; and in the meantime we should be well-nigh frozen. I drew in my head again, my face chilled by the cold air, and, sinking down to the bottom of the hut, consulted with Red Squirrel and Hugh as to what was to be done. Hunger made us all anxious to go on; but then arose the question, In what direction should we go? We might perish in the attempt to reach our friends. We accordingly agreed to wait until the snow had ceased. Red Squirrel had, in the meantime, stopped up the hole to prevent the cold from getting in. Hunger and darkness soon caused us again to drop off to sleep, and thus we must have remained some hours. When at length I awoke, I had neither the inclination nor power to move. I called to Hugh. He answered faintly. I had, however, my senses sufficiently about me to be aware of our perilous position. The acute sensation of hunger had gone off, and my only wish was to be left alone. I tried to rouse myself, and endeavour to get up, but sank again to the ground. I then asked Red Squirrel to take a look out. He at once rose and scrambled up to the hole. It was some time before he could force off the snow. He then told us that the snow had ceased, and that it was night, for he could see the stars shining overhead. "We must wait until morning, then," I said, thankful that I should not have to move. Once more we all dropped off into a state of stupor rather than sleep. I don't know how long we had thus remained, when I was aroused by a noise which came down the funnel. It seemed as if some animal were scratching away at the entrance. The idea seized me that it was a bear, and I thought how unable we were to defend ourselves. I felt about for my gun, forgetting that it had refused to go off. Just as I grasped it I remembered this, and desperately plunged my hand into my pouch, when at the bottom I discovered my pricker, which my numbed fingers had before failed to feel. Clearing out the nipple as well as I could in the dark, I put on a fresh cap. While doing so, I awoke my companions. Hugh answered faintly. Red Squirrel immediately got up, and together we managed to crawl to the opening through which I thrust my rifle, ready to fire should the bear show himself. The scratching continued more vehemently than before. "He'll be upon us presently," I whispered to Red Squirrel, as a gleam of light came down through the aperture. "Do you take the gun; I haven't strength enough to fire;" and I sank back quite exhausted. CHAPTER ELEVEN. RESCUED. THE ANIMAL PROVES TO BE ONE OF THE DOGS--WHO GOES OFF FOR RESCUE--HELP COMES AT LAST--HOW THE DOG HAD FOUND THE PARTY--EFFECTS OF THE ADVENTURE--THE PARTY REACH THE BLOCK-HOUSE AT LAST, TO FIND ARCHIE'S FAMILY ALL SAFE AND WELCOME REST. I fully expected the next moment to see the huge claws of a monstrous grizzly as he worked his way down to us, when, instead of a growl, I heard the whine and sharp bark of a dog. It was the voice I felt sure, of our faithful Pilot, whom we had left at our last camp, as we supposed, on the point of death. I called out his name, and he answered with a joyous bark. Presently we saw him looking down upon us, when, satisfied that we were really there, he gave another bark, and then Red Squirrel, who had clambered up to the surface, told me that he was scampering away to the southward. I tried to get out to watch him, but was utterly unable to accomplish the task, and Red Squirrel himself was too weak to help me. I felt sure, however, that the dog had gone to summon our friends. I tried to cheer up poor Hugh with the news. He seemed scarcely able to understand what had occurred, and I became greatly alarmed at his condition. We waited and waited; it seemed as if several hours had elapsed. At last Red Squirrel, who had gone to the hole, exclaimed that he saw some dark objects moving over the snow. They came nearer and nearer. I cannot describe the joy I felt when I heard Uncle Donald's voice, and presently I saw Red Squirrel's legs disappear as he was drawn up through the hole. Directly afterwards another person came slipping down. "Arrah! we've found ye at last, sure!" exclaimed Corney, lifting me in his arms. "Take up Hugh," I said, "he is in a worse state than I am." He did as I requested, but he was down again in a minute, and carrying me up, wrapped me in buffalo-robes and placed me in one of the sleighs which Uncle Donald, who was engaged in feeding Hugh from a can of broth, had brought to convey us. Some of the broth was immediately given to me. I could have gobbled up the whole of it, for the moment I felt the fresh air the keenness of my appetite returned. "I feared, my dear lads, that you were lost!" exclaimed Uncle Donald, as he ran backwards and forwards between Hugh and me, giving us each alternately a mouthful of the food. "But through the mercy of Heaven, as I will tell you by-and-by, we were led to this spot, and now the sooner we get back to camp the better, for you require careful nursing, I suspect. It is a wonder that you have escaped." Red Squirrel came in for a portion of the broth, and, not suffering so much from hunger as we were, he was soon able, after he had swallowed the food, to move about and assist Corney in digging out our snow-shoes. As soon as they had been recovered, we set out for the camp, which we found under the shelter of a wood about two miles off. How Pilot, who had been left, as we supposed, dying in the camp, had found us out, we were curious to know. It appeared that one of the Indians had left, as he confessed, a load of pemmican behind. This the dog must have scented out after we had gone, and having eaten it, had remained sheltered during the storm under the snow. His provisions exhausted, he had set out to rejoin his companions, and on his way had providentially been led to the mouth of our burrow. Finding that he could not get us out, he had gone on, and on coming up with the party, by his extraordinary behaviour attracted attention. The moment he had had some buffalo meat, he rushed back towards where he had left us, and then pulled at Corney's and Uncle Donald's leggings, thus leading them to believe that he knew where we were to be found. The cold was intense, but as it had hardened the snow, and the dogs had greatly recovered by having had plenty of buffalo meat to eat, we made rapid progress. Hugh was placed in Rose's sleigh, and I had one to myself, with some of the cargo stowed at my back, for even after two day's rest we were unable to walk; Red Squirrel, however, was soon himself again, and was able to keep up with the rest of the men. More than a week had passed, when, as evening was approaching, we caught sight of a flagstaff, above a block-house, and a circle of palisades rising out of the snow on the banks of a stream backed by a lofty range of mountains, spurs of the Rockies. Though there were no trees in the immediate neighbourhood, a thick forest was seen on either side, extending backwards, and rising up the steep slopes. It was the station to reach which we had travelled many hundred miles. Descending to the river, which was frozen over, we dashed across it, and were met on the other side by a party who issued from the stockade as we approached. At first we could only make out a number of Indians, but presently a lady and five young people appeared among them. To my joy, I recognised the lady as my mother, the others were my two sisters and three younger brothers, but they had all grown so much that I should not have known them; and certainly they did not know me, for they looked greatly surprised at the affectionate greeting my mother gave me. "I am grateful, most grateful to you, Uncle Donald, for having come to our assistance," she said, as she kissed his weather-beaten cheek. "Your appearance will revive my poor husband, who is still suffering from sickness. He has not got over the fearful scenes we witnessed, and is still anxious about our safety, as the savage Indians have vowed that they will return in the spring and put us and those of their tribe who have become Christians to death, should the pest again break out among them, and I much fear, in consequence of their careless and dirty habits, that it will do so." "Cheer up, my good niece, we will now go into the house, and then arrange what is best to be done," answered Uncle Donald. I, in the meantime, was receiving the embraces of my brothers and sisters, the latter of whom immediately rushed towards Rose, and conducted her to the house. My brothers also gave a warm greeting to Hugh. My poor father had risen to receive us. He looked fearfully thin and careworn, though our arrival, it was evident, cheered him. Very soon we were all assembled round a roaring fire in the sitting-room, thankful for our preservation from the clangers of our journey, and not a little pleased to be able to throw off our heavy clothing. The Indians took good care of Madge, Corney, and Pierre, and the rest of the party, not neglecting the poor dogs, honest Pilot especially, when the service he had rendered us was told, coming in for a large share of their favour. CHAPTER TWELVE. ON THE ALERT. AT THE STATION--AFTER BUFFALO--RETURN OF RED SQUIRREL FROM A SCOUT WITH NEWS OF THE BLACKFEET--A PARTY RETURN--A PARTY SENT OUT TO BRING BACK THE HUNTERS TO THE FORT--A STRANGE FIRE--RED SQUIRREL GOES OFF AGAIN ON THE SCOUT. My brothers and sisters, Hugh Rose, and I were very happy. The former fancied that, now we had come, all their troubles would be over. They had, however, passed a sad and anxious time; the missionary who had accompanied my father, with his wife and two children, had died, as had several of the Christian Indians, while some hundreds of the wild Indians had been swept off by the fearful pestilence. The latter had gone away south during the winter, and it was supposed that they would not return till the spring. Hugh and I occasionally went out with Uncle Donald, or Pierre and Corney, in search of buffalo or deer. We were generally fortunate enough to kill either the one or the other. Uncle Donald had lost no time in sending out trusty scouts to try and ascertain the whereabouts of the Blackfeet. Red Squirrel, from being one of the most active and intelligent of our Indians, was thus constantly employed. The duty was a hazardous one, for, as he well knew, should the enemy catch him, they would to a certainty take his scalp. As neither buffalo nor deer had for several days appeared near the station, the hunters had to go a considerable distance in search of them. As soon as an animal was killed one of the dog-sleighs was sent out to bring in the meat. I have not described the station. It was in some respects like a fort, being entirely surrounded by palisades, both that it might be defended from an hostile attack, and for the purpose of protecting the buildings in the interior from the cold winds in winter, and to prevent the snow from drifting round them. There was a strong gate on one side which could be securely closed with bars, and a narrow platform with a parapet ran round the upper part of the palisades, from which its defenders could fire down on their assailants. It was in this respect very different from the usual missionary stations, which are entirely without defence. It had been built as a fort by the fur traders, and being in the neighbourhood of a savage and warlike tribe, it was considered prudent to repair it in the fashion I have described. When existing as a fort, it had been more than once captured and plundered by the Indians, and on one occasion the whole of the defenders had been put to death. I had one morning gone up to the platform to take a look out, when I espied far off to the southward a small herd of buffalo. Our hunters had, on the previous evening, gone off to the eastward, and, unless they should find game near, were not likely to return for some days. I hurried down to Uncle Donald to tell him what I had seen, and request permission to set off to try and kill a buffalo. "I will go with you," he said; and Hugh begged that he might accompany us. So we set off with our guns, hoping, that by keeping among the woods, we might get to leeward of the herd, and sufficiently near to shoot one or more beasts. My brother Alec, who was nearly as old as Hugh, went also. We hurried along on our snow-shoes, eager to get up to the herd before they should move off. This they were not likely to do, as they had found a spot where the snow was less deep than in other places, and they had got down to the grass by pawing with their feet. They did not perceive us, and the wind being north-east, we succeeded in getting round to the south of them. We then crept carefully up, and Uncle Donald, firing, brought a fat cow to the ground. Hugh and I aimed at another, which we badly wounded; but instead of running off with its head lowered, ploughing up the snow as a ship turns up the foaming water, it came charging towards us. "Now, Alec, see what you can do!" exclaimed Hugh and I, as we rapidly re-loaded; "but run aside as soon as you have fired, or the brute may kill you." I heard Alec's shot, when, looking up, to my dismay, I saw that he had missed. The buffalo was within twenty paces of us. Alec did his best to make off on one side, which, however, could not be done very rapidly with snow-shoes on. In another instant the buffalo would have reached us, when a shot which came from behind a tree laid him low, and looking round, I saw an Indian, whom I directly recognised as Red Squirrel. The rest of the herd being thus disturbed had made off. Uncle Donald now came up and thanked Red Squirrel for his timely aid. He reported that he was on his return to the fort with somewhat alarming intelligence. He had got up one night, he said, close to the Blackfeet lodges, where he observed the chiefs seated in council. He caught the meaning of some of their speeches, from which he gathered that it was their intention, before long, to come north and avenge themselves on the white medicine man--so they called my father--for the pestilence which they asserted he had inflicted on them because they had refused to become his proselytes. Red Squirrel also stated that he had seen among them a white man, who had spoken, and tried to dissuade them from prosecuting their design. He was clothed, like them, in a dress of buffalo-robes, from which Red Squirrel argued that he had been some time among them. They seemed, however, in no way inclined to listen to the advice of the white stranger, and expressed their intention of setting out as soon as their medicine man should pronounce the time to be propitious. "We must return at once and put the station in a state of defence," said Uncle Donald, on hearing this. "The savages may be upon us in the course of two or three days, and will give us but a short time to prepare for them. It is unfortunate that the hunters are away, for we require their assistance; and should the Blackfeet fall in with them they will lose their scalps to a certainty." "I would willingly go out and try and find them," I said. "As no snow has fallen since they started, I can easily find their tracks." "I would much rather send Red Squirrel or Corney; but I'll think about it as we go along," said Uncle Donald. Pierre had gone with the hunters, so that only the Irishman and young Indian were available for the purpose. We at once turned our faces homewards, going on as fast as we could move on our snow-shoes. We thought it possible that we might find on our arrival that some of the hunters had returned, but none had made their appearance. My father looked very anxious when he heard the information brought by Red Squirrel. "We might repulse them should they attack the place, but if any are killed, what hope can I afterwards have of winning them over to the Gospel?" he said. "I talk to them of peace, and urge them to enlist under the banner of the Prince of Peace, and yet they find me and my friends allied in arms against them." "But if we don't defend ourselves, they will knock us on the head and carry off our scalps," answered Uncle Donald. "I will do all I can to preserve peace, and induce them to go back without fighting, should I be able to hold any communication with them. In the meantime, we must prepare to defend the fort. Archie has volunteered to go out in search of the hunters, who must be forthwith called in, but without your permission I do not like to let him go." "As it is in the path of duty, I will not forbid him," answered my father. "If Archie goes, let me go too," cried Alec. "I can run as fast as he does on snow-shoes." After some demur, Alec got leave to accompany me, for Hugh, not being quite well, was unable to go. We were in good spirits, pleased at the confidence placed in us, and only regretting that Hugh had not been able to come. The trail of the hunters was perfectly clear, leading away to the south-east. They had taken a couple of sleighs to bring in the meat, so that we had no difficulty in directing our course. We had made good nearly ten miles, and had not met any buffalo tracks, which showed us that the hunters must still be some way ahead, when we heard a voice shouting to us, and, looking back, we saw an Indian running towards us over the snow. As he was alone, we had no doubt that he was a friend, and as he came nearer we recognised Red Squirrel. He could not, he said, allow us to go without him, and as soon as he had taken some food he had set off. He had left Uncle Donald busily engaged, assisted by my father and the remaining men in the fort, in strengthening the palisades. "If the Blackfeet come expecting to get in and plunder the fort, they will find themselves mistaken," he added. We were very glad to have Red Squirrel with us; although, accustomed as we were to travel over the snow-covered plains, and having the mountains with whose forms we were well acquainted to the eastward, we had no fear about finding our way back, provided that the weather should remain clear. There was, of course, the possibility of a snow-storm coming on, and then we might have been greatly puzzled. Notwithstanding the fatigue Red Squirrel had gone through during the last few days, he was as active as ever, and kept us moving as fast as we could go. Before sunset we came upon the tracks of buffalo, though the animals themselves were nowhere to be seen. "We'll soon find them," observed the Indian; but though we went on some distance, neither buffalo nor hunters could we discover, and we were glad, just as night fell, to take shelter under the lee of a thick clump of poplars and spruce pine. To cut sufficient wood for our fire and clear away the snow was the work of a few minutes, and, with our pot boiling, we were soon sitting round a cheerful blaze discussing our supper. We continued sitting round the fire, wrapped in our buffalo-robes, with our feet close to the embers, every now and then throwing on a stick, while we talked and Red Squirrel smoked his pipe. I proposed that two of us should lie down and go to sleep, while the third kept watch, when Red Squirrel, getting up, said he would take a look out. Climbing up the bank, he went to the top of a knoll a short distance off. We could see his figure against the sky. In a short time he came back. "See fire out there," he said, pointing to the southward. "May be friends, may be enemies, may be Blackfeet. If Blackfeet, sooner we get 'way better." "But how are we to find out whether they are friends or foes?" I asked. "Red Squirrel go and see," he answered. "You stay here;" and taking up his gun, he quickly disappeared in the darkness, leaving us seated at our camp fire. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. ATTACKED BY THE RED-SKINS. PROLONGED ABSENCE OF RED SQUIRREL--FLIGHT--THE STRANGERS PROVE TO BE FRIENDS--RETURN TO THE FORT--UNCLE DONALD OPPOSES THE DOCTRINE OF NON-RESISTANCE--THE GUARD OVER THE FORT--THE INDIANS ATTACK THE FORT. We felt very uneasy at the strangely prolonged absence of Red Squirrel. He could have anticipated no danger, or he would have advised us what course to pursue should he not return. At last, telling Alec to sit quiet, I got up, and made my way to the top of the knoll, whence I could see over the country to the southward, in the direction I supposed Red Squirrel had gone. I looked and looked in vain through the gloom of night, though I could see in the far distance the light of the fire of which he had spoken. Could he have been captured? if so, what should Alec and I do? It would be impossible to rescue him--indeed, it was too probable that he had been immediately put to death by the Blackfeet, and that we might ourselves, should we remain in the neighbourhood, be killed. I came therefore to the conclusion that we must continue our search for the hunters to the eastward, keeping at the same time a watchful eye in the direction in which we had seen the fire of our supposed enemies. I say supposed enemies, because I still had a lingering hope that, after all, the fire might be at the hunters' camp. Such were the thoughts which passed through my mind as I stood on the top of the knoll. I had not been there many minutes before I recollected how clearly I had seen Red Squirrel in the same position against the sky. Instead, therefore, of remaining upright, I stooped down until I reached a thick bush, behind which I crouched, as well able as before to see any objects moving in the plain below. At last I thought that it was time to go back to Alec, and was on the point of descending the knoll, when I fancied that I saw some objects moving along the ground. I remained stock still, scarcely daring to breathe, with my eyes fixed on the spot. They were human beings--Indians I felt sure; if so, they would soon see our fire, and we should be discovered. While there was time I hurried down the knoll and flew to Alec. I made a sign to him to take up his rifle and buffalo-robe, with a few other articles, left on the ground, and led the way through the wood. Here we might remain concealed until the savages had gone away, and then try to get back to the fort. I had no great hopes of success, still, it was the only thing to be done. We had reached the spot, and it was some way from the fire, but we were still able to see it by raising our heads over the bushes. We had both knelt down behind the bush, with our rifles ready to raise to our shoulders at any minute. Alec, only the moment before I returned, had thrown some wood on the fire, so that it was now blazing up brightly, and we could see all the objects round it. Just then three figures appeared. Two were Indians--there could be no doubt about it; but the other we could not make out clearly. They advanced, looking eagerly around, but as they came more into the light, instead of savages, with scalping knives in hand ready to kill us, great was our joy to discover that one was Pierre, and the others Red Squirrel and Kondiarak. They looked very much astonished at not seeing us. We did not keep them long in suspense, and Pierre then told us that they had come on purpose to advise that we should at once return to the fort, without waiting for daylight. They had been successful in hunting, having killed three buffalo cows, with the meat of which the sleighs were already packed, and as the track was formed, the dogs would find their way without the slightest difficulty. We reached the fort without having seen the enemy, and, as may be supposed, were heartily welcomed. Our arrival restored the spirits of my poor father and mother, who were very anxious, not so much for themselves as for my younger brothers and sisters. They were prepared to die, if God so willed it, in the path of their duty. My father was still very unwilling to resort to force, and proposed going out himself to meet the enemy to try and induce them to turn back. Uncle Donald, however, told him that as he was the object of their vengeance they would, to a certainty, seize and torture him, and then probably come on and endeavour to destroy the fort. Thus no object would have been gained, as we should do our utmost to defend ourselves, and his life would be uselessly sacrificed. "But I should have done my duty in attempting to soften the hearts of the poor savages," answered my father, meekly. "My good nephew, it's just this, I'm not going to let ye have your scalp taken off," said Uncle Donald, bluntly. "I am commander here for the time being, and no man, not e'en yourself, shall leave the fort without my leave. If the savages come they must take the consequences." My father did not reply, but I am very sure that, had he been left to act by himself, he would have earned out his intentions, and would most probably have perished. From Pierre's report we fully expected every minute to see the Blackfeet appear. To each man under Uncle Donald's directions a post was assigned, which he was charged to defend with his life. Orders were, however, given that no one was to fire until the word of command was received. Hugh, Alec, and I were stationed together, and highly proud we were at the confidence placed in us, as the post we had to maintain was one of the most important. The day wore on, but we were still unmolested, and at last darkness came down upon us. The winter, it will be remembered, was not yet over. To defend ourselves from the intense cold we all put on as many buffalo-robes and bear-skins as we could wear, and Hugh declared that we looked like a garrison of grizzlies. It was cold enough during the day, but it was still colder at night; notwithstanding this, as Alec and I had had no sleep for many hours, we found it difficult to keep awake. We, therefore, rolling ourselves up in our wraps, lay down, while Hugh stood ready to call us at a moment's notice. There were, however, sentries enough to keep a look-out, and Uncle Donald continued going round and round the fort, seeing that they were watchful. The dawn was approaching; it was the time the Red-skins often make their attacks, as they expect to find their enemies buried in sleep. When morning at last came, and no enemy had appeared, we began to hope that no Blackfeet had as yet reached the neighbourhood. Another day was drawing on. Except a few men who remained on guard, the rest of the garrison lay down to sleep, that they might be more watchful the following night. I spent a short time with my mother and sisters and Rose, and did my best to encourage them, but I could not help feeling that possibly it might be the last time we should be together on earth. By Red Squirrel's report, the Blackfeet were very numerous, and they are noted for being the most savage and warlike of all the northern tribes. The next night was almost a repetition of the former, except that Alec and I kept watch, while Hugh lay down to sleep. Uncle Donald, as before, went his rounds, and there seemed but little risk of our being taken by surprise. He had just left us, when Hugh, who had got up and was standing near me, whispered-- "I see something moving over the snow. There! there are others. Yes, they must be Indians." "Wait until we are certain," I answered, in the same low voice; "and then, Alec, run round and tell Uncle Donald." We were not left long in doubt before we all three were certain that the objects we saw were Indians, and that they were trying to keep themselves concealed. Alec set off to find Uncle Donald. He had not been gone many seconds, when fearful yells rent the air. Before us up started hundreds of dark forms, and a shower of bullets and arrows came flying above our heads. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. AN OLD FRIEND. THE BLACKFEET MEET A WARM RECEPTION--AND RETREAT--A WOUNDED INDIAN-- PROVES TO BE PONOKO, WHO TELLS OF A WHITE MAN IN THE INDIAN CAMP--A FRIENDLY CONFERENCE. The moment the war-whoop of the Blackfeet had ceased Uncle Donald's voice was heard, ordering us to fire. We obeyed with right good will, and must have greatly astonished the savages, who, not aware of the increased number of our garrison, had probably expected to gain quite an easy victory. Many of them had muskets, but the larger number could only have been armed with bows and arrows. After they had shot five or six showers of arrows and fired their guns--fortunately, without hitting any of us, though we could hear their missiles pinging against the thick palisades--they suddenly ceased, and began to retreat, when Uncle Donald shouted to them in their own language, inquiring why they had attacked people who had done them no harm, but were anxious to benefit them. No reply came. Our men uttered a shout of triumph. Uncle Donald stopped them. "The Blackfeet have retired, but I know their cunning ways, and I deem it more than likely that they will be down upon us again when they think to catch us off our guard or maybe they have devised some treacherous plot to entrap us." We waited, but, as far as we could judge by the sounds which reached our ears, the savages had really retreated, and did not intend to attack us again that night. That they would give up their object was not to be expected, and my father proposed, should we find they had gone to a distance, that, rather than cause more bloodshed, we should abandon the station and retreat to one of the company's forts to the northward, "We have sleighs sufficient to convey the women and children," he added; "and when the anger of the misguided people has subsided, I will return by myself, and endeavour to win them over by gentle means, for such only should be employed to spread the Gospel among the heathen." "You are very right in that respect, but though we may get to some distance, when the Blackfeet find that we have gone, they will to a certainty follow on our trail and quickly overtake us," answered Uncle Donald. "I cannot consent to such a plan; we must show them that we are able to defend ourselves, and let their blood be upon their own heads if they persist in attacking us. We will, however, try how negotiation will succeed. I used to be well-known among them, and I propose to-morrow, should they not again attack the fort, to go singly into their camp and invite them to smoke the calumet of peace. Should I be detained, you must promise to hold out to the last, and not any account trust to what they may say. We will, in the meantime, send a messenger to Rocky Mountain House, entreating for assistance. I feel sure that the officer in charge will send as many men and horses as he can spare to enable you to escape, or defend the fort, if necessary." My father and mother entreated Uncle Donald not thus to risk his life; but he was firm in his resolution. My father then proposed going with him, but to this Uncle Donald would not consent. A considerable portion of the night was consumed in these discussions. A vigilant watch was of course kept, but no one could be seen stirring outside the fort. Having taken a brief nap, just before dawn I returned to my post on the ramparts. As daylight increased I fancied that I saw the body of a man lying under a bush some distance from the fort. Yes, I was certain of it. I pointed him out to Hugh, and we both fancied that we saw an arm move. "He is one of the savages who was shot in the attack last night, and, unperceived by his companions, he must have fallen where we see him," observed Hugh. While we were speaking, some of the Indians we had brought with us--who, though faithful servants, were still heathens--caught sight of the body. Lowering themselves down without asking leave, they were rushing, with their scalping knives in their hands, towards the hapless being. Uncle Donald at that instant coming up on the ramparts saw them, and guessed their object. "Come back, you rascals!" he shouted. "Whether that man be alive or dead, don't touch a hair of his head!" As they did not stop he fired his rifle, the bullet passing just in front of the leading Indian, who now thought it time to come to a standstill. "Archie and Hugh, you go and look after that poor fellow, and make our people bring him in," continued Uncle Donald. We instantly obeyed, for although the height was considerable we could manage to drop to the bottom without injuring ourselves. We then ran as fast as our legs could carry us to overtake our Indians. Having delivered Uncle Donald's orders, we then hurried on to where the Indian lay. At a glance I saw that he was desperately wounded from the blood which flowed from both his legs, while another shot had rendered his right arm powerless. His eyes still wore a defiant expression, and he appeared to fancy that we were about to kill him. By signs and such words of his language as we could speak, we endeavoured to make him understand that we had come to carry him into the fort to try and save his life. As there was not a moment to be lost, we first bound up his wounds, and then ordering our people to assist us we lifted him from the ground and hurried towards the fort, meeting on our way Uncle Donald, who had the gate open to admit us. Without stopping we carried the wounded man into the house, where my father, who had risen, was ready with bandages and salves to attend to him. My mother, meantime, was preparing some strong broth, which our prisoner eagerly swallowed. It had an almost instantaneous effect in reviving him. Uncle Donald, who had in the meantime been going round the fort to ascertain if more wounded had been left in its neighbourhood, now entered the room, and as his eye fell on the countenance of our captive, he exclaimed, "Ponoko! Do you remember your white friend?" The Indian made a sign that he was the person supposed, though he was too weak to speak. Uncle Donald then told him that although he had come as an enemy he should be well cared for. In a short time the judicious treatment he was receiving enabled him to utter a few words. He seemed grateful for the care taken of him, and his eyes brightened when my young sisters and Rose brought him the soup, which he received almost every hour. He especially noticed Rose, and when Uncle Donald came to see him, inquired, in a tone of evident interest, who she was. "You are right if you think you remember her, for she is the little girl you saved when your people attacked the village in the territory of the Long-knives some years ago," answered Uncle Donald. "Will you now let me take her back?" asked Ponoko. "Do you think it likely that I should consent?" said Uncle Donald. "Her ways are not the ways of your people. She would pine and die were she to be treated as your women are treated." "But there is one who has long lived with us whose heart would be rejoiced to see her," said Ponoko. "You may remember when I parted from you I promised to try and save the lives of any of our pale-faced prisoners. I succeeded in saving that of one man just as he was about to be tortured and killed, but it was on condition that he would swear to remain with us, and never betray us to our enemies. He was a great hunter, and brave as the bravest among us. He also, we found, was not one of the Long-knives, but was a subject of the Queen of the Pale-faces. He has kept his promise, though he might often have made his escape. He had been many months with us, before I found how sorely his heart yearned to get away, and I would have set him free, but the other chiefs would not consent. He looked upon me as his friend. He told me that his child and all his household had died by the hands of our people, except his wife, who was away in one of the big cities in the east at the time we attacked the place. I was thus led to tell him of the little girl I had saved and given over to you, and he has ever since been hoping that she might prove to be one of his children. He has hoped and hoped until he has persuaded himself that such she is. Thus I know how it would rejoice his heart to see her." "I have strong doubts about that," answered Uncle Donald. "He would rejoice to see her, but not to have her among your people, from whom she differs so greatly. The only way truly to benefit him would be to set him at liberty and allow him to return among the Pale-faces to whom he belongs." "But how can that be while I am sick and a prisoner with you?" asked Ponoko. "You'll recover, I hope, ere long, and as you have fulfilled your promise on one occasion, I feel confident that you will not disappoint us if we set you at liberty on your undertaking to restore this white stranger to his people." "Ponoko always keeps his word," answered the Indian in a proud tone. "But should the Blackfeet, in the meantime, attack us, we may be destroyed, and they may take you away with them," observed Uncle Donald. "If my people come, you shall carry me out on a litter; I will tell them how well the Pale-faces have treated me, and will urge them, instead of fighting, to make a lasting peace with my white father and his friends," said Ponoko. "I will trust you, my brother," said Uncle Donald, pressing Ponoko's hand. "I pray that you may soon be restored to health, and that you will teach your people that it is to their true interests to be at peace with the white men, and to trade honestly with them." CHAPTER FIFTEEN. A HAPPY ENDING. PONOKO RECOVERS--TIME PASSES WITHOUT FURTHER ATTACK--AND MEAT HAS TO BE PROCURED--RED SQUIRREL AGAIN SENT ON SCOUT--RETURNS PURSUED BY SIX BLACKFEET--TIMELY RESCUE--POOR RED SQUIRREL IS QUITE EXHAUSTED--THE BLACKFEET RETURN IN LARGE NUMBERS--PONOKO GOES OUT TO MEET THEM--EFFECT OF HIS APPEARANCE ON THE TRIBE--HE RETURNS WITH A WHITE MAN--ROSE FINDS A FATHER--AND BOTH FIND A WIFE AND MOTHER--ALL ENDS HAPPILY AT LAST. Day after day went by, and the Blackfeet did not appear. Ponoko, never having indulged in the pernicious fire-water, was rapidly recovering under my father's judicious care and the attention he received from Rose and the rest of the family. We had not yet told her of the possibility that her father had escaped and might be restored to her. I suspect that she would not have understood us had we done so, for she looked upon Uncle Donald as her father, though she called him "Uncle" as Hugh and I did. Indeed, all the events of her life which had occurred before the fearful night of the massacre appeared to have faded from her memory. At length, as the Blackfeet had not shown themselves, we began to hope that they would allow us to remain at peace, and Uncle Donald already talked of returning home. He proposed that my mother and father and the rest of the family should accompany him, but my father replied that nothing should induce him to quit his post, unless driven away by the savages, and that he would then retire, with his converts, to some spot among more friendly tribes further north. Among others signs of returning spring was the appearance of a herd of buffalo passing in the far distance, and as our provisions were again running short, Uncle Donald was compelled to allow the hunters to set off for the purpose of killing some of the animals. Hugh and I wanted to accompany them, but he would only allow Pierre, and Corney, and four of the most active red men to go on the expedition. As soon as they set out, he sent off Red Squirrel to try and ascertain the whereabouts of the Blackfeet camp, with directions to come back should he discover that they were on the move. We waited day after day for Red Squirrel's expected return, but he did not appear, and we began to have serious apprehensions that he had been captured. The hunters, however, had come back with a good supply of buffalo meat, so that we should be well prepared in case we should be besieged. At last, one evening as I was looking out towards the south, I saw several objects moving across the prairie. At first I thought that they might be deer or wolves, or even smaller game. One was leading considerably ahead of the rest. They were coming towards the fort. Besides the first I counted six others. I called the attention of my companion to them. "They are men!" exclaimed Ponoko. "Those six are of my tribe; they are in pursuit of the first! He must run fast, or before he can reach the fort they will overtake him. Already I see by his movements that he is fatigued." I had little doubt but that the leader was Red Squirrel. I asked Ponoko, whose keen eyes could distinguish his dress better than the rest of us could do. "Yes, he is your young friend," he answered. "See, see! he is increasing his speed, he may still escape, and my people will go back disappointed. They will not dare to come within range of your rifles." "Then we will go out and meet them!" I exclaimed, hurrying down. I told Uncle Donald what Ponoko had said. Taking our rifles, and buckling on our snow-shoes, Hugh, Alec, Pierre, Corney, and I hurried out of the fort, and set off running faster, I think, than we had ever run before, to meet the hard-pressed fugitive. Once more his pursuers were gaining on him; before long their scalping knives might be about his head. He was the first to perceive us approaching, and it seemed to add fresh nerve to his legs. Soon afterwards the Blackfeet caught sight of us. The instant they did so they sprang forward, making a last desperate effort to overtake our friend; but perceiving that we had rifles ready, they well knew that, even should they succeed, we should make them pay dearly for the act. Giving up the chase, therefore, they stopped, and turning round, ran off at a rate which soon placed them beyond our reach. In a few moments Red Squirrel was up to us, but so hard-pressed had he been that he was unable to tell us what had happened. We supported him, not without difficulty, to the fort, when his snow-shoes being taken off, had he not been resting in our arms, he would have sunk fainting to the ground. We delivered him over to his mother, who chafed his limbs, and used every other means she could devise for restoring his strength. It was some time before he could speak. He had ably fulfilled his mission, having watched the enemy's camp until the previous day, when finding that they were about to move northward, he had set off to bring us tidings of their approach. He was, however, observed, and six of their fleetest runners had pursued him. Hour after hour he had continued his flight, though he confessed that, had we not come to his assistance, he should, he believed, have fallen even in sight of the fort. That night was an anxious one. Frequent alarms were raised that the enemy were upon us. At length the morning broke, and as the sun rose above the eastern prairie his beams fell on the plumed heads and trappings of several hundred warriors, who came on, confident in their numbers, and believing that our small garrison would easily become their prey. They halted when considerably beyond range of our weapons, and having sung a war-song, gave utterance to one of those terrible whoops which are said to paralyse even horses and cattle. Ponoko had in the meantime, dressed himself in the costume in which he had been discovered when lying wounded, and the gate being opened, he sallied forth with feeble steps, very different from his once elastic tread. The gates of the fort were closed behind him, and he proceeded towards the warriors drawn up in battle array. We watched him as he approached them. At length he stopped and stretching out his arms, addressed his people. The effect on his tribe of what he said was almost electrical. They looked upon him as one restored from the dead, for they had long mourned him as lost. We watched him until he was among them, when, after some time, he reappeared, leading by the hand a person who, though dressed in Indian costume, we saw was a white man. Together they approached the fort, when the gate was opened to receive them. The stranger gazed round with looks of astonishment, evidently endeavouring to find the words to express himself. At last he said-- "I can scarcely believe my senses. A few minutes ago I was a prisoner, and threatened by the Indians with a cruel death should they again be defeated." "We are truly thankful that you have escaped," answered Uncle Donald, advancing and taking his hand. "You owe your preservation to our friend Ponoko here." "I am indeed grateful to him," said the stranger. "He preserved my life when so many of my companions were massacred. He has ever since continued my protector, but when it was supposed that he was killed, his people threatened to avenge his death by murdering me. Grateful as I am to him and to you, I am restored to liberty a ruined and a childless man, while I know not what has become of my poor wife, who was providentially absent from the settlement at the time of the massacre, but will have supposed that I, as well as our little girl, shared the common fate," answered Mr Kennedy, for such he told us was his name. "Should your child have escaped, do you believe you would recognise her?" asked Uncle Donald. "Among a hundred!" answered the stranger. "I should know her, however much grown, from her likeness to her mother." As he spoke my sisters and Rose approached. The stranger glanced at the group, then rushing forward, gazed earnestly into Rose's countenance. "You would not deceive me!" he exclaimed. "Say, how did this young girl come to be with you? Rose, do you recollect me? Speak, my child, are you not Rose Kennedy?" "Kennedy! Kennedy!" murmured Rose, looking greatly astonished and somewhat frightened. "Kennedy! Yes, that was my papa's name." "You are my own child!" he exclaimed, kissing her brow and cheeks again and again while he held her in his arms. The lookers-on were greatly moved. It was some time, however, before Rose could fully comprehend that the stranger was her father, and that she belonged to him rather than to Uncle Donald. Mr Kennedy now eagerly inquired whether we could give him any tidings of his wife. "Extraordinary as it may seem, I think I am able to do so," said my father. "On stopping at the Red River settlement on our way hither, I met a Mrs Kennedy, whose husband and child had, I heard, been murdered by the Indians." I should like to prolong my history, but I must be brief. Ponoko, after remaining a day or two with us, went among his tribe, and persuaded them that it would be to their advantage to live peaceably with their neighbours. Not many years after they entered into a treaty with the Canadian Government, and the fearful state of warfare which for so long a period had existed in that fair northern region almost entirely ceased. We were very, very sorry to lose Rose, but Mr Kennedy was, of course, most anxious to join his wife. As soon as he could travel he set off for the Red River. He promised to return and bring his wife and Rose with him, having accepted an invitation from Uncle Donald to settle at Clearwater. In course of time, Hugh, Alec, and I established in its neighbourhood several fairly flourishing farms, of one of which Hugh, with Rose as its mistress, became the owner. My father laboured for many years among the heathen, greatly aided by Ponoko. The entire country, including the Rocky Mountains over which we passed, now forms part of the great Canadian dominion, and probably, before another generation has passed away, the whole region, from east to west, will be the home of happy and flourishing communities. THE END. 
61767	----	WINGED ARROW'S MEDICINE _OR_ THE MASSACRE AT FORT PHIL KEARNEY BY HARRY CASTLEMON _Author of "The First Capture" "Gun Boat Series," etc., etc._ _ILLUSTRATED_ BY W. H. FRY AKRON, OHIO _THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY_ NEW YORK CHICAGO [Illustration: "STEADY, THERE!" HE SHOUTED. "RIGHT FRONT INTO LINE! REVOLVERS! GIVE THEM THE BEST YOU'VE GOT!"] COPYRIGHT, 1901 BY THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. PAGE THE SECOND LIEUTENANT 9 CHAPTER II. AN INVITATION 21 CHAPTER III. WINGED ARROW 34 CHAPTER IV. THE MEDICINE 47 CHAPTER V. THE REPRIMAND 59 CHAPTER VI. THE BUNDLE OF SAGE BRUSH 71 CHAPTER VII. "GOOD-BY, CYRUS" 86 CHAPTER VIII. IN THE HANDS OF THE SIOUX 101 CHAPTER IX. THE MEDICINE WORKS WONDERS 116 CHAPTER X. GUY IS ASTONISHED 133 CHAPTER XI. IN THE SIGNAL TOWER 150 CHAPTER XII. WHAT GUY SAW 167 CHAPTER XIII. COLONEL CARRINGTON IS DEPRESSED 181 CHAPTER XIV. IN THE SIOUX CAMP 200 CHAPTER XV. WHAT WINGED ARROW SAW 214 CHAPTER XVI. AFTER THE MASSACRE 228 CHAPTER XVII. RE-ENFORCEMENTS ARRIVE 242 CHAPTER XVIII. A PRISONER AT LAST 259 CHAPTER XIX. CONCLUSION 274 CHAPTER I. THE SECOND LIEUTENANT Guy Preston was a young and beardless boy fresh from "The Point." He was now attached to the --th cavalry and was one of three hundred men who had been ordered to that faraway country to assist in building the fort, which was named after the lamented hero, Phil Kearney. He had left the fort a short time before, and was out after prairie chickens, being armed with a double-barreled shotgun. The brace of birds which was tied to the pommel of his saddle proved that he was something of an adept at shooting on the wing. He was dressed in the uniform of the cavalry service, with a pair of straps on his shoulders that were decidedly the worse for wear, and his horse, a Kentucky thoroughbred, which, although seemingly impatient to exhibit the mettle that was in him, was obedient to the rein and stopped or went ahead when his owner commanded him. "There do not seem to be many chickens here, Tom, and so I think we will go back to the Fort," said Guy, raising himself in his stirrups and casting impatient glances on all sides of him. "We were told to stay within sight of the fortifications, but that last prairie chicken was too much for me. It made me disobey orders. There does not seem to be any Sioux here either, and I don't see why they cannot let us alone. We could see plenty of fun in hunting if that miserable Red Cloud was out of the way." Guy Preston was not the only one who wished that same thing of Red Cloud. His regiment had been stationed, in the first place, at Fort Robinson in Nebraska, which was the central point from which operations against the hostiles were organized. And what had caused this Red Cloud to go on the warpath? It was simply because the United States government had determined to open a road to Montana by way of Powder River. The way the road was laid out made it necessary that it should pass through the favorite hunting ground of the Sioux Indians, and some of them were fiercely opposed to it. The authorities made treaties with the hereditary chiefs by whom the right of way was granted, but the dissatisfaction that arose on account of it was so great that it led to an open rupture. Red Cloud was not an hereditary chief; that is, he was not a chief of any sort. He belonged to "the rank and file" of the band, but he was ambitious to become something better. The uneasiness among the Indians gave him a glorious chance. He denounced the treaties and their makers, and declared war to the knife against every white man who came over that road or ventured into that country. There are always some discontented ones among the Indians, men who cannot rest easy unless they are on the warpath, and crowds of these warriors flocked to his standard. The Sioux nation was the most powerful of any tribe on this continent. They were rich in everything that goes to make up an Indian's idea of wealth,--ponies, furs, and weapons; and, more than all, the countless numbers of buffalo that roamed through the Powder River country made them independent of the whites. They numbered 20,000 in all, and could put 3,000 warriors in the field. The hereditary chiefs very soon found themselves deserted and powerless when Red Cloud raised his standard, and in some instances were only too glad to preserve their control over their bands by acknowledging the new chief as their master. Finding himself at the head of so strong a force, Red Cloud took to the warpath at once, and a long, tedious war ensued, during which he made a great reputation. Avoiding any serious engagement, he so harassed all trains and expeditions sent against him that the few troops then in his country could scarcely be said to hold even the ground they actually stood upon. Several forts were established, but they protected only what was inside their palisades. A load of wood for fuel could not be cut outside without a conflict, and it finally culminated in the terrible tragedy which it is the purpose of this story to reveal,--for this is a true tale, and we tell it just as it happened. At last the commanding officer at Fort Robinson became out of all patience and determined to bring the Sioux to close quarters; so he sent Colonel Carrington on a long campaign with a force strong enough to follow the Sioux wherever they went, destroying their villages and reducing them to submission. The Colonel was also instructed to build a strong post upon the Powder or Tongue rivers and operate against them from there. The Fort was built at last and named after one of the bravest generals who gave up his life during our Civil War; but it was only after long months of toil and hardship. Red Cloud's warriors followed him all the way, stealing such stock as strayed away from the camp and cutting off small bodies of men that were sent out any distance from the main body. Guy Preston was there and saw how the hostiles operated, and we will venture the assertion that more than once he thought of home, and, if the truth must be told, he did not blame the Indians for fighting. The lands which they were forced to give up were their home, and they were about to surrender their only means of subsistence. The buffalo comprised all they had. It furnished them with food and raiment, coverings for their beds and the tepees in which they lived. The whites did not kill what they wanted for use, but wantonly slaughtered thousands simply to make a "record." All the scum of civilization fled to the frontier, and Bills and Dicks whose reputations were not of the best swaggered about the streets of canvas cities during the winter and roamed the plains during the summer to shoot buffalo. These people did not know or did not care what the buffalo meant to the Indian. It meant that when they were gone, the Indian would starve to death. No matter what treaties our government made with the Indians, it had no effect upon the reckless whites. They encouraged the slaughter of the game. Future historians will have to record that all our Western Indian wars were brought about by the acts of irresponsible and disreputable characters who usurped all the best hunting lands and attacked every band of Indians they saw, whether friendly or hostile, Sioux or Pawnees. Red Cloud was a man of great foresight, although born in a humble position. He saw that the government could not or would not keep their treaties and forbid these adventurers from trespassing on their hunting grounds, and forthwith, relying upon his assumed popularity, which came to him the moment he declared war on the whites, he called a convention of all the Sioux and allied tribes. When that convention met he rehearsed their wrongs and it was decided that they would do what any brave people would do under the same circumstances--fight the whites as long as possible. As I said, a long war was the result; so when Colonel Carrington entrenched himself behind the stockade of Fort Phil Kearney, he shut himself off from the civilized world. He was there, and the Indians resolved that he should stay there. Even his most experienced and bravest scouts could not get through to take dispatches to his superiors. They found Indians all around them, and they were seen and driven back. The wily chief located his village at no great distance away, and established a code of signals by which he could be informed at any time just what the soldiers were doing in the Fort. Every wood train that went out was attacked, and a strong force was necessary for their protection. In spite of all the precautions they could use, between fifteen and twenty soldiers were killed during the months of November and December. But Red Cloud was by no means satisfied with what he had done. He wanted to get rid of the whites entirely, but he had not taken measures to do it; so he called another convention to meet in his village some time in December. Then he broached his program. After repeating that the buffalo would all be killed, which was the worst thing that could happen to a plain Indian, he said: "We must take this Fort. If we once whip these soldiers and burn their palisade, the government will not send out any more." All the other chiefs believed that, and they decided upon a stratagem which will appear as our story progresses. Guy Preston, as well as all the younger officers in the Fort, was not very well pleased to be shut up inside those log walls with no chance to make themselves famous by fighting the Indians, and, worse than all, he could look over the stockade at almost any time of the day and see the prairie chickens flitting about as if there were not a hostile Sioux within a hundred miles of them. "What is the reason the Colonel will not let one of us go out and knock over a few of them for dinner?" he said to a sentry one day while he stood by his side watching them. "I don't see a single Sioux in sight." "No, sir," replied the sentry. "But they are there, sure enough. Every little tuft of grass hides one." "But why don't they show themselves?" "They do when they can make anything by it. Have you forgotten Mike and Tony?" The sentry called the names of two plainsmen,--experienced scouts they were too,--who had attempted to leave the Fort only a few nights before with some papers that the Colonel wished particularly to send to his superior officer. They had been gone about three hours, but when they returned they looked as though they had been through three or four wars. They barely escaped and that was all; and Tony carried with him the mark of an arrow which came near ending his career then and there. "But this is daytime," said Guy. "I don't see what harm there can be in riding around over the prairie in plain sight of the post. I believe I will ask the Colonel to let me try it on." "Very good, sir," replied the sentry. "But he won't let you go." The Lieutenant did not catch all this reply, but hurried away to find the commanding officer. He sent in his name by the Orderly and presently entered the room to which young officers of his rank seldom went unless to receive orders or listen to a reprimand. The Colonel was in his shirt sleeves and pacing back and forth, and now and then he took one of his hands out of his pockets to run it impatiently through his hair. He seemed to have forgotten that he was a soldier and commander of the Fort besides, for he was so impatient at being shut up without remedy that he could scarcely control himself. He stopped and turned toward Mr. Preston with something like a frown upon his face. "Well, what is it now?" he inquired. "Do you know where the Indians are?" "No, sir, and I don't believe there is one within two miles of the Fort," answered the Lieutenant. The Colonel walked to his table, picked up his eyeglasses and put them on. He wanted to look at the officer who could give such an opinion as this. "I should like permission to ride out on the prairie a little way and shoot some of those prairie chickens which are so thick out there," said Mr. Preston. "I saw some within twenty yards of the post." The Colonel stared hard at Mr. Preston and then drew up the nearest chair and sat down. At first he opened his mouth as if to give a very emphatic reply to this strange request, but on second thought he shouted:-- "Orderly, tell the Adjutant I want to see him." CHAPTER II. AN INVITATION Guy Preston was sorely perplexed by this order. He was not aware that he had done anything to be reported to the Adjutant, and besides that officer was not a member of his company. He had not been invited to sit down as was generally the case with officers who came there to see the Colonel on business, but stood twirling his cap in his hand; and every time he raised his eyes to the Colonel's face he saw that the officer was still regarding him behind his eyeglasses as if he meant to look him through. "Are you aware that the Sioux are very hostile, and have you any idea what they will do if they capture you?" said the Colonel, breaking the silence at last. "But they will not capture me, sir," answered Guy. "I shall go on horseback, and the Indian pony does not live which can beat Tom." "I don't suppose that a bullet or an arrow could stretch your Tom out dead while you were running away from them?" said the Colonel. "Yes, sir, I suppose they can do that, but they would not take me alive, all the same." Guy finished the sentence by putting his hand into his hip pocket and drawing forth a Derringer which he showed to the Colonel. "Humph!" said the officer. "You would shoot yourself before you would be taken prisoner? Well, I don't know but that is the right thing to do." At this moment the First Lieutenant who acted as Adjutant came into the room. He listened with surprise when his officer made him acquainted with the request that Guy Preston had brought in to him, adding:-- "You have your report for this quarter all made out?" The Adjutant replied that he had. "Well, I shall want you to make out an entry in your 'Remarks' in regard to Lieutenant Preston," said the Colonel. "You will simply say: 'Requested permission to go out in the face of the Sioux for the purpose of shooting some sage hens. Granted. He was shot down and killed by the Sioux in plain view of the Fort.' You may go," he continued, walking up and taking Preston by the hand. "I never expect to see you again." "Th--thank you, sir," replied the Lieutenant, who was confounded by the way his request was granted. "I will surely be back in the course of an hour or two." When Guy had left the room, the Colonel's face relaxed, and filling up his pipe he settled himself for a smoke. "I do not think he will go," said the Adjutant with a laugh. "I know I would not stir a peg after I had received such a permission as that." "Keep an eye on him," said the Colonel, "and if you see him mount his horse, just step up and tell him not to go out of sight of the Fort. I do not blame these boys for getting impatient, I want to do something myself, but I don't know what it is." "Halloo, Preston, where are you going now?" exclaimed one of his roommates, as he entered his apartment and began to overhaul his hunting rig. "A shotgun! You are not going outside!" "The Colonel told me to go," answered Preston. "He called them sage hens, but I believe they are prairie chickens." "And you are going outside to shoot them, and the Sioux all around you?" cried the young officer, throwing down his book and raising himself to a sitting posture on his bunk. "Guy, you are crazy." "I guess that is what the Colonel seemed to think; but he told me to go, and said he never expected to meet me again. He is going to bluff me, but he will find that I am not that sort." Guy then went on to tell Perkins how the request was received and the way it was granted, to all of which he listened in amazement. As soon as he began to get it through his head, he implored his roommate to let the permission go by default; the Colonel did not expect him to go; he knew how perilous the undertaking was, and he hoped, by drawing it in its true colors, to make Preston see it also; but Preston did not see it in that way. "He did not go at it right," said he. "He took the very course to make me go out there. If he is going to find out how brave I am, he will certainly find it out." "You are a fool," declared Perkins hotly. "I never expect to see you again either. When I shake you by the hand at the gate it will be the last time until I see you brought in for good." Guy Preston began to see at last that he was about to do something at which many a better man and braver than he ever dared be would hesitate. It might be that "every little tuft of grass concealed a Sioux warrior," and an arrow or a bullet sped when he was not looking for it would put an end to his redoubtable thoroughbred and leave him at the mercy of the Indians who had beleaguered the Fort; but he had his loaded Derringer in his pocket, and he was sure that with it he could escape the barbarities they would inflict upon him. He took his double barrel out of its case, and bade Perkins good-by; but that worthy did not notice him at all. He got up and accompanied Preston to the stables, saw him saddle his horse and lead him to the gate. He found the Adjutant there waiting to pass the orders the Colonel had last given him, and he seemed more surprised than ever to learn that the young officer was still bent on going outside; but he said, as if he were giving ordinary instructions to one who had a simple duty to perform:-- "Do you see those hills about a mile and a half off? Well, keep inside of them. If you go over them, we shall give you up. Look out for an ambuscade." "Now will you bid me good-by, Perkins?" said Guy, extending his hand. "Oh, you need not be so particular about giving it a brotherly clasp. I will see you again in two or three hours, and I shall have a lot of prairie chickens to show you. Good-by everybody." "I am really surprised at the Colonel," said Perkins, as he stood by the Adjutant's side and watched his comrade as he galloped away. "He should have refused him point-blank." "The Colonel is sorry enough for it now when it is too late," said the officer. "He supposed, of course, when the boy found out how much danger there was in his undertaking that he would give it up; but I knew he was taking the wrong course. Good-by Preston. By gracious, he has one prairie chicken already!" Yes; the very first chicken that his horse frightened up was filled full of No. 8 shot, and Preston had something for his dinner. The Adjutant could not wait to see any more. He had business to attend to somewhere inside, so he went off and Perkins sat there on the ground for an hour and kept watch of his companion as he wandered to and fro on the prairie in search of another chicken. At last one got up before him, but the shooter seemed to have lost his skill. The double barrel spoke twice in quick succession, but the chicken kept on and in a moment more flew over the ridge out of sight. At least that was what Perkins thought he had done, the distance being so great that he could not see the chicken at all; but he judged from Guy's actions that that was the way he had gone. After waiting long enough to reload his gun, he put spurs to his horse and presently he too was out of sight. "Good-by Guy Preston," said Perkins, with a sigh; "you are the best fellow that ever lived, and now the Sioux have got you sure. You should have had better sense than to disobey the Adjutant's orders." Perkins was in a very gloomy frame of mind as he took his way through the gate and finally brought up before the Adjutant's door. A voice from the inside bade him enter, and the Lieutenant knew as soon as he looked at him that he had some news to communicate. "Guy Preston has gone, sir," said he. "Over the ridge?" replied the officer, starting up in his chair. "Yes, sir. The second chicken he shot at went that way, or at least I thought so, and Guy followed after him." The Adjutant said no more. Guy was a favorite with all the officers and men, and the idea of him losing his life through a disobedience of orders was distressing. He shoved a sheet of paper which he had been examining to one side, got up and walked to a window and looked out at the sentry who stood in front of the gate; and Perkins, taking this as a gentle hint that conversation was no longer desirable, put on his hat and retreated through the door. Guy Preston was a persevering hunter, and when he reached the top of the swell he saw the chicken just settling in the grass about one hundred yards away. This time there was no mistake about it. The game "lay well to cover," and when the horse was almost ready to step upon him he arose and sought safety in flight; but he laid too long. When the shotgun spoke again he came down, and Guy had another chicken. For half an hour longer he rode about behind the swell, and finally he aroused himself and began to look around him. He was surprised to see that he had broken orders by at least a mile or more. "Come on, Tom, and we will go back in a hurry," said he, pulling the horse's head around. "There were more chickens out here when I looked over the palisade at them, and where are they now? Get up, Tom, and we'll--" Something happened just then to call Guy back to earth, and made him think a little more of the Sioux than he did a few moments previous. It was the sight of a solitary warrior sitting on his horse about half a mile away, and what struck Guy as something strange was, he did not seem at all afraid of being observed by anybody. Guy drew up his horse and looked at him. He could see that the Indian brave was dressed in war costume, but the distance was so great, not having a glass with him, that he could not make out whether he was a chieftain or not. The warrior seemed to be equally interested in him, for after looking at Guy for a minute or two, he put his horse in motion and came down the swell toward him. "I don't believe I care for a closer acquaintance," said the young officer, gathering up the reins and leaning forward in the saddle, still keeping his eyes fixed upon the approaching savage. "If you want a race, come on. It is lucky for you that I haven't my Winchester in my hands. I would take that war bonnet of yours into the Fort with me as a trophy." But somehow Guy did not put his horse into rapid motion as he had expected to do. The Indian, when he saw that Guy was getting ready to flee, stopped his own horse, and, as if to assure him that his intentions were pacific, held his rifle above his head at arm's length. This done he swung himself to the ground and laid the weapon at full length in the grass. Then he unbuckled his belt, which he also showed to Guy, and laid it beside the rifle. The next belt he took off was the one containing his knife, which he also placed with the others, and having completely disarmed himself, he placed one hand upon his horse's withers, gracefully leaped into the saddle, and once more rode toward Guy. "I believe he wants to communicate," thought Guy, not knowing whether or not to accept his invitation. "Sioux, thy name is treachery; and that fellow's motions show me that he is as active as a cat. There," he added, seeing that the savage stopped his horse and sat regarding Guy intently, "he is waiting to see what I am going to do. I believe I will try him on." Guy Preston's actions must by this time have satisfied the reader that he was a boy who could not easily be frightened. His coming out on the prairie to shoot chickens must have convinced one of that fact. Without hesitating a moment he proceeded to disarm himself the same as the savage had done, but all he had to do was to lay down his shotgun and take off the belt containing his cartridges. His loaded Derringer he kept in his hip pocket. "Now come on," said he, as he again mounted his horse. "He may have some weapons about him, but if he has I have my Derringer." CHAPTER III. WINGED ARROW Guy often said that he did not see why it was that he and the savage should advance to meet each other in that cool and collected manner. If the Indian had friends who were concealed behind the swells and he was simply trying to get him further away from the Fort so that they could surround and capture him, he saw no signs to indicate it. He never looked behind him at all. He came on as though he had no suspicion, and Guy, not to be outdone by his savage confederate, came on in the same way. He had a great curiosity to see a real live Indian in his war paint, but as he drew nearer he discovered that there were no signs of paint about this Indian. It was a whiter face than people of his tribe usually boast of, and Guy thought that he was smiling in a good-natured sort of way. A few steps more and he was aware of it; and furthermore he discovered that his savage friend, if that was the name to be applied to him, was a boy but little older than himself. As soon as he approached within speaking distance he raised his hand to his bonnet with a military flourish and said, in perfect English:-- "How do you do, sir?" Guy raised his hand to his cap, but he could not say anything in reply. The idea of being spoken to in such a manner was enough to upset him completely. He had been wondering how he would communicate with the savage and running over in his mind the various signs he had learned from the guides, signs which he could use whenever he met an Indian who did not understand his language; but to be addressed in finished English was rather more than he had bargained for. The Indian evidently enjoyed his perplexity, for after looking at him a moment or two he inquired:-- "Do you not think you are running a great risk in coming out here to shoot those little birds, while there are Sioux all around you ready to take your scalp?" "Who are you?" said Guy, getting the better of his astonishment at last. "I am Winged Arrow, at your service," replied the Indian. "Yes; but I don't know any more about you than I did before," returned Guy. "You are not an Indian?" "A full-blooded one," was the response; and the savage proved that he had been among the soldiers just long enough to learn their ways, for he lifted his right leg and placed it across the horn of his saddle. "Perhaps my English bothers you." "Well, yes; I confess that that has something to do with it," said Guy, growing more at his ease. "Where have you been to learn so much?" "I have been at Carlisle. I was a student there for eight years." "Oh," said Guy, his astonishment being immensely relieved. "But you did not stay there long enough to wash the red out of you." "It would take more than eight years to do that. I learned the white man's ways, but I could not forget that I was an Indian. What do you fellows want out here anyway? The prairie is broad, and why could you not build a road somewhere else?" Having got over his astonishment, Guy turned to make a note of the savage and his accoutrements. This was the first Indian he had ever seen close at hand, but as far as he had read or seen at a distance his trappings were all of the savage order. His moccasins, leggings, and hunting shirt, as well as the gaudily ornamented bonnet which he wore upon his head, were all of some squaw's handiwork. There was only one thing about him that looked any way civilized,--his hair was cut short in regular school-boy fashion. His face would have been a study if Guy had had the opportunity to give it a good looking-over. It was a noble face, and one that could hardly be expected to be found among men or boys of his tribe. How such a face as that should become distorted by passion was something Guy could not understand. The Indian certainly had no weapons about him. If he had, they kept company with Guy's Derringer--safely out of sight. From the Indian,--or Winged Arrow, he called himself,--Guy turned his attention to his horse; for a horse was something he greatly admired. It was a small horse of sorrel color, but there was a look about him which drew his attention and which he greatly delighted in. The animal stood peaceable enough, but his head was erect, his eyes flashed continually as he glanced around the horizon, and he snuffed as often as he turned toward the Fort, as if he felt the presence of an enemy there. Guy was satisfied at last to turn his attention to Winged Arrow and hear what else he had to say. "This land belongs to Congress," began Guy. "I beg your pardon, sir, but Congress never had a right or never will have a right to own one foot of this ground," said the Indian, speaking with some animation. "It belongs to us, and we are bound to defend it." "Did we not make a treaty with some of your big men to have the right of way through this country?" said Guy. "But why did you not take the sense of the nation on it? Red Cloud is a 'big man,' and he is decidedly opposed to it. You have taken one reservation after another from us and the Indian has nothing left. We propose to do as any brave people would do--fight for this country as long as there is a man left. This home is all we have, and we will not give it up until we are whipped. This is the sixth time you have made us promises, and not one of them has been fulfilled." Guy Preston could not say anything in reply, for he knew that Winged Arrow told him the truth. The Indian then went on to tell of some of those treaties and the way the white man had broken faith with them; and he repeated them as though he were reading from a book. He had the words of Spotted Tail, a chief of the Brule Indians, almost by heart. He said that word came from the Great Father that the white men wanted to "borrow" the right of way from the Indians, and that the promises so made would last fifty years; but it was not true. The next treaty they made was with General Sherman, and they were told that the promises would last for twenty-five years; but it also was not true. The General said that the Indian should have all the land from the White River to the Missouri, cattle, oxen, and wagons to haul logs with, and that they should have $15 as an annuity; but it was false. The white man never came with the goods in his hand to let the Indian see how much he was going to get for the land he was told to give up, for then their hearts would be glad; but they got the land and forgot all their promises. Winged Arrow's heart was in the matter and for an hour he kept talking, while Guy could only sit still and listen. "But it seems to me that you are making a big mistake," said he at last, when he saw a chance to crowd a word in edgewise. "What do you want to kill the soldiers for? They are not to blame because somebody has broken faith with you." "I know that very well," said the Indian, straightening himself up on his horse and raising his hand above his head. "But don't you know that the soldiers are the bulwarks of civilization? The settlers would not come here if it were not for the soldiers. The most of us know that we are going to be whipped in the long run." "You do know it? Then what have you those clothes on for?" "Because I am bound to go down with the rest. I would not give a cent to live here on this prairie unless we could live as we were before." Guy did not know what reply to make to this. He thought it would be a long time before Winged Arrow and others like him could live as they used to do before the whites came in. There was the buffalo. There was a time when the land all around them was fairly black with the countless throngs, but they had all been slaughtered by the hands of the buffalo hunters, either for their hides or just to make a "record," and no power on earth could bring those throngs back again. Winged Arrow should have seen that, so Guy reasoned with himself, and he did not hesitate to tell him so. "The buffalo are gone, or rather are going as fast as they can, and you have to give up hunting them and follow the white man's road hereafter," said he earnestly. "That will never be," said Winged Arrow; and his voice fell almost to a whisper. "There was a time when we thought we could kill all the white men and then the buffalo would increase; but those of us who have been to the nation's capital know that the thing is just impossible. When the buffalo goes the Indian will go. We are doomed." Guy Preston had been pretty well aware of that fact for a long time, but this was the first intimation he had ever had of it from an Indian. Winged Arrow seemed to realize it, and his voice grew husky and faint whenever he spoke of it. "Ah! Those were happy days," said he, looking out over the prairie, as if in the distance he could see the vision he was conjuring up. "Of course I don't remember it, for I was not born then; but I have heard my father tell of it, and I can almost see the things as they happened then. The people obeyed the chief, hunted the buffalo, and were happy." "Yes"; said Guy. "You were happy when you were on the warpath. You Indians were always fighting." "Of course. That was fate. The weaker had to give way to the stronger, and that is just what we are doing now. The Indian believes that there are two spirits that rule mortal man, the Good spirit and the Bad. The Good spirit is all the time working for us. He brings us everything that makes man happy. He brings us good weather, plenty of game, and success over our enemies. The Bad spirit is just the reverse. He brings sickness, drives away the game, and makes us miserable in every way he knows how. He has for a time taken advantage of the Good spirit, and that is just what he is doing for us now. Some day the Good spirit will turn around and get the advantage of HIM, but that will be long after my day." "What do you think will happen then?" asked Guy, who was much interested in what the Indian said to him. "When that happens you will see a glorious day for the Sioux Indians," said Winged Arrow, growing animated. "The whites will be driven away from this country forever, I don't know just how it will be done, but it will surely happen; the buffalo will come back, and the Sioux will be monarch of all he surveys." "I will not live to see that day," said Guy. "Neither will I; but it is going to take place as sure as the world stands. But I didn't come out here to teach you my religion. You are Methodist or Episcopalian, and probably you will die that way. I came out to warn you." "To warn me?" echoed Guy. "What about?" "That there is going to be a massacre here in a few days, and I want you to keep out of it." "You just bet that I will keep out of it, if I can; but if I should be ordered to be in it--then what?" "Why, then, there is no help for you. I shall do the same; but you may rest assured that I shall not shoot close to any palefaces. I saw a good many whites while I was gone, and I can't bear to think of seeing them come to their death." "Come to their death? Is it going to happen out here on the plains?" For the first time Winged Arrow straightened around on his horse and looked behind him. There was something so stealthy in his movements that Guy almost involuntarily slipped his right hand to his hip pocket and laid hold of his Derringer. CHAPTER IV. THE MEDICINE Guy Preston turned and looked in the same direction in which the Indian was gazing, but could not see anything to confirm his suspicions. The prairie, as far as he could see it, did not appear as though there was a person on it, but Guy knew better than that. He knew that there was a Sioux warrior within easy reach of him, perhaps at that very minute a rifle was aimed at him or his horse, and that nothing saved him but the presence of Winged Arrow. His face grew a shade paler and his hand trembled as he clutched his Derringer, but his determination was there all the same. "If I go you will have to go first," said he to himself. "On that I am resolved." "I see you are armed," said the Indian, turning quickly about and seeing Guy with his right hand behind him. "That shows that I have more faith in you than you have in me. Well, I don't know that I blame you. You fellows with your books and your speakers have somehow got hold of the idea that an Indian has no gratitude, but I have proved the contrary by coming out here to warn you." "You are a queer sort of an Indian anyhow," said Guy, taking his hand from his hip pocket. "You ought to be a white man." "I am white in some respects; but with all the lessons I learned at Carlisle, they did not make me forget that I was to the manner born. This country is mine, and those who think as I do will, when we lose it, see the last of Winged Arrow." "Did you know that this massacre was coming before you came here?" said Guy, who wanted to learn as much as he could about the savages on the plains and in the school. "If you did, I don't see why your teachers did not warn the authorities." For a reply Winged Arrow took hold of a little bag which he carried in front of him, lifted the cover and thrust his hand into it. Presently he brought out a folded paper, and after he was certain that he had what he wanted, he passed it over to Guy. "That was the letter I received inviting me to come home," said he. "What do you make out of it?" Guy took the letter, but he could not see any writing on it. On the extreme left was an arrow furnished with wings, and a little further to the right was a hand with the forefinger extended as if beckoning to the arrow to hasten his coming. On the right, and a little below this beckoning hand, was an Indian tepee with a buffalo grazing beside it. Although the drawing was evidently done by an unpracticed hand, it was so plain that anybody could tell what it was. With the aid of a few colored pencils, which the drawer had begged or borrowed from the officers of the Fort, he had made the characters of different tints, so that they resembled nature in a wonderful degree. Some distance lower down and plainly a different picture was a bow and a quiver of arrows which another hand was extending toward Winged Arrow, and further back of it was a riderless horse with his mane and tail flying in the wind. "My father drew all that, and it is just as plain to me as daylight," said the Indian, who was closely watching the young officer's face. "There is something red descending from that hand," said Guy. "What is it intended to represent?" "That tells about the massacre that is coming, and he wants me here to take part in it," replied Winged Arrow. "And are you going to do it?" "I shall probably be in it, but the bullet from my rifle will not kill any paleface," said the savage. "That much Indian has been washed out of me. I can't do it." "Bully for you," said Guy, riding his horse up closer to Winged Arrow and thrusting out his hand to him. "I bet you--" "You must not shake hands with me," exclaimed the Indian, drawing back. "There are too many on the watch." "Do you pretend to say that there are some Indians watching me now?" exclaimed Guy. "Certainly there are. You have been within reach of two ever since you came over that ridge." "Then I must go back," said the young officer, who cast anxious glances on all sides of him. "What is the reason they didn't shoot me down or make a prisoner of me? Say! What's your name? You must have had some cognomen besides your Indian name to designate you by when at school." "My name is John Turner, and the boys called me Winged Arrow because I was so fleet in running foot races. I called myself after the janitor of the school. He was always good to Indians, believed that we have been abused, and said if he were President he would not have permitted things to go on in this way. If he were here now we would do our best to capture him, and after we got him we would send him out of the country." "But what was your object in selecting ME to warn ME of the massacre? There are plenty of others who, just like myself, do not believe in this business." "And any one of them would have done just as well. From the day on which you left Fort Robinson in Nebraska--" "Have you followed us all the way from there?" asked Guy, in surprise. The Indian nodded his head. "Why, I should have thought you would have attacked us before this time." "There were too many of you. An Indian does not like to be killed any better than a white man. Ever since you left that fort I have been watching you--you see I could always tell you by the horse you rode--and I decided that if I could catch you out alone I would tell you of the massacre that is surely coming." "When is it coming off?" "It will be when we get some of you where you cannot defend yourselves. We will kill fifty or a hundred of you soldiers, and then we will do what we please with the Fort." "Well, by George! When you attempt that, I hope you will get whipped for your pains." Guy was angry now, and he said just what he thought. "American soldiers are not the men to give way before a handful of savages," he continued. "A handful of savages! How many do you suppose there are watching you night and day?" asked Winged Arrow; and his eyes flashed and he clenched his hands nervously together. "Well, I suppose you have a great many; but it will take more men than you can raise to whip us out. I presume you have a thousand." "Say three thousand and you will hit it. And there are more coming in every day. Now I will tell you what is a fact: You have never seen an Indian war yet." "I know that. I have never seen any." "After you have seen one you will never want to see another. A battlefield is something awful to look at." "I have seen the soldiers that you Indians killed and mutilated since we have been here, and I guess I know something about them. When you have killed a man, why don't you let him alone?" "If I tell you, you would not believe it,--because it is a part of our religious ceremony. The little scrimmages you saw are nothing to the scene presented by a regular battlefield. Are you going now? Well, I will trouble you for that letter." Guy had unconsciously held fast to the letter which Winged Arrow had given him, intending to keep it as a souvenir of his meeting with the young savage; but he was so angry at some things that had been said that he had forgotten all about it. He accordingly returned the letter saying as he did so:-- "I wish you would let me keep that document to remind me of you. If I tell what I have seen and heard out here the officers will all laugh at me and say I dreamed it all. I want it too to bear in mind that the first Indian I ever talked with warned me to look out for that massacre which you say is surely coming." "Well, take it along," said the Indian, after thinking a moment. "It is of no use to me, and it may be the means of saving your life." "What do you mean by that?" "You will excuse me if I do not say any more. Perhaps you will see that an Indian has some gratitude after all." Guy Preston wanted very much to hear more about that letter saving his life, but Winged Arrow put his horse in motion and rode toward the top of the swell behind which the Fort lay. Guy wanted to tell him that he had better go back, but the savage rode on with his eyes fastened upon the horn of his saddle, apparently very much occupied with his own thoughts. Finally he stopped and looked inquiringly at Guy. "Are you not going to pick up your shotgun?" he asked. "Yes; when I come to it," said Guy. "You would not make a good hand to live on the plains," replied Winged Arrow, with a grin; "here it is." The young officer looked, and there were his gun and birds just as he left them. He did not forget to thank Winged Arrow for calling his attention to them, and said, as he jumped off and secured his gun:-- "I am afraid to have you go any further toward the Fort. We have some guns trained on this ridge. I know they are accurate, for I helped to train them myself." "I will stop when I have gone far enough," said Winged Arrow. "Do you see that little tuft of grass up there on the hill? There is an Indian in there." "By George! And I rode within twenty feet of that tuft of grass when I came down," stammered Guy, "What had I better do?" "Keep right ahead and say nothing about it. He will not disturb you. Now I guess I have gone far enough, and I will say good-by. Remember what I have told you about that massacre. Keep that letter about your uniform wherever you go. I must not shake hands with you." Guy Preston was just as eager now to get over on the other side of the ridge as his horse was to carry him there. Tom snorted loudly as the tainted air fell upon his nostrils, and even showed a desire to go toward the Fort at the top of his speed, but the strong curb held him. Guy had heard one of the guides say that his horse could smell an Indian further than he could see him, and that when camping alone he always felt perfectly easy until his steed began to show signs of alarm, and at that moment he thought it best to seek safety in flight; and Guy did not dispute the story. He said good-by with some uneasiness, gathered his reins firmly in his hands and cast anxious glances toward the tuft of grass, but nothing in the shape of a savage could he see. Finally the flag came in sight and a few seconds afterward the log palisades, and then Guy felt safe. He loosened up on the curb, and in an instant the horse responded to it. The young officer told himself that he had never traveled so swiftly on horseback before. He approached the gate at a rapid run, returned the sentry's salute of welcome, and presently dismounted in front of the Colonel's quarters. He drew a long breath of relief, for he was safe for the time being. CHAPTER V. THE REPRIMAND "What luck have you had?" said Perkins, who had stood by the sentry when Guy dashed by and now came up to see how much game he had secured during his wild ride. "Say! the officer of the guard is just waiting to give you fits. You know the orders are that you must not gallop into the Fort unless there is something after you. Why, where have you been?" he added, now for the first time noticing how white the young officer's face was. "Did you see any Sioux?" "Perk, I never was so glad to get inside of a stockade before," replied Guy, handing his gun to his friend, removing his cap and wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "Yes, sir; I have seen a Sioux Indian and I was closer to him than I cared to be." "Did he shoot at you?" "No, but he said something to me." "What did he say?" "He told me to look out for the massacre that is coming in a few days." "Aw! Get out!" exclaimed Perkins. "It is very likely that a Sioux would tell you that, isn't it now? Go and dream something else." At this moment an Orderly stepped up and, after saluting, informed Guy that the officer of the day wanted to see him right away. Guy handed his reins to Perkins and started to obey. "Wait until I receive my reprimand and then I will tell you all about it," said he. "I am telling you the truth. I met him just on the other side of that hill." Guy followed the Orderly to the quarters of the officer of the day and found that gentleman there alone. His face wore a fierce frown as he turned about in his chair and confronted the young officer. "I have got back, sir," said Guy, raising his hand to his cap. "So I perceive," responded Captain Kendall. "You have disobeyed orders twice since you have been gone." "I know it, sir, and I am willing to take the scolding which I deserve for the first one, but if you knew all the circumstances you would not reprimand me for the second. I couldn't help it, sir. My horse got away from me." The young officer's air, taken in connection with his pale face, made his superior think there was something back of it, so he crossed his legs, settled down in his chair and requested him to go on, and state what the horse had seen to frighten him. Guy hardly knew how to begin, for he was satisfied that he could not make the officer believe it. "I followed two of those birds, but the second one got away from me and flew over the ridge, sir," said Guy. "We are well aware of that fact," said the officer of the day. "That was the time when you should have faced about and returned to the Fort." "I know it, sir, and I confess to my weakness there; but what kept me so long was an interview I had with a Sioux warrior on the other side of the ridge." The officer of the day began to prick up his ears when he heard this. He straightened up a little in his chair and simply nodded his head as if to tell Guy that he could go on. And Guy went on. He related the whole of his interview with Winged Arrow without interruption from the officer, and when he got through he showed him the letter which the young savage had given him. He explained the crimson drops which were represented as falling from the hand that was beckoning to Winged Arrow to come home. "That tells of the massacre that is to come, sir," said he. "They have shot twenty of our men since we have been here at the Fort, but Winged Arrow says this represents more than that." "Why, they must be going to kill us all off," said the officer. "It certainly looks that way, sir, and he says if I see one battlefield I will never want to see another." "And he gave it to you to save your life?" continued the Captain. "That is what he told me, sir. He told me to keep it about my uniform wherever I went." "Perhaps the Colonel had better see this," said the Captain, after a moment's pause. "But I shall have to come down on you hard to pay you for going over the other side of the ridge." "I know it, sir. I ought to have come back then." "Well, the next time the Colonel trusts you, be sure and obey all orders to the very letter. Now we will go and see what he has to say about it." Guy felt better than he did when he came into that room a little while ago. Captain Kendall was noted for "coming down hard" on both officers and men who did not obey the law, and so far Guy was all right; but how was he going to fare when he saw the Colonel? He followed the officer as he walked toward the office, and looked all around to see if he could find Perkins or some of his roommates who would see him on the way there. He saw Perkins, still holding fast to his horse, and when the officer of the day was not looking toward him, he pulled off his hat and took hold of his hair as if to show Guy that he was now about to get a reprimand for going over the ridge. The officer sent in his name by the Orderly and found the Colonel pacing back and forth as he had seen him on a previous occasion. He faced about, took one hand from behind him, and pointed it at Guy. "What do you mean, sir, by coming into the Fort as if all the Sioux were close at your heels?" said he. "Colonel, if you will permit me, I should be glad to explain that thing," said Captain Kendall; "here is a letter that tells all about it." "Sit down, Captain, and that boy can stand there until I get ready to talk to him," said the Colonel. "Where did you find this letter, sir?" Captain Kendall made answer for him, and it was not long before the frown on his face vanished and a troubled expression came to take its place. "The next time we send out a party for wood is when the massacre is going to take place," said he, when the Captain had explained everything. "We must be on the lookout for that. Have you told this boy what you think of him for going over the other side of the ridge?" "Yes, sir. I have told him all about it." "Then you may go." Guy Preston was in no hurry to go just then, for there was Winged Arrow's letter which the Colonel did not show any signs of returning to him. He sat with his eyes fastened upon it, and then Guy looked at the officer of the day. The latter gave him a wink as if to say that it was all right, the Orderly opened the door for him, and Guy went out. Perkins still kept charge of the horse, and Guy went toward him. It was against the law for an officer to hire or appoint an enlisted man to act as his groom, and so every officer had to take charge of his horse himself. But the thing was done in spite of orders and is done yet. Most men are not backward in regard to earning a quarter for rubbing down a horse in time for dress parade, and many a coin which the officers earn slips into their pockets. They do this when there is no officer about. The minute the officer of the day or guard appears upon the scene, they grab the brush and the officer finds them at work grooming their horses. Perkins would have stayed there until he was gray headed, for Guy had told him just enough of his adventures to want to make him hear more, and he knew that he would have to come there after his horse. He had gathered the rest of his roommates about him, and they were all impatient for Guy's appearance. "Here he comes now," exclaimed Arthur Brigham, one of the four who were fresh from "The Point." "Now we will make him confess that he is making that story all up out of his own head." "You will not make me go back on a single word that I have said," said Guy, taking his reins and gun from Perkins's hand. "Come in with me until I rub down my horse and I will tell you all about it." "But, Guy, did you really see an Indian and converse with him?" asked another. "I did, as sure as you're a foot high. He was a splendid-looking fellow, and talked English better than I did." "Oh, get out," said Arthur. "What chance had he to learn English?" "He says he has been to school for eight years. He knows all the treaties by heart." "Oh, well, that accounts for it. How was he dressed?" While Guy was leading his horse toward the stable, he was plied with such questions as these, and he hardly knew it when the soldier who now and then acted as his groom, took the reins from his hand, led the horse to his place, and removed the saddle and bridle from him. Guy leaned upon his gun while all the rest of the boys, except Perkins, crowded about him to hear some more of his story. Perkins remained near the door to keep an eye on the parade ground. He did not intend to let the officer of the day catch a soldier grooming Guy's horse. "Begin at the beginning and tell us all about it," said Arthur. "You say he was a smart chap?" "The smartest I ever saw wrapped up in the hide of an Indian," said Guy; "he saluted me as if he had been in the army all his life, and the language with which he addressed me fairly took my breath away. I didn't know what to say to him in reply." "Look out, boys," said Perkins in a whisper; "here comes Kendall." The boys vanished as if by magic. Guy peeled off his coat, took the brush from the hands of the soldier, and, striking up a whistle, proceeded to rub down his horse; the others went, some to examine their bridles and some to give their nags a good looking-over, and not another word was said. Captain Kendall came in and walked the whole length of the stable without any remark and then went out; but the moment he disappeared the soldier took the brush, and the young officers gathered about Guy again. Not a word was said about the joke they had played upon Captain Kendall. Such scenes were an every-day occurrence. "What was in that letter he gave you?" asked Perkins. "That letter won't do me much good," replied Guy, with a discontented look; "the Colonel's got it and I guess he means to keep it." "Not if it is going to save your life," said one of his roommates. "But how is it going to do that? I must first fall into the hands of the Sioux, and I don't want to do that, I bet you. I have not forgotten those men that they killed." "I will tell you what let's do," said Perkins. "Let's go and see Cyrus. He will know whether or not there is anything to it." This the boys decided to do; and when the soldier had finished grooming the horse, they came out and turned their steps toward the guide's headquarters. CHAPTER VI. THE BUNDLE OF SAGE BRUSH "By the way," said Lieutenant Perkins, before they had gone many steps on their road, "who is this young fellow, Winged Arrow, or whatever you call him, anyway? Was he richly dressed?" "I don't see what his clothes had to do with that," said Arthur. "Of course he was richly dressed, if it took the last cent he had. An Indian will put all he has on his back, even if his stomach goes empty." "This fellow didn't, I tell you," said Guy. "The most I could see of his uniform was buckskin; and it was fixed up in a way that must have taken some squaw a year or more to turn it out so neatly. I saw his pants, or a portion of them that was not covered up by his leggings, and they were the costliest kind of broadcloth; much better than those we wear,--we mounted Lieutenants who draw $1500 a year." "I wonder if his father is rich," said Perkins. "There!" exclaimed Guy. "I knew there was something I had forgotten. I never thought to ask him who his father was." "You made a mistake there," said Arthur. "He must be a man of some note in the tribe, or his son would not be allowed to meet an enemy on the lines. You say that there were Sioux watching you all the time?" "Yes, and he showed me the hiding place of one of them; but you might as well look for a needle in a haystack as to try to make him out. My horse smelled him, however, and that was the reason he ran away with me." The boys had by this time reached the guide's headquarters, and there they found the man of whom they were in search sitting on an empty cracker box, smoking his pipe. We ought rather to have said "the boy," for Cyrus was about their own age. No one knew what his other name was, whether Cyrus was his given or surname, and, as he did not volunteer the information, no one cared to ask him. He had been born on the plains, for no one could have learned so much unless he had been; and the boys had told one another confidentially that there was a story back of it. He was talkative enough whenever he was approached on any other subject, but the moment they tried to pry into his parentage Cyrus closed his mouth and would say nothing more. He was very friendly with all the young officers, accepted the cigars and tobacco which they offered him, and gave them "points" when they went out on a scout after Indians; but who his father was was a question he would not answer. He was taller than any boy in the party, and the muscles on his arms were something to wonder at. "Halloo!" said he, knocking the ashes from his pipe and filling up for a fresh smoke, "Guy got a reprimand. I can see it plainly enough. Why didn't you obey the Adjutant's orders, and come in when your game flew off over the ridge?" "Well, there is once that you are mistaken," said Guy. "I told the officer of the day just why I did not come back, and he said that the next time the Colonel trusted me I was to do just as I was told." "Kendall is the officer of the day, is he not?" replied Cyrus. "That is the first time I ever knew of him letting a young officer off so easily. You must have seen something over there." "Yes, I did; and I want to know if you ever heard of, or have seen something, I don't care what it was, which was given to a white man that would save his life if he were to fall into the hands of the Sioux?" "I certainly have," replied Cyrus. "What was it?" asked all the boys at once. "Have you found such a thing?" "No; but I had something given to me. It was a letter which Winged Arrow's father had written to him to come home." "Where is the letter?" "The Colonel's got it and I don't know whether he means to give it up or not. I tell you it put him on nettles too. It tells of a massacre that is to come off very shortly. The Colonel says that the next time we go out after a load of wood we have got to look out." "I know pretty nearly all the Sioux that there are in that camp, but I never heard of Winged Arrow before," said Cyrus. "What sort of a looking chap was he? Tell me all about the history of that letter, and then I will tell you some more." Once more Guy began and told his story, and Cyrus seemed to take it all as a matter of course, for he never expressed surprise at anything the young officer told him. When Guy had finished his tale, Cyrus lighted his pipe and sat with his elbows on his knees, looking thoughtfully at the floor. "So it seems that we young officers have got some friends in the camp of the Sioux all unbeknown to us," said Guy, after waiting for Cyrus to say something. "They don't want us all killed off." "Well, that stands to reason," said Cyrus. "This Winged Arrow has been under instruction of white people all the time for eight years, as you say, and he doesn't want to see any of your kind hurt. That letter will save the life of anybody who falls into the hands of the Sioux." "Do you know that to be a fact?" asked Arthur, who, like all the rest of the party, was greatly astonished. "Yes, sir; I know it is so," said Cyrus, emphatically. "Mine was saved once by a simple bunch of sage brush which I had in one of my pockets." "Oh, go on and tell us all about it," chorused the boys, looking around for some place to sit down. "I don't see what there could have been in a lot of sage brush to save your life." "It is not a long story, so you need not get ready for an all night's entertainment," returned Cyrus. "You know I have always been kind of friendly toward the Indians; whether Sioux or Pawnee, it made no sort of difference to me, for I live a good deal like them myself. About two years ago we had some war on with the Sioux, about some land, of course, and I was off scouting by myself to see what I could find. I was not attached to any post then. One day I was within hearing of a tremendous fight that came off between our fellows and the Sioux, but I did not go near the battlefield until it was all over. The next day I went up and found that our men had been victorious. The dead and wounded Indians were buried where they had fallen, and our own people had disappeared. They had been carried away by our fellows so that the reds could not dig them up and mutilate them. "I was just about mounting my horse to go on again, when I heard a groan coming from a thicket close at my side, mingled with the cries in the Sioux tongue of 'Water! Water!' I tell you I did not feel safe in going up to find out what the matter was, for the Indians, even though they are wounded unto death, have a way of keeping a weapon in their hands ready to be the death of any one who comes near them; but finally I made out to see the man, and there was not anything in the shape of a revolver or knife near him. He was shot through both hips, but had managed to drag himself out of sight there in the thicket where he had lain undisturbed by our forces when they were burying the dead. When I came up to him he held out his hands piteously and begged for water. He saw that I was supplied, for he had his eyes on my canteen, and although somebody might call me a fool for doing it, I took it off and gave it to him. He was a human being and somehow I could not bear to knock him in the head. He seemed greatly surprised at that, and grateful too; and after a little while I began a conversation with him. He told me that he had been shot out there on the plains, but had dragged himself to those bushes without a weapon of any kind, and that nothing remained for him but to lie there and die. Of course I could not do anything for him, for he was shot in such a way that he could not sit upright on a horse. I left him the little grub I had and promised that if I could find any one to send after him, I would do it; but that was all in my one eye. I supposed when I left him it would be the last of him. "Just as I was about to get on my horse and ride away from him, he thrust his hand into his medicine sack and drew out something wrapped up in buckskin, which he held toward me. I said nothing, but took it, and when I was a little way off I unrolled the thing, and found that I had a handful of sage grass. My first impulse was to drop it, for I did not believe that it would be of any use to me; but in time I happened to remember that such things HAD served prisoners in some way or another and saved their lives." "Why, how would it do that?" said Arthur. "I do not know," replied Cyrus, "whether it is a sign from one Indian to another, or some medicine which they think will protect anybody who has it,--it is beyond me quite. It did not protect this Indian; for if it had, the white man's bullet that shot him through the hips would have been turned away and never hit him at all. Well, I took it, put it in one of my pockets, and started on the trail of our forces, intending to overtake them as soon as I could, when the first thing I knew I ran plump into a squad of about twenty warriors; or, rather, they ran into me, for they came over a hill and surrounded me before I could think twice. 'Well' said I, 'You are gone up this time. It is no use trying to get away, but some of these savages will go before you do.' So I cut loose with my rifle--" "Do you mean to say that you shot while the Indians were all around you?" exclaimed Guy in astonishment. "Certainly," replied Cyrus. "I supposed that if I was caught alive, there could be only one case for me, and that was to be tortured, so I determined to do what damage I could before I went. I got two of the warriors, and I did not make any mistake about it either, and then somebody shot my horse through the head and I came to the ground. Before I could say 'General Jackson' I was disarmed and my hands tied behind my back. I was done for at last." The boys waited impatiently for Cyrus to go on with his story, but he leaned his elbows on his knees and took a few long pulls at his pipe. At length Guy began to grow indignant. "Well, it seems as though the Indians left a great deal of you, if they did burn you to death," said he. "Didn't they leave enough of you to finish your tale?" Cyrus laughed heartily. "I was just going over in my mind the way things happened there during the next few minutes," said he, when he had sobered down. "They all began shouting at once, and I knew by the noise they made that we were safe from our boys, and that I had nobody to rescue me. Some began shouting out one thing and some another, but I knew from what they said that they were in favor of disposing of me at once, because they did not think it safe to take me to their village. They put a lariat around my neck, jumped on their horses and started for a little grove of willows about five miles off; and although I was a pretty fair runner, I was completely whipped by the time we got there. I tried my level best to make them listen to me, but I might as well have shouted against the roar of Niagara. When we got to the willows I could not say a word. They untied my hands and while some proceeded to cut the fuel with which they were about to torture me, the others peeled off my clothes; and they went into every pocket to see what I had that was worth stealing. Presently one of them took up my pants which had my pipe, tobacco, and money in them, and the first thing he drew out was that roll of buckskin which contained the sage brush that the wounded Indian had given me. The grunt he gave when he unrolled it was enough to bring all the Indians about him. The shouting instantly ceased. They examined the sage brush, turned it on all sides to see if there was anything more with it, and at last looked at me. "'Have you fellows got so that you can listen to a white man at last?' said I, 'I know where I got that, and who gave it to me. If you will go with me I will show him to you.' "They could understand me well enough when they were not shouting so as to drown my words. One of them, who spoke a little better English than the rest, ordered me to tell my story; but I told him that I could speak his own language better than he could, and so spoke to him in his own dialect. When I got through they wanted to hold a consultation and they drew off several feet, this time leaving me untied. When they came back they allowed me to put on my clothes and told me to lead them to their wounded comrade. If I had been a tenderfoot then I should have been in a fix, for the prairie on all sides looked the same; but there were certain little landmarks which I remembered, and in process of time I brought them to the bush which concealed the man of whom I was in search. One would have thought from the anxiety they showed to meet the man, that there would have been a big jubilee over finding him; but they did not act so at all. They simply exchanged a few words with him and then came back to me. My horse, weapons, and every thing I had lost by them was restored, all except my sage brush, which I wanted more than I did anything else. Then they told me I could go; and I lost no time in getting out of there. That letter of yours, Lieutenant, might do the same thing for any one who happened to have it about him; and for that reason I would like to see it. Don't you think the Colonel would give it up if you asked him?" Cyrus, who had allowed his pipe to go out while he was talking, struck a match on the floor and turned toward Guy for an answer. CHAPTER VII. "GOOD-BY CYRUS" "And do you really believe that that bit of sage brush, which anyone could have picked up on the prairie, was the means of saving your life?" inquired Guy, when Cyrus ceased speaking. "Or it may have been the water and food you gave him," said Arthur. "Almost anybody would have been grateful for that." "No, it was the sage brush," said Cyrus earnestly. "The Indians carried it with them when they went to the wounded man and showed it to him before they told me that I could go. He exchanged a few words with them in tones so low that I could not overhear them, and after that they came to their decision regarding me. I say it was the sage brush and nothing else." "Guy," said one of his roommates, "you must get that letter. Cyrus wants to see it." "It is not that so much as I want it to help me in something I am going to do to-night," said Cyrus. "I don't want you boys to say anything about it, but I am going to try to get those dispatches to Fort Robinson as soon as it becomes dark." The young officers were really surprised now. Here was a boy who was about to take the same chances that two of their most trusted scouts had attempted only a short time before, and he knew that he was going to fall into the hands of the Sioux before he got through. For a minute or two no one spoke. They looked at Cyrus and then at one another, and finally shook their heads as if the matter was too deep for them to understand. "I am going to try it to-night," said Cyrus, and for the first time in their lives the boys saw him put on a determined look, which revealed more of the boy's character than they had ever dreamed of. Cyrus had pluck in him; there were no two ways about that. "If I fail, as a good many better men than I have, who have tried it, it will be the last you will ever see of me." "But, Cyrus, how do you know that the letter will prove an advantage to you?" asked Guy. "You seem to be depending upon something that none of us ever supposed that a Sioux had; I mean gratitude." "Oh, I know the way your speakers and writers of books have ventilated their opinions on that subject, but I will tell you that gratitude is a thing that Indians have as well as white men," said Cyrus, getting upon his feet and pacing the floor. "You call an Indian a savage, and say that everybody who falls into his hands is booked for Davy's locker sure enough; but some of them have hearts. If the Colonel would let me, I would not be afraid to take Guy's letter and go into the Sioux camp this very minute." "Well, you have more faith in them than I have," said Guy, astonished by the proposition, "You go into the Sioux camp to-night and we will never hear any more stories from YOU; you can bet on that." "Somebody has to take the risk, and since the Colonel has been to me, I can't well refuse. We shall all be massacred if we stay here, and if some one has got to die in order to save the rest, it might as well be myself as anybody. Guy, will you get the letter for me?" "Certainly," said the officer, who had never heard Cyrus speak in such a tone of voice before. "It is my letter and I must have it." "Don't say anything to him about what I have told you," said Cyrus. "I am disobeying orders by telling you, and you must keep my secret." After the boys had all promised to be careful, Guy Preston came out and turned toward the Colonel's quarters. He heard the invitation in the commandant's voice, "Tell him to come in," and Guy entered and found the officer pacing up and down his narrow room as he had seen him twice before. Indeed he did not appear to have anything else to do. He wanted to find some way of getting out of the predicament he was in, and he hoped by walking the floor that something would occur to him. "Sit down, Mr. Preston," said he. "Thank you, sir, but I don't want to stop long," was the reply. "I gave you a letter which Winged Arrow gave to me, and you have not returned it. The young savage wanted me to keep that letter in my uniform wherever I went, thinking it might be of service to me if I were captured." "Why, you don't expect to fall into the power of the Sioux, do you?" said the Colonel with a smile. "No, sir, I don't expect to, but there is no telling what may happen." "I thought I would send that in making out my report," said the officer. "If you don't mind, that is what I will do with it." Guy was astonished and greatly alarmed when he heard this. Aside from the protection which the letter might afford him, there was Cyrus who was particularly anxious to have it, in view of the perilous undertaking which the passing of the hours was rapidly bringing toward him. Cyrus was a favorite with all the officers and men, and he must have the letter if there were any way to bring it about. He did not believe in such things, but Cyrus did, and he thought that the mention of his name would help matters a little. "I have been talking to Cyrus about it, and he wants to see it," said he, at a venture. "Oh, Cyrus," exclaimed the Colonel, rising to his feet and going to his desk, "That puts a different look on the affair. I suppose that when he is done with the letter that you will bring it back." "Yes, sir; when he IS DONE with it," replied Guy, extending his hand for the document. The Colonel evidently did not notice the emphasis he placed upon the verb, for if he had he would have asked him to explain. He handed out the letter, and, after thanking him for it, Guy put on his cap and left the room. "I said when he was DONE with it I would return it," said he to himself, as he ran across the parade ground, "that will be after the letter has served his purpose. I hope it will assist him in getting out of the hands of those rascally Sioux, if he is unfortunate enough to fall into them; but I don't know. I would rather see our regiment drawn up with sabers in their hands than to believe in this thing." Cyrus was in the quarters alone. The young officers having thought of various duties they had yet to perform, had gone away to attend to them. He received the letter with a smile and gave it a good looking-over. "It WAS drawn by an Indian," he remarked, as he folded up the letter and placed it in his pocket. "Now when you are all through with that, you must give it back to the Colonel," said Guy, "I have promised him that. But it seems to me that you are relying on a poor prop." "You probably get your notions of Indians from some books that you have read," replied Cyrus. "I never have heard of a war yet in which some prisoner, either white man or savage, did not owe his life to some such thing as this. You never see anything about it in print, because the majority of people they capture are not high enough up to believe in such foolish ideas. They don't believe that because a thing is senseless and can't speak, that it will be of any benefit to them; but you ask some men, who have been out here on the prairie all their lives and have associated with Indians more than they have with the whites, what they think of these things. They will tell you that there is more faith to be put in them than in a regiment of soldiers." Guy was amazed to hear Cyrus talk in this way. He grew animated and talked like some one who had been through all the books at school, and, furthermore, his words carried weight with them. Guy was encouraged. He hoped that Cyrus would get through in safety with his dispatches, or, failing that, the letter would take him through the hostile ranks of the Sioux and bring him unharmed back to them. "You talk as though you were not going through," said he, not knowing what else to say. "Well, those two men who tried it the other night were well up in all that relates to the Indians and the prairie on which they live, and if they did not get through there is a small chance for me. Now I want to lie down and take a little sleep, and when the Orderly comes he will know where to find me." "I may not see you again and so I will bid you good-by," said Guy, who felt that he was parting from an older brother. He thrust out his hand, and Cyrus took it and clasped it warmly. Not another word was said. The officer put on his hat and left the quarters. "Don't I wish that I had half the pluck that that man has?" said he to himself. "If that were all, he would hoodwink the savages in some way; but they are too many for him. Good-by Cyrus. I will never see you again." It was a long night to Guy Preston and his two companions who were with him--two of them were on duty and they did not see much of them--and when the next day came it was harder than ever, for they were obliged to pretend ignorance of Cyrus's whereabouts. When he got up Guy passed the time until breakfast in attending to such duties as were before him, and then he drew a bee line for the guide's headquarters. He wanted to see if anybody there knew anything of Cyrus. "You tell where Cyrus is," said Tony, who was taking his after-breakfast smoke. "When I went to bed he lay right there; but when I got up this morning his bunk was empty." "It is my opinion that he has gone off with the dispatches that we failed to get through with the night we tried it," said Mike, who was Tony's partner on that unsuccessful expedition. "Good land! He can't get through," exclaimed Tony. "I tell you, Lieutenant, the Sioux are thicker than blackberries in a New England pasture out there. Whichever way we turned we saw something to drive us back. The Kurn knows mighty well that we would have gone on if we had seen the ghost of a chance to get through, because all the men here are in the same fix that we are; but what are you going to do when every tuft of grass you look at turns out to be an enemy?" "Could you see the Sioux?" asked Guy. "No; but our horses smelled them, and that was enough for us. Whenever they stopped and looked before them with cocked ears and snorted, we went back and tried some other way; but it was the same all around the camp. But I am mighty sorry to lose Cyrus. He was the best fellow in camp." "Certain. If he isn't captured, the Sioux will drive him back. There's one thing that I have got against him," said the other scout. "He has left his horse behind him. If I had had anything to do with his going away, I should have told him to be sure and take that pony." Until very recently Guy did not believe that a white man's horse could scent an Indian further than he could see him, but he did believe it now. His experience with his excited horse the morning before had confirmed the story. "A white man's horse won't go up to an Indian that is lying in the grass," continued the scout. "He will turn out and go some other way; and an Indian's pony acts just the same way with a white man. The horses enter into the spirit of the matter and hate a foe as heartily as their riders do." Guy had heard all he wanted to hear about Cyrus's disappearance, and returned to his room to get ready for guard mount, for he was to go on duty then. Not one of his roommates could tell him a single thing he had not learned already. No one knew when Cyrus went away, and the only thing for them to do was to wait patiently for two or three days, or until they could hear from Cyrus direct. Guy was glad to have some duties to perform, because they kept him on the move and he did not have as much time to think as he did when left to himself. At twelve o'clock his relief came on and, after eating his dinner, Guy went into his room and laid down to get a wink of sleep to prepare him for the mid-watch which came on at six o'clock; but it seemed to him that he had scarcely closed his eyes when he was aroused by the long roll and the hurrying of feet outside his quarters. To get up, pull on his boots, seize his coat with one hand and his sword with the other was done in less time than we take to write it, and Guy rushed out to find his company rapidly falling in on the parade ground. Perkins came up at the same instant, and met Guy with some encouraging words. "The massacre has come and in much less time than Winged Arrow thought it would," said he. "Now where is your letter?" Guy did not have time to answer, for the sharp voice of the Colonel was heard ordering them to their stations. When Guy got up on the palisade and took his position in readiness to defend the gun which was pointed toward a distant swell, he had opportunity to look about him. "All ready with that gun?" asked the officer in command. "All ready, sir," replied the Captain of the piece, squinting along the gun to make sure that it covered the hill. "I can knock the last one of that group if I can get orders to fire now, sir." Guy looked toward the swell and saw a party of half a dozen warriors there, all of whom were mounted save one. He had just time to note this fact when he saw the dismounted man start down the swell toward the Fort, while the others of the group disappeared behind the hill. The man was plainly a prisoner and had been liberated. Guy's heart seemed to beat loudly as he drew nearer to the officer who commanded the gun and said, in a scarcely audible whisper:-- "Is that Cyrus, sir?" The man who had a glass removed it from his eyes long enough to stare blankly at Guy, and then, as if getting something through his head, he leveled the glass once more and said, while he caught a momentary glimpse of the figure:-- "By George! I believe you are right." CHAPTER VIII. IN THE HANDS OF THE SIOUX The excuse that Cyrus made, that he wanted to lie down and get a wink of sleep before the Colonel's Orderly came to find him, was merely a pretense to get rid of the officer, and nothing else. When Guy went out he lay down on his bunk, but he did not stay there more than five minutes. No one came in to bother him, and Cyrus, thinking that as good a time to reach the Colonel's quarters without attracting the attention of anybody, got up and, by keeping close to the palisades and behind the out-buildings, drew up at last before one of the windows of the commanding officer's room. It really was not a window at all, but an opening left in the logs and covered with a piece of muslin so as to admit the light. He listened, but could hear nothing but the steady tramp of the Colonel as he paced back and forth in his room. Then he raised his hand and with his knuckles gave a peculiar rap on the casement. A moment afterward the corner of the piece of muslin was drawn aside and the Colonel's face appeared. "I am here," said Cyrus. "I want those dispatches that you have ready for me." "Come in," said the commanding officer, and with a few moves he drew the tacks which confined the window and made a hole large enough for Cyrus to squeeze his broad shoulders through. "Have you a needle and thread?" asked Cyrus. "Yes, everything is all handy. You sit down here in my bedroom, and if any of the officers come in to see me they will be none the wiser for it." Cyrus seated himself in one of the spots which the Colonel pointed out to him--it was not a chair, however, but an empty box which had once contained canned beef--and pulled off his buckskin jacket, while the Colonel went into the next room and presently returned with the dispatches for which the boy was about to run so much risk. It was a very small package, but there was a great deal written on it. It conveyed to the Commanding General the information that the Colonel had succeeded in building Fort Phil Kearney, but instead of using it as a basis for movements against the hostile Indians, the Sioux had shut him up in it, hoping that when their ammunition and provisions gave out, they could make a raid and destroy every man there was in the Fort. His condition was perilous in the extreme. Every wagon train that he sent out for fuel was protected by a large force, and if the Sioux were smart enough to cut off one of those forces, or get between them and the Fort, thus dividing his men, the annihilation of all of them would be a matter of hours and not of days. He begged earnestly for re-enforcements of five hundred men, and he could do nothing until such force arrived. "I wish the General could be here for about five minutes and see just how we are situated," said the Colonel, as he placed the dispatch on the table by the side of Cyrus. "He would learn better than to send out such a small body of troops as mine to confront the whole tribe of Sioux Indians. Cyrus, I hope you will get through with that dispatch." "Kurn, if any living man can accomplish it, I can," said the scout. "Now, have you got the other dispatch ready?" "Yes, but I don't place any faith in that. If you are caught the savages will strip you--" "And this dispatch will be the only one they will find. Our fellows fooled the rebels more than once by carrying concealed papers--" "But rebels and Indians are two different things. To be honest, I do not think that you will be able to get through; but if you do, talk to that General as you would to a father. You can tell him more in regard to our situation here than I could write in a week." "I will do my best, Kurn, but you must not place any dependence on me. Tony and his partner have tried it and failed, and that leaves but a small chance for me." Cyrus, having pulled a knife from his pocket, was busy with his buckskin shirt which he had drawn off, cutting away the inside lining to make a receptacle for the dispatches about which the Colonel was so anxious. It was close up under his arm, so that when the shirt was on and Cyrus stood at his ease, no one would have supposed that there was anything hidden away there. The opening for them being made, Cyrus folded the dispatches into a smaller compass than they were before, and having placed them therein proceeded with his needle and thread to sew up the opening again, just as it was before. This being done, he was ready for the second dispatch, which was really a "bogus dispatch" and was intended solely for the Indians to read. The Colonel knew that there were some savages in that party who could read English, and he knew, too, that this bogus dispatch, if the other could be concealed, would have an alarming effect upon them. It was the idea of Cyrus, and the Colonel had reluctantly agreed to it. It was very different from the dispatch that had been concealed in the scout's hunting shirt, and said that the General's letter had been received, that the re-enforcement of one thousand men would be amply sufficient to break up the Sioux camp, and that when they arrived he would be ready to assume the offensive. "I don't suppose Red Cloud will believe that, even if it is read to him," said the Colonel. "The General's letter has been received. Pshaw! There is not a man living who can get through those lines and reach me with a dispatch from him." "So long as they don't know that, we don't care what they believe," said Cyrus, pulling off his moccasin and stowing the dispatch away inside of it. "If it will only throw his camp into confusion that is all we ask for. Well, Kurn, good-by. Remember, I will do my best." "Good-by, Cyrus," replied the Colonel, extending his hand. "You have been faithful and just to me while you were here, and I shall depend upon you." "Don't do that, Kurn; don't do that," said Cyrus, earnestly. "I will do my best, and that is all anybody can do." Cyrus pressed the Colonel's hand for a moment, then turned toward the window and in another instant was gone. He made his way to his quarters without seeing anybody, threw himself upon his bunk, and in a little while was fast asleep. His comrades came in and aroused him when it was time to go to supper, but Cyrus did not want any. He kept his bunk until his roommates were all in bed and fast asleep, and the sentries on duty had proclaimed "Twelve o'clock and all's well!" when he began to bestir himself. His first duty was to satisfy himself that all the scouts were in dreamland, and when this had been done he took his rifle, put on his hat, and noiselessly left his quarters. The next thing was to pass the sentries; but a man who could pass within five feet of a slumbering Sioux was not to be deterred by passing a white sentry on his post. To climb the logs and drop down on the other side was an event that was easy enough for Cyrus to accomplish, and in a few minutes the tramp of the sentries was left out of hearing. Why was it that the Colonel was so anxious to have him leave the Fort without being seen by anybody? To tell the truth, everybody in the Fort was becoming discouraged. Three weeks had now elapsed since the erection of the palisades, and during that time the Sioux had completely surrounded them and shut them in as tight as though they had "been bottled up." A person was at liberty to go anywhere within a mile of the Fort, because certain guns which had been accurately trained covered every foot of the space; but over the hills it was as much as a man's life was worth to venture. Guy Preston was the only one, when searching for his birds, who had disobeyed that order; but it was a miracle that he had been allowed to come back. The signal tower, which stood at the distance of half a mile from the Fort, was manned every morning by four men who went out there to keep watch of the Indians; but every time that group was ready to go out, it took a Company of men to protect them. That was before Red Cloud had made his new order, that the only way to get rid of the whites was to kill all the men and burn the palisades, and this order was in force at the time Cyrus left the post. By drawing his warriors off in the daytime, Red Cloud was tempting the Colonel to send out a train for fuel, and when that was done the massacre was to begin. The Colonel was determined to get dispatches through by some means, but he did not want to let the men know that another person had tried it and failed. It would not be long, he thought, before the men would think that it was utterly impossible to get through the Sioux lines, and so would give it up, stay there, and be massacred. He knew better than any other man did the danger that they were in, and it was no wonder that he felt downhearted. The Fort being left out of sight and hearing, Cyrus threw himself on all fours and made his way toward Piney Creek, a little stream on the banks of which the post was located. He intended to get as far as possible below the encircling bands of Sioux before daylight, then arise to his feet and go toward his destination as fast as he could. This was a new way of leaving the lines behind him, the other scouts preferring to strike out over the prairie and try their chances in that way; but it seems that the Sioux were alive to this movement also. The stream was not large or deep enough for him to descend its current, otherwise he would have sought a log somewhere and attempted to swim by them; but as it was he was compelled to wade sometimes in the water and at other times to flounder through bushes so thick that the darkness could almost be felt, and he did not cover more than a mile an hour. Every few feet he would stop and listen until his acute senses told him that the way was clear, and then he would struggle on again. But Red Cloud, the head chief of the Ogallala Sioux who were making war because they were determined that the road should not pass through their country, was an old campaigner and not to be beaten by any such trick as this. He withdrew his warriors in the daytime so as to tempt the Colonel to send out a train to get fuel, but knowing that the train could not come out at night, he sent his men in closer, being equally determined that no scout should get out to carry the news of their condition to other quarters. Consequently Cyrus had not progressed more than a mile or two when he heard a smothered exclamation in front of him, and before he could sink down where he was and get his weapon into a condition for use, he found himself in the clutches of a Sioux warrior, upon whom he had almost stepped. Of course Cyrus resisted, but it was all in vain. Another Sioux joined in the fracas, another and another came up to assist, and in less time than it takes to tell it, the scout was thrown prostrate on the ground, his weapon twisted out of his grasp, and his hands bound behind his back. It was all done quietly, and one standing at a distance of twenty feet away would not have known that there was anything going on. Why did Cyrus not take out his letter when the Sioux caught him? Because his hands were bound, and he knew that those who had him prisoner were not the ones who had any authority in the band. In spite of what he had said to the contrary, Cyrus was not a little alarmed when he found himself powerless in the hands of the Sioux; but it was useless to resist the savages, lest he should feel the prod of a knife in his flesh, and when they put a rope around his neck and started off with him, Cyrus went along with them as quietly as if he had formed one of the party. It was four miles to Red Cloud's village, and Cyrus could not see anything on the way to remind him where he was. The Indians knew the course, and when they brought him into their town he was surprised at what he saw there. He had never seen so large a multitude of savages as was gathered there under Red Cloud. There were several camp fires scattered about among the lodges, none of which were wholly extinguished, and, aided by the light that they threw out, Cyrus could see nothing but tepees on all sides of him. He was conducted at once to a lodge a little apart from the others; one brave threw up a flap of it which served as a door and Cyrus was thrust in. It was all dark in there, and Cyrus hesitated about stepping around for fear that he should tread upon some of the inmates, when one of his captors came in and seized him by the shoulder. "Sit down," said he fiercely. Here was one Indian who could talk English, and the hope arose in the captive's breast that perhaps he could learn something from him. "Where shall I sit down?" said he. "Are there any persons here asleep?" The answer was not given in words, although Cyrus wished it had been. The Indian seized him by the neck and in a moment more he was laid out prostrate on the ground. "Sit down where you are," said the savage, more fiercely than before. Cyrus did not say anything more just then, but straightened up as soon as he could and looked around to see what the Indian was going to do. By the aid of a camp fire whose light streamed in through the flap of the door that was now open, he could observe the movements of his enemy quite distinctly. He saw him pull his blankets about his shoulders and take a seat beside the door with his rifle across his knees. Cyrus drew a short breath of relief for he had nothing more to fear from him until daylight. That tepee was to be his prison, and the savage was to be his watcher as long as the darkness continued. CHAPTER IX. THE MEDICINE WORKS WONDERS Cyrus was a captive now. There was no mistake about that. The only thing he could do was to lie down and wait as patiently as he could until daylight came. The rope with which he was bound was very painful to him, but Cyrus knew it would be worse than useless to ask his sentry to loosen it. The savages knew too much for that. They had had some bitter experience with the trappers of the mountains in granting them the free use of their hands, and they did not mean to be caught that way any more. It must have been about two o'clock when Cyrus was captured, and he thought he had never known the time to pass so slowly as did the hours that intervened before the first gray streaks of dawn were seen in the east; for they told him that something was to be done with him very speedily. During those hours he was often compelled to change his position on account of his bonds, but the savage never once changed his. If he had been a marble man he could not have sat more motionless; but all the time his eyes were fastened upon his captive as if he meant that not a sign from him should escape his notice. Finally the flap of the door was drawn further aside, and an Indian's face appeared. He wanted to see whom they had captured, but he said not a word to Cyrus or his watcher. Presently other faces appeared, until Cyrus thought that the whole camp of the Sioux was astir. Daylight came on apace, and then Cyrus began to take some note of the things in the lodge in which he was confined, and found to his surprise that he was in no danger of stepping on slumbering inmates. With the exception of himself and the sentinel who was keeping watch over him, the tepee was as empty as it was when it was put up. It was probably intended as a sort of prison for anybody who might be captured by the Sioux, but up to this time Cyrus had the satisfaction of knowing that he was the only one who had seen the inside of it. "And if I could have my way I am the last one who will see how it looks," said Cyrus to himself. "No doubt they expected to capture a good many more. Somehow I don't feel as safe by having Guy Preston's letter about me as I did by having that scrap of sage brush that the Indian gave me. Well, if it doesn't effect my release it surely would not effect Guy's, if he were here in my place." It must have been nine o'clock before anyone came near him again, and all the while he was in agony through his bonds which seemed to hurt him more the longer he was tied up with them. But they could not make him forget his stomach, which was clamoring loudly for something nourishing. He had not eaten anything since dinner the day before, and even a hard-tack he thought would prove very acceptable. While he was thinking about it, two Indians came to the door of the tepee, and they came in a hurry as though they were after something. They exchanged a few words with his sentry--they were spoken so low that Cyrus did not fully comprehend them--and then one of them seized Cyrus by the collar and dragged him to his feet. The first thing he did was to untie the prisoner's bonds; and when Cyrus felt his arms at liberty he stretched them out with an exclamation which testified to the delight he felt. "If I just had you two here alone, how quick I would end you up," said he, to himself. "I will bet you could not catch me in a fair race. They are going to take my clothes also," he added, when one of the Indians proceeded to take off his hunting shirt. "Does that mean that I am to get ready for the stake?" It certainly looked that way, but Cyrus never uttered a word out loud. He submitted to the disrobing as quietly as he could, and even assisted them when something about his clothes bothered them; and in two minutes more he was stripped clean. But he noticed two things, filled as he was with other matters, and standing in fear of the torture which seemed to be not far distant: the savages, when they came into possession of his various articles of wardrobe, were careful to look into all the pockets. Not one escaped their vigilance. His pipe, his knife, and tobacco, and various other trinkets, which men have about them, were quickly taken by his captors, until finally a grunt from one of them announced the finding of Winged Arrow's letter,--the one he had received from his father. The grunt speedily brought his sentry to his feet, and he leaned over the shoulders of the others and stared hard at the drawings. Not a word was said to Cyrus as to how he came by the papers, but they exchanged several incoherent expressions, which no doubt were perfectly understood among themselves, but which were Greek to the captive. At last they seemed to have come to an agreement regarding something, for one of them started off at a keen run, while the other went on examining his clothes. When he pulled off one of the moccasins the bogus dispatch dropped out. "Now you have something that will do your heart good," muttered Cyrus. "Why don't you run off with that? They have left my clothes here on the ground--" But Cyrus was a little too hasty in coming to this conclusion. The finding of the bogus dispatch, of course, created another series of grunts, which ended a good deal as the first one did. The other captor seized the paper and disappeared with it, but before he went he gathered up the clothes and carried them away also. That was too much for Cyrus, and he sat down on the ground and thought about it, while the sentry returned to his seat by the door. Half an hour passed, during which Cyrus's mind was in a state of confusion. This treatment was very different from any he had received while a prisoner in the hands of the Indians, and he had been one four times when nothing but the stake seemed to be waiting for him. Twice was he rescued by soldiers; a third time he was saved by an old squaw who somehow got it into her head that Cyrus resembled her son who had been killed by the whites; and the fourth time that bunch of sage brush brought about his release. Now it was that letter of Winged Arrow; and he confessed that his chances were slim indeed. It is true that he was very young in years to be the hero of all these adventures, but those among the mountain men with whom he was best acquainted declared that he had been in skirmishes enough to fill out three or four books. Like the Medicine Man among the different tribes, who runs all sorts of risks to make his followers believe that he has found the proper "thing" at last which will turn all the white man's bullets away from him, Cyrus took every risk in time of war that anybody could take and live. He was foremost in all the Indian fights and was one of Colonel Carrington's favorite scouts. When everyone else failed he called upon Cyrus, and Cyrus had never been found wanting. All men who live among the Indians soon fall into their ways, and every one of them believed that Cyrus had discovered some "medicine" that brought him safely out of any danger he might get into. At the end of half an hour, another faint step was heard outside the tepee, the flap was thrown further open and this time Winged Arrow appeared. Cyrus recognized him on the instant from the description that Guy Preston had given him, and the first thought that passed through his mind was that he had never seen a finer-looking Indian. His face wore a scowl which did not in any way add to his appearance, and he did not pay any attention to his keeper at all. In his hands he carried all of Cyrus's clothing which he threw toward the prisoner with the muttered exclamation:-- "I suppose these things belong to you. Put them on." Cyrus was fully as surprised as Guy Preston to hear himself addressed in perfect English by an Indian in his war clothing, but he lost no time in obeying instructions. When he came to his hunting shirt he carelessly grasped it under the right arm, and a thrill shot through him when he felt the dispatch there as he had left it. The bogus dispatch, the one that was intended for the Indians to read, was gone. "Now you look more like yourself," said Winged Arrow, as he turned about and beckoned to some one behind him, "I guess something to eat would not do you any harm, would it?" An Indian girl came into the tepee and laid Cyrus's breakfast before him on the ground, and quickly went out again. Winged Arrow calmly seated himself on the ground. Cyrus did the same, and while he was busy with the viands which Winged Arrow had provided for him, he kept one eye fixed upon the young Indian as if he hoped to see something in his face which would give him a faint glimpse of what the future had in store for him; but Winged Arrow's features were as unmoved as if he had no secret to communicate. The provisions did not trouble him much, for it was not as hearty a breakfast as some he had eaten at the Fort, although the grub there was getting scarce since the Sioux had shut them in from all the world--a joint of beef which had once been warmed, but was now cold, a chunk of Indian bread which had doubtless been cut out of some "parfleche" repository and a cup of cold water formed the substance of his breakfast. But it was better than nothing, and finally it had all disappeared except the bones. "Now I am ready for anything you have to propose," said Cyrus. "What do you fellows intend to do with me?" "You belong to me and so I am going to set you free," said Winged Arrow, as if he were talking of something that did not interest Cyrus in the least. "It was the worst thing I ever heard of, getting you free, for our people have all something against you." "I don't see how they make that out," replied Cyrus, feeling in his pockets for his pipe. "You can't point to a single thing that ever I did that injured you in the least. I have let more than one chance go by that I have had of sending your people to the Happy Hunting Grounds, and have let them get off scot-free when I might have had a scalp to take with me as well as not." "But something is always happening to take you away from us," said Winged Arrow, "and what do you suppose it was that saved your life this time?" "Was it that letter that you gave to Guy Preston?" The young savage took the letter out of his bosom and gave it to Cyrus, who took it and stowed it away in one of his pockets. "Now that letter can answer one more purpose," said Winged Arrow. "Any man who is captured after that will lose his life." "How do you make that out?" "I promised my father," began Winged Arrow. "By the way, who is your father?" said Cyrus. "He must be a man of considerable standing in the tribe or else you would not be permitted to meet a man between the lines, or to hold a chat with me now." "He is a Medicine Man," replied the young Indian. "If there is a fight here you will see him in the foremost ranks. He has a medicine which he believes will render him impervious to the white man's bullets. You do not believe in such things, do you?" "Yes, I do," said Cyrus, earnestly. "One of your people gave me such medicine, which afterward saved my life." "What was it?" asked Winged Arrow, becoming interested. "A handful of sage brush wrapped up in a piece of buckskin. I don't see why you fellows can't have some medicine of that kind as well as some others. What did you promise your father?" "That I would join him and help fight for the lands which the whites are trying to cheat us out of, provided he would give me the choice of saving two white men who might chance to fall into our hands. I had an eye on that black horse which that Lieutenant rides--What did you say his name was?" "Guy Preston; and he is just the best white fellow that ever lived." "I am not saying anything about that. I had an eye on him ever since you left Fort Robinson, and yesterday I chanced to meet him outside the lines. I told him that the letter would save his life, but now he has gone and given it up to you. I kept my promise, although I had a hard time of it. If that letter comes into our camp on another man, it will save his life too; but that is all." "Don't you think you are in big business to help the Indians to clean out the whites?" said Cyrus, who did not know what else to say. "You must have seen Guy Preston down there at the Fort, and he told you all I had to say on that point," replied Winged Arrow with a scowl. "Of course I shall help the Indians clean out the whites. This is our country; no one else has any claim upon it, and we are bound to wipe them out or die with weapons in our hands. Say," said the Indian, almost in a whisper, "I read your bogus dispatch, but the other is safe where it belongs." "What other?" asked Cyrus, startled in spite of himself. "The one you have got in your hunting shirt. I put my hand on it, but did not dare take it out. If I had, and had read it to Red Cloud, that letter would not have saved you." "What did that bogus dispatch do?" inquired Cyrus, drawing a long breath of relief. The savages had had the genuine dispatch in their hands and it had been saved to him through Winged Arrow, who had so much at stake. He had never heard anything like it before, and his admiration for the young Indian was almost unbounded. He believed now more firmly than he had before that there were some traits in the savage character with which the white men were entirely unacquainted. "It did not do much," replied Winged Arrow. "Red Cloud sent off a band of scouts to see if the dispatch told the truth, but he did not believe that any living man could have gotten through our cloud of warriors with news to the Fort. I repeat that I did not dare take out that other dispatch, for that told the truth; and you would have been tied out to the stake now." "Well, I am glad it is no worse," said Cyrus. "You may fall into the hands of some of our people some day----" "Well, when I do it will be when I am dead," returned Winged Arrow emphatically. "You can't help me then. But here come the braves to take you back to the Fort. Give Guy my kindest regards and tell him to keep that letter about his own person. It will save one more and that is all." A party of warriors rode up at this moment, one of them carrying Cyrus's Winchester which he gave into his hands. He stopped for a moment to shake hands with Winged Arrow, but the latter stood with his hands behind him, which Cyrus took as a sign that no hand shaking was to be allowed; so he touched his hat to the young savage, and, following the motions of one of the Indians, started off toward the Fort. Not a thing was said to him during their long walk until they arrived at the top of the swell, from which they could see the palisades. One glance was enough to show him that the vigilant soldiers were on the watch. He saw a commotion in the Fort, occasioned by the men hurrying to their quarters, which was a gentle hint to the savages that they had come close enough. "There are your friends," said one who had evidently talked English to him the night before, "Go home." Cyrus renewed his efforts at hand shaking, but the Indians turned their horses and retreated behind the hill. CHAPTER X. GUY IS ASTONISHED "Yes, sir," said the officer who had the glass, taking one look at the Sioux who speedily retreated out of sight behind the swell, and a longer look at the liberated captive who came toward the Fort at rapid strides, swinging his cap around his head as he came; "that is Cyrus, if I ever saw him. He fell into the hands of the savages, and for some reason best known to themselves they have turned him loose." If it were certain that it is possible for a boy to become amazed and delighted at the same instant, Guy Preston experienced both those emotions. While Guy was wondering how this state of affairs could be brought about, the officer of the guard suddenly appeared upon the platform and was saluted by the officer in command of the gun. "The Colonel says you have a better view of that man, whoever he is, than he has, and he begs to know what you make of him," said Captain Kendall. "Is it Cyrus?" "Yes, sir, it is Cyrus," replied the Second Lieutenant. "Take the glass and look for yourself." Captain Kendall's observation was not a long one. He leveled the glass for a minute, and then handed it back. "Guy," said he, forgetting that he was an officer and speaking to his subordinate, "your letter has worked wonders." "Do you really think my letter had anything to do with that?" inquired Guy, so excited that he could hardly stand still. "Know it? Of course it did. It was the only thing he had in his possession that kept him clear of being staked out." The officer of the guard went back to the Colonel who had sent him to make inquiries, and Guy leaned upon the palisades and watched Cyrus as he came toward the Fort. As soon as he found out that he had attracted the attention of the soldiers, Cyrus put on his cap, took one look behind him to see what had become of the Sioux, and broke into a run. He had strange things to communicate and he was in haste to unbosom himself. The officer of the day admitted him at the gate, shook hands with him, and then, in obedience to some request that Cyrus made of him, conducted him to the Colonel. A few moments afterward the order came for the soldiers to march down to the parade ground and break ranks, and this left Guy at liberty to finish his nap from which he had been so violently aroused; but Guy had no intention of doing anything of the kind. When he broke ranks he hurried away to hunt his roommates, and found that they were on the same mission as he was. "I say," whispered Perkins, "I believe your letter had something to do with Cyrus being among us safe and sound." "So do I," said Guy. "Now how was it brought about? Has anybody seen Cyrus to speak to him since he came back?" Nobody had, and we will take the liberty of going with him when he was led to where the Colonel stood. To say that Colonel Carrington was delighted to see him once more would be putting it very mildly. The commanding officer had almost as much affection for him as he would have had if Cyrus had been a younger brother, and it showed itself in the heartiness with which he grasped the scout's hand. "Well, Cyrus, you ran plump into their hands, did you not?" said he. "Just as fair as a man could," returned Cyrus. "If they had been waiting for me down by the creek in the bushes, they could not have bounced me quicker. It is impossible for a man to get through those lines without being caught." Then in a lower tone he added: "I have got your dispatch all right." "Did they read the bogus one?" asked the Colonel. "They did, but it did not disturb Red Cloud any. You said in that dispatch, 'Your letter of a certain date has been received.' That gave you away, for the savages knew that no man could go through their lines with news for you from the other side of the world. They simply sent out scouts to see if your expedition was coming, and that was all they did do." "Do you think they are going to attack us to-day?" "No, sir. They are going to wait for that train that is to bring you fuel, and then you are going to catch it." "And that will come to-morrow," said the Colonel, walking up and down. "Our wood is nearly out and we must have some. Captain Brown, break ranks and let the men go to their quarters. Cyrus, come with me." The Colonel went off toward his room followed by his scout, and when they were once inside of it, the commanding officer threw off his hat and paced back and forth as if he did not know what to do with himself, while Cyrus took a seat on the nearest cracker box pulled out his knife, and proceeded to bring the real dispatch to light,--for be it known that the frontiersmen who were employed by the government as scouts did not hold themselves subject to military law the same as soldiers did. A captain or even the Major would have thought twice before taking off his coat in the Colonel's quarters without being asked, but Cyrus did not wait for any invitation. "There is your dispatch, Kurn," said Cyrus, as he brought out the document. "And I will tell you what is a fact: The time for you to send it will be after the massacre occurs." "But my goodness! I cannot think of that thing without shuddering," exclaimed the Colonel. "Must I send men, who have been with me so long through thick and thin, out to be massacred by those thievish Sioux? I won't do it, and that's all there is about it." "Then we will starve and freeze to death for the want of a little pluck on your part," said Cyrus. "We've got to have wood." "How did that Winged Arrow manage to get you off on this letter?" said the Colonel, who wanted time to think the matter over. "I don't know. He was probably around when my clothes were examined, and Red Cloud told him that he could do as he pleased. That letter will save just one more person; and after that it is of no account." After a little time the Colonel cooled down so that Cyrus could begin and tell him his story from beginning to end. He never once interrupted him until he got through, and then he dismissed Cyrus with the remark that he would send for him after a while. There were a good many points to think over and he wanted a little time to himself. But there was one thing about it, he said: If anybody was going out there to fall a victim to those Sioux, he would be one of the party. "Of course we shall all be sorry for that," said Cyrus. "The massacre has not taken place yet. They may make the attack in such a way that they will be nicely whipped." When Cyrus went out on the parade ground, he was besieged by officers who had been awaiting his appearance and who wanted to know all about the matter. Of course Guy Preston and his chums were there, but they were obliged to keep in the background until their superior officers had heard all there was to tell. When Cyrus had finished with them he started toward his quarters and the boys followed him; but all they learned in addition to what he had already told was in regard to what he thought of Winged Arrow. "It is just as Guy said yesterday," said he, kicking off his moccasins and throwing himself down upon his bunk, "Winged Arrow has no business to be a Sioux. He knows too much to be associated with that race of people; but the more he learns about the way those folks of his are being swindled by the government, the more he determines to stick to them." "Did you see Red Cloud while you were a prisoner among them?" asked Perkins. "I did not see anybody," replied Cyrus. "They kept themselves to themselves, and all they had to do was to bring me out and release me. I tell you, boys, we are going to see some fun right here, and the Colonel says it will begin to-morrow." "The massacre?" asked all the boys at once. "Yes, sir. We must have some wood, and about the time that the train and its escort get ready to march out, you will hear the war whoop." "Well, let it come," said Perkins. "They will find that American soldiers are not the men to run just because they hear a whoop. We enlisted to fight, and now we are going to see what sort of a beginning we can make at it." The other boys did not say anything, but the expression on their faces said that they were ready for anything the Sioux had to spring upon them. Cyrus's move toward his bunk was a hint that he had not got all the sleep he should have had, and after asking a few more unimportant questions, they left the quarters, Guy going toward his room to finish his nap and the others to attend to various duties about the Fort. But slumber was a thing that Guy could not court just then. He was too busily thinking. He heard everything that passed outside his room, and when the Orderly softly entered and told him that "supper was on," he got up without having closed his eyes. The watch from six o'clock until midnight was a long and tedious one to Guy, though he, of course, had the officer of the day to talk to. Guy was thinking of what Winged Arrow told him--that if he ever saw one Indian battlefield he never would want to see another--and every chance he got he asked Mr. Kendall about it. "You could not have been in the war of the Rebellion, for that happened when you were a child," said Mr. Kendall; "but I saw seven of them, and I tell you they were all I wanted to see. The men were not mutilated, of course, but there was no need of that. I don't want to talk about it." "But did they never make an attack on our folks on a dark night like this, sir?" asked Guy. "Oh, yes; the darker the better. But you need not fear an Indian's coming near us on a night like this. It is so dark that I can not even see a star; and if you were in their camp now you would find them all in their tepees fast asleep. When the moon rises or the day is just breaking, you will want to keep a bright lookout for them. That is the time they make the assault." "Why is that, sir? When it is dark you can't see how many of them there are." "I know that; but every one you kill will go to the Happy Hunting Grounds in a way that he won't like. He goes there in just the condition that he leaves this life. If it is dark, he will have to grope around through all Eternity in darkness, no hunting for him and no scalping forays to show how much of a man he was in the days gone by. But if he is killed in broad daylight in the full possession of all his faculties, he will be just that way in the Happy Hunting Grounds. He will be full of strength and vigor, and that is the kind of life he can live forever. He never grows old. Go out that way and see what is the matter with those horses. They act as though they were alarmed about something." "The Indian carries his religion with him even to death," said Guy to himself, as he went out to the horses with his heart in his mouth to find out what had disturbed them. "And I suppose that every man he scalps is there to be his slave. I would look pretty being the slave of a sneaking Sioux warrior, would I not?" Although Guy did not like the idea of being so far from camp to find out what was the matter with the horses, he did his duty faithfully, and by questioning some of the sentries who were there to watch them, found out that there was nothing the trouble, only some of the horses were uneasy, and by continually lying down and getting up had communicated their restlessness to others. With this report he returned to Captain Kendall, who was perfectly satisfied with it. The hours flew away and at last his relief came on; and Guy, feeling the need of sleep, went to his room and tumbled into his bunk without removing his clothes. He went to breakfast, and when he entered the room he saw in an instant that something had happened to throw a gloom over the officers, some of whom were pale and all devoted themselves to the beans and hard-tack without paying attention to anybody else. There was not any of that joking and laughing, not any of the "sells" which some of the young officers were so prone to give out during the meal hour, but each one seemed to be occupied with his own thoughts. There was something about them that affected Guy more than he liked, and he too became somewhat gloomy. "What's up?" said he in a whisper, nudging Perkins, as he took a seat beside him. "Anybody killed?" "No, but there will be some that way before the day is over," said Perkins, in the same cautious whisper. There were ranking captains there at the table and the youngsters had to be careful what they said in their hearing. "Where's your letter?" "By George! Do you have to go out?" said Guy, in dismay. "There is a train about to go out for fuel and our Company is ordered to be in readiness to aid them if they get into trouble," said Perkins. "Forty men are to go with the train, and if they get more than they can attend to, we have to go out." "I may want that letter myself," answered Guy, drawing a long breath when he thought of the number of Sioux that could be brought against them. "Cyrus has it, and I did not think to ask him for it yesterday." "Oh, you are all right. You won't have to go." "Why, how is that? Did you not say the whole Company--" "Yes, but that does not include you. You are to command the signal tower and keep watch of us." Guy's first impulse was to settle back in his chair and give vent to his satisfaction by drawing another long breath of relief; and his next was a fit of anger that he should be selected to command the signal tower out of reach of danger, while his whole Company, Perkins included, should be ordered to hold themselves ready to march to their aid if the Sioux proved too strong for them. "It is the meanest thing I ever heard of," exclaimed Guy, speaking in his ordinary tone of voice before he thought, "I will see the Colonel and have him put somebody else in the signal tower." "No, I guess I would not bother the Colonel if I were in your place" said Captain Kendall, with a smile. "The Colonel does not want to be troubled by anybody. You will get the sharp edge of the old man's tongue, if you speak to him." "But just see here, Captain," began Guy. "I heard all about it when you were asleep," continued the Captain. "You can thank your lucky stars that you are not going out there to be killed by the Sioux Indians." The tone in which the Captain uttered these words made it clear to the young officer's comprehension that he did not want any more such talk around that table, and none of the other officers liked it either. The Colonel was supreme there, and an order once issued by him was to be taken as final. He devoted himself to his food, but he kept up a terrific thinking all the while. Of course, there was an even chance that the Sioux would be whipped if they made their attack upon the soldiers, and that was another thing that worried Guy. If they were whipped he wanted a hand in it; but he could not assist them any, if he were confined in that tower to pass signals. "Do you think you can get that letter?" asked Perkins, when he had given the officers a little time to forget Guy's interruption. "If it is to save one more prisoner, it may stand me well in hand." "I will try it as soon as I get through breakfast," said Guy. "I don't know why he should want to keep it now. I wish Captain Kendall had not said what he had. I would have had the Colonel change that order sure." "Well, you had better take his advice and thank your lucky stars that you are well out of the scrape." "Will you change places with me?" asked Guy, a bright idea striking him, "you go to that signal tower--" "Not by a great sight, I won't," said Perkins hastily. "If the other boys are going to fight, I am going to fight too. You will see me coming back covered with glory and three or four scalps in my hand." Guy did not want much breakfast. He got through with what he had on his plate, asked to be excused, and left the table. CHAPTER XI IN THE SIGNAL TOWER "Yes, I heard all about it while you were asleep, as Captain Kendall told you. The men have not yet been informed of the part they have to perform, but I know that they are all ready." Thus spoke Cyrus the scout when Guy Preston came rushing into his quarters to tell him what Colonel Carrington was going to do with the troops under his command. As he uttered the words, he leaned his cracker box against the jamb of a window and looked at Guy as if to ask him what he thought about it. "If he is my Colonel I say that he was guilty of doing a mean thing," said Guy, spitefully. "There I was fast asleep, and he never told me a thing about it." "Of course he didn't. A Colonel, whose right it is to command a thousand men, does not generally look to a Second Lieutenant for advice. We must have wood, and that is the only way to get it." "I don't expect him to look to me for advice; but when he is going to send my whole regiment away from me, it is high time he was telling me of it." Cyrus laughed, but made no reply. "He knew all the time that I wanted a hand in the first fight the regiment got into, because he has often heard me say so; and then to go and send them off into the presence of the Sioux--I think he should have said something to me about it." "You do your duty faithfully as Second Lieutenant, and when the time comes for you to get in a fight, you'll go. The Colonel will not keep you back. You will be safe up there in the signal tower--" "And suppose the Sioux get whipped?" "It is your regiment and you will share in the glory; but if the Sioux are too many for them, and the last one of them gets wiped out, why you will be safe." "I see that I can't get any sympathy from you," said Guy in a doleful tone; whereat Cyrus laughed louder than ever. "I thought when I came here and told you of it, you would feel for me; but you are as bad as the rest. What have you done with that letter I gave you?" "Do you mean Winged Arrow's letter? The Colonel's got it." "Honor bright?" said Guy, who wondered if Cyrus were not fooling him. "He does not want that letter now." "He has got it anyway. Look here, Guy, I will tell you something else, if you will not speak about it. I am going to try it again." "Are you going out in the face of the Sioux after the narrow escape you had?" exclaimed Guy, almost paralyzed by the information. "That letter is going to save one more prisoner, but it may not save you a second time." "I am going to try it; or, rather, I am going to see if I can't get through their numbers without being caught. Such things have been done, and I don't see why they cannot be done again." "But what are you going to do this time? If the Sioux were on the watch before, they will be doubly so now." "Not much after that fight comes off. That will throw the Sioux crazy, and that will be the time to try it, if at all." "No matter whether we whip them or not?" "That won't make any difference. If they fail, they will have their mourning to go through with, and by the time they get through with that I shall have passed through and be well on my way to Fort Robinson." "Well, Cyrus, I bade you good-by once before when I never thought to see you again, but I guess you are gone now," said Guy, advancing and extending his hand, "and you had better bid me good-by too." "Oh, you will be safe in that signal tower," said Cyrus, who did not see the use of so much feeling on Guy's part. "If the Sioux wanted to capture that tower, they could have taken it long ago. Good-by, but remember that I will see you again." "Then Perkins cannot have the letter if you want it," said Guy. "I think he had better not. The Colonel thinks I ought to have it, and he will give it to me before I start." Guy went to his room and there he found his roommates sitting around doing nothing. They had their weapons close at hand, but made no move to put them on until they got orders. "Well, boys, there will not be so many of us here to-night," said Guy, breaking in upon the silence. "Some of us will leave this room for the last time." "You will be all right and tight," said Arthur, "and if we whip the Sioux you will wish you had been along." "Do any of you want to change places with me?" asked Guy, for he was not at all pleased with the arrangement. "I will ask the Colonel----" "You need not ask him anything on my account," said Arthur quickly. "I would not go up in that signal tower for all the money there is in the world. Our boys are going to fight, and I am going to fight too. There. That lets you out. Good-by." "The Colonel desires to see you, sir," said an Orderly, stepping up and saluting. Guy jumped up, put on his weapons, and turned to take leave of his roommates, all of whom came forward to shake him by the hand, but he did not see a sign of wavering on the part of any of them. Their faces were white, but there was a determined look about their features which showed that they fully comprehended the danger of their situation and were ready to take the consequences. "Good morning, Mr. Preston," said the Colonel, when he entered the quarters and found him alone there with Colonel Fetterman. "I have put you in command of the signal tower to-day." "So I have understood, sir," said Guy. "But don't you think----" "I have thought the matter all over and I have resolved upon my course," replied the commanding officer, turning almost fiercely upon Guy. "I want to see if you understand the signals." "Yes, sir; I know them by heart," returned Guy, who saw that it would be of no use to ask the Colonel to change that order. "Very well. You are to keep a close watch on the party that goes out to protect the wagons, and you will be careful to make the same signals to them that I shall make to you." "Very good, sir. I understand." "Then my business with you is done. I see that the squad is getting ready," said the Colonel, as the blast of a bugle echoed through the Fort. "You will find three men out there, with rations, and you will stand watch while you are there. That's all." Guy made all haste to get out of the room, for he did not want to be within reach of the Colonel's frown any longer than he could help, and furthermore he was anxious to see what preparations had been made for the party that was to go after the wood. The whole Fort was in commotion, but everything was done in regular order. Those of the soldiers who had nothing to do were standing in little groups and watching their comrades whom they never expected to see again; forty men were filing through the gate, mounted on their horses and forming on the parade ground under command of Captain Kendall; three men, who were evidently waiting for somebody, were there on foot with their haversacks slung over their shoulders; and the yells outside the stockade announced that the teamsters were busily hitching up their mules. Guy saw all this at a glance, and then bent his steps toward the three men who were standing there waiting for orders. "Here's your party, Mr. Preston," said the Adjutant. "You will go out and relieve the men in the signal tower. I suppose the Colonel gave you orders before you left?" "Yes, sir, what little he had to give," answered Guy. "I have never been in the tower before, but I think I know what is required of me." The Adjutant bowed and went away, and Guy, whose men were standing at parade rest, had nothing to do but to wait until the escort was ready to march. It was quickly done, and when he saw the Captain mount his horse and turn to salute the Colonel, Guy ordered his men through the gate to catch one of the wagons on which he intended to get a ride out to the signal tower. When the Captain went by with his Company, he returned Guy's salute and responded, "Thank you," to his expressions of good luck and a safe return to the Fort with the wagon train. "I am afraid, sir, that it won't be such good luck with him after all," said one of his men as the Captain rode on. "It does not seem as though there were any Sioux around here, does it, sir?" "No," replied Guy. "If that Red Cloud were only out of the way, what a fine country this would be to live in. Such splendid hunting as there is to be had here I never saw before. You can see prairie chickens every day from the Fort." There was no danger to be feared until they got to the signal tower, but none of the men seemed to enjoy the trip, because they knew that the Sioux were watching them from every hilltop within range of their vision. The Captain again saluted when they reached the tower, and Guy and his men jumped off the wagon to be admitted by the Second Lieutenant who was in command there. "Halloo, Guy," said he, and he was glad to see that his relief had come. "Now you can have the fun of sitting here for twenty-four hours, with nothing but the swells to look at. Say," he added in a lower tone, "Who was that officer who went out hunting day before yesterday? I see he had a Sioux to show him the way back. If I didn't see you here safe and sound I should think it was you. His horse resembled yours." "Well, sir, it was I, and no mistake," said Guy. "That Sioux came to warn me to keep out of the way of an approaching massacre which I think is going to happen now in less than two hours." "Aw! Get out," exclaimed the Second Lieutenant, throwing back his head and laughing immoderately. "That Sioux was a friend of yours, was he not?" "I have not time to explain matters to you now, for you had better go inside the Fort as soon as you can. He gave me a letter--" "Aw! Get out," said the Lieutenant again. "You have been listening to some of Cyrus's stories, and he has made you believe that you have some sort of medicine that will protect you from their bullets. Come on, all my men, and we will go to the Fort while you are thinking about it. It may be that we will find some Sioux who will give us a letter--" Guy and his men were all inside the tower by this time, and they closed the heavy door and bolted it, thus shutting off what else the officer was going to say in regard to that letter. They heard his laugh ringing on the outside, and through the loopholes saw him march away toward the Fort. "Did that Sioux really give you a letter, sir?" asked one of his men, as they climbed the rude stairway to reach the top. "Who was that letter directed to?" "I have not time to go into all the particulars now," said Guy, as he leaned on the walls on the top of the tower and looked after the wagon train and its escort. "You will hear all about it when you get back to the Fort. Is that flag all ready? Lay aside your guns, but have them handy, and keep a close watch on that train." As Guy had never been in the tower before, he looked around him with no little curiosity. The ridge leading from the Fort to where good timber was to be found was in plain sight, and every move the wagon train made could be distinctly seen. The Fort stood considerably lower than this tower, but there were several mountain howitzers in the Fort which had been trained on this ridge. The gunners, however, could not shell the ravines on each side of it with any accuracy, and Guy saw at once, with a soldier's eye, that about a mile beyond them was a splendid place for an ambush. His heart fell when he noticed it, but he did not say anything to his men about it. "The Sioux have got the better of us or I shall miss my guess," said Guy, hauling his binoculars from its case and settling himself on a log which had been cut off sufficient to serve for a seat. "If they make their attack from one of those ravines, we cannot see it until we are right on to it, and they will clean us out as sure as shooting." Having observed the train and seen that it was all right so far, Guy began an examination of the tower to see what chances he had for making a successful resistance in case he were assaulted. He was more than satisfied with it. The tower was built of green logs which could not be set on fire by the hostiles at any reasonable distance, and was well supplied with loopholes, so that a company of determined men could hold their own until assistance could reach them from the Fort. While he was thus engaged one of his men called his attention to a faint sound which he heard coming from the further end of the ridge. "It sounded to me like a war whoop, sir," said he. "It could not be that. Yes, sir, that is what it is." In an instant Guy Preston was on his feet with his glass pointed toward the wagon train, and saw something that he hoped he never would see again--a hundred Indians, all well mounted and armed, were making a charge on the wagon train's escort. Where they came from was a mystery, but they were there, and the faint yells which struck his ears now and then showed that they were out there for no good purpose. "Where's that flag," he exclaimed, "give it to me, quick!" In less time than it takes to tell it, Guy had grasped the emblem and was waving to the watching sentries on the palisades what was going on a mile from them, but which was shut out from their view by the ridge:-- "About one hundred Indians going to attack the train." Then he threw the flag down and waited with all the fortitude he could command for some response to the signal. A moment afterward it came. One of the mountain howitzers belched forth its contents, the shell whizzed by so close to them that it seemed as if they could touch it, and exploded in the air right in line for the Sioux, but a good way above them. Another and another followed, but their firing was entirely too wild to do any damage. Guy was on nettles. "They will never hit the Indians at that rate," he exclaimed. "Why don't they shoot lower?" All the shells which came from the howitzers followed the same course, and then Guy, forgetting that he was an inferior and in no condition to offer advice, seized the flag again and signaled once more to the Fort. "You are firing entirely too high. Shoot closer to the ground." Whatever the commanding officer thought of his advice Guy never knew, but he thought it a good plan to follow these instructions. The next shell came lower and the next one lower yet, and then Guy raised the flag once more. "That is all right. You stand a chance of hitting them now." "Oh, don't I wish that I was down there with my Winchester!" said Guy, so excited that he could scarcely stand still. "By the way, do any of you see Winged Arrow?" "Don't know him, sir," said all the men at once. "That is so; you did not see him, did you? This fellow wears a buckskin shirt and rides a small sorrel horse----" "Every fellow down there is stripped to the waist," said one. "And they all ride small sorrel horses," said another. "Well, I guess he is there," said Guy under his breath. "I hope he will come off scot-free. But he said that the Sioux could raise three thousand men. This doesn't look like it." "There is something going on in the Fort, sir," said one of the men after a little pause. "It looks to me as if they were going to send out re-enforcements." These words brought Guy back to earth again. If the Colonel was about to send men to help the escort, he must send his own Company. The young officer went off into a state of excitement again. CHAPTER XII. WHAT GUY SAW Guy Preston turned with his glass to his eyes again. There was something going on in the Fort--it was so far away that he could not hear the words of command, but he knew that horses were going in and that the men were running about as if they were getting ready for something. Presently the column appeared--a hundred men, who seemed to be intent on going to the rescue, for they had hardly time to clear the gate before they broke into a trot and then into a gallop. A little nearer and Guy recognized the faces of his old Company, Perkins, Arthur Brigham, all his roommates, as well as several of the rank and file. Colonel Fetterman was in command, and though Guy thought he looked rather white, he heard the order "gallop" which rang in his ears the same as of old. Did they know that they were going to their death? If they did there was not one of the hundred men who seemed to realize it. "Oh, Oh!" shouted Guy, prancing about in his excitement until he came near missing his steps and going back through the trapdoor with more haste than he had come up a few minutes before. "All my Company are there, every one of them, and I am to stay here cooped up like a rat in a trap! Why did not the Colonel remember this? They will come back flushed with victory and I will have had no hand in it!" "Do you see any men in company D there, sir?" asked the Sergeant, who stood close at Guy's elbow. "Look for yourself," replied the young officer, handing his glass over to the man. "I don't know all the men in Company D." The Sergeant took the glass, and one look was enough to satisfy him. He gave it back without saying a word. "I guess you are in the same boat with me," said Guy, once more leveling the glass to take a nearer view of the approaching re-enforcements. "They will get all the glory of this fight. I see Captain Brown and three or four 'old timers' who are going out with them, and we are bound to whip; but it seems hard to me to stay here and do nothing!" As the horsemen tore by, Guy Preston raised his cap and swung it lustily around his head, and there were a dozen men, among whom were Perkins and Arthur, who returned the salute. A moment afterward the support was gone, and Guy, with a long breath which seemed to say that there was no help for it, settled down to watch them and keep a close view of their movements. Nor were they obliged to wait long. The Indians seemed surprised at the approach of so large a re-enforcement to support the train, and at once became confused and started to retreat; and that was enough for the supporting column. Guy saw Colonel Fetterman turn in his saddle and swing his sword above his head, and in an instant more a yell came to his ears and his men turned down the ridge. "Bully for our side of the house!" yelled Guy Preston, once more swinging his cap around his head. "It shows what you can do, Mr. Sioux, when you get some men to oppose you." "They are retreating, sir?" asked the Sergeant. "Of course they are. They cannot stand against anything like their own number." While Guy stood with the flag in his hand, and wondering whether or not he ought to signal Colonel Fetterman's movement to the Fort, something surprising happened down there at the foot of the ridge. Where there were a dozen Indians before, there were two dozen now and more still coming. They were coming from one of those ravines that ran back from the left of the Fort. These two dozen Indians were promptly joined by two dozen more, and before Guy could think twice, the plain was fairly covered with them. "My goodness! What is the meaning of that?" said he. "They have run into an ambuscade, sir," said the Sergeant. The young officer was so astonished at what he saw, that he never once thought of the flag he held in his hand. It was done so quickly that it appeared like a dream. While he looked more Indians came out. They made their appearance in a large body too, and, dividing right and left as they approached the column, soon surrounded it entirely, and nothing but frantic and yelling Sioux could be seen from the tower. "My goodness!" he repeated, his face turning as white as the flag he held in his hand. "I must signal that, but I don't know what to say." His men, one and all, offered some advice, but the signal Guy sent was something like this:-- "Large bodies of Indians in the ravine at the foot of the hill. They have attacked the re-enforcements." Almost immediately there came an answer from the Fort:-- "Signal for them not to leave the ridge." "What good will it do to signal to them now?" cried Guy, stamping about on the tower and making no effort at all to brush the tears from his eyes. "I can't see the column at all,--nothing but Indians!" But Guy was a good soldier, and he made all haste to signal the post commander's orders to Colonel Fetterman: "Don't leave the ridge," "Don't leave the ridge," but that was all the good it did. None of Colonel Fetterman's men saw the signal, or if they did, they were too busy to reply to it. Guy watched them for a minute or two through eyes which were blinded with tears, but could not see that the Indians were retreating in any way. On the contrary, he seemed to grow almost frantic when he saw the white men falling back. The Indians were gaining ground at every step. "This beats me," said he, leaning one hand on the Sergeant's shoulder and burying his face on the top of it, "We are whipped! The massacre's come!" "They might send some re-enforcements from the Fort, sir," suggested the Sergeant, who was also crying like a schoolboy. "They have another hundred men that they can spare for Colonel Fetterman." "That's so," said Guy, as he caught up the flag again; and he lost no time in sending the state of affairs to the commanding officer. "The troops are retreating. Fetterman needs re-enforcements. They cannot come too soon." "There, now, I have done my duty," moaned Guy, seating himself on the block of wood again, "I must stay right here now and see our men whipped." But Guy did not sit there long. The noise of the fight came plainly to his ears, and every exultant yell of a Sioux, that now and then rose loud and clear above the tumult, was almost as bad as torture to himself. Again and again he signaled to the Fort, "Our men are being overpowered. Fetterman needs re-enforcements," but no response came. They could see the men standing idly by leaning on their guns, but no attempt was made to send support to them. "I almost wish that Colonel Carrington were out there," said Guy, for the sense of responsibility that rested upon him was almost too great for him to bear. "Have I done what I could, Sergeant? I would go myself, if he would let me!" The men all joined in with the Sergeant in assuring him that no officer, situated as he was up there in the picket tower, could have done more than Guy did to stop the massacre, and he was forced to be satisfied with this. He sat there and watched, but was powerless to do anything. Now and then signals came from the Fort, "How goes the battle now?" and Guy's answer was always the same: "The Indians are whipping our men completely out. Fetterman needs re-enforcements"; but that was the last of it. In much less than half an hour it was all over. Then he sprang up and caught the flag again: "All killed. Field covered by more than one thousand Sioux." Guy felt while sending this signal, as if he had signed his own death warrant. He tossed the flag upon the floor, seated himself on his block of wood again and covered his face with his hands. Perkins, Arthur Brigham--O Lord, they were all gone! He thought of the many acts of kindness which the boys had lavished upon him, and his feelings were too great for utterance. Sobs which he could not repress shook his frame all over. "There is something else that wants signaling too," said the Sergeant. "The wood train is coming." Guy jumped to his feet, and looked out over the field again. There was nothing but Sioux in sight, and they were running as if anxious to get away from the leaden hail that was rained upon them. Guy seized the flag and this went to the Fort:-- "Wood train coming, having beaten off assailants." As Guy turned to look at the wagon train, he saw to his immense relief the long line of ladened wagons at the foot of the ridge. As it passed the battlefield Guy, repeating the signal made from the Fort, warned it not to attack, and it did not. A frightened lot of teamsters and soldiers went by him after a while, but where was Guy's salute this time? He did not make any, but stood leaning on the top of the tower and silently regarded them as they went by. "It is all over," he said, mournfully. "I said this morning that there would not be so many of us left in our room to-night, and this proves it. I am alone and have not even a squad of men to command." Leaving one of his men to watch the Fort so as to be ready to answer any signals that might come, Guy turned his attention to the battlefield; and now that the smoke had cleared away they saw the Sioux in pursuit of plunder--clothes, arms, and valuables, anything that could add to their wealth. Occasionally a faint yell would come up to their ears, faint and far off, but still plainly audible:-- "Come down here, you pickets. We have whipped some of you, and are able to whip the rest." Having now a respectable force at his command, Colonel Carrington sent one hundred and ten men to the battlefield with orders not to leave the ridge unless they felt strong enough to attack. The howitzers went with them, and the wagons by this time being emptied of their fuel, went along also to bring in the dead; for it was rightly supposed that the Sioux did not leave any wounded behind them. Guy saw them pass by, and set himself to observe their movements. There were but few Indians left upon the field and these fled upon the approach of the troops, and so opportunity was had to find out the cause of the defeat. It was just as Winged Arrow had told Guy: If he saw one battlefield, he never would want to see another. The dead were all stripped, and the positions of most of them led to the belief that they were killed while trying to escape. The horses' heads pointed toward the Fort. The soldiers lying near the base of the ridge appeared to have met their death as they were fleeing from the field, having seen that their re-enforcements would amount to just nothing at all. There were some few, but not very many, mutilations among the bodies, and so the soldiers recognized every one of the slain. Guy did not learn this until late that evening, when all the bodies were brought in by wagons, and then he saw his roommates cold in death. Every one of them wore a happy smile upon his face, as if he knew his fate and was ready to give up his life in the service of his country. "There is somebody coming out from the Fort, sir," said the Sergeant, breaking in upon Guy's reverie. Two horsemen were coming at a rapid lope, and Guy's glass showed him that they were the Lieutenant whom he had relieved in command of the tower and an after rider, who was probably a cavalryman, to hold his horse. Guy went down to the door to receive them, and when he opened it Amos Billings, that was the Lieutenant's name, must have been surprised at his greeting, although he himself was not far from shedding tears over the thing he could not prevent. "The commanding officer said I had better come and let you hear something of that massacre," said Amos. "I tell you, Guy, it is awful!" "Oh, my dear fellow!" exclaimed Guy, throwing his arms around Amos's neck and burying his tear-stained face on his shoulder. "What are they going to do to me?" "To you?" repeated the Lieutenant. "Why, nothing. Guy, don't take on this way. You were ordered up here in the tower and you stayed here. Did you not answer all the signals?" "Yes; and I made some I ought not to have made. Fetterman never asked for help. I saw that the Sioux were too many for him, and so I asked for re-enforcements." "Well, what of that? I guess he needed them bad enough. Now let us sit down here on the steps and I will tell you as much as I know about it." CHAPTER XIII. COLONEL CARRINGTON IS DEPRESSED "I would like a chance to kick that Winged Arrow, or whatever else he calls himself," said Colonel Carrington, as he returned Captain Kendall's salute and saw him mount his horse and lead his forty men through the gate to escort the teamsters to their post of duty. "He had no business to give Guy Preston that letter. He has thrown the whole garrison into a panic. Every man believes that a massacre is coming, and, to tell the honest truth, I really begin to believe it myself." "Well," said Colonel Fetterman, as he walked with the commanding officer to a prominent place on the palisades from which they could keep watch of the train and its escort, "I don't see but that the latter has done some good after all. It has returned your best scout to you when everybody thought he was a doomed man." "That's so," replied the Colonel, after thinking the matter over. "Perhaps in that respect it has been of some use after all; and I am going to try it again." Colonel Fetterman was somewhat surprised, but said nothing in answer to this proposition. The commanding officer had things his own way out there on the prairie, and it was not for him to offer any amendments until he was asked to give them. "If the Sioux pitch into us, as I really believe they will, they will hold a big jubilee in their camp to-night, no matter whether they whip us or not. That will be the time for me to get a letter through; don't you think so?" "Yes, sir, that will be the time, if any," said Colonel Fetterman, thinking of what Cyrus would have to go through with before he could get the letter safe into the hands of their superior officer who could grant the re-enforcements for which they asked. "Are you going to try the letter on again?" "I am, and Cyrus is waiting to see how the fight comes out before he makes the start. Now we must keep that train in sight as long as we can," said the Colonel, pulling his binoculars from its case. "The trouble is that we cannot see them after they get into a fight." "We shall have to depend upon the picket tower after they have disappeared from our view," said Colonel Fetterman. "My command has been informed and is all ready to start." "I hope I shall not have to send you out," said the Colonel honestly. "They are all good men in that escort, and I think they ought to come through." The commanding officer seated himself and awaited the issue of events with his feelings worked up to the highest point at which they could go and not drive him wholly frantic. He knew that some of his men were going to their death, but he had expected that. Not one wagon train had ever gone out from that Fort after fuel but it had always come back and reported that the Sioux had fired into them, and that so many were dead and so many wounded. But there was one thing that he always thought of with satisfaction: the train always brought their dead and wounded back with them. They left none of them for the Indians to maltreat after they had gone. The two officers saw the train when it reached the signal tower, and the men who had been on watch there for twenty-four hours were relieved by Lieutenant Preston and his squad. Five minutes more and the wagons were out of sight. "There now," said the Colonel. "Half an hour more will tell the story." "Yes, and I might as well get ready to move when I get your orders," said Colonel Fetterman. "You are bound to give them and I know it." "Let us hope not, Colonel; let us hope not. It seems as though I ought to have more men than I can muster to send out there. It is like sending a boy to mill." The officers relapsed into silence and sat with their glasses to their eyes watching the signal tower. It came in a good deal less than half an hour. It seemed to them that the wagon train had scarcely got out of sight before the white flag, with a star in the middle of it, began to wave frantically from the top of the picket tower: "About one hundred Indians going to attack the train." "All ready with that gun down there?" shouted the Colonel, jumping to his feet. "All ready, sir," was the response. "Fire!" was the next order; and a five-second shell flew over the tower and away to the further end of the ridge. "All ready with that other gun? Fire!" The guns on that side of the Fort were fired in quick succession, and when the smoke cleared away the flag was seen flying again from the top of the tower: "You are firing entirely too high. Shoot closer to the ground." "Depress those guns a couple of points and fire away," said the Colonel. "That boy is keeping a close watch of the way the shells are going. I wish he had a gun up there so that he could try his own hand at it." The guns spoke again, and this time the answer that came back was encouraging. "That is all right. You stand a chance of hitting them now." "One would think that boy was a commanding officer," said the Colonel. "I hope we have the right range of them now." This is all that was said in regard to Guy Preston's orders which came all unasked. He saw that the shells were flying all too wild, and did not hesitate to say so. Guy would have felt a great deal better if he had known just what was thought of it. "Shall I go now sir?" asked Colonel Fetterman. "Yes, I guess you had better," said Colonel Carrington sadly. "A hundred Indians is most too many for those forty men to handle. Remember, George, I depend entirely upon you. I will bid you good-by now. I will see you start from here." The two officers shook one another by the hand, and that was the last time they ever met. Colonel Carrington did not want to go down to see him off. Fetterman was a brave man and an Indian fighter, but somehow the Colonel did not feel right about letting him go. Fetterman became all activity at once. He sprang down from the platform upon which he was standing, shouting: "Fall in, my men!" and disappeared in his room. When he came out he had his sword and revolver, and mounting his horse, which was ready for him by this time, he rode up and down in front of his men, who were rapidly forming in line, and urged them all to make haste. "There are a hundred Indians out there and we are going for them," he shouted, swinging his sword around his head. "They will stand just long enough to see us getting ready for a charge, and then they will run. You are not afraid of a hundred Indians, are you?" "Not by a great sight, sir," said the Sergeant, who was riding down the other side of the line pushing the men into their places. "Get in there, men, and be lively about it. Lead on, sir. We are ready to face five hundred, if you say so." "All ready, sir," said Colonel Fetterman, riding up to the palisades where he had left his commanding officer. "Go on," was the response. He raised his hand and waved it in the air, but could say no more. Colonel Fetterman wheeled his horse, gave the commands, "Fours right. Forward march!" and rode through the gate and turned toward the picket tower; and Colonel Carrington could only settle back in his camp chair and wait to see what events were going to bring forth. "Something tells me that I will never see those men again," said he, turning to Major Powell, who at that moment stepped upon the platform and took a stand beside his Colonel. "I have shaken hands with Colonel Fetterman for the last time." "Oh, Colonel, I would not talk in that way," said the Major. "Fetterman is an old Indian fighter, and it will take more than one hundred Sioux to clean him out." "But a hundred warriors are not all they can bring into a fight," said the Colonel. "If Cyrus tells the truth, there must be a larger village than we are aware of situated behind those swells." "Well, suppose there are a thousand of them; Fetterman can easily beat them off until he can come within range of the Fort. He has taken Captain Brown, Tony, and Mike, and three or four old Indian fighters with him, and they are bound to come out with flying colors." The Colonel said no more, but watched the re-enforcements. He saw them break into a trot and then into a gallop, and very shortly they disappeared over the swells. "I am a little afraid of an ambush down where they are," said the Colonel, after a few moments pause. "If Fetterman runs into it, we are gone." "But Fetterman will not run into it. He has too much at stake for that." Major Powell's words were intended to be encouraging, and in almost any other case they would have been so; but this time they did not have any effect upon the Colonel. He was disheartened before he sent him off to face that unknown danger, and now that he was out of sight and almost within sight of it, he felt more distress than ever he did before. "Why don't they signal to me?" he exclaimed, when he had watched the top of the tower in vain for a sign of the white flag. "I want to know what is going on there." "Probably there has nothing happened yet," said the Major. "If the Indians are retreating----" The Major suddenly paused, for at that moment the flag came into view from the top of the tower. He paused to read the signal it conveyed and as he spelled it slowly out that there were large bodies of Indians who were assaulting the re-enforcements, the Colonel jumped to his feet and seized the flag that lay near him. "I think you said that Fetterman would not run into an ambush, if there was one formed for him," said he angrily. "He is in it now." Then went up the signal from the Fort: "Tell them not to leave the ridge," but it was a signal that came too late to be of any use. Colonel Fetterman and all his men were so busy at that time charging down upon the enemy, that no one thought of looking for signals in their rear. But Guy saw and understood and did his best to turn the column to a place of safety, but the waving of his flag was time and strength wasted. With a yell, which Guy had often helped raise when the troops were drilling on the parade ground, and which the men now gave in order to let the Sioux know they were coming to save the wagon train, they charged down the ridge and into the ambush. It was too late to do anything then, and Colonel Carrington leaned back in his camp chair and looked at Powell. Not another word was said by either of them, and pretty soon there came another signal from the tower: "Fetterman needs re-enforcements." "It will take the last hundred men I have, and the Fort with every one in it will be at their mercy," said the Colonel. "You will have to go with them. Go down and call the men together----" "Colonel, with your permission I will protest against sending them any help," said the Major. "The Colonel may be retreating, but he is retreating toward the ridge where he knows he will be comparatively safe. I tell you that man can't be whipped." "Well, we will wait and see," said the Colonel. "I hope he has men enough with him to resist them, but I am afraid. I think I should have sent more." "And if you had, you would certainly have left the Fort at the mercy of the thievish Sioux. You have done the best you could. Leave Fetterman alone. He is going to come out all right." If Major Powell believed this, he was certainly doomed to be disappointed. Colonel Fetterman was whipped almost at the start, and there was no one to lend him a helping hand. In response to the signals "How goes the battle?" the reply was the same as it had always been, "He needs re-enforcements," and then Colonel Carrington got up and paced the platform in agony. The help was repeatedly called for and several times the Colonel was on the point of exerting his authority as post commander and sending the re-enforcements that Colonel Fetterman so much needed; but each time the calm voice of Major Powell was raised in protest, and the commander thought it best to wait a little longer and see how the fight was coming out. "It seems to me that Fetterman has been allowed all the time he wanted to get back to the ridge and hold the Sioux at bay," he often said. "Do you not think so, Major?" It was almost half an hour since the signal had been made that the Sioux were attacking the re-enforcements, and something should have been done in that time; but the next signal that was made fairly took his breath away: "All killed. Field covered with more than a thousand Sioux." "Oh, heavens and earth!" groaned Colonel Carrington. "I wish I had died before I had seen that signal." Major Powell turned away to hide the tears that streamed from his eyes, and could not say a word in reply. He had protested against the sending out of help, and he would do it again under the same circumstances; but at what cost? Fully a third of the men that composed the garrison had been sacrificed, and surely that was better than to send out another hundred to share the same fate. Colonel Carrington buried his face in his hands, and it did not seem to him that he could ever look up again; while Major Powell, after subduing the first violence of his grief, raised his eyes to watch the tower again and saw another signal waving to them. "The wagon train is coming, having beaten off its assailants," said he. "If we can save that much, we will do well." This aroused the Colonel, who caught up the flag and signaled to them not to attack, but to make all haste into the Fort. "If they get back safe it will give me a hundred and ten men to send out to that battlefield," said he, after thinking a moment. "You will have to go with them. Don't leave the ridge until you see that you are sufficiently strong to hold them at bay." "But you want me to go to the battlefield," said the Major. "But don't go into that ambush whatever you do. Steer clear of that. Bring the bodies of all the men you can find with you." Then the Colonel relapsed into his melancholy mood again, and Major Powell knew that he had to do everything that was necessary for getting the relief party under way, and he lost no time in doing it either. While he was thus engaged, the gate flew open and the wagon train, well loaded with fuel, came in with a rush. A more frightened set than the teamsters were it would have been hard to find, and even the old soldiers, who had passed through more than one Indian fight, were heard to draw a long breath of relief as they came into line. "Oh, Major, it was just awful!" said the Lieutenant, who was the first to salute him. "Fetterman has gone up," said Captain Kendall; and there were traces of tears on his face that he was not ashamed of. "I never saw so many Sioux before. Where's the Colonel?" "Up there on the platform," said the Major. "Go up and report to him. And, mind you, don't say anything to him that will make him feel worse than he does now, for he is completely prostrated." "But I shall have to tell him the truth, or I might as well stay away from him," protested the Captain. "It was nothing that he could help, but we are just a hundred men short." The Major, who did not want to hear any more about the fight until he saw the battlefield, waved his hand toward the Colonel, and the Captain dismounted and went to report the disaster of which the post commander knew almost as much as he did. "It is not necessary for you to say anything, Captain," said he. "The signals from the tower have kept me posted. Are they all gone? Is there not one left?" "Not one, Colonel," said Captain Kendall. "From where I stood on the ridge, I could not see anything but Sioux." "They were retreating?" said the Colonel. "Toward the ridge where they would be safe; but they didn't any of them live to get there. They were wiped out completely." "You lost some men, I suppose." "We lost seven, and were glad to get off with that. Shall I break ranks, sir?" "Yes; and then come up and talk to me. I feel as though I were going crazy. I have sent out some men to go to that battlefield. Do you think they can go there without another fight?" "Perhaps so, sir. We killed any number of them, and perhaps they have got all they want of fighting." The Captain went down and said something to his men before he broke ranks, and it made them feel a great deal better for what they had done; but there was one thing that they never could blot from their minds. There was that battlefield, a mile long and half a mile wide, of which they had a plain view as they passed along the ridge, covered by the bodies of men whom they would never shake by the hand again, and the memory of it would disturb their sleep for many a night afterward. While this was going on and the Colonel sat listening to his speech, Amos Billings, the officer who Guy Preston had relieved in command of the tower, came up to the commander and saluted him. "What is it, Billings?" said he. "I can't ask you to sit down, for there is no place." "I don't want to stop, sir," he replied. "There are our boys alone in that tower--" "And you want to go out and inform them that they are not forgotten by the garrison, do you? Well, go on. Take a cavalryman with you to hold your horse. Tell Guy that I would have answered his signal for re-enforcements, but Major Powell told me that I ought not to. Guy did his duty up to the handle." This was what Billings wanted to tell Guy, while they were sitting there on the steps that led to the top of the tower. CHAPTER XIV. IN THE SIOUX CAMP At a late hour in the evening, or rather at an early hour in the morning of the day that preceded the battle of Fort Phil Kearney, all was silent and still in Red Cloud's camp, which was located a few miles from the stockade. The Indians had kept up their dancing and shouting until almost ready to drop with fatigue, pluming themselves on victories won in bygone days, and panting for new scalps to be added to those already gained, by the utter annihilation of the soldiers of the Fort. At last they went into their tepees to dream of the triumph which Red Cloud promised them should be theirs before many suns had passed away. The wiping away of the Fort and the utter cleaning out of all the power of the whites, was looked upon as a certain thing by the Sioux, and all they waited for was an opportunity to use the power which they were thought to possess. And why should not the whites be cleaned out? They had come into that country without an invitation, were spreading themselves all through it, and now they proposed to build a road through their best hunting ground, which meant the thinning out of the buffalo--their only means of subsistence. All they asked of the whites was to go away and let them alone; but it seemed that the more land the whites had, the more they wanted. No place was safe for the Indian. His limits were growing smaller and smaller every day, and very soon he would find that he had no land he could call his own. Something must be done if they thought to lay their bones among their fathers', and the only way to do it was to declare battle and go upon the warpath. This was what the Sioux tribe and some of the Cheyennes had proposed to do. When Indians are settled in their winter camp, and so far away from enemies of every description that there is no danger of being assaulted by them, it is the noisiest place that can be found on earth. Their days are passed in loitering around the fire, but the evenings are given over to pleasure. It is then that the dancers and story-tellers are in their element, and the noise of the tom-tom drowns all other sounds, except the whooping and yelling. It had been so in this camp until the day that the renegade chiefs, as Red Cloud called them, had signed a lease for that road; but the moment that happened, the winter camp had been changed into a war camp, and all the men in it were bent upon obtaining scalps and plunder. Then the social dancers and story-tellers were out of place, and no performance of any kind was indulged in except the scalp dance. The scalps were old, they had done duty over and over again, but that did not hinder them from being brought out whenever a warrior deemed it necessary. It happened so on this night, and the braves, having grown weary of telling what they meant to do when the soldiers came out to fight them, had passed into their lodges and gone to sleep. The only two who did not care for slumber were a couple of youthful braves who sat on the ground outside of a tepee, talking over events which might occur at any moment; and what seemed strange, these Indians talked in whispers and in the ENGLISH language and seemed to understand one another very readily. They had been so long unused to the Sioux language that they conversed in a foreign tongue as eagerly as white boys. It will be enough to say that one of them was Winged Arrow, and the other was a classmate of his, who had been to Carlisle with him. It was plain that, although they were Indians born and bred, they did not at all like the way that things were going. Obeying their fathers, they promptly left school and came home to join in the Indian outbreak, which they were assured was to be the final struggle to retain their lands and game as their fathers bequeathed it to them; and now that they were here to help "clean out" the whites and restore everything to the Indians as it was years ago, the only thing they saw toward accomplishing that object was the destruction of a little Fort, garrisoned by three hundred men, which alone stood in their way. Of course it was easy enough to capture the Fort, but what should be the next move on their part? Indians don't like to be killed any better than white men, and that something would happen before that Fort was taken was easy enough to be seen. It will be observed too, that in their brief conversation which took place before they went to their tepees, the Indians did not address each other by the names that the tribes had given them. One was John Turner and the other was Reuben Robinson--the names by which they had been known at Carlisle. One was named after the janitor, as we have said, and the other was called after the gardener, a white man who thought the Indians were just about perfect. The boys called each other Jack and Rube, and to have heard them talk, any one who could not see them would have thought they were white boys sure enough. "Say, Rube, you know that this thing don't look right to me," said John Turner (Winged Arrow), who sat with his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes fastened on the ground, "Here we have come all these miles to help the Indians in a hopeless war. I don't care a cent whether I come out of it or not." "That is just the way I think, Jack," replied Rube. "We have lived among the white people for almost eight years, and yet we must turn around and kill them. I tell you I shall think of the old gardener every time I pull on them. That Lieutenant of yours is all right, because you gave him that letter. I wish I could find somebody to assist in the same way." "I had to take my chances. I was roaming around just to see what the soldiers were doing, and I ran onto this fellow when I least expected it. He is a brave boy too, and I hope he will stay in the Fort." So it seemed that Reuben had some "medicine" which he wanted to give to a soldier, under the impression that it would save the soldier's life should he chance to be wounded and fall into the hands of the Sioux. The boys had made this up between them while they were on the cars coming to their home. Each one had the letter their fathers had sent them, and they resolved that those letters should be their "medicine"--that if either of them were found upon a dead soldier he would be safe from mutilation; and if upon a wounded man, he should be taken and treated in their rude way until he was well, and then be released and free to return to his friends. It was as little as they could do to pay the white men for all the kindness they had received at their hands while attending school. This was proposed to John Turner's father, then a prominent Medicine Man in the tribe, and after some hesitation he agreed to it. "You are bound to whip the whites anyway," said John, in arguing the case with him. "Oh, yes, we are bound to whip them," said the Medicine Man. "Well, then, what difference will it make by saving one or two lives? Let the letters save two lives, one a civilian and the other a soldier, and when that is done we will turn upon the whites and stay by you as long as one of them is left alive." The Medicine Man finally agreed to this and it was so published in the village; and although some of the warriors looked daggers at them and said that any white man who fell into their hands should be punished to the full extent of Indian law, we have seen that Winged Arrow's letter once served its purpose. "Those people must have wood pretty soon or they will freeze and starve to death," said Reuben. "Are you going out when the time comes?" "I must. I must make the Indians believe that I am with them heart and soul. But there is one thing about it, Rube: I shall think that every soldier has some medicine about him, and not any of them will fall by my bullets." "That is the way I shall do also. I really wish that this matter could be settled without a war. But every time we get a reservation fixed out to suit us, you will see some white man that wants some of it. Why can't they go away and let us alone?" "That is not the white man's way of doing business. He wants to raise cattle, or he wants to dig for gold, or he wants some place to put his family, and the first thing we know he has the whole country. If Red Cloud should fail in his movement, and it looks to me now as though he were going to, it will be all up with us. You and I belong to a doomed race. The Indian will not survive the buffalo, and when he goes it is good-by to us." "I am afraid that is so," said Reuben, getting upon his feet, "and I cannot find it in my heart to fight those white people either. All we have we owe to them. I remember what hard work I had to write a composition in English. Do you remember it?" "I believe I do, and with what labor I tried to put my words in English, so that some one would not laugh at me. I shall always remember John Turner for that. He stood by me and helped me whenever I failed, and that is one thing that makes me as good an English scholar as I am to-day." Reuben had evidently no more to say on the subject. Following an Indian's way, he turned and left John without uttering another word and went into his tepee, while John sat there on the ground occupied with his own thoughts. The hours flew by and yet he sat there without moving, and when at last the streaks of dawn appeared in the East he saw three Indians silently leave their lodges and take their way out over the prairie. These were the lookouts who had been appointed the night before to go and watch the soldiers and see that none of them left the Fort. On the summit of the nearest swell one of them sat down, drew his blanket over his head and the other two kept on out of sight. "Those poor fellows do not know that every move they make is known here in camp," said Winged Arrow, slowly rising to an upright position. "As long as they stay there inside their stockade, they are all right; but the moment they organize a train to come out and get wood, that will be the last of some of them." Winged Arrow, as we shall continue to call him, did not forget one practice he had learned among the whites, and that was to wash his hands and face. He always felt better for that, and he could not imagine why the Indians neglected it. This done, a pocket comb which he drew from some receptacle about him was brought into play, and before the Medicine Man appeared at his door, Winged Arrow was ready for anything that was to be done. One who had seen the Medicine Man as he appeared before Winged Arrow at that moment would have wondered at his claiming that man for his father. Winged Arrow was an ideal Indian. His frank and open face, always destitute of paint, was one which could not be seen without a desire to take two looks at it, and he was tall and as athletic as if he had been to a training school all his life; but the man who opened the door of his tepee and stepped out was exactly his reverse in these respects. He was tall, as the majority of Indians were, but he was bent almost half over, as if he were suffering from that Indian complaint, rheumatism, and his face, that had been daubed with paint the night before, was fearful to look upon. But for all that, he seemed to think a good deal of Winged Arrow, and his commands went far and were studiously obeyed by all the members of the tribe. Giving Winged Arrow his letter as medicine was proof of his popularity with the tribe. A grunt by way of greeting was all that passed between them. The Medicine Man kept on his way, and Winged Arrow went into the tepee to get his breakfast. The Indians are very different from white men in regard to their meals, each one breaking his fast whenever he feels the craving of his appetite. A pot, generally filled with meat and water, is placed on one side of the tepee, accompanied, if the man of the house be tolerably well off in the world, by a package of parfleche, which contains the Indian bread. If the bread is not there, the meat will do as well. A pile of ashes in the middle of the lodge tells where the meat is put to boil, and whenever an Indian is hungry he rakes together the buffalo chips, starts a blaze and puts on the pot; and when he gets too hungry to stand it any longer, he attacks the meat and eats until he is satisfied. Winged Arrow had all this to do himself, for it was too early for the women to be astir. As he sat waiting for his breakfast to be cooked, his thoughts wandered away to the school at Carlisle, and he wondered how many teachers there would have been willing to join him in his repast. "There is not one," soliloquized the young savage. "Every one of them would turn up his nose at such a breakfast as this. And yet I am here to fight just for keeping my people in this position. Oh, why did not the whites stay in their own country?" The smoke of the fire began to penetrate the tepee, until it was so thick as to be unbearable to any but an Indian. Winged Arrow waited until the meat was done and then, drawing his knife, proceeded to make as good a breakfast as he could out of boiled beef. CHAPTER XV. WHAT WINGED ARROW SAW Winged Arrow had not been at his breakfast long before he was startled by a noise and confusion in the camp outside. Any little bustle is enough to excite a feeling of alarm in an Indian, and coming as it did upon the quiet that reigned among the lodges, Winged Arrow was on his feet and out of his tepee in an instant. He turned toward the man on the highest point of the swell who had sat there with his blanket around him, and saw that he was on his feet and waving that blanket furiously aloft to attract the attention of the people in the village. He was repeating the signals that the other Indians had made to him--that there was something going on in the Fort. There could be but one explanation of his signals: The soldiers were starting a wagon train and were coming out to get wood. As he was about to turn into his tepee again, he met Reuben hurrying up. "Do you see that?" said he. "Yes, I see it," replied Winged Arrow. "Now remember that every soldier in that squad has some medicine with him that our bullets cannot penetrate. When you come back, you don't want to say to yourself: 'There is one fellow that I have wiped out.'" The boys went into their tepee only to re-appear again almost immediately. A spectator would have had to look more than once before recognizing them. They were stripped from the waist up, had bonnets on their heads, and nothing in their hands but their rifles. Neither of them carried a knife, for they did not believe in mutilating bodies that fell into their hands. Each carried a belt of cartridges which was slung around his waist. While they were going to get their horses, they heard a whoop at the lower end of the village, and the next moment Red Cloud dashed by, mounted on a snow-white pony, stripped to the waist, as all his men were, and hideously painted, "making the picture the very incarnation of exultant war." "Come, come," he cried in his native tongue, "Come to the ambush and then to victory." Red Cloud was right in his element now. He was war all over. He slung his rifle, his only weapon, around his head with frantic gestures and yelled so loudly that he drowned every other shout that was sent up by his triumphant warriors; for the Sioux looked upon their victory as certain. He was a man who would have been picked out of all that throng as a leader. He was not an hereditary chieftain, as we have explained, but his chance had come for raising the war cry over those chiefs who had signed the lease for that road. It just suited the turbulent element of his tribe, and those who did not believe in his way could just step aside and leave them the glory. But that did not suit the old chiefs who were anxious to retain their authority, and they soon found that they must acknowledge Red Cloud as their master, or be left alone with nobody to obey their orders. And thus it happened that some chiefs, some even who were friendly to the whites, joined his standard and were as fierce for battle as Red Cloud. It did not take Red Cloud's yells long to raise the fighting men of his tribe, and when he saw so many men at his disposal, he turned and led the way across the open prairie toward the Fort. There were a thousand of them all armed to the teeth. All were silent and not a shout was uttered, however much they might have felt inclined to let the soldiers know that they were coming. Some were engaged in tying feathers and ribbons in their horses' manes and tails; others put on their bonnets; and still others were busy in anointing themselves with oil and grease to make them more agile in their movements. The women gathered upon the outskirts of the village and sent up wails over the prospective death of husbands and lovers, who were going forth to battle. On reaching the ravine out of sight of the Fort, the very place where Colonel Carrington was afraid that an ambush might be formed for his troops, the most of the warriors rushed into it, while the others were sent off to annoy the cutters who were by this time at work upon the wood pile. The rest stayed in the ravine, out of sight, to be ready to assault the re-enforcements when they came up. This was the time when Guy Preston sent his first signal to the Fort and it resulted in Colonel Fetterman and his hundred men coming out to help the wood cutters. We may say before we go further, that Colonel Carrington did not believe that there was so large a village as his scouts had reported to him. Red Cloud had been so sly about his movements, making his attacks with smaller bodies of men on purpose to draw the soldiers out, and the Colonel thought that with a hundred men, all experienced Indian fighters, he would be able to hold his own with them; and that was just where he made his mistake. When the braves drew up in the ravine, Winged Arrow and Reuben were with them. They clutched their rifles with a firm hold, as if they were impatient to be in action, and all the while Winged Arrow was wondering if that fellow to whom he gave his letter were there as an escort to the wood cutters, or had he taken the young savage's advice and remained in the Fort. Red Cloud's orders to the warriors who went to attack the wood cutters were not to make a good fight, but to hang around and worry the cutters so that they could not do their work. Winged Arrow heard them yelling as they galloped up and down in obedience to these orders, and he knew, too, when the troops charged them, and when they were retreating. It kept on in this way for half an hour; then the Indian who had been sent to maintain a close watch on the Fort and tell them when to look for the re-enforcements, came down the hill in great haste, swinging his blanket around his head as he came. The re-enforcements had come, a whole cloud of them were flocking out of the Fort, and soon they would be close onto them. Now all was excitement in the ravine, and the braves leaned forward and grasped their weapons, but not a yell was uttered. Colonel Fetterman and his troops came on; the savages heard their charging shout, and the body of warriors who for the last half hour had kept up a bogus attack on the wood cutters, evidently surprised at so large a force coming out, retreated into the ambuscade. That was what the Sioux were waiting for. "Come to victory!" shouted Red Cloud. What happened next Winged Arrow could not have told; it was the first fight he had ever been in, and it was his resolve that he would never be in another. The Sioux divided right and left as they went out; he heard the rattle of firearms and saw the smoke fill the air, and all the while he was circling around close at the heels of a big warrior who was shouting as if he were going wild, and his rifle spoke as often as he could push in the cartridges. He did not know where the bullets went and he did not care. He aimed high, and was certain that he did not hit anybody. At the end of half an hour it was all over. A succession of whoops and yells from one section of the battlefield told him that the fighting was done, and he drew rein upon his wearied horse and waited until the smoke had cleared away, so he could see what the warriors had done. Of the men who came out with Colonel Fetterman, not one remained. The field, as far as he could see it from the smoke that settled over it, was covered with men in blue uniforms and horses which were killed while doing their utmost to take their riders to a place of safety. Winged Arrow took no part in searching for plunder which commenced immediately. He rode over the field, taking care that his horse did not step upon any of the dead men, looking in vain for Guy Preston, for of course he did not know that Guy, securely sheltered by the picket tower, had seen almost as much of the fight as he had himself. At last the wood cutters train came up the hill bound for the Fort. Red Cloud was entirely satisfied with what he had done, or the braves did not want to face the leaden bullets in the soldiers' rifles, for they did not make any serious attempt to capture the wagons. He lost a few men in charges he made upon it, and then allowed it to go on in peace. Winged Arrow saw before he had surveyed the whole battlefield that the Sioux had not escaped unharmed. Although the braves moved at a headlong gallop, trusting to their speed to escape any balls that might be sent after them, some of them went into that fight for the last time. Here and there, scattered about among the blue coats, was a Sioux warrior, with all his war paint yet upon him, whose medicine had not been strong enough to keep off some soldier's bullets, and he was taken up and carried to the village, in order to save the scalp upon his head. If that were removed, his relatives would not go to the trouble of burying him. "Do you find that fellow here?" asked Reuben, riding up at this moment. "No; he is in the Fort," said Winged Arrow. "I think that letter did him some good." The two friends stayed by each other while the plundering was going on, and their hearts grew sick when they saw the mutilations which some of the warriors practiced upon the dead bodies of the soldiers. At length the lookout (for the Indians always have them when they are engaged in a massacre), told them that still another squad of re-enforcements was leaving the Fort, a large squad it was too, fully equal to the one they had whipped, and in an instant all was confusion again. The Indians were getting ready to retreat, and as soon as Major Powell's troops appeared above the summit of the swell upon which stood the picket tower, they took a few shots at him by way of farewell, and speedily went out of sight. Not a single prisoner had been taken by the Indians. To quote from one of the chiefs, who afterward told the story to one of our soldiers, "the Sioux were too mad." They killed every one they came to, hoping that the whites would get weary of trying to open the road and that they would abandon the Fort in disgust. And this was the way that John Turner and Reuben Robinson behaved in every fight in which they were engaged. They always made two of the attacking party, and whooped and yelled as loud as anybody, and always took their chances of death with the others; but every bullet they fired went wild, and they never had to say when they returned to camp, "There was one fellow that I wiped out." They could not forget the kindness and favors they had experienced at the hands of the whites. While the troops under Major Powell had passed the picket tower and were hesitating whether or not to go down to the battlefield and run the risk of bringing off the dead, Guy and Amos were seated on the steps, while the latter's arm was thrown around him protectingly, and Amos was relating the story of the massacre. "You have seen more of it than I did, for you were up here where you had a good view," said Amos. "But the Colonel thought I had better come and tell you that the Fort was keeping watch over you." "I am grateful to know that," said Guy between his sobs. "I did the best I could." "Of course you did, and the Colonel appreciates it; but the only thing you are sorry for is that you asked for help when nobody told you to. Don't let that worry you. The Colonel will not say a word to you about it." "If you please, sir," said the soldier, who had been left on the top of the tower to watch Major Powell's movements, "The Major has left the ridge." Guy and Amos jumped to their feet and went up to the top, and a signal to that effect was at once sent to the Fort. No answer came in response to it, and the young officers became aware that it was all right. For two hours they turned their glasses first toward the swells to see that the Sioux did not come back to assault them, and then toward the soldiers who were tenderly gathering up the dead, but nothing occurred that was worthy of note. All the soldiers obtained were a hundred dead bodies, but not a single thing in the way of arms or ammunition. Everything had gone with the retreating Sioux. They came along on their way to the Fort after a while, and seeing that Guy was watching them with interest, Major Powell sent an officer to communicate with him. "All are gone," said he, returning Guy's salute. "Did you see it?" "I saw some of it," said Guy with a shudder. "I don't want to speak of it. I suppose I am the only officer left in our Company." "It looks that way to me. You don't want to go to sleep at all to-night, for the Sioux may be down on you." When the officer moved away, Amos decided that he would go back to the Fort also, and thus Guy was left alone with his three soldiers for company. He sat down on his block with his head resting on his hands, and in that way he remained almost all night. CHAPTER XVI. AFTER THE MASSACRE The night that followed the massacre was passed by those who took part in it in a very different manner. The dead had all been brought in and were laid out in three several rooms until the time of their burial, covered by all the flags that the Fort could raise, and sentries were keeping guard over them. Colonel Carrington had been in once to see them, but the sight was almost too much for him. He left hastily bathed in tears, and everybody who had business with him that night took note of the fact that he was a very different man from what he had seemed to be before he ordered out the re-enforcements. He continually said to Major Powell, who stayed with him almost all night:-- "I don't care one cent what the authorities say to me. If some of them had been here, they would have done just the same as I did. But sending out all these men who have obeyed my every order for so long a time is what grieves me. I wish I had been out there with them." In the Sioux camp there was a big pow-wow held by those who had been in the massacre, if we except Winged Arrow and his friend. They sat a little apart from the others and watched the scalp dance, but took no part in it. Their feelings went out to the mourners who were gathered in their lodges and were sending up loud wails of grief over the sons and brothers whose medicine had not been strong enough to protect them from the bullets of the doomed soldiers. Winged Arrow and Reuben said not a word to each other, and when they grew tired of watching the scalp dance, they went to bed; but slumber was something that would not come at call. All night long the yells and whoops of the triumphant Indians rang in their ears, but they were not thinking of them. "All this amounts to nothing," was what Winged Arrow kept saying to himself. "They are making a big noise over the death of one hundred soldiers, but they do not take into consideration the thirty-six millions that are to come after them. Where they kill one now, ten will spring up to take their place. As soon as this gets to Washington, the enemy will send re-enforcements here that the Sioux never dreamed of. We are doomed; I can see that plainly enough." To go back to the Fort again--there was Cyrus, the scout, lying on his bunk, sadly shaken up by this day's work. He glanced at the empty cracker boxes on which Tony and Mike had sat the evening before. They were laid out with the others, and to-morrow would see them covered by the earth over which they had often trod full of health and strength. How long would it be before such would be his fate? But Cyrus did not stop to think of that. His companions had fallen by the Sioux, and there was nothing for him to do but to avenge them. From that day Cyrus resolved that no Sioux should cross his trail and live to tell of it. No matter what treaties the government entered into with them, there would be always one who did not sign it. "Cyrus, the Colonel wants to see you," said an Orderly, breaking in on his meditations. "That's me," said Cyrus, getting up and putting on his moccasins, which he had thrown off on lying down. "If anybody asks you to-morrow where Cyrus is, tell him that you don't know. I will either get those dispatches through, or I will be in the same boat with Tony and Mike." "Are you going to try them again?" asked the Orderly. "Yes, sir. And I am going through with them. Do you understand?" Cyrus followed the Orderly, who led the way to the Colonel's quarters and found him in his shirt sleeves pacing up and down his narrow room. He could not be easy unless he was in motion, and even then he would stop occasionally, take his hands from his pockets and rumple up his hair as though he did not know what he was doing with himself. Major Powell was there, seated on a camp chair, with his head resting on his hands. The Major could not get over the massacre. Every time he tried to talk about it, he was obliged to stop, for his sobs broke his utterance. "Sit down, Cyrus," said the Colonel in a husky voice. "Are you all ready to start now?" "As ready as I ever shall be, Kurn," replied Cyrus. "But I don't want to sit down." "Then there are your dispatches. I don't need to tell you----" "You don't need to tell me anything, Kurn. I know just what you want to say. Those dispatches shall go through, or you will never see Cyrus again. Tony and Mike are killed, and I don't see that there is anything left for me." "Be careful that you don't get yourself into trouble, while you are avenging them," said the Major, lifting his head for a moment from his hands. "We cannot afford to spare you." "I shall take good care of myself, Major. Whenever you hear that I am gone, you may know that two Indians have gone with me." Cyrus took the papers that the Colonel handed him and proceeded to look them over. The first one he came to was Winged Arrow's letter. This one he laid on the table. The next one was the "bogus dispatch," and this one he placed by the side of the first. The third was the dispatch which the Colonel was so anxious to have go through, and that he put into his pocket. "Cyrus, you mean to see the commanding officer of Fort Robinson before you see us again, don't you?" said the Colonel, who had watched the scout's movements. "You don't mean to fall into the hands of the Sioux again." "No, sir, I don't. I will leave that first paper here and I will trouble you to place it in the hands of the owner when he comes. This war is not yet over." The post commander seated himself in the nearest chair, while the Major raised his head and looked hard at Cyrus. "Do you think we are going to have another massacre?" was the question that arose to the lips of both of them. "I don't know about that; but you know that the Sioux won't be satisfied with one killing. If Guy happens to fall into their hands, he will need something to bring him out. Good-by, I may not see you again, but you may bet your bottom dollar that I will get through, if I am alive." The scout seized the Colonel's hand, and the length of time he held fast to it was all the evidence that anybody needed to show him the consideration in which he held him. The Colonel told him that he was his only hope, but Cyrus shook his head and did not say anything in reply. The Major could not say anything. He arose and shook him hastily by the hand, and then seated himself on his chair as before, and rested his head on his extended palms. Another moment and the scout was gone. "This will kill me and I know it," said the Colonel, resuming his walk about the room. "I don't wish any harm to befall those superior in power to myself, but I wish that General could be down here for about five minutes and feel the responsibility that rests upon me. He would send some help without any asking." That was a long night to the two officers commanding the Fort, for neither of them thought of going to bed. The Colonel paced the room, and the Major sat with his head resting on his hands. It was longer still to the lonely watcher on the picket tower, who kept close view of the prairie surrounding him, lest the Sioux should slip up and try to add to the number of victims by taking a sly shot at him or his men when they did not think there was any one around. He had appealed to his men time and time again to know if he did his full duty when posted there to pass the signals, but their assurance that his conduct could not be blamed and that any other officer placed in the same position would do the same, did not fully satisfy him. He had been up there while a hundred men were massacred almost within reach of him, and had not done a thing to prevent it. The two young officers, for whom he cherished an affection of which some brothers might have been proud were gone and why should he be left? "Why did not one of them change places with me?" he kept constantly repeating to himself. "I would have gone readily, and now I would have been beyond the reach of the Colonel's reprimand or his frown. But there are the folks at home. What would they have said about it?" Daylight came at last, and once more Guy leveled his binoculars on the prairie, but no signs of the Sioux could be seen. Then he looked at the Fort, and saw preparations for guard mount going on, and that a Company was ready to keep guard over them while his relief was coming out to the tower. It came at last and a sorry-looking lot of men they were. They had seen the bodies laid out in the store rooms, and they could not get over it. In reply to Guy's hurried questioning, the Lieutenant said:-- "You would have thought, if you could have seen the smiles that were on Perkins's and Brigham's faces, that they had furloughs to go home and see the friends from whom they have been so long separated. They didn't act scared a bit. But I tell you, it is just awful. Captain Brown and a few old timers must have killed themselves, for they were not mutilated in the least. The other officers were all scalped." "Did the Colonel have anything to say about my signaling?" asked Guy. It was all he could do to ask this question, but he managed to get it out at last. "Not a word. You did the best you could, and that is all anybody can do. You have nothing to do but to look out for the Sioux, I suppose?" "And keep a watch on the Fort for signals," added Guy. "I hope your stay up here will be more pleasant than mine has been. Fall in, men, and we will go down to the Fort." The Adjutant and the officer of the day met him when he came in and reported, and after saying "Very good, sir," continued in a solemn tone:-- "You saw more of that fight than we did. It is awful, is it not? The Colonel wants to see you." "He wants to know why I made some signals, I suppose," said Guy. "What signals?" "Why, I told him that Fetterman needed help, when that signal was not made to me at all." "Oh, that is all right. The Colonel will not say anything about that. You saw what a fix he was in." Guy found the Colonel as we have seen him before, and the Major still sitting in his camp chair. They had been out to breakfast to drink a cup of coffee, and that was all. "Sit down, Preston," said the Colonel, waving his hand toward a chair. "You saw it all, did you not?" "The smoke would not let me see a great deal of it, sir," said Guy. "I want to say that I have got back and that I repeated every one of your signals that I saw." "And some you did not see," put in the Colonel. "However, that was all right. I am not going to find any fault with you for that. Sit down. Now begin at the beginning and tell me all that you saw." It did not take Guy long to do that, for, as he dwelt upon it, the scenes of the massacre came so vividly to his mind that he did not want to speak of them at all. The officers listened, the Colonel now and then making some marks on a piece of paper which he drew toward him. He took Guy's recital down as a part of the report he was going to make out for his superior officer. When Guy was through they asked him some questions in regard to the massacre which he did not see on account of the smoke, and then told him that he could go. Guy went, feeling a great deal better than he did while he was making those signals from the tower. He went in alone to view the officers and men who had fallen in the massacre of the day before, and what he saw there is beyond our power to describe. Perkins and Brigham were not scalped, and the smiles he saw on their faces reminded him of the one Arthur wore when he told Guy that he was not to ask the Colonel for anything on his part,--he was bound to go with his Company and take part in the fight, and the first fight he got into was the last. Guy did not look any further. Tears blinded his eyes and he came out and went into the mess room. But he could not stay there long either. The vacant chairs called to mind those who were gone, and he finally turned into his own room, where he tumbled into bed with his face toward the wall. "They are all gone, and there's no telling how soon I may be in their place," he moaned. Filled with such thoughts as these he soon fell asleep. CHAPTER XVII. RE-ENFORCEMENTS ARRIVE For a week after the massacre, Guy Preston and all the other officers and men of the Fort acted as if they were in a dream. The orders were given in a low tone of voice, the men responded to them with a silent touch of their caps, for every one seemed to think that it would not be long before they would be laid out awaiting burial, or be doomed to a worse fate in the Sioux camp. Guy was there during the burial of the men--he was one of twenty soldiers who fired the shots over their graves--and then he braced up, dashed the tears from his eyes, and tried to do his duty as he did before. He had ten men who had been detailed for various other duties when the Company was ordered out, and he was the sole officer in command of them. Guy was not long in missing his old friend Cyrus, whose fate no one knew. Did he get through in safety with his dispatches, or was he captured by the Sioux who had taken revenge upon him for the braves they had lost during the massacre? One morning, just after Guy had come off duty during the night, the Colonel sent for him, but it was not to reprimand him. He saw that as soon as he got into his room. The Colonel had a paper in his hand which he handed to Guy. "There is your medicine," said he. "Cyrus wanted me to give it to you under the impression that you might some day fall into the power of those thievish rascals outside." "Why--why did not Cyrus take it with him, sir?" stammered Guy. "No; he said the war was not yet over, and you might some day need it. You do not intend to be a prisoner in the hands of those fellows, do you?" "No, sir," said Guy hastily. "They kill everybody who falls a captive to them. And what is the reason Cyrus would not take it with him, sir? I am afraid he----" "Well, go on," said the Colonel, after waiting a moment or two for Guy to say what he was afraid of, "Do you think he has been captured?" "I think he would have been safer, if he had taken this letter with him, sir," replied the young officer. "Yes; but you know it has saved one civilian and the next must be a soldier." "That is so, sir. I will put it right there among the little money I have left, and I hope it may do me some good, if I chance to fall into their power. Don't you think it is about time to hear from Cyrus, sir?" "I do; but if he has met with the usual luck that some of our scouts do, it may be another week before we get news of him." The Colonel picked up some papers which were lying near him on the desk, thus intimating that their interview was at an end; but there was one more question that Guy wanted to have answered before he left. "Do you think he has got through in safety, sir?" said he. "That is hard to tell," replied the Colonel slowly. "Cyrus is a brave man, and if he fails I don't know what we shall do. That's all, Guy." "Cyrus has failed," said Guy to himself, as he put on his cap and left the room, "I could see that by the way the Colonel looked. By George! I wonder what will be the next move the Sioux will make? Well, if worse comes to worst I will have to go. I wish I could see my mother once before my time comes." Guy stopped after he passed the Orderly and dashed some tears from his eyes. He was the commander of a Company now, and it would look very unseemly for him to be found that way by any of his men. He took his way to his room, that room which he occupied all by himself now, and then the tears came forth afresh, until Guy began to be ashamed of his conduct. He rolled over and tried to catch the slumber he so much needed, but when the Orderly came to call him to dinner he was wide awake. But the Colonel was wrong in his predictions. Three days passed and then a horseman was seen rapidly approaching the Fort. The sentry called the corporal of the guard, and that officer did not stay beside him for more than a moment when he shouted:-- "There comes Cyrus!" Guy was off duty then, and he lost no time in climbing up beside the sentry. The horseman was still so far away that they could not see his face, but the way he waved his hat around his head and used it to urge his horse to greater speed proclaimed who the newcomer was. The Colonel was out by that time, and Guy turned to him with a face that was beaming over with pleasure. "It is Cyrus, sure enough, sir!" he exclaimed, "Re-enforcements are not far off." In a quarter of an hour the horseman, mounted on a nag that was almost tired out, dashed through all the men assembled at the gate, and presently was shaking hands with everybody that could get around him. It was the scout sure enough, and judging by the grin that was on his face he was glad to get back. "Halloo, Guy," he shouted. "I haven't time to speak to you all now, only to grasp your hands and say that I am overjoyed to see you all above ground. Help is coming. Where's the Colonel?" So Cyrus got through, after all. The story he told after he had reported to the Colonel did not amount to much in passing through his hands. He had not seen a hostile Indian from the time he left Fort Phil Kearney until his journey was safely accomplished. The pow-wow the Sioux held on the night of the massacre "threw them all crazy," as Cyrus had predicted, and there was not one to dispute his attempt to reach Fort Robinson. "The General was awful uneasy about us, because he did not hear anything," said the scout, in conclusion, "and he was on the point of sending three hundred men to see about it; and I tell you he packed them off in a hurry as soon as I got there." "Bully for the three hundred men," said Guy. "Are they coming now behind you?" "Yes, sir. They are coming as fast as they can. We have got men enough now to get that village out of there and make them take to the hills where they belong. Well, Guy, the Sioux have not scalped you yet. Have you been out after any more sage hens?" "No, sir, and I don't think I shall go any more until we get the Sioux out of there. Cyrus, you must have had a terrible time of it." "Oh, nothing to speak of. I went out on purpose to get to Fort Robinson, and I went. I wonder if you have anything to eat in the house? We have been in such haste to get here that we did not stop to cook any breakfast." Guy took Cyrus under his charge and conducted him into the mess room, intending to hear more of his story when he got him by himself; but before he could ask him to go on with it, a cheering arose out by the gate and Cyrus was left to finish his breakfast alone. There they were, three hundred infantrymen, who were moving with weary steps as if it was all they could do to drag one foot after the other--for they had made a forced march since they left Fort Robinson--but the way the garrison greeted them showed them that their trouble was over. Colonel Smith was there, vigorously shaking hands with Colonel Carrington, and when the two were through welcoming each other, they went into the commander's headquarters. The troops assembled on the parade ground, and when they had broken ranks, Guy speedily hunted up the Second Lieutenants, one of whom he found to his astonishment to be an old schoolmate of his. They had been at West Point together, had graduated at the same time, one being ordered to the Cavalry and the other to the Infantry. It took some little time for Guy to recognize Fred Bolton in this muddy, travel-stained boy, but when he saw the smile that beamed upon his face, and his extended hand, the old schoolboy came back to him, and catching Fred around the waist he fairly raised him from the ground. "Fred, old boy, how are you?" he exclaimed, as he swung him around once or twice before he put him on the ground again. "Say," replied Fred, gently untangling himself from Guy's detaining hands. "Have you an apple about you?" "An apple?" echoed Guy, not understanding the question. "Or peanuts; anything that will do to eat. I am so hungry that I can smell the bacon in the storehouse clear out here." "Why, come in," said Guy. "The Sioux have kept us on pretty short rations, but I guess I can give you bacon enough to satisfy you." Guy was introduced to the other Second Lieutenants as they were going to the mess room, and the first thing the boys asked him about was the massacre. "Did they whoop and yell as the storybooks tell about?" said one of the newcomers. "Tell us all about it, please. We have never seen an Indian fight and we want to know what is in store for us." "Don't ask me about it," said Guy. "But you must have seen some of it, and we should like to know how it looked," insisted Fred. "What is the reason you were not in it? Was not your Company ordered out?" Guy saw that there was no chance for him to plead ignorance, and while the boys were waiting for their bacon and hard-tack he went into the particulars of the fight, getting through with them as soon as he possibly could. The Second Lieutenants must have seen how badly he felt about it, and did not ask him any more questions; but when he came to tell of Winged Arrow's medicine, they looked incredulous. They were too polite to interrupt him, but exchanged significant glances with one another as if to ask what their companions thought about it. "I don't ask you to believe my word, but here is the evidence," said Guy, producing his pocketbook. "That letter has saved the life of one scout, and if I fall into their hands while I have that letter about me, I shall expect that it will save my own." Of course there was much to talk about and a good deal of time taken to tell it, for the supports were not expected to go on duty that day. They were given time to rest after their long, fatiguing march, and they made the most of it. At dress parade the men appeared in fine order, and then they received notice of what they were to do on the following day. Their force was strong enough now to assume the offensive, and to-morrow morning a battalion of three hundred men would start out to break up that Sioux village and, as Cyrus had said, "drive them into the hills where they belonged." Colonel Smith was to be in charge of the troops, with Major Powell second in command. There was one thing that made Guy grow an inch taller when the order was read: his small company of men were not to be left out after all. There were a hundred cavalry to go with the troops, to serve as eyes for them, and Guy and his company were to make part of them. "I hope the Colonel will lead us across that battlefield," said Fred, as they returned to their quarters. "Oh, he will," said Guy. "But we will not see anything--nothing but the spot where brave men offered up their lives to try and 'pacify' those Sioux. We will see the signal tower too. I hope that when you go there to take charge of it, you will see a better time than I did." "Well, wait until a history of this thing gets to Washington, and we will see help coming out here enough to annihilate those Sioux. The General was sorely put out about it, and he sent a dispatch that will make those fellows open their eyes." Morning came at length, and with it came the men who were to compose the expedition, forming on the parade ground in view of all the officers. There was one thing about it that Guy always disliked to see, and that was their ammunition and provision train. Before the troops could go into a fight with the Indians, they would be obliged to take care of that train, because when that was lost, everything they had was lost. The hostiles would make an attack upon that train first, paying no attention to the other men, and if they could stampede that, their-success was assured. The Indians did not believe in taking any train with them. All the ammunition and food they needed during their raids were carried on their horses, and if they were worsted in the fight they got out of the way with wonderful celerity and their ammunition and food went with them. Fred and the other newcomers who had arrived with the re-enforcements the day before gazed with interest at the picket tower, saw that the soldiers who had come to relieve them took the place of the men who had stayed there all night, and then went on to the battlefield. As Guy had said they found nothing there, not even a bayonet with which the soldiers had endeavored to defend themselves, for the Sioux had searched the field thoroughly and everything had disappeared. "Here's where Captain Brown and three others defended themselves," said Major Powell, drawing Colonel Smith's attention to a place in the rocks where the grass was all trampled down and empty cartridge shells were scattered all about. "They must have made sure play for some of those fiends who came at them. Captain Brown killed himself right here." It was a gloomy place, the battlefield that but a short time before had resounded with the war cry of the fierce Sioux and the rattle of carbines from the soldiers, and Guy was glad when they left it behind. Something kept telling him that he was going to see trouble before he came back, but he banished all such thoughts and had no place for them. His work lay in the expedition before him, and to that he gave the whole of his attention. In a short time the memory of the scene through which he had passed left him, and he was ready to join in with what the others had to propose, so long as it did not attract the attention of their commanding officer, Major Powell. So it is with soldiers the world over. A disastrous battle, during which so many of their old friends, perhaps their own tentmates, have gone to their long home, will depress their spirits for a time, and they welcome anything, no matter how trivial it is, that will draw their thoughts away to other matters and make them soldiers as they were before. In due time they reached the site whereon the Sioux village had stood while they were engaged in the massacre, and where everything denoted that they had abandoned it with the utmost haste. Plunder of every sort which goes to make up the wealth of the Indian was scattered about, and beside the lodge poles, for the tents were gone, were the remains of half a dozen Indian ponies that had been sacrificed to go with their owners to the Happy Hunting Grounds. "I don't understand the meaning of that," said Fred Bolton. "Did they kill their ponies on purpose?" "Certainly," said Guy. "The Indian ponies have spirits as well as their masters; and when one is killed and his scalp not removed----" "Do their scalps have anything to do with it?" "Of course they do. If you scalp an Indian, his body becomes so much carrion which is not worthy of a burial; but if his friends can save the Indian without letting him fall into our hands, he is given all the rites that an Indian can think of. These ponies will go with him to the spirit land, and if we had time to hunt up the places where the owners are buried, we would find there their rifles, matches, scalping knives, and every other thing they need to go right to work." Guy had many things to tell the newcomers, and during the two weeks that the expedition was out he had plenty of time around his camp fire at night to tell them all he knew about the hostile Indians. What he did not know the guides took up, and if the new men did not learn something about the Sioux before they got through, it was their own fault. They generally told some funny stories, but a wink from Guy told how much of them they had better believe. CHAPTER XVIII. A PRISONER AT LAST "So this is scouting for Indians, is it?" exclaimed Fred, when the bugle blew one morning and Guy began buckling on his sword. "We have been out two weeks, and during that time we have not seen one single Indian, nor the sign of one. I thought they would be all around us. That is the way they act in storybooks." "We are not dealing with storybooks now, but with solid flesh-and-blood Sioux," said Guy, who was making all haste to answer the bugle call. "We have seen signs enough, even if we have not seen Indians. We have followed their trail for a week, and that is as much as I want to see." "But why don't we follow them up and whip them? All we have to do is to go back there in the 'bad lands,' and there we would find them." Before we go any further we should like to inquire if you have any idea of how these "bad lands" look. We have often heard that hostile Indians find refuge there when badly pressed by the troops, but how do they appear and in what shape are they? You have often seen a clay field after a long and hot drought in summer, how it is seamed over with innumerable cracks, perfectly perpendicular, leaving miniature chasms between. This, magnified by a thousand, are the "bad lands" of the Northwest. They are immense patches of clay soil, baked by the long and intense drought of that climate into chasms four or five feet wide and perhaps twenty feet deep, absolutely impassable for wagons, quagmires in the early spring, and a labyrinth of deep gullies in summer. The hostiles know every one of these ravines, where it leads to and the springs of water that are to be found on the banks of it, and the troops that are sent after them do not. Once fairly inside the "bad lands," the Indians disappear and leave no trace behind. "We do not want to be whipped badly enough to go into those 'bad lands,'" said Guy, with a laugh. "The moment Colonel Smith saw where the trail led to, he said that we were not strong enough to go in there after them, and when he said that, he hit me right on top of the head. I don't want to go in there either. I am perfectly willing to go back to the Fort, without seeing any of them. You don't know how an ambush looks. I have seen one of them from a distance, and I don't want to see another." "Well, good-by, if you call that going," said Fred, as Guy swung himself upon his horse. "Keep your eyes open, and don't let any Sioux come down on us." Guy fell in beside his Company, waved his hand as a farewell signal to Fred, and rode out with the cavalrymen to act as eyes for the infantry, who were guarding the train. These marched along pretty nearly as they pleased, giving no thought to danger, for they knew that the cavalry, who skirted their flanks at a distance of three or four miles, would see the Sioux long before they could and easily warn them, so that they could get into line of battle. Presently the bugle sounded again, and that was a call for Fred. In a few minutes the entire expedition was under way, bound for the Fort, without having seen a warrior since they had been out. "They are all in the 'bad lands,'" said Colonel Smith, who felt somewhat crestfallen over his bad luck. "I really wish that I had about four times as many men as I have with me. I would follow them into their retreats and drive them out." That was the way that more than one man felt in regard to the disappearing Sioux, and many a soldier clutched his piece with a firmer grip and cast his eyes toward the hills on which he had last seen the cavalry, in the hope that they would come over the swells in haste with the report that the Sioux were not far behind them. That would give him a chance to knock over one or two to pay them for the number they had killed during the massacre at the Fort. That was something the soldiers could not get out of their minds. They had already made it up among them that "Remember Fort Phil Kearney" should be their battle cry the next time they went into action. And the opportunity came for them much sooner than they had expected. They had marched until pretty near twelve o'clock and the commanders were holding a consultation about what they had better do for dinner, whether to halt the column at the top of the nearest swell and have dinner there, or go on until four o'clock and then have dinner and supper together, when suddenly, and without the least warning, they heard the rattle of carbines behind the nearest hill on the right. A squad of cavalry, numbering perhaps twenty men or more, had discovered the Sioux. They had seen the squad more than half an hour before, and they were going along as if everything were all right. "Indians! Indians!" burst from a score of throats. "Remember Fort Phil Kearney!" chimed in some others. "That is Guy's squad, as sure as you live," exclaimed Fred, and his face turned a little pale as he drew his sword from its scabbard. "I guess Guy knows how it is to see an ambush close by." "Major Powell, take two hundred men and hurry to help that cavalry," shouted Colonel Smith. "The others are to guard the wagons. Lieutenant Bowen, we will keep right ahead at the rate we were going. Close up, everybody." These orders were obeyed almost as soon as they were issued. By the time the one hundred men had closed up about the wagons, Major Powell had brought his men together, and moving at double quick they ran toward the hill which separated them from the view of the hostiles. Fred's company was with Major Powell, and although the color had not come back to his face, he did his duty as though they were going out for drill. "Close up, men. Don't lag behind," was the way in which he urged them to keep up their formation, although before he was half way to the swell he was "winded," and would have been glad to sit down for a rest. There were other things besides the rattle of carbines to which the men had to listen. Before they had gone many steps a whole chorus of loud and fiendish yells came plainly to their ears, and caused the hearts of some of the soldiers to beat a trifle faster. A moment afterward the remnant of the squad of cavalry they had come out to help suddenly appeared at the top of the hill. Fred took one look at it and the fears which he had before experienced came back to him with redoubled force. "Only six men left," said he to himself. "They numbered twenty at first. What has become of the balance?" A few steps more and the whole matter was revealed to him. Of course there were orders to be obeyed, such as "Aim! Right oblique, fire!" and their bullets whistled over fifteen or more Sioux who, lying flat upon their horses' backs, were rapidly leaving the field; but in spite of them all, Fred had time to look about him and to see, if he could, what had become of his friend, Guy Preston. "By gracious!" exclaimed one man. "They have some prisoners with them." "Where, where?" stammered Fred. "Don't you see those feet hanging out over the side of that horse that is just going over the hill?" replied the soldier. "There's another and another. My fingers are all thumbs, and I don't see why I cannot load my gun. Shoot those men. They are taking some captives away with them." The soldiers were keenly alive to the fate of their prisoners, and more than one bullet was aimed for the warriors who had them on their horses; but they all flew wild, and before the men could load their guns again the last of the Sioux had disappeared. It was merely a bold dash. The Sioux had intended to wipe out a squad of cavalry and had succeeded. The other squads of cavalry were sent off as fast as they came, until there were nearly a hundred in pursuit of the Sioux; but all to no avail. They got a few shots at them, and that was all. Meanwhile the infantry had broken ranks and spread themselves over this new battlefield of the Sioux--to succor the wounded, if there were any, and to bury the dead. The first proved unnecessary because there was not a wounded man on the field; the Indians had made sure work of them. Fred was hunting for Guy. He was not among those who retreated to the top of the swell, so he must be among the dead or else-- "It is awful to think of," murmured Fred, who was almost afraid to go any further, for fear that his prediction might come out true. "I declare, there is his horse. Shot through the head. But where is Guy?" Tom, the horse which Guy had told the Colonel could beat any Indian pony that ever lived, had met his end at last, but his rider was gone. His saddlebags were there, but everything in the way of weapons had disappeared. Guy had been carried away by the Sioux, when they retreated. While Fred stood wondering what was to be his fate, one of the soldiers who had been at the Fort at the time of the massacre stepped up and touched his cap to him. "Did you know Cyrus, sir?" said he. "Cyrus?" repeated Fred. "What was his other name?" "He hasn't any that I know of, sir," replied the soldier. "I just wanted to tell you that he is among the dead." Fred accompanied the soldier to the spot where Cyrus lay, but he took one look at him before he turned away. He did not want to see any more of a battlefield, and he would have been glad, if he had never seen it at all. Cyrus lay as he had fallen from his horse, with a scowl of hatred upon his features, and the mark upon his shirt just above his heart told how he had given up his life. "Why don't we fall in and go away from here?" said Fred impatiently. "I wish I were back at the Fort." "This isn't anything to what the old battlefield was, sir. With Mr. Preston gone and Cyrus done up for good, it seems as though we have lost everything worth living for." And where was Guy Preston during all this time? He fell in with his men in response to the call and rode away on the right to keep watch for the Sioux. Their squad of twenty men was led by a First Lieutenant, a bold fighter, but rather inexperienced, so far as Indian tactics were concerned. But Cyrus was with him, and if the Lieutenant followed his advice, it was likely that he would keep out of trouble. Until twelve o'clock they saw nothing but the prairie on each side of them; they thought that they were alone, but Cyrus thought he knew a little better than that. "You can't always tell about these thievish rascals that we are after," said he, as he rode forward with the officer. "Now there is a place that is the best kind for an ambush. When you come to a deep gully like that, you want to do one of two things: either keep out of the way of it entirely, or go a mile or two above the opening and cross there." "Why, if there were any Sioux in there, they would get out," said the Lieutenant. "Of course, and that is what you want. If the Indians were in there, they would be right in the mouth of the gully; and they are too sharp to let you get behind them. They would dig out." This advice was all right, if the Lieutenant had seen fit to follow it; but he chose to do as he pleased about keeping away from the ravines. Three or four of them were passed in this way and still he saw no Sioux; and finally he began to think that Cyrus was talking merely because he had nothing else to do. Of course this made Cyrus very angry, and he fell back until he could speak to Guy. "That Lieutenant knows more than anybody else on the job," said he, "but you will see some fun before long." "I suppose that he thinks the hostiles are all in the 'bad lands,'" replied Guy. "They would not come out just to follow us up, would they?" "The only safe Indian is a dead Indian. Of course they would come out even for the sake of shooting at us. There! What did I tell you? We are gone up." While Cyrus was talking in this way the squad happened to cross one of those ravines that opened into the prairie along which they were traveling, and seemed to be deserted like the rest; but in an instant it became alive with Sioux. They did not yell when they made their charge as they almost always did, for they did not want the men who were behind the swells to know anything about their attack until they were through with it, but came out silently and swiftly and opened fire upon the soldiers before they knew it. It seemed as if half the men and horses went down at the first volley. The Lieutenant was greatly surprised, but he was still untouched, and prepared to do his duty as any soldier should. "Steady, there!" he shouted. "Right front into line! Revolvers! Give them the best you've got!" The next moment the officer raised his hands above his head and fell from his horse, but the rest of the soldiers heard his command and obeyed it. When Guy was fairly turned toward the Indians he was thunderstruck, for there seemed to be no end to them. He had just time to draw his revolver and fire twice, when he felt himself pitched headlong on the prairie. Tom would never get frightened and run away with him again. Guy was stunned, so forcibly had he struck the ground, and before he could get his wits about him or make a move to draw that loaded Derringer he carried in his hip pocket, he felt himself seized by the collar and lifted bodily from the ground. To be sure he struggled and made an effort to get hold of his saber which hung from his wrist, but of what use was it while he was taken at every disadvantage? Ere he was aware of it, he had been thrown across a mustang in front of a stalwart rider, his feet swaying from one side of the horse and his head bobbing up and down on the other, and was being carried rapidly away. He was helpless. The warrior held him by the throat with one hand and with the other hand he lifted his rifle and shook it at the soldiers, while he raised a shout of defiance at them. The soldiers saw Guy as he was carried away in this manner, and more than one bullet sped toward the brave that had captured him; but in their excitement the soldiers all shot wild. Guy was a prisoner now, and his medicine that had been given to him by Winged Arrow was the only thing that could avail him. Was that medicine strong enough to help him? CHAPTER XIX. CONCLUSION It seemed to Guy Preston that the rider who held him in position on his mustang would break his body in two before his horse had taken many more of his frantic leaps. You will remember that the only place he touched the horse was on the small of his back, with his head dangling on one side of it and his feet on the other; but it seemed to be all one to the warrior, who shook his rifle and shouted at the soldiers as if he were in high glee. He struggled to the best of his ability, and when at last it seemed to him that he would grow wild over the agony he was in, everything grew blank to him, and from that time he was as helpless as a dead boy. He knew nothing of the efforts the cavalry had made to rescue him; and when his captor wanted to stop to breathe his horse, he threw the boy to the ground as if he had been a bag of corn. The motion seemed to revive Guy. He struck on his feet, made three or four efforts to recover himself, and then sank down, regardless of his fate. The warriors had all stopped to rest their horses, for they believed that the pursuit was over. The spot where they paused was in one of the ravines that led to the "bad lands," and while one or two of their number remained on the hills to note the movements of their pursuers, the others gathered around their prisoners and went into ecstasies over them. "Hoopla!" said one who seemed to have a little smattering of English. "Nice time the squaws have to-night. Take um scalp and burn um." These words aroused Guy and he sat up on the ground. He thought of Winged Arrow's medicine, and put his hand into his pocket to see if he could find it; but the Indians, believing that he was looking for a weapon, rushed upon him and stretched him again upon the earth, while one drew his scalping knife and yelled as if he were going to use it. He seized Guy by the hair and passed his knife around it, and when he arose to his feet he had a handful of it, which he shook in the boy's face. Guy's heart seemed to stop beating. Were his captors going to scalp him alive? He put his hand to his head and found, greatly to his relief, that although his hair was gone, his skin was there as usual. A roar of laughter was the result, and when it was ended one of the braves said:-- "Brave boy. To-night stake him out on ground. Then take scalp sure enough." It was something to know that they were going to take him to the village before they began torturing him, and Guy at once became more at his ease and began to look around among his captors to see if Winged Arrow was there. He did not see him, and he concluded that he would let his letter go until he could see him or find some means to send it to him. What was the reason he had not asked him his name in Indian when he met him there on the plains? That would have reached him sure, and he resolved to try it in English. Perhaps the Indians knew enough of that tongue to recognize it. The Sioux were sitting down in a circle and some of them were getting out their pipes to indulge in a smoke. "Do any of you know English?" he asked at a venture. "Oh, yes, me know it," said one of the Indians, tapping his breast with his hand. "Me know English a heap." "Then perhaps you know Winged Arrow," said Guy. "He is my friend." Guy did not see what there was in this to excite the laughter of the Indians, but it raised it sure enough, and his captors began passing some remarks about him in their native tongue which made them laugh louder than ever. Guy gave it up in despair, and settled back on the ground again. The Indians either could not or would not understand what he was trying to get at, and it was useless to try them further. His mind was so busy with his own affairs that he had not thought to see if there were other prisoners in the party, but now he found that there were two--one a member of his own company, who had evidently been worse treated than Guy was, for he lay upon the ground as motionless as if he were dead. Guy got up and went to him. He could not bear to see one of his own kind used as bad as he was without saying something to him. "Oh, sir, we are gone up now," said the soldier, in a faint voice. "My back is broken." "I guess I know about how you feel, for my back is feeling the same way," replied Guy. "Brace up, and never say die. When we get to their village, I will see what I can do toward effecting our release." "Oh, if you could do that, you would win my everlasting gratitude. I can't bear to be tied up and burned, just because I happen to wear the blue. Have you a drink of water about you, sir?" Water was something that Guy did not have, and he began to feel as though he would like a drink himself. He approached the Indians, who were now sitting on the ground engaged in the formality of smoking, and holding his right hand as if he were grasping a cup, carried it to his mouth and turned it up as if drinking from it. He knew this much of the signs that Cyrus had taught him. One of the Sioux immediately said something in his own tongue and pointed down the gully, and then went on with his smoking. "There is not any water here," said Guy, returning to the soldier. "We must wait until we reach the village. Now brace up, and don't let these people see that you are afraid of them. If you do they will torment you in every way that they can think of." When Guy went to speak a word of encouragement to the other prisoner, he cast his eyes around among the horses that were standing a little distance away, and saw that there were five of them that belonged to the government. There were thirty of the Indian ponies, and twenty-eight savages sitting in that circle on that ground; and by counting the two who had been sent out as look-outs, it proved to his satisfaction that the Sioux made that attack upon the cavalry and came off without losing a man. No wonder that they felt jolly over it. Guy spoke such words to the other captive as he thought would serve to encourage him in the ordeal which he knew was coming, and by that time the lookouts came in from the hills and the Indians all got up in readiness to resume their march to the village. But before they went they determined to examine the pockets of their captives and see what they could find that was worth stealing. In obedience to a sign from one of his captors, Guy got up and the Indian thrust his brawny arm into his pants. His pocketbook was the first thing he pulled out. The small amount of money that Guy had was looked at and thrown aside, the Indian not knowing what the bills were. The next thing was Winged Arrow's medicine; and when the savage unfolded that and looked at it, he uttered a grunt which brought all his companions to his side. Guy's heart beat against his ribs with a sound like a trip hammer, for he knew that something was going to happen now. First one Indian examined it and then another, all uttered grunts indicative of surprise or indignation, he couldn't tell which, and another savage, the same one who had gone through the motions of scalping him before and was ready to do it again, for he held his knife in his hand, quietly put it in his belt and made no move toward Guy. The Indians now became excited and wanted to get to their village as soon as possible. The talking and laughing suddenly ceased. The horses were brought up and at a sign Guy and one prisoner mounted; and when it came to the captive who was too weak to help himself, he was not jerked and hauled around as he was before, but an Indian lifted him in his arms and put him on the horse as tenderly as if he had been an infant. There was something in Winged Arrow's medicine after all, and when he saw how prompt the savages were to obey it, it made the chills creep all over him. "No one need ever tell me again that the Sioux are nothing but savages, and have no hearts at all in them," muttered Guy, as he fell in with the others and rode down the ravine. "But that paper is not through yet. If it pass Red Cloud and the other big chiefs at the village, I shall really begin to believe there is SOMETHING in Indian medicine." The ride now was a very intricate one, and Guy marveled greatly when he saw the Indian who was leading turn first into one gully and then into another, and never seem to be at a loss which way to go. If a body of troops ever got in there with Indians all around them, their destruction was certain. The next thing was the village which came into view. A sudden turning of one of the gullies, when everything seemed to be deserted, and there were the tepees scattered along both banks of a little stream which came murmuring down from the hills. That was too much for one of Guy's companions in trouble. He dismounted from his horse, stretched himself out at full length beside that stream and drank as if he had not seen any water for a month. Guy's fear and anxiety increased now, for he longed to see Winged Arrow, to tell him what had been done with his medicine and to ask him if there were the least grounds for hope for any prisoner besides himself. Somehow he could not get it out of his mind that his men had seen the prairie for the last time, but that was too dreadful to think of. The Indians along the stream took but little notice of the party as they rode through the village, with the exception of one who gazed at them as if there were something on his mind. This one fell in behind and walked along with them until they came to a lodge which he entered without ceremony. It was Reuben who was hunting for Winged Arrow. There was something about Guy's shoulder straps which attracted his attention, and he wanted to see his friend before it was too late. The lodge he entered was the one Winged Arrow occupied, and he found that person just getting ready to go out. "He has come," said Reuben. "So I have heard, and I am going to see about it," said Winged Arrow. "I wonder if he has that letter with him." Reuben shook his head. He did not know what had passed between the Indians and their captives on the way up. "It will be hard enough for me to help him, even if he has it with him," continued Winged Arrow. "But if he has forgotten it, it is all up with him." The young braves hastily left the lodge and followed along after the party until they came up with them standing in front of the chief's tepee. One glance at the boy who wore the shoulder straps and Winged Arrow saw that he was the same one he had once met on the prairie. Guy saw and recognized him at the same moment, and something like a smile of confidence lit up his face. "I am sorry to see you here," said Winged Arrow; and his face assumed a gloomy expression. "And I am sorry to be here," said Guy. "Now we will see if your medicine amounts to anything. There are three prisoners here----" Winged Arrow turned his head away and raised his hand, as if motioning for Guy to stop. "If I can get you out safe, you must be satisfied," said he. "I had hard work to get that other man free, and I don't know whether I shall make it with you or not." Guy lost all his confidence from hearing Winged Arrow talk this way, and he began to think that his own escape, which had seemed so bright when Winged Arrow first came there, was not so sure after all. He watched his friend go into the chief's tepee, and from what he had read he knew that no one had a right to do that, and in about five minutes he came out again; but his face was still gloomy. "Get off that horse and come with me," was what he said to Guy. The boy lost no time in obeying him. He saw that his first object must be to get out of sight of the Sioux, and he soon saw the necessity for that, for savage glances were cast upon him as he passed along, and he remained close at Winged Arrow's heels, while he led the way toward his father's lodge. Once inside, he breathed more freely, although he was ushered right into the midst of the Medicine Man's family. He did not have time to see who was there, but followed his guide to a remote corner of the tepee and seated himself on a pile of blankets pointed out to him. "Now whatever happens, don't open your head," said Winged Arrow. "Don't say one word to me. If you go out of here without me, you are gone." The Death Angel never came so close to Guy Preston as he did then. He felt in his hip pocket for the loaded Derringer he had taken pains to keep about him, but remembered that it had fallen out during that wild ride after he was captured, and now nothing remained for him but that letter. He noticed that Winged Arrow did not go any further than the entrance of the lodge. He took his rifle with the air of one who would use it if he found it necessary, and seated himself just inside the flap door and watched everybody that came in or went out. It looked as though Winged Arrow was going to fight to retain possession of him. He listened, but could hear no signs of what had been done with the captives outside. They had been taken away, and Guy told himself that he had seen them for the last time. It was pretty nearly night when these events happened, and if the hours were long to Guy they must have been doubly so to Winged Arrow, who never changed his position after he seated himself. The Sioux came in and cooked their meals as they wanted them, but nobody offered Guy a morsel. In fact he did not want anything, for he was so completely wrapped up in thoughts of escape. At length the door was raised and a bundle of something was thrust into Winged Arrow's hands. He took it immediately and came over to Guy. "Put these on," said he, in a hurried whisper. "Be quick." Just then someone outside set up a rapid beating on the tom-tom, and Guy thought that it was the signal for something of which he did not like to think; but it was a notice that the social dances, which were now in vogue, were about to commence. The fate of the captives had not yet been decided upon. With nervous haste Guy unfolded the bundle and found an Indian blanket, a pair of leggings, and moccasins. He looked at Winged Arrow and saw that he was standing erect and had enveloped himself in another blanket, so that nothing but his face could be seen. Guy was quick to follow his motions, and when the change had been effected no one could have told which of the two was the Indian and which the white boy. The other Sioux sitting around in the tepee made no remark regarding the change, and, feeling greatly encouraged, Guy walked over to his friend and followed him outside into the darkness. "Keep still," was what Winged Arrow whispered to him. "Do just as I do." The tepees were all deserted by the Indians, their owners having gone to the further end of the village to engage in the dance, and no one saw them as they passed. A little further on and somebody with a horse loomed through the darkness. He kept on ahead of them, not a word was exchanged between the two, and it was evident that he was in the plot, if that was what Winged Arrow's movement proved to be. For two hours they walked, and then the prairie came into view. Then the horseman stopped and Winged Arrow and Guy went up beside him. "There, sir, you are free," said the young Indian. "Don't stop to talk, but get on and do your best. Don't you be caught again." It did not seem to Guy Preston that he could leave his friend without making some acknowledgment. He did not "stop to talk," but he thrust out his hand which Winged Arrow took and shook warmly. "Which way?" said he. "That way," replied the Indian, pointing straight over the prairie. It occurred to Guy to ask Winged Arrow what he and his friend were going to do when it became known among the Sioux that one of their captives had slipped through their hands, but before he could form the question he was standing there alone. The Indians had vanished in the darkness. To jump upon his horse and start him in the direction he had been told to go was done in less time than we have taken to tell it. Have you ever seen the prairie? If so you can have some idea of what Guy had to go through. It was the same thing over and over again. Every little hill he mounted when daylight came revealed nothing but a lonely waste with not a living thing in sight. And so it was during the whole of that day until the light faded away and darkness began to settle down on the plain. Then Guy thought he saw a horseman on a distant swell. He stopped and looked at him, but the horseman, if such it were, did not move. "Is it a Sioux or a white man?" said Guy to himself. "I can't be worse off than I am now, and so I will go and see who it is." For the first time he put his horse in a lope, keeping his eye on the object and waiting to see what he was going to do. At length another object appeared by the side of the first, and something that hung down by his horse attracted the attention of Guy, and led him to swing his blanket around his head. It was a cavalry saber, and showed Guy that he was among friends. We cannot stop to tell how Guy Preston was received by the men who had long ago made up their minds that they had seen the last of him. The expedition had stopped to bury their dead and had just gone into camp. Guy said that the two prisoners who were captured at the same time he was were in the hands of the Sioux yet, and he could not tell what was to become of them, and neither did he know what would be done with Winged Arrow and his friend for assisting one captive to escape. When he reached the Fort, Colonel Carrington listened in surprise to the story of his release, and declared his belief that there was something in Winged Arrow's medicine after all. He moved back to Nebraska in the early spring, after Fort Phil Kearney had been demolished. His superiors blamed him for Colonel Fetterman's defeat. They did him an injustice, for it was Red Cloud's ability and strength that won the day. THE END RALPH MARLOWE A Tale of the Buckeye State By DR. JAMES BALL NAYLOR Author of "THE SIGN OF THE PROPHET" "There is an atmosphere about the story of RALPH MARLOWE--the picturesque atmosphere of quiet, rustic southeastern Ohio, and there is an equal measure of delicious humor and delicate pathos about it also. _Get this novel and read it--The time will be well spent._" --_North American, Philadelphia._ "Dr. Naylor has constructed a very readable story. He has been remarkably successful in transferring to the canvas of fiction Ohio farmers and village folk, and the story is worthy to take its place beside the best of those written in recent years which take as their particular task the picturing of life in rural districts." _American Monthly Reviews of Reviews._ Handsomely bound in bright red cloth, gold lettered, emblematic cover design in white and gold, 12 mo. $1.50 THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY Akron, Ohio _THE BRADEN BOOKS_ FAR PAST THE FRONTIER _By_ JAMES A. BRADEN The sub-title "Two Boy Pioneers" indicates the nature of this story--that it has to do with the days when the Ohio Valley and the Northwest country were sparsely settled. Such a topic is an unfailing fund of interest to boys, especially when involving a couple of stalwart young men who leave the East to make their fortunes and to incur untold dangers. "Strong, vigorous, healthy, manly."--_Seattle Times._ CONNECTICUT BOYS IN THE WESTERN RESERVE _By_ JAMES A. BRADEN The author once more sends his heroes toward the setting sun. "In all the glowing enthusiasm of youth, the youngsters seek their fortunes in the great, fertile wilderness of northern Ohio, and eventually achieve fair success, though their progress is hindered and sometimes halted by adventures innumerable. It is a lively, wholesome tale, never dull, and absorbing in interest for boys who love the fabled life of the frontier."--_Chicago Tribune._ THE TRAIL _of_ THE SENECA _By_ JAMES A. BRADEN In which we follow the romantic careers of John Jerome and Return Kingdom a little farther. These two self-reliant boys are living peaceably in their cabin on the Cuyahoga when an Indian warrior is found dead in the woods nearby. The Seneca accuses John of witchcraft. This means death at the stake if he is captured. They decide that the Seneca's charge is made to shield himself, and set out to prove it. Mad Anthony, then on the Ohio, comes to their aid, but all their efforts prove futile and the lone cabin is found in ashes on their return. CAPTIVES THREE _By_ JAMES A. BRADEN A tale of frontier life, and how three children--two boys and a girl--attempt to reach the settlements in a canoe, but are captured by the Indians. A common enough occurrence in the days of our great-grandfathers has been woven into a thrilling story. BOUND IN CLOTH, each handsomely illustrated, cloth, postpaid +$1.00+ _The Saalfield Publishing Co._ AKRON, OHIO _FICTION FOR GIRLS_ BETTY, The SCRIBE _By_ LILIAN TURNER _Drawings by_ KATHARINE HAYWARD GREENLAND Betty is a brilliant, talented, impulsive seventeen-year-old girl, who is suddenly required to fill her mother's place at the head of a household, with a literary, impractical father to manage. Betty writes, too, and every time she mounts her Pegasus disaster follows for home duties are neglected. Learning of one of these lapses, her elder sister comes home. Betty storms and refuses to share the honors until she remembers that this means long hours free to devote to her beloved pen. She finally moves to the city to begin her career in earnest, and then--well, then comes the story. "Miss Turner is Miss Alcott's true successor. The same healthy, spirited tone is visible which boys and girls recognized in LITTLE MEN and LITTLE WOMEN."--_The Bookman._ CLOTH, 12mo, illustrated, 50 cts. Elizabeth Hobart at Exeter Hall _By_ JEAN K. BAIRD _Illustrated by_ R. G. VOSBURGH +A spirited story of every-day boarding-school life that girls like to read. Full of good times and girlish fun.+ Elizabeth enters the school and loses no time in becoming one of the leading spirits. She entertains at a midnight spread, which is recklessly conducted under the very nose of the preceptress, who is "scalped" in order to be harmless, for every one knows she would never venture out minus her front hair; she champions an ostracized student; and leads in a daring plan to put to rout the Seniors' program for class day. CLOTH, 12mo, illustrated, 50 cts. Books sent postpaid on receipt of price. _The Saalfield Publishing Co._, AKRON, OHIO _The_ BILLY WHISKERS SERIES BY FRANCES TREGO MONTGOMERY Billy Whiskers--frolicsome, mischief-making, adventure-loving Billy Whiskers--is the friend of every boy and girl the country over, and the things that happen to this wonderful goat and his numerous animal friends make the best sort of reading for them. As one reviewer aptly puts it, these stories are "just full of fun and good times," for Mrs. Montgomery, the author of them, has the happy faculty of knowing what the small boy and his sister like in the way of fiction. TITLES BILLY WHISKERS BILLY WHISKERS' KIDS BILLY WHISKERS, JR. BILLY WHISKERS' TRAVELS BILLY WHISKERS AT THE CIRCUS BILLY WHISKERS AT THE FAIR BILLY WHISKERS' FRIENDS BILLY WHISKERS, JR. AND HIS CHUMS BILLY WHISKERS' GRANDCHILDREN BILLY WHISKERS' VACATION BILLY WHISKERS KIDNAPPED BILLY WHISKERS' TWINS BILLY WHISKERS IN AN AEROPLANE BILLY WHISKERS IN TOWN BILLY WHISKERS IN PANAMA Each Volume a Quarto, Bound in Boards, Cover and Six Full Page Drawings in Colors, Postpaid Price +$1.00+ +The Saalfield Publishing Co.+, Akron, Ohio _MARY A. BYRNE'S BOOKS_ THE FAIRY CHASER "Telling of two boys who go into the vegetable and flower-raising business instead of humdrum commercial pursuits. The characters and situations are realistic." --_PHILADELPHIA TELEGRAPH_ LITTLE DAME TROT One of the most pleasing of juveniles, made pathetic by the strength with which the author pictures the central figure, a little girl made miserable by her mother's strict adherence to a pet "method" of training. THE LITTLE WOMAN IN THE SPOUT "This pleasing story may have been developed from real life, from real children, so true a picture does it portray of girlish life and sports." --_GRAND RAPIDS HERALD_ ROY AND ROSYROCKS A glowing Christmas tale, fresh and natural in situations, that will interest both boys and girls. It tells how two poor children anticipate the joys of the holiday, and how heartily they enter into doing their part, to make the day merry for themselves and others. +Each of the above bound in Cloth illustrated, 12mo,+ +$.60+ PEGGY-ALONE The chronicles of the Happy-Go-Luckys, a crowd of girls who did not depend upon riches for good times. This club was very stretchible as to membership, so they elected Peggy-Alone from pity of her loneliness. Freed from governess, nurse and solicitous mother, she has the jolliest summer of her life. +CLOTH, 12mo, illustrated by Anna B. Craig,+ +$.50+ _BOOKS SENT PREPAID ON RECEIPT OF PRICE_ _The Saalfield Publishing Co._ AKRON, OHIO 
17766	----	WITH WOLFE IN CANADA Or The Winning of a Continent by G. A. Henty 1894 CONTENTS: Preface. Chapter 1: A Rescue. Chapter 2: The Showman's Grandchild. Chapter 3: The Justice Room. Chapter 4: The Squire's Granddaughter. Chapter 5: A Quiet Time. Chapter 6: A Storm. Chapter 7: Pressed. Chapter 8: Discharged. Chapter 9: The Defeat Of Braddock. Chapter 10: The Fight At Lake George. Chapter 11: Scouting. Chapter 12: A Commission. Chapter 13: An Abortive Attack. Chapter 14: Scouting On Lake Champlain. Chapter 15: Through Many Perils. Chapter 16: The Massacre At Fort William Henry. Chapter 17: Louisbourg And Ticonderoga. Chapter 18: Quebec. Chapter 19: A Dangerous Expedition. Chapter 20: The Path Down The Heights. Chapter 21: The Capture Of Quebec. Preface. My Dear Lads, In the present volume I have endeavoured to give the details of the principal events in a struggle whose importance can hardly be overrated. At its commencement the English occupied a mere patch of land on the eastern seaboard of America, hemmed in on all sides by the French, who occupied not only Canada in the north and Louisiana in the south, but possessed a chain of posts connecting them, so cutting off the English from all access to the vast countries of the west. On the issues of that struggle depended not only the destiny of Canada, but of the whole of North America and, to a large extent, that of the two mother countries. When the contest began, the chances of France becoming the great colonizing empire of the world were as good as those of England. Not only did she hold far larger territories in America than did England, but she had rich colonies in the West Indies, where the flag of England was at that time hardly represented, and her prospects in India were better than our own. At that time, too, she disputed with us on equal terms the empire of the sea. The loss of her North American provinces turned the scale. With the monopoly of such a market, the commerce of England increased enormously, and with her commerce her wealth and power of extension, while the power of France was proportionately crippled. It is true that, in time, the North American colonies, with the exception of Canada, broke away from their connection with the old country; but they still remained English, still continued to be the best market for our goods and manufactures. Never was the short-sightedness of human beings shown more distinctly, than when France wasted her strength and treasure in a sterile contest on the continent of Europe, and permitted, with scarce an effort, her North American colonies to be torn from her. All the historical details of the war have been drawn from the excellent work entitled Montcalm and Wolfe, by Mr. Francis Parkman, and from the detailed history of the Louisbourg and Quebec expeditions, by Major Knox, who served under Generals Amherst and Wolfe. Yours very sincerely, G. A. Henty. Chapter 1: A Rescue. Most of the towns standing on our seacoast have suffered a radical change in the course of the last century. Railways, and the fashion of summer holiday making, have transformed them altogether, and great towns have sprung up where fishing villages once stood. There are a few places, however, which seem to have been passed by, by the crowd. The number yearly becomes smaller, as the iron roads throw out fresh branches. With the advent of these comes the speculative builder. Rows of terraces and shops are run up, promenades are made, bathing machines and brass bands become familiar objects, and in a few years the original character of the place altogether disappears. Sidmouth, for a long time, was passed by, by the world of holiday makers. East and west of her, great changes took place, and many far smaller villages became fashionable seaside watering places. The railway, which passed by some twelve miles away, carried its tens of thousands westward, but left few of them for Sidmouth, and anyone who visited the pretty little place, fifteen years back, would have seen it almost as it stood when our story opens a century ago. There are few places in England with a fairer site. It lies embosomed in the hills, which rise sharply on either side of it, while behind stretches a rich, undulating country, thickly dotted with orchards and snug homesteads, with lanes bright with wildflowers and ferns, with high hedges and trees meeting overhead. The cold breezes, which render so bare of interest the walks round the great majority of our seaside towns, pass harmlessly over the valley of the Sid, where the vegetation is as bright and luxuriant as if the ocean lay leagues away, instead of breaking on the shore within a few feet of the front line of houses. The cliffs which, on either side, rise from the water's edge, are neither white like those to the east, nor grey as are the rugged bulwarks to the west. They are of a deep red, warm and pleasant to the eye, with clumps of green showing brightly up against them on every little ledge where vegetation can get a footing; while the beach is neither pebble, nor rock, nor sand, but a smooth, level surface sloping evenly down; hard and pleasant to walk on when the sea has gone down, and the sun has dried and baked it for an hour or two; but slippery and treacherous when freshly wetted, for the red cliffs are of clay. Those who sail past in a boat would hardly believe that this is so, for the sun has baked its face, and the wind dried it, till it is cracked and seamed, and makes a brave imitation of red granite; but the clammy ooze, when the sea goes down, tells its nature only too plainly, and Sidmouth will never be a popular watering place for children, for there is no digging sand castles here, and a fall will stain light dresses and pinafores a ruddy hue, and the young labourers will look as if they had been at work in a brick field. But a century since, the march of improvement had nowhere begun; and there were few larger, and no prettier, seaside villages on the coast than Sidmouth. It was an afternoon in August. The sun was blazing down hotly, scarce a breath of wind was stirring, and the tiny waves broke along the shore with a low rustle like that of falling leaves. Some fishermen were at work, recaulking a boat hauled up on the shore. Others were laying out some nets to dry in the sun. Some fisher boys were lying asleep, like dogs basking in the heat; and a knot of lads, sitting under the shade of a boat, were discussing with some warmth the question of smuggling. "What do you say to it, Jim Walsham?" one of the party said, looking up at a boy some twelve years old, who was leaning against a boat, but who had hitherto taken no part in the discussion. "There is no doubt that it's wrong," the boy said. "Not wrong like stealing, and lying, and that sort of thing; still it's wrong, because it's against the law; and the revenue men, if they come upon a gang landing the tubs, fight with them, and if any are killed they are not blamed for it, so there is no doubt about its being wrong. Then, on the other hand, no one thinks any the worse of the men that do it, and there is scarce a one, gentle or simple, as won't buy some of the stuff if he gets a chance, so it can't be so very wrong. It must be great fun to be a smuggler, to be always dodging the king's cutters, and running cargoes under the nose of the officers ashore. There is some excitement in a life like that." "There is plenty of excitement in fishing," one of the boys said sturdily. "If you had been out in that storm last March, you would have had as much excitement as you liked. For twelve hours we expected to go down every minute, and we were half our time bailing for our lives." An approving murmur broke from the others, who were all, with the exception of the one addressed as Jim Walsham, of the fisher class. His clothing differed but little from that of the rest. His dark blue pilot trousers were old and sea stained, his hands and face were dyed brown with exposure to the sun and the salt water; but there was something, in his manner and tone of voice, which showed that a distinction existed. James Walsham was, indeed, the son of the late doctor of the village, who had died two years previously. Dr. Walsham had been clever in his profession, but circumstances were against him. Sidmouth and its neighbourhood were so healthy, that his patients were few and far between; and when he died, of injuries received from being thrown over his horse's head, when the animal one night trod on a stone coming down the hill into Sidmouth, his widow and son were left almost penniless. Mrs. Walsham was, fortunately, an energetic woman, and a fortnight after her husband's death, she went round among the tradesmen of the place and the farmers of the neighbourhood, and announced her intention of opening a school for girls. She had received a good education, being the daughter of a clergyman, and she soon obtained enough pupils to enable her to pay her way, and to keep up the pretty home in which her husband lived in the outskirts of Sidmouth. If she would have taken boarders, she could have obtained far higher terms, for good schools were scarce; but this she would not do, and her pupils all lived within distances where they could walk backwards and forwards to their homes. Her evenings she devoted to her son, and, though the education which she was enabled to give him would be considered meagre, indeed, in these days of universal cramming, he learned as much as the average boy of the period. He would have learned more had he followed her desires, and devoted the time when she was engaged in teaching to his books; but this he did not do. For a few hours in the day he would work vigorously at his lessons. The rest of his time he spent either on the seashore, or in the boats of the fishermen; and he could swim, row, or handle a boat under sail in all weather, as well or better than any lad in the village of his own age. His disposition was a happy one, and he was a general favourite among the boatmen. He had not, as yet, made up his mind as to his future. His mother wanted him to follow his father's profession. He himself longed to go to sea, but he had promised his mother that he would never do so without her consent, and that consent he had no hope of obtaining. The better-class people in the village shook their heads gravely over James Walsham, and prophesied no good things of him. They considered that he demeaned himself greatly by association with the fisher boys, and more than once he had fallen into disgrace, with the more quiet minded of the inhabitants, by mischievous pranks. His reputation that way once established, every bit of mischief in the place, which could not be clearly traced to someone else, was put down to him; and as he was not one who would peach upon others to save himself, he was seldom in a position to prove his innocence. The parson had once called upon Mrs. Walsham, and had talked to her gravely over her son's delinquencies, but his success had not been equal to his anticipations. Mrs. Walsham had stood up warmly for her son. "The boy may get into mischief sometimes, Mr. Allanby, but it is the nature of boys to do so. James is a good boy, upright and honourable, and would not tell a lie under any consideration. What is he to do? If I could afford to send him to a good school it would be a different thing, but that you know I cannot do. From nine in the morning, until five in the afternoon, my time is occupied by teaching, and I cannot expect, nor do I wish, that he should sit moping indoors all day. He had far better be out in the boats with the fishermen, than be hanging about the place doing nothing. If anything happened to me, before he is started in life, there would be nothing for him but to take to the sea. I am laying by a little money every month, and if I live for another year there will be enough to buy him a fishing boat and nets. I trust that it may not come to that, but I see nothing derogatory in his earning an honest living with his own hands. He will always be something better than a common fisherman. The education I have striven to give him, and his knowledge that he was born a gentleman, will nerve him to try and rise. "As to what you say about mischief, so far as I know all boys are mischievous. I know that my own brothers were always getting into scrapes, and I have no doubt, Mr. Allanby, that when you look back upon your own boyhood, you will see that you were not an exception to the general rule." Mr. Allanby smiled. He had come rather against his own inclinations; but his wife had urged him to speak to Mrs. Walsham, her temper being ruffled by the disappearance of two favourite pigeons, whose loss she, without a shadow of evidence, most unjustly put down to James Walsham. The parson was by no means strict with his flock. He was a tall man, inclined to be portly, a good shot and an ardent fisherman; and although he did not hunt, he was frequently seen on his brown cob at the meet, whenever it took place within a reasonable distance of Sidmouth; and without exactly following the hounds, his knowledge of the country often enabled him to see more of the hunt than those who did. As Mrs. Walsham spoke, the memory of his old school and college days came across him. "That is the argumentum ad hominem, Mrs. Walsham, and when a lady takes to that we can say no more. You know I like your boy. There is much that is good in him; but it struck me that you were letting him run a little too wild. However, there is much in what you say, and I don't believe that he is concerned in half the mischief that he gets credit for. Still, you must remember that a little of the curb, just a little, is good for us all. It spoils a horse to be always tugging at his mouth, but he will go very badly if he does not feel that there is a hand on the reins. "I have said the same thing to the squire. He spoils that boy of his, for whom, between ourselves, I have no great liking. The old man will have trouble with him before he is done, or I am greatly mistaken." Nothing came of Mr. Allanby's visit. Mrs. Walsham told James that he had been there to remonstrate with her. "I do not want to stop you from going out sailing, Jim; but I wish you would give up your mischievous pranks, they only get you bad will and a bad name in the place. Many people here think that I am wrong in allowing you to associate so much with the fisher boys, and when you get into scrapes, it enables them to impress upon me how right they were in their forecasts. I do not want my boy to be named in the same breath with those boys of Robson's, or young Peterson, or Blame." "But you know I have nothing to do with them, mother," James said indignantly. "They spend half their time about the public house, and they do say that when Peterson has been out with that lurcher of his, he has been seen coming back with his coat bulged out, and there is often a smell of hare round his father's cottage at supper time. You know I wouldn't have anything to do with them." "No, Jim, I am sure you would not; but if people mix up your name with theirs it is almost as bad for you as if you had. Unfortunately, people are too apt not to distinguish between tricks which are really only the outcome of high spirit, and a lack of something better to do, and real vice. Therefore, Jim, I say, keep yourself from mischief. I know that, though you are out of doors so many hours of the day, you really do get through a good deal of work; but other people do not give you credit for this. Remember how your father was respected here. Try to act always as you would have done had he been alive, and you cannot go far wrong." James had done his best, but he found it hard to get rid of his reputation for getting into mischief, and more than once, when falsely suspected, he grumbled that he might just as well have the fun of the thing, for he was sure to have the blame. As Jim Walsham and his companions were chatting in the shade of a boat, their conversation was abruptly broken off by the sight of a figure coming along the road. It was a tall figure, with a stiff military bearing. He was pushing before him a large box, mounted on a framework supported by four wheels. Low down, close to the ground, swung a large flat basket. In this, on a shawl spread over a thick bed of hay, sat a little girl some five years old. "It is the sergeant," one of the boys exclaimed. "I wonder whether he has got a fresh set of views? The last were first-rate ones." The sergeant gave a friendly nod to the boys as he passed, and then, turning up the main street from the beach, went along until he came to a shaded corner, and there stopped. The boys had all got up and followed him, and now stood looking on with interest at his proceedings. The little girl had climbed out of her basket as soon as he stopped, and after asking leave, trotted back along the street to the beach, and was soon at play among the seaweed and stones. She was a singularly pretty child, with dark blue eyes, and brown hair with a touch of gold. Her print dress was spotlessly clean and neat; a huge flapping sunbonnet shaded her face, whose expression was bright and winning. "Well, boys," the sergeant said cheerfully, "how have you been getting on since I was here last? Nobody drowned, I hope, or come to any ill. Not that we must grumble, whatever comes. We have all got to do our duty, whether it be to march up a hill with shot and shell screaming and whistling round, as I have had to do; or to be far out at sea with the wind blowing fit to take the hair off your head, as comes to your lot sometimes; or following the plough from year's end to year's end, as happens to some. We have got to make the best of it, whatever it is. "I have got a grand new set of pictures from Exeter. They came all the way down from London town for me by waggon. London Bridge, and Windsor Castle, with the flag flying over it, telling that the king--God bless his gracious majesty--is at home. "Then, I have got some pictures of foreign parts that will make you open your eyes. There's Niagara. I don't know whether you've heard of it, but it's a place where a great river jumps down over a wall of rock, as high as that steeple there, with a roar like thunder that can be heard, they say, on a still night, for twenty miles round. "I have got some that will interest you more still, because you are sailors, or are going to be sailors. I have got one of the killing of a whale. He has just thrown a boat, with five sailors, into the air, with a lash of his tail; but it's of no use, for there are other boats round, and the harpoons are striking deep in his flesh. He is a big fish, and a strong one; but he will be beaten, for he does not know how to use his strength. That's the case with many men. They throw away their life and their talents, just because they don't know what's in them, and what they might do if they tried. "And I have got a picture of the fight with the Spanish Armada. You have heard about that, boys, surely; for it began out there, over the water, almost in sight of Sidmouth, and went on all the way up the Channel; our little ships hanging on to the great Spaniards and giving them no rest, but worrying them, and battering them, till they were glad to sail away to the Dutch coast. But they were not safe there, for we sent fire ships at them, and they had to cut and run; and then a storm came on, and sunk many, and drove others ashore all around our coasts, even round the north of Scotland and Ireland. "You will see it all here, boys, and as you know, the price is only one penny." By this time, the sergeant had let down one side of the box and discovered four round holes, and had arranged a low stool in front, for any of those, who were not tall enough to look through the glasses, to stand upon. A considerable number of girls and boys had now gathered round, for Sergeant Wilks and his show were old, established favourites at Sidmouth, and the news of his arrival had travelled quickly round the place. Four years before, he had appeared there for the first time, and since then had come every few months. He travelled round the southwestern counties, Dorset and Wilts, Somerset, Devon, and Cornwall, and his cheery good temper made him a general favourite wherever he went. He was somewhat of a martinet, and would have no crowding and pushing, and always made the boys stand aside till the girls had a good look; but he never hurried them, and allowed each an ample time to see the pictures, which were of a better class than those in most travelling peep shows. There was some murmuring, at first, because the show contained none of the popular murders and blood-curdling scenes to which the people were accustomed. "No," the sergeant had said firmly, when the omission was suggested to him; "the young ones see quite enough scenes of drunkenness and fighting. When I was a child, I remember seeing in a peep show the picture of a woman lying with her head nearly cut off, and her husband with a bloody chopper standing beside her; and it spoiled my sleep for weeks. No, none of that sort of thing for Sergeant Wilks. He has fought for his country, and has seen bloodshed enough in his time, and the ground half covered with dead and dying men; but that was duty--this is pleasure. Sergeant Wilks will show the boys and girls, who pay him their pennies, views in all parts of the world, such as would cost them thousands of pounds if they travelled to see them, and all as natural as life. He will show them great battles by land and sea, where the soldiers and sailors shed their blood like water in the service of their country. But cruel murders and notorious crimes he will not show them." It was not the boys and girls, only, who were the sergeant's patrons. Picture books were scarce in those days, and grown-up girls and young men were not ashamed to pay their pennies to peep into the sergeant's box. There was scarcely a farm house throughout his beat where he was not known and welcomed. His care of the child, who, when he first came round, was but a year old, won the heart of the women; and a bowl of bread and milk for the little one, and a mug of beer and a hunch of bread and bacon for himself, were always at his service, before he opened his box and showed its wonders to the maids and children of the house. Sidmouth was one of his regular halting places, and, indeed, he visited it more often than any other town on his beat. There was always a room ready for him there, in the house of a fisherman's widow, when he arrived on the Saturday, and he generally stopped till the Monday. Thus he had come to know the names of most of the boys of the place, as well as of many of the elders; for it was his custom, of a Saturday evening, after the little one was in bed, to go and smoke his pipe in the taproom of the "Anchor," where he would sometimes relate tales of his adventures to the assembled fishermen. But, although chatty and cheery with his patrons, Sergeant Wilks was a reticent, rather than a talkative, man. At the "Anchor" he was, except when called upon for a story, a listener rather than a talker. As to his history, or the county to which he belonged, he never alluded to it, although communicative enough as to his military adventures; and any questions which were asked him, he quietly put on one side. He had intimated, indeed, that the father and mother of his grandchild were both dead; but it was not known whether she was the child of his son or daughter; for under his cheerful talk there was something of military strictness and sternness, and he was not a man of whom idle questions would be asked. "Now, boys and girls," he said, "step up; the show is ready. Those who have got a penny cannot spend it better. Those who haven't must try and get their father or mother to give them one, and see the show later on. Girls first. Boys should always give way to their sisters. The bravest men are always the most courteous and gentle with women." Four girls, of various ages, paid their pennies and took their places at the glasses, and the sergeant then began to describe the pictures, his descriptions of the wonders within being so exciting, that several boys and girls stole off from the little crowd, and made their way to their homes to coax their parents out of the necessary coin. James Walsham listened a while, and then walked away to the sea, for there would be several sets of girls before it came to the turn of the boys. He strolled along, and as he came within sight of the beach stopped for a moment suddenly, and then, with a shout, ran forward at the top of his speed. The little girl, after playing some time with the seaweed, had climbed into a small boat which lay at the edge of the advancing tide, and, leaning over the stern, watched the little waves as they ran up one after another. A few minutes after she had got into it, the rising tide floated the boat, and it drifted out a few yards, as far as its headrope allowed it. Ignorant of what had happened, the child was kneeling up at the stern, leaning over, and dabbling her hands in the water. No one had noticed her. The boys had all deserted the beach. None of the fishermen were near the spot. Just before James Walsham came within sight of the sea, the child had overbalanced itself. His eye fell on the water just as two arms and a frightened little face appeared above it. There was a little splash, and a struggle, and the sea was bare again. At the top of his speed James dashed across the road, sprang down the beach, and, rushing a few yards into the water, dived down. He knew which way the tide was making, and allowed for the set. A few vigorous strokes, and he reached something white on the surface. It was the sunbonnet which had, in the child's struggles, become unfastened. He dived at once, and almost immediately saw a confused mass before him. Another stroke, and he seized the child's clothes, and, grasping her firmly, rose to the surface and swam towards shore. Although the accident had not been perceived, his shout and sudden rush into the water had called the attention of some of the men, and two or three of them ran into the water, waist deep, to help him out with his little burden. "Well done, Master Walsham! The child would have been drowned if you had not seed it. None of us noticed her fall over. She was playing on the beach last time I seed her." "Is she dead?" James asked, breathless from his exertions. "Not she," the fisherman said. "She could not have been under water a minute. Take her into my cottage, it's one of the nighest. My wife will put her between the blankets, and will soon bring her round." The fisherman's wife met them at the door, and, taking the child from the lad, carried it in, and soon had her wrapped up in blankets. But before this was done she had opened her eyes, for she had scarcely lost consciousness when James had seized her. The lad stood outside the door, waiting for the news, when the sergeant hurried up, one of the fishermen having gone to tell him what had happened, as soon as the child had been carried into the cottage--assuring him, as he did so, that the little one would speedily come round. Just as he came up the door of the cottage opened, and one of the women, who had run in to assist the fisherman's wife, put her head out. "She has opened her eyes," she said. "The little dear will soon be all right." "Thank God for His mercies!" the sergeant said, taking off his hat. "What should I have done if I had lost her? "And I have to thank you, next to God," he said, seizing the boy's hand. "May God bless you, young gentleman! and reward you for having saved my darling. They tell me she must have been drowned, but for you, for no one knew she had fallen in. Had it not been for you, I should come round to look for her, and she would have been gone--gone forever!" and the showman dashed the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. "I was only just in time," the lad said. "I did not see her fall out of the boat. She was only a few yards away from it when she came up--just as my eyes fell on the spot. I am very glad to have saved her for you; but, of course, it was nothing of a swim. She could not have been many yards out of my depth. Now I will run home and change my things." James Walsham was too much accustomed to be wet through, to care anything about his dripping clothes, but they served him as an excuse to get away, for he felt awkward and embarrassed at the gratitude of the old soldier. He pushed his way through the little crowd, which had now gathered round, and started at a run; for the news had brought almost all those gathered round the peep show to the shore, the excitement of somebody being drowned being superior even to that of the peep show, to the great majority; though a few, who had no hope of obtaining the necessary pennies, had lingered behind, and seized the opportunity for a gratuitous look through the glasses. James ran upstairs and changed his clothes without seeing his mother, and then, taking down one of his lesson books, set to work, shrinking from the idea of going out again, and being made a hero of. Half an hour later there was a knock at the front door, and a few minutes after his mother called him down. He ran down to the parlour, and there found the showman. "Oh, I say," the boy broke out, "don't say anything more about it! I do hate being thanked, and there was nothing in swimming ten yards in a calm sea. Please don't say anything more about it. I would rather you hit me, ever so much." The sergeant smiled gravely, and Mrs. Walsham exclaimed: "Why didn't you come in and tell me about it, Jim? I could not make out at first what Mr.--Mr.--" "Sergeant Wilks, madam." "What Sergeant Wilks meant, when he said that he had called to tell me how grateful he felt to you for saving his little grandchild's life. I am proud of you, Jim." "Oh, mother, don't!" the boy exclaimed. "It is horrid going on so. If I had swum out with a rope through the surf, there might be something in it; but just to jump in at the edge of the water is not worth making a fuss about, one way or the other." "Not to you, perhaps, young gentleman, but it is to me," the showman said. "The child is the light of my life, the only thing I have to care for in the world, and you have saved her. If it had only been by stretching out your hand, I should have been equally grateful. However, I will say no more about it, but I shall not think the less. "But don't you believe, madam, that there was no credit in it. It was just the quickness and the promptness which saved her life. Had your son hesitated a moment it would have been too late, for he would never have found her. It is not likely that your son will ever have any occasion for help of mine, but should there be an opportunity, he may rely upon it that any service I can render him shall be his to the death; and, unlikely as it may seem, it may yet turn out that this brave act of his, in saving the life of the granddaughter of a travelling showman, will not be without its reward." "Is she all right now?" James asked abruptly, anxious to change the conversation. "Yes. She soon came to herself, and wanted to tell me all about it; but I would not let her talk, and in a few minutes she dropped off to sleep, and there I left her. The women tell me she will probably sleep till morning, and will then be as well as ever. And now I must go and look after my box, or the boys will be pulling it to pieces." It was, however, untouched, for in passing the sergeant had told the little crowd that, if they left it alone, he would, on his return, let all see without payment; and during the rest of the afternoon he was fully occupied with successive audiences, being obliged to make his lectures brief, in order that all might have their turn. After the sergeant had left, James took his hat and went for a long walk in the country, in order to escape the congratulations of the other boys. The next day little Agnes was perfectly well, and appeared with her grandfather in the seat, far back in the church, which he always occupied on the Sundays he spent at Sidmouth. On these occasions she was always neatly and prettily dressed, and, indeed, some of the good women of the place, comparing the graceful little thing with their own children, had not been backward in their criticisms on the folly of the old showman, in dressing his child out in clothes fit for a lady. Chapter 2: The Showman's Grandchild. Three months later the showman again appeared at Sidmouth, but did not set up his box as usual. Leaving it at his lodging, he went at once with his grandchild to Mrs. Walsham's. "I have come, madam," he said after the first inquiries about the child had been answered, "on a particular business. It will seem a strange thing to you for a man like me to ask, but things are not quite as they seem, though I can't explain it now. But I am beating about the bush, and not getting any nearer. I have come to ask, madam, whether you would take charge of the child for two years. Of course I am ready to pay anything that you may think proper." "But I don't take boarders," Mrs. Walsham said, much surprised at the proposition. "I only take girls who come in the morning and go away in the afternoon. Besides, they are all a good many years older than your grandchild. None of the girls who come to me are under twelve." "I know, ma'm, I know; and I am sure you must think it a great liberty on my part to ask such a thing," the sergeant said apologetically. "It is not the teaching I want, but just a home for her." Mrs. Walsham felt puzzled. She did, in her heart, feel it to be a liberty. Surely this wandering showman would find no difficulty in getting his grandchild taken care of among people of his own rank in life. It did seem most singular that he should seek to place the child with her. Mrs. Walsham was not given to thinking what her neighbours would say, but she thought of the buzz of comment and astonishment which her taking the charge of this child would excite. She had been particular in keeping her little school to some extent select, and as it was now as large as she could manage unaided, she was able to make it almost a favour to the farmers' wives to take their girls. But to do Mrs. Walsham justice, this thought had less influence with her than that of the time and care which would be required by a child of that age in the house. Certainly, she thought, as she looked at her, sitting with her eyes wide open and an expression of grave wonder in her face, "she is a little darling, and as Jim saved her life I have a special interest in her; but this is out of the question." It was two or three minutes before she answered the showman's last words. "No, it cannot be done, Sergeant Wilks. No money that could be paid me would make up to me for the charge of a child of her age. I am all day in school, and what could a child, especially one accustomed to be out all day, do with herself? The worry and anxiety would be immense. Were it not for my school, it would be different altogether. A child of that age, especially such a sweet little thing as your granddaughter seems to be, would be a pet and amusement; but as it is, I am sorry to say that it is out of the question. But surely you will have no difficulty in finding plenty of good women who would be glad to take her, and to whom, having children of the same age, she would be no trouble whatever." "Yes," the sergeant said slowly, "I was afraid you would say that, ma'm. Besides, though you are good enough not to say it, I know that there must be other objections. I know you must be surprised at my wanting her to be with a lady like yourself. So far as money goes, I could afford to pay fifty pounds a year, and perhaps you might get a girl who could look after Aggie while you are busy." "Fifty pounds a year!" Mrs. Walsham said, greatly surprised. "That is a large sum, a great deal too large a sum for you to pay for the care of such a little child. For half that, there are scores of farmers' wives who would be happy to take her, and where she would be far more happy and comfortable than she would be with me." "I know I could get plenty to take her," the soldier said, "but I have reasons, very particular reasons, why I wish to place her with a lady for two years. I cannot explain those reasons to you, but you may imagine they must be strong ones, for me to be willing to pay fifty pounds a year for her. That money has been laid by from the day she was born, for that purpose. I have other reasons, of my own, for wishing that she should be at Sidmouth rather than at any other place; and I have another reason," and a slight smile stole across his face, "for preferring that she should be with you rather than anyone else. All this must seem very strange to you, madam; but at the end of the two years, when you know what my reasons were, you will acknowledge that they were good ones. "God knows," he went on, looking very grave, "what a wrench it will be for me to part with her. How lonely I shall be, as I tramp the country without her pretty prattle to listen to; but I have got to do it sooner or later, and these two years, when I can see her sometimes, will be a break, and accustom me to do without her sweet face. "Please, madam," he urged, "do not give me a final answer today. I shall not go till Monday, and will call again, if you will let me, that morning; and believe me, if I could tell you all, I could give you reasons which would, I think, induce you to change your mind." So saying, he made a military salute, took the child's hand in his, and was soon striding along towards the sea. Mrs. Walsham was some time before she recovered from her surprise. This was, indeed, a mysterious affair. The earnestness with which the old soldier pleaded his cause had moved her strongly, and had almost persuaded her to accept the proposal, which had at first seemed preposterous. Fifty pounds a year, too, was certainly a handsome sum. She could get a girl from the village for two or three shillings a week to look after the child, and go out with her during school hours, and a hundred pounds would be a very handsome addition to the sum which she had begun, little by little, to lay by for Jim's preparation for the medical profession. In the five years which would elapse, before it would be time for him to enter upon his studies for it, she could hardly hope to lay by more than that sum, and this would at a stroke double it. Certainly it was a tempting offer. She could not do justice to the child, could not give her the care and attention which she ought to have, and which she could have for such a sum elsewhere; but the sergeant knew exactly how she was placed, and if he was willing and anxious for her to assume the charge of the child, why should she refuse this good offer? However, her pupils were waiting for her in the next room, and with an effort Mrs. Walsham put the matter aside, and went in to them. When James returned home to dinner, his mother related to him the whole conversation. James was more amused than puzzled. "It seems a rum idea, mother; but I don't see why you shouldn't take her. She is a sweet little thing, and will be a great amusement. Fifty pounds a year seems a tremendous sum for a man like that to pay; but I suppose he knows his own business, and it will be a great pull for you. You will be able to have all sorts of comforts. I should like it very much. I have often wished I had had a little sister, and she can go out walks with me, you know. It would be like having a big dog with one, only much jollier." "Yes," his mother said smiling; "and I shouldn't be surprised if you wanted to throw sticks into the water for her to fetch them out, and to be taking her out for a night's fishing, and be constantly bringing her home splashed with that nasty red mud from head to foot. You would be a nice playmate for a little girl, Jim. Perhaps it is that special advantage that the sergeant had in his mind's eye, when he was so anxious to put her with me." James laughed. "I would see that she didn't come to any harm, anyhow, you know; and, after all, I suppose it was my picking her out of the sea that had something to do with his first thinking of putting her with you." "I suppose it had, Jim," she said more seriously. "But what do you think, my boy? You know there are disadvantages in it. There will be a good deal of talk about my taking this showman's grandchild, and some of the farmers' wives won't like it." "Then let them dislike it," James said indignantly. "The child is as good as their daughters, any day. Why, I noticed her in church looking like a little lady. There was not a child there to compare to her." "Yes, I have noticed her myself," Mrs. Walsham said. "She is a singularly pretty and graceful child; but it will certainly cause remark." "Well, mother, you can easily say, what is really the fact, that you naturally felt an interest in her because I picked her out of the water. Besides, if people make remarks they will soon be tired of that; and if not, I can get into some scrape or other and give them something else to talk about." Accordingly, when Sergeant Wilks called on Monday morning for his answer, Mrs. Walsham told him that she had decided to accept his offer. "You are aware how I am placed," she said, "and that I cannot give her the care and time which I could wish, and which she ought to have for such a liberal payment as you propose; but you know that beforehand, and you see that for two years' payments I could not sacrifice my school connection, which I should have to do if I gave her the time I should wish." "I understand, madam," he said, "and I am grateful to you for consenting to take her. She is getting too old now to wander about with me, and since the narrow escape she had, last time I was here, I have felt anxious whenever she was out of my sight. It would not suit me to put her in a farm house. I want her to learn to speak nicely, and I have done my best to teach her; but if she went to a farm house she would be picking up all sorts of country words, and I want her to talk like a little lady. "So that is settled, ma'm. I am going on to Exeter from here, and shall get her a stock of clothes there, and will bring her back next Saturday. Will it suit you to take her then?" Mrs. Walsham said that would suit very well; and an hour later the sergeant set out from Sidmouth with his box, Aggie trotting alongside, talking continuously. "But why am I to stop with that lady, grampa, and not to go about with you any more? I sha'n't like it. I like going about, though I get so tired sometimes when you are showing the pictures; and I like being with you. It isn't 'cause I have been naughty, is it? 'Cause I fell out of the boat into the water? I won't never get into a boat again, and I didn't mean to fall out, you know." "No, Aggie, it's not that," the sergeant said. "You are always a good girl--at least, not always, because sometimes you get into passions, you know. Still, altogether you are a good little girl. Still, you see, you can't always be going about the country with me." "But why not, grampa?" "Well, my dear, because great girls can't go about the country like men. It wouldn't be right and proper they should." "Why shouldn't it be, grampa?" the child persisted. "Well, Aggie, I can't exactly explain to you why, but so it is. Men and boys have to work. They go about in ships, or as soldiers to fight for their country, just as I did. Girls and women have to stop at home, and keep house, and nurse babies, and that sort of thing. God made man to be hard and rough, and to work and go about. He made woman gentle and soft, to stop at home and make things comfortable." Aggie meditated for some distance, in silence, upon this view of the case. "But I have seen women working in the fields, grampa, and some of them didn't seem very soft and gentle." "No, Aggie, things don't always go just as they ought to do; and you see, when people are poor, and men can't earn enough wages, then their wives and daughters have to help; and then, you see, they get rough, more like men, because they are not doing their proper work. But I want you to grow up soft and gentle, and so, for a time, I want you to live with that lady with the nice boy who pulled you out of the water, and they will make you very happy, and I shall come and see you sometime." "I like him," the child said with a nod; "but I would rather be with you, you know." "And the lady will teach you to read, Aggie. You have learned your letters, you know." Aggie shook her head, to show that this part of the programme was not particularly to her liking. "Do you think the boy will play with me, grampa?" "I daresay he will, Aggie, when you are very good; and you must never forget, you know, that he saved your life. Just think how unhappy I should be, if he had not got you out of the water." "The water was cold and nasty," Aggie said, "and it seemed so warm and nice to my hands. Aggie won't go near the water any more. Of course, if the boy is with me I can go, because he won't let me tumble in. "Shall I get into the basket now, grampa? I is tired." "Oh, nonsense, little woman! you have not walked half a mile yet. Anyhow, you must trot along until you get to the top of this hill, then you shall have a lift for a bit." And so, with the child sometimes walking and sometimes riding, sometimes asleep in her basket and sometimes chatting merrily to her grandfather, the pair made their way across the country towards Exeter. There was no little talk in Sidmouth when, on the following Sunday, the showman's grandchild appeared in Mrs. Walsham's pew in church, and it became known that she had become an inmate of her house. It was generally considered that Mrs. Walsham had let herself down greatly by taking the showman's grandchild, and one or two of the mothers of her pupils talked about taking them away. One or two, indeed, called upon her to remonstrate personally, but they gained nothing by the step. "I do not understand what you mean," she said quietly, "by saying that the child is not fit to associate with my other pupils. She is singularly gentle and taking in her manner. She expresses herself better than any child of her own age in Sidmouth, so far as I know. There are few so neatly and prettily dressed. What is there to object to? Her grandfather has been a sergeant in the army. He bears a good character, and is liked wherever he goes. I do not consider that James or myself are, in any way, demeaned by sitting down to meals with the child, who, indeed, behaves as prettily and nicely as one could wish; and I certainly do not see that any of my pupils can be injuriously affected by the fact that, for an hour or two in the day, she learns her lessons in the same room with them. Had I thought that they would be, I should not have received her. I shall, of course, be sorry if any of my pupils are taken away, but as I have several girls only waiting for vacancies, it would make no difference to me pecuniarily." And so it happened that Mrs. Walsham lost none of her pupils, and in a short time the wonder died out. Indeed, the child herself was so pretty, and taking in her ways, that it was impossible to make any objection to her personally. Mrs. Walsham had been struck by the self command which she showed at parting with her grandfather. Her eyes were full of tears, her lip quivered, and she could scarcely speak; but there was no loud wailing, no passionate outburst. Her grandfather had impressed upon her that the parting was for her own good, and child though she was, she felt how great a sacrifice he was making in parting with her, and although she could not keep the tears from streaming down her cheeks, or silence her sobs as she bade him goodbye, she tried hard to suppress her grief. The pain of parting was, indeed, fully as great to Sergeant Wilks as to his granddaughter; and it was with a very husky voice that he bade her goodbye, and then, putting her into Mrs. Walsham's arms, walked hastily away. Aggie was soon at home. She and James very quickly became allies, and the boy was ever ready to amuse her, often giving up his own plans to take her for a walk to pick flowers in the hedgerow, or to sail a tiny boat for her in the pools left as the sea retired. Mrs. Walsham found, to her surprise, that the child gave little trouble. She was quiet and painstaking during the half hours in the morning and afternoon when she was in the school room, while at mealtimes her prattle and talk amused both mother and son, and altogether she made the house brighter and happier than it was before. In two months the sergeant came round again. He did not bring his box with him, having left it at his last halting place; telling James, who happened to meet him as he came into Sidmouth, that he did not mean to bring his show there again. "It will be better for the child," he explained. "She has done with the peep show now, and I do not want her to be any longer associated with it." Aggie was delighted to see him, and sprang into his arms, with a scream of joy, as he entered. After a few minutes' talk, Mrs. Walsham suggested that she should put on her hat and go for a walk with him, and, in high contentment, the child trotted off, holding her grandfather's hand. Turning to the left, the sergeant took the path up the hill, and when he reached the top, sat down on the short turf, with Aggie nestling up against him. "So you are quite well and happy, Aggie?" he asked. "Quite well, grampa, and very happy; but I do wish so much that you were here. Oh. it would be so nice to have you to go out with every day!" "I am afraid that cannot be managed, Aggie. I have been busy so long that I could not settle down quietly here. Besides, I must live, you know." "But wouldn't people give you money for the show if you lived here, grampa? You always got money here the same as other places." "Yes, my dear, but I could not get fresh pictures every day, and should soon tire them by showing the old house." "But you are sorry sometimes, grampa, not to have me with you?" "Yes, Aggie, very sorry. I miss you terribly sometimes, and I am always thinking about you." "Then why don't you take me away again, grampa?" "Because, as I told you, Aggie, I want you to learn to read, and to grow up quite a little lady." "Does reading make one a lady, grampa?" "No, Aggie, not by itself, but with other things." "And when I am quite grown up and big, and know how to read nicely, shall I be able to go with you again?" "We will see about that, Aggie, when the time comes. There is plenty of time yet to think about that." "But I am getting on very fast, grampa, and the lady says I am a good girl. So it won't be such a very long time before I can leave." "It will be some time, yet. You have only got to read little words yet, but there are lots of long words which you will come to presently. But Mrs. Walsham tells me that you are getting on nicely, and that you are a very good girl, which pleases me very much; and when I am walking along with my box, I shall like to be able to think of you as being quite comfortable and happy." "And I go walks with Jim, grampa, and Jim has made me a boat, and he says someday, when it is very fine and quiet, he will take me out in a big boat, like that boat, you know; and he is going to ask you if he may, for the lady said I must not go out with him till he has asked you. And he said he won't let me tumble over, and I am going to sit quite, quite still." "Yes, Aggie, I don't see any harm in your going out with him. I am sure he will only take you when it is fine, and he will look after you well. You like him, don't you?" "Oh! I do, grampa; and you know, it was him who got me out of the water, else I should never have come out, and never have seen grampa again; and he has made me a boat. Oh! yes, I do like him!" "That's right, my dear; always stick to those who are good to you." A few days after this, as James was sailing the toy boat, for Aggie's amusement, in a pool, a boy sauntered up. He was somewhat taller than James Walsham, and at least two years older. He was well dressed, and James knew him as the nephew and heir of the squire. It was not often that Richard Horton came down into the village. He was accustomed to be treated with a good deal of deference at the Hall, and to order servants and grooms about pretty much as he chose, and the indifference with which the fisher boys regarded him offended him greatly. He was a spoilt boy. His uncle had a resident tutor for him, but the selection had been a bad one. The library was large and good, the tutor fond of reading, and he was content to let the boy learn as little as he chose, providing that he did not trouble him. As to any instruction beyond books, he never thought of giving it. The squire never interfered. He was a silent and disappointed man. He attended to his duties as a magistrate, and to the management of his estate, but seldom went beyond the lodge gates. He took his meals by himself, and often did not see his nephew for a week together, and had no idea but that he was pursuing his studies regularly with his tutor. Thus, the character of Richard Horton formed itself unchecked. At the best it was a bad one, but under other circumstances it might have been improved. Up to the age of ten, he had lived in London with his father and mother, the latter a sister of the squire, who, having married beneath her, to the indignation of Mr. Linthorne, he had never seen her afterwards. Four years before the story begins, she had received a letter from him, saying that, as her eldest son was now his heir, he wished him to come and live with him, and be prepared to take his place. The Hortons, who had a numerous family, at once accepted the offer, and Richard, hearing that he was going to a grand house, and would no doubt have a pony and all sorts of nice things, left his father and mother without a tear. He was essentially selfish. He was vain of his good looks, which were certainly striking; and with his changed fortunes he became arrogant, and, as the squire's servants said, hateful; and yet the change had brought him less pleasure than he expected. It was true that he had the pony, that he was not obliged to trouble himself with lessons, that he was an important person at the "Hall;" but he had no playfellows, no one to admire his grandeur, and the days often passed heavily, and there was a look of discontent and peevishness upon his handsome face. Perhaps the reason why he so seldom came down into Sidmouth, was not only because the fisher boys were not sufficiently impressed with his importance, but because they looked so much happier and more contented than he felt, in spite of his numerous advantages. On this day he was in a particularly bad temper. He had lamed his pony the day before, by riding it furiously over a bad road after it had cast a shoe. The gardener had objected to his picking more than half a dozen peaches which had just come into perfection, and had threatened to appeal to the squire. Altogether, he was out of sorts, and had walked down to the sea with a vague hope that something might turn up to amuse him. He stood for some little time watching James sail the boat, and then strode down to the edge of the pool. The boat was a model of a smack, with brown sails. James had taken a good deal of pains with it, and it was an excellent model. Presently, in crossing, she stuck in a shallow some twelve feet from the edge. The intervening stretch of water was a foot deep. James picked up some small stones and threw them close to her, that the tiny wave they made might float her off. He tried several times without success. "What's the use of such little stones as that?" Richard said roughly. "You will never get her off like that;" and picking up one as large as his fist, he threw it with some force. It struck the mast, and broke it asunder, and knocked the boat on to her side. James Walsham uttered an angry exclamation. "You are a bad boy," Aggie said passionately. "You are a bad boy to break my boat;" and she burst into tears. "I didn't mean to do it, you little fool!" Richard said angrily, vexed more at his own clumsiness than at the damage it had caused. "What are you making such a beastly noise about?" and he gave her a push. It was not a hard one, but the ground was slippery, and the child's foot slipped, and she fell at the edge of the pool, her dress going partly into the water. At the same instant, Richard reeled, and almost fell beside her, from a heavy blow between the eyes from James's fist. "You insolent blackguard!" he exclaimed furiously, "I will pay you for this;" and he rushed at James. The combat was not a long one. Hard work at rowing and sailing had strengthened Jim Walsham's muscles, and more than balanced the advantage in height and age of his adversary. He had had, too, more than one fight in his time, and after the first sudden burst of passion, caused by the overthrow of Aggie, he fought coolly and steadily, while Richard rained his blows wildly, without attempting to guard his face. The child, on regaining her feet, ran crying loudly towards the beach, making for two fishermen who were engaged in mending a net some distance away; but before she could reach them to beg for aid for her champion, the fight was over, terminating by a heavy right-handed hit from James, which landed Richard Horton on his back in the pool. James stood quietly awaiting a renewal of the conflict when he arose, but Richard had had enough of it. One of his eyes was already puffed and red, his nose bleeding, and his lip cut. His clothes were soaked from head to foot, and smeared with the red mud. "I will pay you out for this, you see if I don't," Richard gasped hoarsely. "What! have you had enough of it?" James said scornfully. "I thought you weren't any good. A fellow who would bully a little girl is sure to be a coward." Richard moved as if he would renew the fight, but he thought better of it, and with a furious exclamation hurried away towards the Hall. James, without paying any further heed to him, waded after the boat, and having recovered it, walked off towards the child, who, on seeing his opponent had moved off, was running down to meet him. "Here is the boat, Aggie," he said. "There is no great harm done, only the mast and yard broken. I can easily put you in fresh ones;" but the child paid no attention to the boat. "He is a wicked bad boy, Jim; and did he hurt you?" "Oh, no, he didn't hurt me, Aggie, at least nothing to speak of. I hurt him a good deal more. I paid him out well for breaking your boat, and pushing you down, the cowardly brute!" "Only look, Jim," she said, holding out her frock. "What will she say?" James laughed. "Mother won't say anything," he said. "She is accustomed to my coming in all muddy." "But she said 'Keep your frock clean,' and it's not clean," Aggie said in dismay. "Yes, but that is not your fault, little one. I will make it all right with her, don't you fret. Come on, we had better go home and change it as soon as possible." They passed close by the two fishermen on their way. "You gave it to the young squire finely, Master Walsham," one of them said, "and served him right, too. We chanced to be looking at the moment, and saw it all. He is a bad un, he is, by what they say up at the Hall. I heard one of the grooms talking last night down at the 'Ship,' and a nice character he gave him. This thrashing may do him some good; and look you, Master Walsham, if he makes a complaint to the squire, and it's likely enough he will get up a fine story of how it came about--the groom said he could lie like King Pharaoh--you just send word to me, and me and Bill will go up to the squire, and tell him the truth of the matter." Mrs. Walsham felt somewhat alarmed when her son told her what had happened, for the squire was a great man at Sidmouth, a magistrate, and the owner of the greater part of the place as well as of the land around it; and although Mrs. Walsham did not hold the same exaggerated opinion of his powers as did the majority of his neighbours, who would scarcely have dreamt of opposing it, had the squire ordered anyone to be hung and quartered, still she felt that it was a somewhat terrible thing that her son should have thrashed the nephew and heir of the great man. In the evening there was a knock at the door, and the little maid came in with eyes wide open with alarm, for she had heard of the afternoon's battle, to say that the constable wished to speak to Mrs. Walsham. "Servant, ma'am," he said as he entered. "I am sorry to be here on an unpleasant business; but I have got to say as the squire wishes to see Master Walsham in the justice room at ten o'clock, on a charge of 'salt and battery. "Don't you be afeard ma'am," he went on confidentially. "I don't think as anything is going to be done to him. I ain't got no warrant, and so I don't look upon it as regular business. I expects it will be just a blowing up. It will be just the squire, and not the magistrate, I takes it. He told me to have him up there at ten, but as he said nothing about custody, I thought I would do it my own way and come to you quiet like; so if you say as Master Walsham shall be up there at ten o'clock, I'll just take your word for it and won't come to fetch him. The doctor was allus very good to me and my missus, and I shouldn't like to be walking through Sidmouth with my hand on his son's collar." "Thank you, Hobson," Mrs. Walsham said quietly. "You can rely upon it my son shall be there punctually. He has nothing to be afraid or ashamed of." Full of rage as Richard Horton had been, as he started for home, he would never have brought the matter before the squire on his own account. His case was too weak, and he had been thrashed by a boy younger than himself. Thus, he would have probably chosen some other way of taking his vengeance; but it happened that, just as he arrived home, he met his tutor coming out. The latter was astounded at Richard's appearance. His eyes were already puffed so much that he could scarcely see out of them, his lips were cut and swollen, his shirt stained with blood, his clothes drenched and plastered with red mud. "Why, what on earth has happened, Richard?" Richard had already determined upon his version of the story. "A brute of a boy knocked me down into the water," he said, "and then knocked me about till he almost killed me." "But what made him assault you in this outrageous manner?" his tutor asked. "Surely all the boys about here must know you by sight; and how one of them would dare to strike you I cannot conceive." "I know the fellow," Richard said angrily. "He is the son of that doctor fellow who died two years ago." "But what made him do it?" the tutor repeated. "He was sailing his boat, and it got stuck, and he threw in some stones to get it off; and I helped him, and I happened to hit the mast of his beastly boat, and then he flew at me like a tiger, and that's all." "Well, it seems to be a monstrous assault, Richard, and you must speak to the squire about it." "Oh, no, I sha'n't," Richard said hastily. "I don't want any row about it, and I will pay him off some other way. I could lick him easy enough if it had been a fair fight, only he knocked me down before I was on my guard. No, I sha'n't say anything about it." But Richard's tutor, on thinking the matter over, determined to speak to the squire. Only the evening before, Mr. Linthorne had surprised him by asking him several questions as to Richard's progress and conduct, and had said something about examining him himself, to see how he was getting on. This had caused Mr. Robertson no little alarm, for he knew that even the most superficial questioning would betray the extent of Richard's ignorance, and he had resolved that, henceforth, he would endeavour to assert his authority, and to insist upon Richard's devoting a certain portion of each day, regularly, to study. Should the squire meet the boy anywhere about the house, he must at once notice the condition of his face; and even if he did not meet him, he could not fail to notice it on Sunday, when he sat beside him in the pew. It would be better, therefore, that he should at once report the matter to him. Without saying a word to Richard of his intentions, he therefore went to the squire's study, and told him what had taken place, as he had learned it from Richard. The squire listened silently. "Very well, Mr. Robertson. You were quite right to tell me about it. Of course, I cannot suffer my nephew to be treated in this manner. At the same time, I am sorry that it was Walsham's son. I don't know anything about the boy, and should not know him even by sight, but I had an esteem for his father, who was a hard-working man, and, I believe, clever. He used to attend here whenever any of the servants were ill, and I had intended to do something for the boy. I am sorry he has turned out so badly. However, I will have him up here and speak to him. This sort of thing cannot be permitted." And accordingly, orders were given to the constable. When, in the evening, Mr. Robertson informed Richard what he had done, the boy flew into a terrible passion, and abused his tutor with a violence of language which shocked and astonished him, and opened his eyes to his own culpability, in allowing him to go on his way unchecked. He in vain endeavoured to silence the furious lad. He had been so long without exercising any authority, that he had now no authority to exercise, and, after an angry scene, Richard flung himself out of the room, and left his tutor in a state bordering on consternation. Chapter 3: The Justice Room. Richard's feelings were not to be envied, as he lay awake that night, thinking over what had taken place in the morning. It had never, for a moment, entered his mind that his tutor would repeat his statement to the squire, and he would have given a good deal if he had not made it. However, there was nothing for him now but to stick to the story, and he felt but little doubt of the result. He had no idea that any, but the actors in it, had witnessed the scene by the pool, and he felt confident that his uncle would, as a matter of course, take his word in preference to that of this boy, who would naturally tell lies to screen himself. Of course, the child was there, but no one would mind what a baby like that said. Still, it was a nuisance, and he gnashed his teeth with rage at the interference of his tutor in the matter. "I will get rid of him, somehow, before long," he said. "I will pay him out for his meddling, as sure as my name's Richard Horton. I will get him out of this before three months are gone." The next morning at breakfast, Richard received a message from the squire that he was to be present at ten o'clock in the justice room, and accordingly, at that hour he presented himself there with a confident air, but with an inward feeling of misgiving. The squire was sitting at his table, with his clerk beside him. Mr. Robertson was in a chair a short distance off. The constable was standing by the side of James Walsham, at the other end of the room. Mr. Linthorne nodded to his nephew. "I wish you to repeat the story which you told Mr. Robertson yesterday." Richard had thought over whether it would be better to soften his story, but as it had already been told to the squire, he had concluded that there would be more danger in contradicting his first version than in sticking to it. Accordingly, he repeated his story almost word for word as he had told it to Mr. Robertson. "What have you to say to this, James Walsham?" the squire asked. "This is a serious charge, that you without any provocation assaulted and maltreated my nephew." "I say it is all a lie, sir," James said fearlessly. The squire uttered a short exclamation of surprise and anger. He had been, at first, favourably impressed with the appearance of the young prisoner, though he had been surprised at seeing that he was younger than his nephew, for he had expected to see a much older boy. "That is not the way to speak, sir," he said sternly, while the constable pressed a warning hand on James's shoulder. "Well, sir, it's not true then," the boy said. "It's all false from beginning to end, except that I did strike him first; but I struck him, not because he had thrown a great stone and broken my boat, but because he pushed a little girl who was with me down into the water." "She slipped down. I never pushed her," Richard broke in. "Hold your tongue, sir," the squire said sternly. "You have given your evidence. I have now to hear what the accused has to say. "Now, tell your story." James now gave his version of the affair. When he had ended, Mr. Linthorne said gravely, "Have you any witnesses to call?" "Yes, sir, there are two fishermen outside who saw it." "Bring them in," the magistrate said to the constable. Not a word was spoken in the justice room until the constable returned. As James had told his story, the magistrate had listened with disbelief. It had not occurred to him that his nephew could have told a lie, and he wondered at the calmness with which this boy told his story. Why, were it true, Richard was a coward as well as a liar, for with his superior age and height, he should have been able to thrash this boy in a fair fight; yet James's face had not a mark, while his nephew's showed how severely he had been punished. But his eye fell upon Richard when James said that he had witnesses. He saw an unmistakable look of terror come over his face, and the bitter conviction flashed across him that James's story was the true one. "There is no occasion to give him the book, Hobson," he said, as the constable was about to hand the Testament to one of the fishermen. "This is a private investigation, not a formal magisterial sitting, and there is no occasion, at this stage, to take any evidence on oath." "What is your name, my man?" "John Mullens, your honour." "Well, just tell me, Mullens, what you know about this business." "I was a-mending my nets, yer honour, along with Simon Harte, and young Master Walsham was a-sailing his boat in a pool, along with the little gal as lives at his mother's." "How far were you from the spot where he was?" the squire asked. "Two hundred yards or so, I should say," the fisherman replied. "We was working behind a boat, but we could see over it well enough. Presently we saw Master Horton come down, and stand alongside the others. "I said to Simon, 'He is a good-looking young fellow, is the squire's nephew,'" and the fisherman's eye twinkled with a grim humour, as he glanced at Richard's swollen face. "The boat got stuck, and Master Walsham threw something in close to it to get it off. Then I see Master Horton stoop, and pick up a chunk of stone, and chuck it hard; and it hit the boat and knocked it over. I see the little girl turn round and say something to Master Horton, and then she put her apron up to her face and began to cry. He gave her a sort of shove, and she tumbled down into the edge of the pool. "I says to Simon, 'What a shame!' but afore the words was out of my mouth, Master Walsham he hits him, and hits him hard, too. Then there was a fight, but Master Horton, he hadn't a chance with James, who gave him as sound a licking as ever you see'd, and ending with knocking him backwards into the pool. Then he gets up and shakes his fist at James, and then goes off as hard as he could. That's all I know about it." "It's a wicked lie," Richard burst out. "They have made it up between them. There was nobody there." "Hold your tongue, sir, I tell you," the squire said, so sternly that Richard, who had risen from his seat, shrank back again and remained silent; while Simon Harte gave his evidence, which was almost identical with that of the other fisherman. "Have you any other witnesses?" the magistrate asked James. "Only the little girl, sir, but I did not bring her up. She is so little, I thought it was better she should not come, but I can send for her if you wish it." "It is not necessary," Mr. Linthorne said. "I have heard quite sufficient. The manner in which you and these fishermen have given your evidence convinces me that you are speaking the truth, and I am sorry that you should have been placed in this position. You will understand that this is not a formal court, and therefore that there is no question of discharging you. I can only say that, having heard the story of what took place at this fight between you and my nephew, I am convinced that you did what any other boy of spirit would have done, under the same circumstances, and that the punishment which you administered to him was thoroughly deserved. "Good morning!" James Walsham and his witnesses left the room. Mr. Linthorne rose, and saying to his nephew, "Follow me, sir," went to his study. Without saying a word as to what had passed, he took down some books from the shelves, and proceeded to examine Richard in them. A few minutes sufficed to show that the boy was almost absolutely ignorant of Latin, while a few questions in geography and history showed that he was equally deficient in these also. "That will do," the squire said. "Go up to your room, and remain there until I send for you." An hour after this a dog cart came round to the door. Mr. Robertson took his place in it with his trunk, and was driven away to Exeter, never to return. For two days Richard remained a prisoner in his room. His meals were brought up to him, but the servant who came with them answered no questions, telling him that the squire's orders were that he was not to hold any conversation with him. There was, indeed, a deep pleasure among the servants at the Hall, at the knowledge that Richard Horton was in disgrace. The exact circumstances of the affair were unknown, for the fishermen had not been present when Richard had told his story, and Mrs. Walsham, who was much shocked when James told her the circumstances, had impressed upon him that it was better to say nothing more about it. "You are clear in the matter, Jim, and that is enough for you. The squire will, no doubt, punish his nephew for the wicked lies he has told. Some day, you know, the boy will be master here. Don't let us set everyone against him by telling this disgraceful story." So, beyond the fact that there had been a fight between James Walsham and the squire's nephew, and that Richard Horton had been thrashed, and that the squire himself had said that it served him right, Sidmouth knew nothing of what had taken place in the justice room. Mr. Linthorne's first impulse had been to send his nephew at once back to his parents, with the message that he would have nothing more to do with him; but, though he had the reputation of being a stern man, the squire was a very kind-hearted one. He was shocked to find that the boy was a liar, and that, to shield himself, he had invented this falsehood against his opponent; but upon reflection, he acknowledged that he himself had been to blame in the matter. He had taken the boy into his house, had assigned to him the position of his heir, and had paid no further attention to him. Unfortunately, the man he had selected as his tutor had proved false to the trust. The boy had been permitted to run wild, his head was turned with the change in his prospects, his faults had grown unchecked. It was to be said for him that he had not intended, in the first place, to bring his opponent into disgrace by making this false accusation against him, for his tutor had acknowledged that he had said he did not intend to tell him, or to take any step in the matter, and his position of accuser had been, to some extent, forced upon him by the necessity of his confirming the tale, which he had told to account for his being thrashed by a boy smaller than himself. Yes, it would be unfair upon the boy utterly to cast him off for this first offence. He would give him one more trial. The result of the squire's reflection was that, on the third day of his imprisonment, Richard was sent for to the study. The squire did not motion to him to sit down, and he remained standing with, as the squire said to himself, a hang-dog look upon his face. "I have been thinking over this matter quietly, Richard, for I did not wish to come to any hasty conclusion. My first impulse was to pack you off home, and have no more to do with you, but I have thought better of it. Mean and despicable as your conduct has been, I take some blame to myself, for not having seen that your tutor did his duty by you. Therefore, I have resolved to give you another chance, but not here. I could not bear to have a boy, who has proved himself a despicable liar, about me; but I will try and think that this was a first offence, and that the lesson which it has taught you may influence all your future life, and that you may yet grow up an honourable man. "But you will remember that, henceforth, you are on trial, and that the position in which you will stand by my will, will depend solely and entirely on your own conduct. If you prove, by that, that this lesson has had its effect, that you deeply repent of your conduct, and are resolved to do your best to be henceforth straight, honourable, and true, you will, at my death, occupy the position I have intended for you. If not, not one single penny of my money will you get. I am going to put you in a school where you will be looked strictly after, and where you will have every chance of retrieving yourself. I have just written to a friend of mine, a post captain in his majesty's service, asking him to receive you as a midshipman. I have told him frankly that you have been somewhat over indulged, and that the discipline of the sea life will be of great benefit to you, and have requested him to keep a tight hand over you, and let me know occasionally how you are going on. I have told him that your position as my heir will, to a very large extent, depend upon his reports, and have asked him, in the name of our old friendship, to be perfectly frank and open in them with me. I have said 'he is my eldest nephew, but I have others who will take his place, if he is unworthy of the position, and although I should be sorry if he should be found wanting, I will commit the interests of all the tenants and people on my estate to no one who is not, in every respect, an honourable gentleman.' "That will do, sir. You need not remain longer in your room, but you will not leave the grounds. My friend's ship is at Portsmouth at present, and doubtless I shall receive an answer in the course of a few days. Until then, the less we see each other, the more pleasant for us both." There were few more miserable boys in England than Richard Horton, during the week which elapsed before the answer to the squire's letter was received. It cannot be said that, in the true sense of the word, he was sorry for his fault. He was furious with himself, not because he had lied, but because of the consequences of the lie. A thousand times he called himself a fool for having imperilled his position, and risked being sent back again to the dingy house in London, merely to excuse himself for being thrashed by a boy smaller than himself. Mad with his folly, not in having invented the story, but in having neglected to look round, to assure himself that there were no witnesses who would contradict it, he wandered disconsolate about the gardens and park, cursing what he called his fortune. It was an additional sting to his humiliation, that he knew every servant in and about the house rejoiced at his discomfiture, and he imagined that there was a veiled smile of satisfaction, at his bruised visage and his notorious disgrace with the squire, on the face of every man he met outside, and of every woman who passed him in the house. During the whole week he did not venture near the stables, for there he knew that he had rendered himself specially obnoxious, and there was nothing for him to do but to saunter listlessly about the garden, until the day arrived that the letter came granting the squire's request, and begging that he might be sent off at once, as the vessel would probably put to sea in a few days. "Now, Richard," the squire said that evening to him, in a kinder voice than he had used on the last occasion, "you understand exactly how we stand towards each other. That being so, I do not wish to maintain our present uncomfortable relations. You have had your punishment, and, unless I hear to the contrary, I shall assume that the punishment has had its effect. When you return from sea, after your first voyage, you will come home here as if nothing had happened, and this business need never be alluded to between us. If you turn out as I have hitherto believed you to be, I shall receive you as warmly as if my opinion of you had never been shaken. "I have requested Captain Sinclair to let me know what is the average allowance that the midshipmen receive from their parents, and shall see that you have as much as your messmates. I have also asked him to kindly allow one of his officers to order you a proper outfit in all respects, and to have the bill sent in to me. So now, my boy, you will have a fresh and a fair start, and I trust that you will turn out everything that I can wish." "I will try, sir. I will indeed," Richard said earnestly; and he spoke from his heart, for the inheritance was very dear to him, and it would be a terrible thing indeed to forfeit it. For two years after Richard Horton's departure, things went on quietly at Sidmouth. James Walsham continued to make a pet and a playmate of little Aggie. Her out-of-door life had made her strong and sturdy, and she was able to accompany him in all his rambles, while, when he was at work at home preparing fishing lines, making boats, or otherwise amusing himself, she was content to sit hours quietly beside him, chattering incessantly, and quite content with an occasional brief answer to the questions. When he was studying, she too would work at her lessons; and however much she might be puzzled over these, she would never disturb him by asking him questions when so engaged. She was an intelligent child, and the hour's lesson, morning and afternoon, soon grew into two. She was eager to learn, and rapidly gained ground on Mrs. Walsham's older pupils. During the two years, that lady never had cause to regret that she had yielded to the sergeant's entreaties. Aggie was no trouble in the house, which she brightened with her childish laughter and merry talk; and her companionship, James's mother could not but think, did the boy much good. It softened his manner, and, although he still often went out with the fishermen, he was no longer thrown entirely for companionship upon the boys on the beach. The sergeant came and went, seldom being more than two months without paying a visit to Sidmouth. The child was always delighted to see her grandfather, and James took to him greatly, and liked nothing better than to stroll up with him to a sheltered spot on the hillside, where he would throw himself down on the grass, while the sergeant smoked his pipe and told him stories of his travels and adventures, and Aggie ran about looking for wildflowers, or occasionally sat down, for a while, to listen also. The squire lived his usual lonely life up at the Hall. The absence of his nephew, whose ship had sailed for a foreign station, was a relief rather than otherwise to him. It had, from the first, been a painful effort to him to regard this boy as his heir, and he had only done it when heartsick from a long and fruitless search for one who would have been nearer and dearer to him. Nor had he ever taken to the lad personally. The squire felt that there was not the ring of true metal in him. The careless way in which he spoke of his parents showed a want of heart; and although his uncle was ignorant how much the boy made himself disliked in the household, he was conscious, himself, of a certain antipathy for him, which led him to see as little of him as possible. The two years, for which the sergeant had placed his grandchild with Mrs. Walsham, came to an end. That he did not intend to continue the arrangement, she judged from something he said on the occasion of his last visit, two months before the time was up, but he gave no hint as to what he intended to do with her. In those weeks Mrs. Walsham frequently thought the matter over. That the sergeant had plans for the child she could hardly doubt. The child herself had told her that she knew of no other relations than her grandfather, and yet he could hardly intend to take her about with him, after placing her for two years in a comfortable home. She was but seven years old now--far too young to go out into a place as servant girl in a farm house. She doubted not that the sergeant had expended the whole of his savings, and she thought him foolish in not having kept her with him for some little time longer, or, if he could not do that, he might have placed her with some honest people, who would have kept her for the sum he had paid until she was old enough to take a place as a nurse girl. And yet, while she argued thus, Mrs. Walsham felt that the old showman had not acted without weighing the whole matter. There must be something in it which she did not understand. In fact, he had said so when he placed the child with her. As the time approached, she became more worried at the thought of Aggie leaving her. The little one had wound herself very closely round her heart. The expense of keeping her was small indeed, the cost of her food next to nothing; while the extra girl, whom Mrs. Walsham had taken on when she first came, had been retained but a very short time, James's constant companionship with her rendering the keeping of a nurse altogether unnecessary. At last she made up her mind that she would offer to keep her on without pay. She and James would miss her companionship sorely, and it could not be considered an extravagance, since the money she had received for her would pay for the cost of her keep for years to come. When Mrs. Walsham's mind was once made up, her only fear was that these mysterious plans of the sergeant would not allow him to leave Aggie with her. Punctual to the day, Sergeant Wilks arrived, and after a little talk in the parlour, as usual, with James and Aggie present, he formally requested the favour of a conversation with Mrs. Walsham alone. "Take Aggie for a walk, James. Do not stay out above three quarters of an hour, as your tea will be ready for you then." "You must have wondered, ma'am, a good deal," the sergeant began when they were alone, "why I, who get my living by travelling the country with a peep show, wished to place my grandchild in a position above her, and to have her taught to be a little lady. It is time now that I should tell you. Aggie is my granddaughter, but she is the granddaughter, too, of Squire Linthorne up at the Hall." "Bless me!" Mrs. Walsham ejaculated, too astonished for any further expression of her feelings. "Yes, ma'am, she is the daughter of the squire's son Herbert, who married my daughter Cissie." "Dear me, dear me," Mrs. Walsham said, "what an extraordinary thing! Of course I remember Herbert Linthorne, a handsome, pleasant young fellow. He was on bad terms, as everyone heard, eight years ago, with his father, because he married somebody beneath--I mean somebody of whom the squire did not approve. A year afterwards, we heard that he was dead, and there was a report that his wife was dead, too, but that was only a rumour. The squire went away just at the time, and did not come back for months afterwards, and after that he was altogether changed. Before, he had been one of the most popular men in this part of the country, but now he shut himself up, gave up all his acquaintances, and never went outside the park gates except to come down to church. I remember it gave us quite a shock when we saw him for the first time--he seemed to have grown an old man all at once. Everyone said that the death of his son had broken his heart. "And Aggie is his granddaughter! Well, well, you have astonished me. But why did you not tell me before?" "There were a good many reasons, ma'am. I thought, in the first place, you might refuse me, if you knew, for it might do you harm. The squire is a vindictive man, and he is landlord of your house; and if he came to know that you had knowingly taken in his granddaughter, there was no saying how he might have viewed it. Then, if you had known it, you might have thought you ought to keep her in, and not let her run about the country with your son; and altogether, it would not have been so comfortable for you or her. I chose to put her at Sidmouth because I wanted to come here often, to hear how the squire was going on; for if he had been taken ill I should have told him sooner than I intended." "But why did you not tell him before?" Mrs. Walsham asked. "Just selfishness, ma'am. I could not bring myself to run the risk of having to give her up. She was mine as much as his, and was a hundred times more to me than she could be to him. I took her a baby from her dead mother's arms. I fed her and nursed her, taught her her first words and her first prayer. Why should I offer to give her up to him who, likely enough, would not accept the offer when it was made to him? But I always intended to make it some day. It was my duty to give her the chance at least; but I kept on putting off the day, till that Saturday when she was so nearly drowned; then I saw my duty before me." "I had, from the first, put aside a hundred pounds, to give her more of an education than I could do; but if it hadn't been for that fall into the sea, it might have been years before I carried out my plan. Then I saw it could not go on any longer. She was getting too old and too bold to sit quiet while I was showing my box. She had had a narrow escape, and who could say what might happen the next time she got into mischief? Then I bethought me that the squire was growing old, and that it was better not to put it off too long. So, ma'am, I came to you and made up my mind to put her with you." "And you had your way," Mrs. Walsham said, smiling, "though it was with some difficulty." "I expected it would be difficult, ma'am; but I made up my mind to that, and had you kept on refusing I should, as a last chance, have told you whose child she was." "But why me?" Mrs. Walsham asked. "Why were you so particularly anxious that she should come to me, of all people?" The sergeant smiled. "It's difficult to tell you, ma'am, but I had a reason." "But what was it?" Mrs. Walsham persisted. The sergeant hesitated. "You may think me an old fool, ma'am, but I will tell you what fancy came into my mind. Your son saved Aggie's life. He was twelve years old, she was five, seven years' difference." "Why, what nonsense, sergeant!" Mrs. Walsham broke in with a laugh. "You don't mean to say that fancy entered your head!" "It did, ma'am," Sergeant Wilks said gravely. "I liked the look of the boy much. He was brave and modest, and a gentleman. I spoke about him to the fishermen that night, and everyone had a good word for him; so I said to myself, 'I can't reward him for what he has done directly, but it may be that I can indirectly.' "Aggie is only a child, but she has a loving, faithful little heart, and I said to myself, 'If I throw her with this boy, who, she knows, has saved her life, for two years, she is sure to have a strong affection for him.' "Many things may happen afterwards. If the squire takes her they will be separated. He may get to care for someone, and so may she, but it's just giving him a chance. "Then, too, I thought a little about myself. I liked to fancy that, even though she would have to go from me to the squire, my little plan may yet turn out, and it would be I, not he, who had arranged for the future happiness of my little darling. I shouldn't have told you all this, ma'am; but you would have it." "I am glad you brought her to me, Sergeant Wilks, anyhow," Mrs. Walsham said, "for I love her dearly, and she has been a great pleasure to me; but what you are talking about is simply nonsense. My son is a good boy, and will, I hope, grow up an honourable gentleman like his father; but he cannot look so high as the granddaughter of Squire Linthorne." "More unequal marriages have been made than that, ma'am," the sergeant said sturdily; "but we won't say more about it. I have thought it over and over, many a hundred times, as I wheeled my box across the hills, and it don't seem to me impossible. I will agree that the squire would never say yes; but the squire may be in his grave years before Aggie comes to think about marriage. Besides, it is more than likely that he will have nothing to say to my pet. If his pride made him cast his son off, rather than acknowledge my daughter as his, it will keep him from acknowledging her daughter as his grandchild. I hope it will, with all my heart; I hope so." "In that case, Sergeant Wilks," Mrs. Walsham said, "let this be her home for the time. Before you told me your story, I had made up my mind to ask you to let her remain with me. You need feel under no obligation, for the money you have paid me is amply sufficient to pay for the expenses of what she eats for years. It will be a real pleasure for me to keep her, for she has become a part of the house, and we should miss her sorely, indeed. She is quick and intelligent, and I will teach her all I know, and can train her up to take a situation as a governess in a gentleman's family, or perhaps--" and she laughed, "your little romance might come true some day, and she can in that case stop in this home until James makes her another." "You are very kind, ma'am," the sergeant said. "Truly kind indeed; and I humbly accept your offer, except that so long as I live she shall be no expense to you. I earn more than enough for my wants, and can, at any rate, do something towards preventing her from being altogether a burden on your hands. And now, ma'am, how would you recommend me to go to work with the vindictive old man up at the Hall?" "I shouldn't have thought he was vindictive. That is not at all the character he bears." "No," the sergeant said, "I hear him spoken well of; but I have seen, in other cases, men, who have had the name of being pleasant and generous, were yet tyrants and brutes in their own family. I judge him as I found him--a hard hearted, tyrannical, vindictive father. I think I had better not see him myself. We have never met. I have never set eyes on him save here in church; but he regarded me as responsible for the folly of his son. He wrote me a violent letter, and said I had inveigled the lad into the marriage; and although I might have told him it was false, I did not answer his letter, for the mischief was done then, and I hoped he would cool down in time. "However, that is all past now; but I don't wish to see him. I was thinking of letting the child go to the Hall by herself, and drop in suddenly upon him. She is very like her father, and may possibly take his heart by storm." "Yes," Mrs. Walsham assented. "Now I know who she is, I can see the likeness strongly. Yes; I should think that that would be the best way. People often yield to a sudden impulse, who will resist if approached formally or from a distance. But have you any reason to suppose that he will not receive her? Did he refuse at first to undertake the charge of the child? Does he even know that she is alive? It may be that, all these years, he has been anxious to have her with him, and that you have been doing him injustice altogether." "I never thought of it in that light," the sergeant said, after a pause. "He never came near his son when he lay dying, never wrote a line in answer to his letters. If a man could not forgive his son when he lay dying, how could he care for a grandchild he had never seen?" "That may be so, Sergeant Wilks; but his son's death certainly broke him down terribly, and it may be that he will gladly receive his granddaughter. "But there are the young ones back again. I will think over what you have been telling me, and we can discuss it again tomorrow." Chapter 4: The Squire's Granddaughter. The following day another council was held, and Mrs. Walsham told the sergeant that, on thinking it over, she had concluded that the best way would be to take the old butler at the Hall, who had served the family for forty-five years, into their confidence, and to ask him to arrange how best Aggie might be introduced to the squire. "I have been thinking over what you said, ma'am, and it may be that you are right, and that I have partly misjudged the squire. I hope so, for Aggie's sake, and yet I cannot help feeling sorry. I have always felt almost sure he would have nothing to say to her, and I have clung to the hope that I should not lose my little girl. I know, of course, how much better it will be for her, and have done all I could to make her so that she should be fit for it, if he took her. But it will be a wrench, ma'am. I can't help feeling it will be a wrench;" and the old soldier's voice quivered as he spoke. "It cannot be otherwise, sergeant," Mrs. Walsham said kindly. "You have been everything to each other, and though, for her good and happiness, you are ready to give her up, it is a heavy sacrifice for you to make." That afternoon, the sergeant went for a long walk alone with Aggie, and when they returned Mrs. Walsham saw, by the flushed cheeks and the swollen eyes of the child, that she had been crying. James noticed it also, and saw that she seemed depressed and quiet. He supposed that her grandfather had been telling her that he was going to take her away, for hitherto nothing had been said, in her hearing, as to the approaching termination of the stay with his mother. As they came out of church, Mrs. Walsham had waited for a moment at the door, and had told the butler at the Hall that she wished particularly to speak to him, that afternoon, if he could manage to come down. They were not strangers, for the doctor had attended John's wife in her last illness, and he had sometimes called with messages from the Hall, when the doctor was wanted there. John Petersham was astonished, indeed, when Mrs. Walsham informed him that the little girl he had seen in her pew, in church, was his master's granddaughter. "You don't say so, ma'am. You don't say as that pretty little thing is Master Herbert's child! But why didn't you say so afore? Why, I have caught myself looking at her, and wondering how it was that I seemed to know her face so well; and now, of course, I sees it. She is the picture of Master Herbert when he was little." "I couldn't say so before, John, because I only knew it myself last night. Her grandfather--that is, her other grandfather, you know--placed her with me to educate, and, as he said, to make a little lady of, two years ago; but it was only last night he told me." "Only to think of it!" the butler ejaculated. "What will the squire say?" "Yes, that is the point, John. What will the squire say? Her grandfather thinks he will have nothing to say to her." "Nothing to say to her, ma'am! Why, he will be off his head with joy. Didn't he search for her, and advertise for her, and do all he could to find her for months? It wasn't till he tried for over a year that he gave it up, and sent for Richard Horton to come to him." "Her grandfather can only judge by what he knows, John. He tells me that the son wrote to his father, over and over again, on his deathbed, and that he never came near him, or took any notice of the letters." "That's true enough, ma'am," the butler said sadly; "and it is what has pretty nigh broken the squire's heart. He was obstinate like at first, and he took me with him when he travelled about across the sea among the foreigners, and when he was at a place they called Athens, he got a fever and he was down for weeks. We came home by sea, and the winds was foul, and we made a long voyage of it, and when we got home there was letters that had been lying months and months for us, and among them was those letters of Master Herbert's. "The squire wasn't an hour in the house afore the carriage was round to the door, and we posted as hard as horses could take us right across England to Broadstairs, never stopping a minute except to change horses; and when we got there it was a month too late, and there was nothing to do but to go to the churchyard, and to see the stone under which Master Herbert and his young wife was laid. "The house where they had died was shut up. There had been a sale, and the man who was the father of Master Herbert's wife was gone, and we learned there had been a baby born, and that had gone too. The squire was like a madman, blaming himself for his son's death, and a-raving to think what must Master Herbert have thought of him, when he never answered his letters. I had a terrible time with him, and then he set to work to find the child; but, as I told you, we never did find it, or hear a word of it from that time to this, and the squire has never held up his head. He will be pretty well out of his mind with joy." "I am very glad to hear what you say, John," Mrs. Walsham said. "I could hardly fancy the squire, who always has borne such a name for kindness, being so hard that he would not listen to his dying son's entreaties." "No, ma'am. The squire was hard for a bit. Master Herbert's marriage was a sad disappointment to him. He had made up his mind he was going to do so well, and to cut such a figure in the world; but he would have come round. Lord bless you, he only meant to hold out for a bit. When he was ill at Athens, he was talking all the time about forgiving his son, and I could see how hard it had been to him to keep separated from him. On the voyage home he fidgeted ever so at the delay, and I knew that the first thing he did, when he got back, would be to write to Master Herbert and tell him to bring his wife down to the Hall. There's not a hard corner in the squire's heart. "I thank the good God for the news you have told me, ma'am; it's the best I ever heard in all my life." Mrs. Walsham now told him how the child had been brought up, and then the sergeant himself, who was waiting in the next room, was brought in; and to him John Petersham related the story of the squire's illness, the reason of the letters not reaching him for months after they had been written, and his intense sorrow and self reproach at having arrived too late, and told him of the efforts that had been made to find the child. The sergeant listened in grave silence. "I am glad it is so," he said, after a pause. "I have misjudged the squire, and I am glad of it. It will be a blow to me to lose the child. I do not pretend that it won't; but it is for her good, and I must be content. He can hardly object to my seeing her sometimes, and if I know that she is well and happy, that is all I care for; and now the sooner it's over the better. Can she come up this evening?" "Surely she can," John Petersham said. "The squire dines at five. If you will bring her up at six, I will take her in to him." And so it was arranged, and in his walk with Aggie, afterwards, the sergeant told her the history of her parents, and that Squire Linthorne was her other grandfather, and that she was to go up and see him that evening. Aggie had uttered her protest against fate. She did not wish to leave her grampa who had been so good to her, and Mrs. Walsham, and James. The description of the big house and its grandeurs, and the pleasures of a pony for herself, offered no enticement to her; and, weeping, she flung her arms round her grandfather's neck and implored him not to give her up. "I must, my dear. It is my duty. I wish to God that it were not. You know how I love you, Aggie, and how hard it is for me to part with you; but it is for your good, my darling. You mayn't see it now, but when you get older you will know it. It will not be so hard now on me, dear, nor on you, as it would have been had I given you up two years ago; but we have learned to do a little without each other." "But you will come and see me, just as you have here, won't you?" Aggie said, still weeping. "I hope so, my dear. You see, the squire is your father's father, while I am only your mother's father, and somehow the law makes him nearer to you than I am, and he will have the right to say what you must do." "I won't stay with him. I won't," Aggie said passionately, "if he won't let you come." "You must not say that, dear," the sergeant said. "We must all do our duty, even when that duty is hard to do, and your duty will be to obey the squire's orders, and to do as he tells you. I have no doubt he will be very kind, and that you will be very happy with him, and I hope he will let you see me sometimes." It was a long time before the child was at all reconciled. When her sobs began to cease, her grandfather told her what she was to do when she saw the squire. "You will remember, my dear, that I have been more fortunate than he has. I have had you all these years, and he has had no one to love or care for him. You must remember that he was not to blame, because he objected to his son marrying my daughter. They were not in the same position of life, and it was only natural that he should not like it, at first; and, as I told you, he was coming home to make them both happy, when he found it was too late. "You must think, dear, that while I have been happy all these years with you, he has been sorrowing and grieving, and you must try and love him, and make up to him for what he has suffered. I know you will not forget your old friends. You will love me whether you see me often or not; and Mrs. Walsham, who has been very kind to you; and James, you know, who saved your life." "I shall never forget anyone, grampa. I shall always love you better than anyone," the child exclaimed, throwing her arms round his neck with a fresh burst of tears. "There, there, my pet," the sergeant said soothingly. "You must not cry any more. I want you to look your best this evening, you know, and to do credit to us all. And now, I think we have settled everything, so we will be going back to tea." That evening, the squire was sitting by himself in the great dining room, occasionally sipping the glass of port, which John Petersham had poured out before he left the room. The curtains were drawn, and the candles lighted; for it was late in September, and the evenings were closing in fast; and the squire was puzzling over John Petersham's behaviour at dinner. Although the squire was not apt to observe closely what was passing around him, he had been struck with the old butler's demeanour. That something was wrong with him was clear. Usually he was the most quiet and methodical of servants, but he had blundered several times in the service. He had handed his master dishes when his plate was already supplied. He had spilled the wine in pouring it out. He had started nervously when spoken to. Mr. Linthorne even thought that he had seen tears in his eyes. Altogether, he was strangely unlike himself. Mr. Linthorne had asked him if anything was the matter, but John had, with almost unnecessary earnestness, declared there was nothing. Altogether, the squire was puzzled. With any other servant, he would have thought he had been drinking, but such a supposition, in John's case, was altogether out of the question. He could have had no bad news, so far as the squire knew, for the only children he had, had died young, and he had no near relatives or connections. It was ridiculous to suppose that John, at his age, had fallen in love. Altogether, the squire failed to suggest to himself any explanation of his old butler's conduct, and had just concluded, philosophically, by the reflection that he supposed he should know what it was sooner or later, when the door of the room quietly opened. The squire did not look up. It closed again as quietly, and then he glanced towards it. He could hardly believe his eyes. A child was standing there--a girl with soft smooth hair, and large eyes, and a sensitive mouth, with an expression fearless but appealing. Her hands were clasped before her, and she was standing in doubt whether to advance. There was something so strange, in this apparition in the lonely room, that the squire did not speak for a moment. It flashed across him, vaguely, that there was something familiar to him in the face and expression, something which sent a thrill through him; and at the same instant, without knowing why, he felt that there was a connection between the appearance of the child, and the matter he had just been thinking of--John Petersham's strange conduct. He was still looking at her, when she advanced quietly towards him. "Grandpapa," she said, "I am Aggie Linthorne." A low cry of astonishment broke from the squire. He pushed his chair back. "Can it be true?" he muttered. "Or am I dreaming?" "Yes, grandpapa," the child said, close beside him now. "I am Aggie Linthorne, and I have come to see you. If you don't think it's me, grampa said I was to give you this, and then you would know;" and she held out a miniature, on ivory, of a boy some fourteen years old; and a watch and chain. "I do not need them," the squire said, in low tones. "I see it in your face. You are Herbert's child, whom I looked for so long. "Oh! my child! my child! have you come at last?" and he drew her towards him, and kissed her passionately, while the tears streamed down his cheeks. "I couldn't come before, you know," the child said, "because I didn't know about you; and grampa, that's my other grandpapa," she nodded confidentially, "did not know you wanted me. But now he knows, he sent me to you. He told me I was to come because you were lonely. "But you can't be more lonely than he is," she said, with a quiver in her voice. "Oh! he will be lonely, now!" "But where do you come from, my dear? and how did you get here? and what have you been doing, all these years?" "Grampa brought me here," the child said. "I call him grampa, you know, because I did when I was little, and I have always kept to it; but I know, of course, it ought to be grandpapa. He brought me here, and John--at least he called him John--brought me in. And I have been living, for two years, with Mrs. Walsham down in the town, and I used to see you in church, but I did not know that you were my grandpapa." The squire, who was holding her close to him while she spoke, got up and rang the bell; and John opened the door, with a quickness that showed that he had been waiting close to it, anxiously waiting a summons. "John Petersham," the squire said, "give me your hand. This is the happiest day of my life." The two men wrung each other's hands. They had been friends ever since John Petersham, who was twelve years the senior of the two, first came to the house, a young fellow of eighteen, to assist his father, who had held the same post before him. "God be thanked, squire!" he said huskily. "God be thanked, indeed, John!" the squire rejoined, reverently. "So this was the reason, old friend, why your hand shook as you poured out my wine. How could you keep the secret from me?" "I did not know how to begin to tell you, but I was pretty nigh letting it out, and only the thought that it was better the little lady should tell you herself, as we had agreed, kept it in. Only to think, squire, after all these years! But I never quite gave her up. I always thought, somehow, as she would come just like this." "Did you, John? I gave up hope years ago. How did it come about, John?" "Mrs. Walsham told me, as I came out of church today, as she wanted to speak to me. So I went down, and she told me all about it, and then I saw him--" John hesitated at the name, for he knew that, perhaps, the only man in the world against whom his master cherished a bitter resentment, was the father of his son's wife. "It seems he never saw your advertisements, never knew as you wanted to hear anything of the child, so he took her away and kept her. He has been here, off and on, all these years. I heard tell of him, often and often, when I had been down into Sidmouth, but never dreamt as it was him. He went about the country with a box on wheels with glasses--a peep show as they calls it." The squire winced. "He is well spoken of, squire," John said, "and I am bound to say as he doesn't seem the sort of man we took him for, at all, not by no means. He did not know you wanted to have her, but he thought it his duty to give her the chance, and so he put her with Mrs. Walsham, and never told her, till yesterday, who she was. Mrs. Walsham was quite grieved at parting with her, for she says she is wonderfully quick at her lessons, and has been like a daughter with her, for the last two years." The child had sat quietly down in a chair, and was looking into the fire while the two men were speaking. She had done what she was told to do, and was waiting quietly for what was to come next. Her quick ear, however, caught, in the tones of John Petersham, an apologetic tone when speaking of her grandfather, and she was moved to instant anger. "Why do you speak like that of my grampa?" she said, rising to her feet, and standing indignantly before him. "He is the best man in the world, and the kindest and the nicest, and if you don't like him, I can go away to him again. I don't want to stay here, not one minute. "You may be my grandpapa," she went on, turning to the squire, "and you may be lonely, but he is lonely, too, and you have got a great house, and all sorts of nice things; and you can do better without me than he can, for he has got nothing to love but me, poor grampa!" And her eyes filled with sudden tears, as she thought of him tramping on his lonely walks over the hills. "We do not mean to speak unkindly of your grandfather, my dear," the squire said gently. "I have never seen him, you know, and John has never seen him but once. I have thought, all these years, bitterly of him; but perhaps I have been mistaken. He has ever been kind and good to you, and, above all, he has given you back to me, and that will make me think differently of him, in future. We all make mistakes, you know, and I have made terrible mistakes, and have been terribly punished for them. I daresay I have made a mistake here; but whether or no, you shall never hear a word, from me, against the man who has been so kind to you." "And you will let me see him sometimes, grandpapa?" the child said, taking his hand pleadingly. "He said, if you said no, I must do as you told me; because somehow you are nearer to me than he is, though I don't know how that can be. But you won't say that, will you? For, oh! I know he is so lonely without me, and I should never be happy, thinking of him all alone, not if you were to be ever so kind to me, and to give me all sorts of grand things." "No, my dear, I certainly shall not say so. You shall see him as often as you like." "Oh, thank you, grandpapa!" she exclaimed joyfully, and she held up her face to kiss him. The squire lifted her in his arms, and held her closely to him. "John," he said, "you must tell Mrs. Morcombe to get a room ready for my granddaughter, at once, and you had better bring the tea in here, and then we will think of other things. I feel quite bewildered, at present." When John returned with the tea, Aggie was sitting on the squire's knee. She was perfectly at home, now, and had been chattering to him of her life with her grandfather, and had just related the incident of her narrow escape from drowning. "Do you hear that, John?" the squire said. "She was nearly drowned here, within sight of our home, and I might never have known anything about it. It seems that lad of Dr. Walsham's saved her life. He is a fine lad. He was her champion, you know, in that affair with my nephew. How strange that the two boys should have quarrelled over my granddaughter!" "Yes, squire, and young Walsham came well out of it!" John said heartily; for to him, only, did the squire mention the circumstances of the case, and he chuckled now to himself, as he thought that Richard Horton had made an even greater mistake in that matter than he thought of, for John detested the boy with all his heart, and had only abstained from reporting his conduct, to the squire, from fear of giving his master pain. The squire's brow clouded a little at the allusion. "It will make a difference to him, John," he said, "for, of course, now my granddaughter will take his place." "And a good thing, too!" John said heartily. "I have never said a word before, squire, because, as you had chosen him as your heir, there was no use in setting you against him; but a more hatefuller lad than Richard Horton I never comed across, and so said everyone here. You did not see much of him, squire, and natural thought well of him, for he was a good-looking boy, and could speak fair enough when he liked. I thought well of him, myself, when he first came, but I larned better, afterwards." "There are many excuses to be made for him, John," the squire said, "and I have had good reports of him, since. Of course, I shall see that, although he can no longer be regarded as my heir here, he shall be well provided for. But there will be plenty of time to think of this." "Mr. Wilks asked me to say, sir," the butler said as he prepared to leave them, "that he shall be staying in Sidmouth tomorrow, and that, if you wish to see him, he will come up here." "Certainly I wish to see him," the squire replied. "I have many things to ask him. Let the boy go down, the first thing in the morning, or--no, if you don't mind, John, would you go down yourself tonight? He will naturally be anxious to know how his grandchild is getting on. Tell him with what joy I have received her, and take any message she may give you. "Is there anything you would like to say to your grandfather, child?" "Oh, yes. Please tell him that I think I shall like it, and that he is to come and see me when he likes, and that, of course, he is to see me when he comes in the morning, and then I can tell him all about it." "And say, I shall be glad to see him the first thing after breakfast," the squire added. The housekeeper soon entered, and Aggie, very sleepy after the excitements of the day, was taken off to bed. Her sleepiness, however, disappeared in her wonder at the size of the house, and at the vastness of her bedroom. "Why, you have got a fire!" she exclaimed in astonishment. "I never saw a fire in a bedroom, before." "I didn't light it for the cold, miss," the housekeeper said; "but because it is a long time since the room was slept in before, and because I thought it would be cheerful for you. I shall sleep in the next room, till things are settled, so that, if you want anything, you will only have to run in." "Thank you," Aggie said gratefully. "It does all seem so big; but I am sure not to want anything. Thank you." "Here is your box, miss. Would you like me to help undress you?" "Oh, no!" Aggie laughed. "Why, of course I can undress myself;" and she laughed at the idea of assistance being required in such a matter. "Then, good night!" the housekeeper said. "I shall leave the door ajar, between the two rooms, when I come to bed." The next morning, soon after breakfast, Sergeant Wilks was ushered into the study, where the squire was expecting him. The two men had had hard thoughts of each other, for many years. The squire regarded the sergeant as a man who had inveigled his son into marrying his daughter, while the sergeant regarded the squire as a heartless and unnatural father, who had left his son to die alone among strangers. The conversation with John Petersham had taught the sergeant that he had wronged the squire, by his estimate of him, and that he was to be pitied rather than blamed in the matter. The squire, on his part, was grateful to the sergeant for the care he had bestowed upon the child, and for restoring her to him, and was inclined, indeed, at the moment, to a universal goodwill to all men. The sergeant was pale, but self possessed and quiet; while the squire, moved, by the events of the night before, out of the silent reserve in which he had, for years, enveloped himself, was agitated and nervous. He was the first to speak. "Mr. Wilks," he said. "I have to give you my heartfelt thanks, for having restored my granddaughter to me--the more so as I know, from what she has said, how great a sacrifice you must be making. John has been telling me of his conversation with you, and you have learned, from him, that I was not so wholly heartless and unnatural a father as you must have thought me; deeply as I blame myself, and shall always blame myself, in the matter." "Yes," the sergeant said. "I have learned that I have misread you. Had it not been so, I should have brought the child to you long ago--should never have taken her away, indeed. Perhaps we have both misjudged each other." "I fear that we have," the squire said, remembering the letters he wrote to his son, in his anger, denouncing the sergeant in violent language. "It does not matter, now," the sergeant went on quietly; "but, as I do not wish Aggie ever to come to think ill of me, in the future, it is better to set it right. "When I left the army, I had saved enough money to furnish a house, and I took one at Southampton, and set up taking lodgers there. I had my pension, and lived well until my wife died--a year before your son came down, from London, with another gentleman, and took my rooms. My daughter was seventeen when her mother died, and she took to managing the house. I was careful of her, and gave her orders that, on no account, was she ever to go into the lodgers' rooms. I waited on them, myself. "How your son first saw her, and got to speak to her, I don't know; but I am not surprised that, when he did, he loved her, for there was no prettier or sweeter girl in Hampshire. They took the rooms, first, only for a fortnight, then the other gentleman went away, and your son stayed on. "One day--it came upon me like a thunderbolt--your son told me he wanted to marry my Agnes. I was angry, at first. Angry, because it had been done behind my back, and because I had been deceived. I said as much; but your son assured me that he had never spoken to her in the house, but had met her when she went out for her walks. Still, it was wrong, and I told him so, and I told her so, though, in my heart, I did not altogether blame them; for young people will be young people, and, as he had acted honourably in coming to me at once, I let that pass. "But, squire, though but a sergeant in His Majesty's service, I had my pride as you had yours, and I told him, at once, that I would not give my consent to my daughter's marrying him, until you had given yours; and that he must leave the house at once, and not see Agnes again, until he came with your written consent to show me. "He went away at once. After a time, he began to write to me, urging me to change my decision; and from this, although he never said so, I was sure that you had refused to sanction his marriage. However, I stuck to what I had said, though it was hard for me to do so, with my child growing thin and pale before my eyes, with all her bright happiness gone. "So it went on, for three months, and then one morning she was gone, and I found a letter on her table for me, saying that she had been married to him a week before, when she went out, as I thought, to spend the day with a friend. She begged and prayed me to forgive her, and said how miserable she had been, and that she could not say no to her lover's pleadings. "I wrote to the address she had given me, saying that she had well nigh broken my heart. She knew that I had only refused my consent because it would have seemed a dishonourable action, to allow your son to marry her without your consent. She knew how hard it had been for me to do my duty, when I saw her pining before my eyes, but I forgave her wholly, and did not altogether blame her, seeing that it was the way of Nature that young women, when they once took to loving, should put their father altogether in the second place; "It was hard to me to write that letter, for I longed to see her bonny face again. But I thought it was my duty. I thought so then; but I think, now, it was pride. "From time to time she wrote to me. I learned that you still refused to see your son, and I gathered, though she did not say much of this, that things were going badly with them. At last, she wrote that her husband was ill--very ill, she feared. He had, in vain, tried to get employment. I don't think he was naturally strong, and the anxiety had broken him down. Then I went up to London at once, and found them, in a little room, without the necessaries of life. I brought them down home, and nursed him for three months, till he died. "A week later, Aggie was born. Ten days afterwards, I laid her mother by the side of her father. No answer had come to the letters he had written to you, while he had been ill, though in the later ones he had told you that he was dying. So, I looked upon the child as mine. "Things had gone badly with me. I had been able to take no lodgers, while they were with me. I had got into debt, and even could I have cleared myself, I could not well have kept the house on, without a woman to look after it. I was restless, too, and longed to be moving about. So I sold off the furniture, paid my debts, and laid by the money that remained, for the child's use in the future. "I had, some time before, met an old comrade travelling the country with a show. I happened to meet him again, just as I was leaving, and he told me the name of a man, in London, who sold such things. I left the child, for a year, with some people I knew, a few miles out of Southampton; came up to London, bought a show, and started. It was lonely work, at first; but, after a year, I fetched the child away, and took her round the country with me, and for four years had a happy time of it. "I had chosen this part of the country, and, after a time, I became uneasy in my mind, as to whether I was doing right; and whether, for the child's sake, I ought not to tell you that she was alive, and offer to give her up, if you were willing to take her. I heard how your son's death had changed you, and thought that, maybe, you would like to take his daughter; but, before bringing her to you, I thought she should have a better education than I had time to give her, and that she should be placed with a lady, so that, if you took her, you need not be ashamed of her manners. "I hoped you would not take her. I wanted to keep her for myself; but my duty to her was clear. "And now, squire, you know all about it. I have been wrong to keep her so long from you, I grant; but I can only say that I have done my duty, as far as I could, and that, though I have made many mistakes, my conscience is clear, that I did the best, as far as it seemed to me at the time." Chapter 5: A Quiet Time. As the sergeant was telling the story, the squire had sat with his face shaded by his hand, but more than one tear had dropped heavily on the table. "I wish I could say as much," he said sadly, when the other ended. "I wish that I could say that my conscience is clear, Mr. Wilks. I have misjudged you cruelly, and that without a tithe of the reason, which you had, for thinking me utterly heartless and cruel. You will have heard that I never got those letters my son wrote me, after he was ill, and that, when I returned home and received them, I posted to Southampton, only to find that I was too late; and that, for a year, I did all in my power to find the child. Still, all this is no excuse. I refused to forgive him, returned his letters unanswered, and left him, as it seemed, to his fate. "It is no excuse to say that I had made up my mind to forgive him, when he was, as I thought, sufficiently punished. He did not know that. As to the poverty in which you found him, I can only plead that I did not dream that he would come to that. He had, I knew, some money, for I had just sent him his half-year's allowance before he wrote to me about this business. Then there was the furniture of his rooms in London, his horses, jewels, and other matters. I had thought he could go on very well for a year. "Of course, I was mistaken. Herbert was always careless about money, and, no doubt, he spent it freely after he was first married. He would naturally wish to have everything pretty and nice for his young wife, and, no doubt, he counted upon my forgiving him long before the money was spent. "I am not excusing myself. God knows how bitterly I have condemned myself, all these years. I only want to show you that I had no idea of condemning him to starvation. He was my only son, and I loved him. I felt, perhaps, his rebellion all the more, because he had never before given me a day's trouble. I was harsh, obstinate, and cruel. "I have only the one old excuse. I never thought it would turn out as it did. What would I give, if I could say, as you can, that you have a clear conscience, and that you acted always as it seemed to be your duty! "And now, Mr. Wilks, now that I have heard your story, I trust that you will forgive my past suspicions of you, and let me say how much I honour and esteem you for your conduct. No words can tell you how I thank you, for your goodness and kindness to my little granddaughter; our little granddaughter, I should say. You have the better right, a thousand-fold, to her than I have; and, had I been in your place, I could never have made such a sacrifice. "We must be friends, sir, great friends. Our past has been saddened by the same blow. All our hopes, in the future, are centred on the same object." The two men rose to their feet together, and their hands met in a firm clasp, and tears stood in both their eyes. Then the squire put his hand on the other's shoulder, and said, "We will talk again, presently. Let us go into the next room. The little one is longing to see you, and we must not keep her." For the next hour, the two men devoted themselves to the child. Now that she had her old friend with her, she felt no further misgivings, and was able to enter into the full delight of her new home. The house and its wonders were explored, and, much as she was delighted with these, the gardens and park were an even greater excitement and pleasure. Dancing, chattering, asking questions of one or the other, she was half wild with pleasure, and the squire was no less delighted. A new light and joy had come into his life, and with it the ten years, which sorrow and regret had laid upon him, had fallen off; for, although his habits of seclusion and quiet had caused him to be regarded as quite an old man by his neighbours, he was still three years short of sixty, while the sergeant was two years younger. It was a happy morning for them, all three; and when John Petersham went in, after lunch, to the kitchen, he assured his fellow servants that it was as much as he could do to keep from crying with joy, at the sight of the squire's happy face, and to hear him laugh and joke, as he had not done for eight years now. The sergeant had stopped to that meal, for he saw, by the manner in which the squire asked him, that he should give pain if he refused; and there was a simple dignity about the old soldier, which would have prevented his appearing out of place at the table of the highest in the land. "Now, pussy," the squire said, when they had finished, "you must amuse yourself for a bit. You can go in the garden again, or sit with Mrs. Morcombe in her room. She will look you out some picture books from the library. I am afraid there is nothing very suited to your reading, but we will soon put all that right. Your grandfather and I want to have another quiet chat together." "Now I want your advice," he said when they were both comfortably seated in the study. "You see, you have been thinking and planning about the child for years, while it has all come new upon me, so I must rely upon you entirely. Of course, the child must have a governess, that is the first thing; not so much for the sake of teaching her, though, of course, she must be taught, but as a companion for her." "Yes," the sergeant assented, "she must have a governess." "It will be a troublesome matter to find one to suit," the squire said thoughtfully. "I don't want a harsh sort of Gorgon, to repress her spirits and bother her life out with rules and regulations; and I won't have a giddy young thing, because I should like to have the child with me at breakfast and lunch, and I don't want a fly-away young woman who will expect all sorts of attention. Now, what is your idea? I have no doubt you have, pictured in your mind, the exact sort of woman you would like to have over her." "I have," the sergeant answered quietly. "I don't know whether it would suit you, squire, or whether it could be managed; but it does seem, to me, that you have got the very woman close at hand. Aggie has been for two years with Mrs. Walsham, who is a lady in every way. She is very fond of the child, and the child is very fond of her. Everyone says she is an excellent teacher. She would be the very woman to take charge of her." "The very thing!" the squire exclaimed, with great satisfaction. "But she has a school," he went on, his face falling a little, "and there is a son." "I have thought of that," the sergeant said. "The school enables them to live, but it cannot do much more, so that I should think she would feel no reluctance at giving that up." "Money would be no object," the squire said. "I am a wealthy man, Mr. Wilks, and have been laying by the best part of my income for the last eight years. I would pay any salary she chose, for the comfort of such an arrangement would be immense, to say nothing of the advantage and pleasure it would be to the child. But how about the boy?" "We both owe a good deal to the boy, squire," the sergeant said gravely, "for if it had not been for him, the child would have been lost to us." "So she was telling me last night," the squire said. "And he really saved her life?" "He did," the sergeant replied. "But for his pluck and promptitude she must have been drowned. A moment's hesitation on his part, and nothing could have saved her." "I made up my mind last night," the squire said, "to do something for him. I have seen him before, and was much struck with him." "Then, in that case, squire, I think the thing could be managed. If the lad were sent to a good school, his mother might undertake the management of Aggie. She could either go home of an evening, or sleep here and shut up her house, as you might arrange with her; living, of course, at home, when the boy was home for his holidays, and only coming up for a portion of the day." "That would be a capital plan," the squire agreed warmly. "The very thing. I should get off all the bother with strange women, and the child would have a lady she is already fond of, and who, I have no doubt, is thoroughly qualified for the work. Nothing could be better. I will walk down this afternoon and see her myself, and I have no doubt I shall be able to arrange it. "And now about yourself--what are your plans?" "I shall start tomorrow morning on my tramp, as usual," the sergeant answered quietly; "but I shall take care, in future, that I do not come with my box within thirty miles or so of Sidmouth. I do not want Aggie's future to be, in any way, associated with a showman's box. I shall come here, sometimes, to see her, as you have kindly said I may, but I will not abuse the privilege by coming too often. Perhaps you won't think a day, once every three months, to be too much?" "I should think it altogether wrong and monstrous!" the squire exclaimed hotly. "You have been virtually the child's father, for the last seven years. You have cared for her, and loved her, and worked for her. She is everything to you, and I feel how vast are your claims to her, compared to mine; and now you talk about going away, and coming to see her once every three months. The idea is unnatural. It is downright monstrous! "No, you and I understand each other at last; would to Heaven we had done so eight years back! I feel how much more nobly you acted in that unhappy matter than I did, and I esteem and honour you. We are both getting on in life, we have one common love and interest, we stand in the same relation to the child, and I say, emphatically, that you have a right, and more than a right, to a half share in her. You must go away no more, but remain here as my friend, and as joint guardian of the child. "I will have no refusal, man," he went on, as the sergeant shook his head. "Your presence here will be almost as great a comfort, to me, as to the child. I am a lonely man. For years, I have cut myself loose from the world. I have neither associates nor friends. But now that this great load is off my mind, my first want is a friend; and who could be so great a friend, who could enter into my plans and hopes for the future so well, as yourself, who would have an interest in them equal to my own?" The sergeant was much moved by the squire's earnestness. He saw that the latter had really at heart the proposal he made. "You are very good, squire," he said in a low voice; "but even if I could bring myself to eat another man's bread, as long as I can work for my own, it would not do. I am neither by birth nor education fitted for such a position as that you offer to me." "Pooh, nonsense!" the squire said hotly. "You have seen the world. You have travelled and mixed with men. You are fit to associate as an equal with anyone. Don't you deceive yourself; you certainly do not deceive me. "It is pride that stands in your way. For that you are going to risk the happiness of your granddaughter, to say nothing of mine; for you don't suppose that either of us is going to feel comfortable and happy, when the snow is whirling round, and the wind sweeping the moors, to think of you trudging along about the country, while we are sitting snugly here by a warm fire. "You are wanting to spoil everything, now that it has all come right at last, by just the same obstinate pride which wrecked the lives of our children. I won't have it, man. I won't hear of it. "Come, say no more. I want a friend badly, and I am sure we shall suit each other. I want a companion. Why, man, if I were a rich old lady, and you were a poor old lady, and I asked you to come as my companion, you would see nothing derogatory in the offer. You shall come as my companion, now, or if you like as joint guardian to the child. You shall have your own rooms in the house; and when you feel inclined to be grumpy, and don't care to take your meals with the child and me, you can take them apart. "At any rate, try it for a month, and if you are not comfortable then I will let you go, though your rooms shall always be in readiness for you, whenever you are disposed to come back. "Come, give me your hand on the bargain." Sergeant Wilks could resist no longer. The last two years work, without the child, had indeed been heavy, and especially in winter, when the wind blew strong across the uplands, he began to feel that he was no longer as strong as he used to be. The prospect of having Aggie always near him was, however, a far greater temptation than that of ending his days in quiet and comfort. His hand and that of the squire met in a cordial grip, and the matter was settled. Fortunately, as the sergeant reflected, he had still his pension of ten shillings a week, which would suffice to supply clothes and other little necessaries which he might require, and would thus save him from being altogether dependent on the squire. Aggie was wild with delight, when she was called in and informed of the arrangement. The thought of her grandfather tramping the country, alone, had been the one drawback to the pleasure of her life at Mrs. Walsham's, and many a time she had cried herself to sleep, as she pictured to herself his loneliness. That he was to be with her always, was to give up his work to settle down in comfort, was indeed a delight to her. Greatly pleased was she, also, to hear that Mrs. Walsham was to be asked to come up to be her governess. "Oh, it will be nice!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. "Just like the fairy stories you used to tell me, grampa, when everyone was made happy at the end by the good fairy. Grandpapa is the good fairy, and you and I are the prince and princess; and James--and what is to be done with James? Is he to come up, too?" "No, my dear," the squire said, smiling. "James is to go to a good school, but you will see him when he comes home for his holidays. But that part of it is not arranged yet, you know; but if you will put on your hat, you can walk down with us to the town, and introduce me to Mrs. Walsham." Mrs. Walsham had just dismissed her pupils, when the party arrived, and was thinking how quiet and dull the house was without Aggie, when the door opened, and the child rushed in and threw her arms round her neck. "Oh, I have such good news to tell you! Grandpapa is so good and kind, and grampa is going to live with us, and you are to come up, too, and James is to go to school. Isn't it all splendid?" "What are you talking about, Aggie?" Mrs. Walsham asked, bewildered, as the child poured out her news. "Aggie is too fast, madam," the squire said, entering the room accompanied by the sergeant. "She is taking it all for granted, while it has yet to be arranged. I must apologize for coming in without knocking; but the child opened the door and rushed in, and the best thing to do was, we thought, to follow her. "I have come, in the first place, to thank you for your great kindness to my little granddaughter, and to tell your son how deeply I feel indebted to him, for having saved her life two years ago. "Now, Aggie, you run away and look for your friend, while I talk matters over with Mrs. Walsham." Aggie scampered away to find James, who was at work at his books, and to tell him the news, while the squire unfolded his plans to Mrs. Walsham. His offers were so handsome that Mrs. Walsham accepted them, without an instant's hesitation. She was to have the entire charge of the child during the day, with the option of either returning home in the evening, when Aggie went in to dessert after dinner, or of living entirely at the Hall. The squire explained his intention of sending James to a good school at Exeter, as an instalment of the debt he owed him for saving the child's life, and he pointed out that, when he was at home for his holidays, Aggie could have her holidays, too, and Mrs. Walsham need only come up to the Hall when she felt inclined. Mrs. Walsham was delighted with the offer, even more for James's sake than her own, although the prospect for herself was most pleasant. To have only Aggie to teach, and walk with, would be delightful after the monotony of drilling successive batches of girls, often inordinately tiresome and stupid. She said, at once, that she should prefer returning home at night--a decision which pleased the squire, for he had wondered what he should do with her in the evening. The arrangement was at once carried into effect. The school was broken up, and, as the parents of the children were almost all tenants of the squire, they offered no objection to the girls being suddenly left on their hands, when they heard that their teacher was going to live as governess at the Hall. Indeed, the surprise of Sidmouth and the neighbourhood, at learning that the little girl at Mrs. Walsham's was the squire's granddaughter, and that the showman was therefore a connection of the squire, and was going also to live at the Hall, was so great, that there was no room for any other emotion. Save for wrecks, or the arrival of shoals of fish off the coast, or of troubles between the smugglers and the revenue officers, Sidmouth had few excitements, and the present news afforded food for endless talk and conjecture. On comparing notes, it appeared that there was not a woman in the place who had not been, all along, convinced that the little girl at Mrs. Walsham's was something more than she seemed to be, and that the showman was a man quite out of the ordinary way. And when, on the following Sunday, the sergeant, who had in the meantime been to Exeter, walked quietly into church with the squire, all agreed that the well-dressed military-looking man was a gentleman, and that he had only been masquerading under the name of Sergeant Wilks until, somehow or other, the quarrel between him and the squire was arranged, and the little heiress restored to her position; and Sidmouth remained in that belief to the end. The sergeant's military title was henceforth dropped. Mr. Linthorne introduced him to his acquaintances--who soon began to flock in, when it was known that the squire's granddaughter had come home, and that he was willing to see his friends and join in society again--as "My friend Mr. Wilks, the father of my poor boy's wife." And the impression made was generally favourable. None had ever known the exact story of Herbert's marriage. It was generally supposed that he had married beneath him; but the opinion now was that this must have been a mistake, for there was nothing in any way vulgar about the quiet, military-looking gentleman, with whom the squire was evidently on terms of warm friendship. The only person somewhat dissatisfied with the arrangement was James Walsham. He loved his mother so much, that he had never offered the slightest dissent to her plan, that he should follow in his father's footsteps. She was so much set on the matter, that he could never bring himself to utter a word in opposition. At heart, however, he longed for a more stirring and more adventurous life, such as that of a soldier or sailor, and he had all along cherished a secret hope, that something might occur to prevent his preparing for the medical profession, and so enable him to carry out his secret wishes. But the present arrangement seemed to put an end to all such hopes, and, although grateful to the squire for sending him to a good school, he wished, with all his heart, that he had chosen some other way of manifesting his gratitude. Four years passed quietly. James Walsham worked hard when at school, and, during his holidays, spent his time for the most part on board the fishermen's boats. Sometimes he went up to the Hall, generally at the invitation of Mr. Wilks. "Why don't you come oftener, Jim?" the latter asked him one day. "Aggie was saying, only yesterday, that you used to be such friends with her, and now you hardly ever come near her. The squire is as pleased as I am to see you." "I don't know," Jim replied. "You see, I am always comfortable with you. I can chat with you, and tell you about school, and about fishing, and so on. The squire is very kind, but I know it is only because of that picking Aggie out of the water, and I never seem to know what to talk about with him. And then, you see, Aggie is growing a young lady, and can't go rambling about at my heels as she used to do, when she was a little girl. I like her, you know, Mr. Wilks, just as I used to do; but I can't carry her on my shoulder now, and make a playfellow of her." "I suppose that's all natural enough, Jim," Aggie's grandfather said; "but I do think it is a pity you don't come up more often. You know we are all fond of you, and it will give us a pleasure to have you here." Jim was, in fact, getting to the awkward age with boys. When younger, they tyrannize over their little sisters, when older they may again take pleasure in girls' society; but there is an age, in every boy's life, when he is inclined to think girls a nuisance, as creatures incapable of joining in games, and as being apt to get in the way. Still, Jim was very fond of his former playmate, and had she been still living down in Sidmouth with his mother, they would have been as great friends as ever. At the end of the fourth year, Richard Horton came back, after an absence of five years. He was now nearly twenty, and had just passed as lieutenant. He was bronzed with the Eastern sun, and had grown from a good-looking boy into a handsome young man, and was perfectly conscious of his good looks. Among his comrades, he had gained the nickname of "The Dandy"--a name which he accepted in good part, although it had not been intended as complimentary, for Richard Horton was by no means a popular member of his mess. Boys are quick to detect each other's failings, and several sharp thrashings, when he first joined, had taught Richard that it was very inexpedient to tell a lie on board a ship, if there was any chance of its being detected. As he had become one of the senior midshipmen, his natural haughtiness made him disliked by the younger lads; while, among those of his own standing, he had not one sincere friend, for there was a general feeling, among them, that although Richard Horton was a pleasant companion, and a very agreeable fellow when he liked, he was not somehow straight, not the sort of fellow to be depended upon in all emergencies. By the captain and lieutenants, he was considered a smart young officer. He was always careful to do his duty, quiet, and gentlemanly in manner, and in point of appearance, and dress, a credit to the ship. Accordingly, all the reports that his captain had sent home of him had been favourable. Great as was the rage and disappointment which Richard had felt, when he received the letter from his uncle telling him of the discovery of his long-lost granddaughter, he had the tact to prevent any signs of his feelings being visible, in the letter in which he replied. The squire had told him that, although the discovery would, of course, make a considerable difference in his prospects, he should still, if the reports of his conduct continued satisfactory, feel it his duty to make a handsome provision for him. "Thanks to my quiet life during the last ten years," the squire had written, "I have plenty for both of you. The estate will, of course, go to her; but, always supposing that your conduct will be satisfactory, I shall continue, during my lifetime, the allowance you at present receive, and you will find yourself set down, in my will, for the sum of twenty thousand pounds." Richard had replied in terms which delighted the squire. "You see, the boy has a good heart," he said, as he handed the letter to Mr. Wilks. "No one could express himself better." His companion read the letter over in silence. "Charmingly expressed," he said as he returned it. "Almost too charmingly, it seems to me." "Come, come, Wilks, you are prejudiced against the young fellow, for that business with Aggie and young Walsham." "I hope I am not prejudiced, squire," his friend replied; "but when I know that a lad is a liar, and that he will bring false accusations to shield himself, and when I know that he was detested by all who came in contact with him--John Petersham, the gardener, and the grooms--I require a good deal more than a few satisfactory reports from his captain, who can know very little of his private character, and a soft-soldering letter like that, to reinstate him in my good opinion. I will wager that, if you and I had been standing behind him when he opened your letter, you would have heard an expression of very different sentiments from those he writes you here. "Look at this: 'I regret, indeed, my dear uncle, that my new cousin must have such a bad opinion of me, owing to my roughness in that unfortunate affair, which I have never ceased to regret; but I hope that, when we meet, I shall be able to overcome the dislike which she must feel for me.' "Bah!" the old soldier said scornfully. "I would lay all my pension, to a shilling, that boy has already made up his mind that someday he will marry Aggie, and so contrive to get the estates after all." The squire burst into a good-humoured laugh. "It's well I don't take up your wager. Such ideas as that might occur to you and me, but hardly to a lad not yet seventeen." "Well, we shall see," the other said, cooling down. "I hope I may be mistaken in him. We shall see when he comes home." When he did come home, the old soldier could find but little fault with the young man. He had a frank and open manner, such as is common to men of his profession. He was full of life and anecdote. His manner to the squire was admirable, affectionate, and quietly respectful, without any air of endeavouring especially to ingratiate himself with him. Nor could the ex-sergeant find anything to complain of in the young man's manner towards himself. He took the first opportunity, when they were alone, to say how glad he had been, to hear that his grandfather had met with a friend and companion in his lonely life, and to express a hope that the bad opinion, which he had doubtless formed of him from his conduct when a boy, would not be allowed to operate against him now. But, though there was nothing he could find fault with, the old soldier's prejudices were in no way shaken, and, indeed, his antipathy was increased, rather than diminished, by the young officer's conduct towards Aggie. It might be, of course, that he was only striving to overcome the prejudiced feeling against him; but every time the old soldier saw him with his granddaughter, he felt angry. In point of fact, Aggie was disposed to like Richard, even before his arrival. Six years had eradicated every tinge of animosity for that shove on the sand. His letters had been long, bright, and amusing, and with the mementos of travel which he picked up in the ports of India and China, and from time to time sent home to his uncle, there was always a little box with some pretty trinket "for my cousin." She found him now a delightful companion. He treated her as if she had been seventeen, instead of eleven; was ready to ride or walk with her, or to tell her stories of the countries he had seen, as she might choose; and to humour all her whims and fancies. "Confound him and his pleasant manners!" the ex-sergeant would mutter to himself, as he watched them together, and saw, as he believed, in the distance, the overthrow of the scheme he had at heart. "He is turning the child's head; and that foolish boy, James, is throwing away his chances." James, indeed, came home from school for the last time, two or three weeks after Richard Horton's return. He was now nearly eighteen, and, although a broad and powerful fellow, was still a boy at heart. He did not show to advantage by the side of Richard Horton. The first time he went up to the Hall, after his return, the latter had met him with outstretched hand. "I am glad to meet you again," he said. "I behaved like a blackguard, last time we met, and you gave me the thrashing which I deserved. I hope we shall get on better, in the future." Aggie and her two grandfathers were present, and James Walsham certainly did not show to advantage, by the side of the easy and self-possessed young officer. He muttered something about its being all right, and then found nothing else to say, being uncomfortable, and ill at ease. He made some excuse about being wanted at home, and took his leave; nor did he again go up to call. Several times, the old soldier went down to Sidmouth to see him, and on one occasion remonstrated with him for not coming up to the Hall. "What's the use?" James said, roughly. "I have got lots of reading to do, for in two months, you know, I am to go up to London, to walk the hospitals. No one wants me up there. Aggie has got that cousin of hers to amuse her, and I should feel only in the way, if I went." Mr. Wilks was fairly out of temper at the way things were going. He was angry with James; angry with the squire, who evidently viewed with satisfaction the good understanding between his granddaughter and nephew; angry, for the first time in his life, with Aggie herself. "You are growing a downright little flirt, Miss Aggie," he said one day, when the girl came in from the garden, where she had been laughing and chatting with her cousin. He had intended to speak playfully, but there was an earnestness in his tone which the girl, at once, detected. "Are you really in earnest, grampa?" she asked, for she still retained the childish name for her grandfather--so distinguishing him from the squire, whom she always called grandpapa. "No; I don't know that I am in earnest, Aggie," he said, trying to speak lightly; "and yet, perhaps, to some extent I am." "I am sure you are," the girl said. "Oh, grampa! You are not really cross with me, are you?" and the tears at once sprang into her eyes. "I have not been doing anything wrong, have I?" "No, my dear, not in the least wrong," her grandfather said hastily. "Still, you know, I don't like seeing Jim, who has always been so good and kind to you, quite neglected, now this young fellow, who is not fit to hold a candle to him, has turned up." "Well, I haven't neglected him, grampa. He has neglected me. He has never been near since that first day, and you know I can't very well go round to Sidmouth, and say to him, 'Please come up to the Hall.'" "No, my dear, I know you can't, and he is behaving like a young fool." "Why is he?" Aggie asked, surprised. "If he likes sailing about better than coming up here, why shouldn't he?" "I don't think it's for that he stays away, Aggie. In fact, you see, Jim has only just left school, and he feels he can't laugh, and talk, and tell you stories about foreign countries, as this young fellow can, and having been so long accustomed to have you to himself, he naturally would not like the playing second fiddle to Richard Horton." "But he hasn't been here much," the girl said, "ever since I came here. He used to be so nice, and so kind, in the old days when I lived down there, that I can't make out why he has changed so." "My dear, I don't think he has changed. He has been only a boy, and the fact is, he is only a boy still. He is fond of sailing, and of the amusements boys take to, and he doesn't feel at home, and comfortable here, as he did with you when you were a little girl at his mother's. But mind, Aggie, James is true as steel. He is an honourable and upright young fellow. He is worth fifty of this self-satisfied, pleasant-spoken young sailor." "I know James is good and kind, grampa," the girl said earnestly; "but you see, he is not very amusing, and Richard is very nice." "Nice! Yes," the old soldier said; "a fair weather sort of niceness, Aggie. Richard Horton is the squire's nephew, and I don't wish to say anything against him; but mark my words, and remember them, there's more goodness in James's little finger, than there is in his whole body. But there, I am a fool to be talking about it. There is your cousin calling you, in the garden. Go along with you." The girl went off slowly, wondering at her grandfather's earnestness. She knew she liked her old playmate far better than Richard Horton, although the latter's attentions pleased and flattered her. The old soldier went straight off to the squire's study. "Squire," he said, "you remember that talk we had, three years ago, when your nephew's answer came to your letter, telling him that Aggie was found. I told you that I would wager he had made up his mind to marry her. You laughed at me; but I was right. Child though she still is, he is already paving the way for the future." "Master Richard certainly is carrying on a sort of flirtation with the little witch," the squire said, smiling; "but as she is such a mere child as you say, what does it matter?" "I think it matters a great deal," the old soldier said seriously. "I see, squire, the young fellow has quite regained your good opinion; and unless I am mistaken, you have already thought, to yourself, that it would not be a bad thing if they were to come together someday. "I have thought it over, and have made up my mind that, in spite of your four years' continued kindness to me, and of the warm friendship between us, I must go away for a time. My box is still lying at Exeter, and I would rather tramp the country again, and live on it and my pension, than stay here and see my darling growing up a woman with that future before her. I am sorry to say, squire, that what you call my prejudice is as strong as ever. I doubt that young fellow as strongly as I did before he came home. Then, I only had his past conduct and his letter to go by. Now I have the evidence of my own senses. You may ask me what I have against him. I tell you--nothing; but I misdoubt him from my heart. I feel that he is false, that what he was when a boy, he is now. There is no true ring about him." The squire was silent for a minute or two. He had a very sincere friendship and liking for his companion, a thorough confidence in his judgment and principles. He knew his self-sacrificing nature, and that he was only speaking from his love for his grandchild. "Do not let us talk about it now, old friend," he said quietly. "You and I put, before all other things, Aggie's happiness. Disagreement between us there can be none on the subject. Give me tonight to think over what you have said, and we will talk about it again tomorrow." Chapter 6: A Storm. After breakfast next morning, the squire asked his friend to go with him into his study. "I have been thinking this matter over," he said, "very seriously, and, upon reflection, I agree with you that it is undesirable that Aggie should see much of Richard, until she is of an age to form a fair opinion for herself, and to compare him with other young men. I agree with you, also, that we have not yet sufficient proofs that he is completely changed. I hope that he is. You think he is not. At any rate, he must have a longer trial, and until it is proved to your satisfaction, as well as mine, that he is in every way a desirable husband for Aggie, the less they see of each other, the better. I therefore propose to write at once to my friend Admiral Hewson, to ask him to use his influence, at the admiralty, to get the young fellow appointed to a ship. Does that meet your approval, my friend?" "Quite so," the other said cordially. "Nothing could be better. In the meantime, as you say, should Richard turn out well, and the young people take a liking for each other, no match could be more satisfactory. What I want is that she should take no girlish fancy for him, at present." "So be it, then," the squire said. "I think, you know, that we are a couple of old fools, to be troubling ourselves about Aggie's future, at present. Still, in a matter which concerns us both so nearly, we cannot be too careful. If we had a woman with us, we could safely leave the matter in her hands; as it is, we must blunder on, as best we may." And so it was settled, and a week later, Richard Horton received an official letter from the admiralty, ordering him to proceed at once to Portsmouth to join the Thetis, to which he was appointed as fourth lieutenant. The order gave Richard extreme satisfaction. He was beginning to find his life desperately dull, and he was heartily sick of playing the attentive nephew. He was well content with the progress he had made; nothing had gone wrong since he returned, his uncle had clearly taken him back into his favour, and he had no doubt that Aggie quite appreciated the pains he had bestowed to gain her liking. He detested the squire's companion, for he felt that the latter disliked and distrusted him, and that his projects would meet with a warm opposition on his part. Still, with the squire and Aggie herself on his side, he did not fear the result. As to James Walsham, whom he had come home prepared to regard as a possible rival, from his early intimacy with the child, and the fact that his mother was her governess, he now regarded him with contempt, mingled with a revengeful determination to pay off the old score, should a chance ever present itself. He therefore started next day in high spirits, assuming, however, a great reluctance to tear himself away. A few days later a letter came from him, saying that he hoped that he should be able to come back, sometimes, for a day or two, as the Thetis was at present to be attached to the Channel squadron, and it was not expected that she would, for some time, proceed on foreign service. Early in October, James Walsham was to go up to London, to commence his medical course. A week before he was to start, Mr. Wilks went down in the morning, intending to insist on his returning with him to the Hall. As he went down towards Sidmouth, the old soldier noticed how strongly the wind was blowing, the trees were swaying and thrashing in the wind, the clouds were flying past overhead. Everything portended a severe gale. Finding, at Mrs. Walsham's, that James was down on the beach, he continued his course until he joined him there. James was standing with a group of fishermen, who were looking seaward. Now that he was exposed to the full force of the wind, Mr. Wilks felt that, not only was it going to blow a gale, but that it was blowing one already. The heavy clouds on the horizon seemed to lie upon the water, the waves were breaking with great force upon the beach, and the fishermen had hauled their boats up across the road. "It's blowing hard, Jim," he said, laying his hand on the young fellow's shoulder. "It is blowing hard, and it will blow a great deal harder before nightfall. The fishermen all think it is going to be an exceptional gale. It is blowing dead on shore. It will be bad work for any ships that happen to be coming up Channel today. Eight or ten of our boats are out. We thought we had made out three of them just before you came, but the cloud closed down on them. The fishermen are just going to get lifelines ready. I am afraid we are going to have a terrible night of it." "I came down to ask you if you will come up to lunch, Jim, but I suppose you will not be able to tear yourself away from here." "I shouldn't like to leave now, indeed. There is no saying what may happen. Besides, so many of the fishermen are away, that I may be useful here if a vessel comes ashore, and there may be half a dozen before the morning. Every hand will be wanted to give assistance." "But you could not get a boat out through those breakers, could you, Jim?" "Yes," Jim replied, "we might get one of the big boats through it now; but it's going to be worse, presently. When I went out, last year, with a boat to the brig which was driven ashore, it was worse than this. "I shall be very glad to come up tomorrow, if you will let me. I hear that fellow Horton went away last week." "Yes, he went away, Jim. But why his being there should have kept you from going up is beyond me." "I don't like the fellow, Mr. Wilks. He may mean very well, but I don't like him. I have been in one row about him with the squire, and I don't want another; but I am quite sure, if I had gone up much while he was there, it would have ended in my trying to punch his head again." "In that case, perhaps," the old soldier said, smiling, "you were wise to stay away, Jim. I don't like the lad myself. Still, punching his head would not have been a desirable thing." "I am glad you don't like him," James said, warmly. "Somehow I made up my mind that you were all sure to like him, and I don't suppose the idea made me like him any the better. He was just the free-and-easy sort of fellow to get along well, and I was quite sure that Aggie would not want me, when she had him to go about with her. I saw him drive through in the pony carriage with her, two or three times, and it was easy to see how thoroughly she was enjoying herself." "Well, it was your own fault, my boy. If you choose to sulk down here, and never to go up to the Hall, you can't blame Aggie for letting herself be amused by someone else." "Oh! I don't blame her," James said hastily. "Of course, it is all right that she should enjoy herself with her cousin. Only somehow, you know, after being great friends with anyone, one doesn't like to see someone else stepping into your place." "But as I have told you, over and over again, during the last three years, Jim, you have willfully stepped out of your place. You know how often I have asked you to come up, and how seldom you have come. You have never shown Aggie that you have any wish to continue on the footing of friendship, on which you stood towards each other when she was at your mother's, and as you have chosen to throw her over, I don't see why she shouldn't take to anyone else who takes pains to make himself pleasant to her." "Oh! I don't blame her a bit, Mr. Wilks. How could you think such a thing! I was very fond of little Aggie when she was at my mother's; but of course, I was not ass enough to suppose that she was going trotting about the country with me, when she once went up to the Hall as the squire's granddaughter. Of course, the whole thing was changed. "Ah! Here comes the rain." As he spoke, a sudden splash of rain struck them. It might have been noticed coming across the water in a white line. With it came a gust of wind, to which that which had already been blowing was a trifle. There was no more talking, for nothing less than a shout could have been heard above the roaring of the wind. It was scarcely possible to stand against the fury of the squall, and they were driven across the road, and took shelter at the corner of some houses, where the fishermen had already retired. The squall lasted but a few minutes, but was soon succeeded by another, almost equally furious, and this seemed to increase in strength, until the wind was blowing a perfect hurricane; but the fishermen now struggled across the road again, for, between the rain squalls, a glimpse had been caught of two of the fishing boats, and these were now approaching the shore. A mere rag of sail was set on each, and yet they tore over the waves at tremendous speed. One was some two hundred yards ahead of the other, and by the course they were making, they would come ashore nearly at the same spot. The news that two boats were in sight spread rapidly, and many of the fishermen's wives, with shawls over their heads, ran down and stood peering out from behind shelter, for it was well-nigh impossible to stand exposed to the fury of the gale. An old fisherman stood, with a coil of rope in his hand, close to the water's edge. Several of the others stood close to him, and four of them had hold of the other end of the rope. When the boat was within fifty yards of shore, the sail was lowered; but she still drove straight on before the wind, with scarce an abatement in her speed. A man stood in her bow, also with a coil of rope in his hand, and, as he approached, threw it far ahead. The fisherman rushed waist deep into the water and caught the end of it, which in a moment was knotted to the one in his hand. "Run along with her," he shouted. For a moment, the boat towered on the top of a wave, which raced in towards the shore. The next, as it came, took her stern, and she was in the act of swinging round, when the strain of the rope came upon her, and brought her straight again. Higher and higher the wave rose, and then crashed down, and the boat shot forward, like an arrow, in the foam. The fishermen rushed forward and caught it, those on board leapt out waist-deep; all were taken off their feet by the backward rush, but they clung to the sides of the boat, while the men at the head rope, with their heels dug deeply into the sand, withstood the strain, and kept her from being swept out again. A few seconds, and the boat was left dry, and the next wave carried it high up on the beach, amid a loud cheer from the fishermen and lookers on; but there was no time to waste, for the next boat was close at hand. Again, the rope was thrown to the shore, but this time the strain came a moment too late, the following wave turned the boat round, the next struck it broadside and rolled it, over and over, towards the shore. The fishermen, in an instant, joined hands, and rushing down into the water, strove to grasp the men. Several times, those in front were knocked down and rolled up on the beach, but three of the crew were brought in with them. There was one still missing, and there was a shout as he was seen, clinging to an oar, just outside the line of breakers. James Walsham had been working with the fishermen in saving those already brought to shore. He now fastened the end of a line round his body. "You can never get through those rollers--they will break you up like an eggshell," the old fisherman shouted. "I will dive through them," Jim shouted back. "Give me plenty of slack, and don't pull, till you see I have got him." The lad waited for his opportunity, and then, rushing down after the sheet of white foam, he stood, waist deep, as a great wave, some twelve feet high, towered up like a wall towards him. It was just going to break, when James plunged, head foremost, into it. There was a crash which shook the earth, a mass of wildly rushing foam, and then, some ten yards beyond the spot where the wave had broken, Jim's head appeared above the surface. It was but for a moment, for he immediately dived again, under the next wave, and then came up within a few yards of the floating oar. A stroke or two, and he was alongside. He seized the man, and held up one arm as a signal. In a moment the rope tightened, and they moved towards shore. When they were close to the edge of the breaking waves, Jim held up his hand, and the strain stopped. "Now," he said to the man, "the moment they begin to pull, leave go of the oar, and throw your arms round me." He waited until a wave, bigger than ordinary, approached, and, just as it began to pass under him, gave the signal. Higher and higher they seemed to rise, then they were dashed down with a tremendous shock. There was a moment's confusion as they were swept along in the white water. Jim felt a terrific strain, and it seemed to him that the rope would cut him in sunder. Then he was seized by a dozen strong arms, and carried high and dry, before the next wave could reach him. For a minute or two he was scarce conscious. The breath had been almost knocked out of his body, with the break of the wave, and the rushing water seemed still singing in his ears. "Are you hurt, my boy? Are you hurt, James?" were the first words he clearly heard. "No, I think I am all right," he said, trying to sit up. "Is the other fellow all right?" "He has broke his arm," one of the fishermen, who had just helped the man to his feet, replied. "He may be thankful it's no worse." James was now helped to his feet. "I am all right," he repeated to Mr. Wilks, "except that I feel as if I had a hot iron round my body. That rope has taken the skin off all round me, I fancy, and doesn't it smart, just, with the salt water!" "Oh, James, how could you do it?" a girl's voice said suddenly. The fishermen drew aside, and Aggie Linthorne pressed forward. The squire had gone into her schoolroom and had said: "Mrs. Walsham, I think you had better give up your lessons for the morning, and get home. It is blowing a gale now, and we shall probably have the rain down before long. I will walk down with you. The wind is dead on the shore, and it will be a grand sight." Aggie at once set her mind on going, too; but the squire refused, until Mrs. Walsham suggested that, if it came on wet, Aggie could stop at her house until it cleared up, or, if necessary, till morning. Whereupon, the squire had given way, and the three had started together for Sidmouth, leaving Mrs. Walsham at her house as they passed. The others had struggled down, against the wind, until they came within sight of the sea. The first boat had just been run safely on shore when they arrived, and Aggie gave a cry, and put her hands over her face, as the second boat was seen to capsize. "Cling to me, Aggie," the squire said. "See, they are rushing in the water to save them. They will have them, yet!" At the cheer which broke out from the spectators, clustering thickly now, as the first of the shipwrecked crew was brought to shore, Aggie looked out again. It was a sight she never forgot. With the great waves crashing down on the shore, and the line of straggling figures, waist deep in the white foam, in which were scattered, here and there, portions of the boat, oars, sails, and nets. "Well done, well done!" the squire exclaimed. "They have dragged up three of them. I don't know whether there are any more." "Yes, yes, look!" Aggie cried; "there, out in the waves--there, I can see a head. That's just about where I was nearly drowned. Oh, grandpapa, take me away, I can't look at it." "There's someone going out to save him, Aggie. Listen to the cheer." Aggie looked again. "Oh, grandpapa, stop him, stop him!" she cried, "it's James." But at the same moment the plunge was made, and the figure lost to sight. Aggie threw her arms round her grandfather, and hid her face. "I can't look, I can't look," she cried. "Tell me about it." "There, he is up; bravo!" the squire exclaimed, almost as excited as she was. "He has dived again, dear,"--then, after a pause--"there he is close to him. He has got him, Aggie! Now he is waving his hand; now they are tightening the rope; now he is waving his hand again, and they are waiting. There!" There was a pause, which seemed to the girl to be endless, then the squire cried: "They have got them out, both of them;" and a loud cheer broke from all standing round. "Come along, grandpapa, let us go down to them." "Stay a moment, my dear. They may be hurt. It's better you should not go." The girl stood, with her hands clasped, gazing at the fishermen grouped on the shore, stooping over the prostrate figures. Then one of them stood up and waved his hand, and the spectators knew that all was well. Then the girl ran down to join them. "Why, Aggie!" James exclaimed in astonishment, as she pressed forward. "Why, my dear, what brings you here in this storm? Whatever will the squire say?" "The squire has brought her down himself," Mr. Linthorne said, following closely behind his granddaughter; "and he is glad he did, James, for she has seen a grand sight. "You are a fine fellow;" and he wrung the lad's hand. "A grand fellow, Wilks, isn't he?" "I always said so, squire," the old soldier said, his face beaming with satisfaction; "but now, let us get him home, and Aggie, too. The child will be blown away." But, for a minute or two, they could not carry James off, so closely did the men and women press round him, and shake him by the hand. At last they got him away, and, escorted by a crowd of cheering boys, led him back to his mother's. "Your son is a hero, Mrs. Walsham!" the squire exclaimed as they entered; "but don't talk to him now, but mix him a glass of hot grog. "Wilks, you get him between the blankets directly. I will tell his mother all about it, while she is mixing the grog. "Hallo, Aggie! Why, bless the child, she's fainted." The girl had borne up till they reached the house, towards which the wind had blown her along, as she clung to her grandfather's arm; but the excitement had been too much for her, and, the instant they entered the room, she had dropped into an armchair, and at once lost consciousness. Mrs. Walsham kept her presence of mind, in spite of her bewilderment at these sudden occurrences. She at once laid the girl on the sofa, removed her dripping bonnet and cloak, and poured a few drops of brandy between her lips, while she set the squire to work, to chafe her hands. Aggie soon opened her eyes, and recovered her consciousness. "Don't try to get up, Aggie," Mrs. Walsham said. "You are faint and shaken with all this excitement. Your grandpapa and I were two very foolish people, to let you come out. "Now, Mr. Wilks, the best thing you can do, is to find a boy outside, and send him up to the Hall, with a message that the carriage is to come down directly. "I think, Mr. Linthorne, she had better get back home. I should be glad enough, as you know, to keep her here for the night; but this house is rocking with the wind, now, and she would not be likely to get any sleep here. I will run up and see how James is, and if he is all right, I will come up with her and stop the night. She is very much shaken, and had better not be alone." Mrs. Walsham soon came downstairs again, and said that James said he never felt better in his life, and that, by all means, she was to go up to the Hall. She then set about and prepared a cup of tea, which greatly restored Aggie, and, by the time the carriage arrived, the girl was able to walk to the gate. Mr. Wilks had offered to remain with James, but the latter would not hear of it. The lad was, indeed, well pleased to hear that they were all going up to the Hall, as thereby he escaped hearing any more of his own praises. Besides, he was most anxious to get down to the beach again, for no one could say what might take place there before morning. As soon, therefore, as he heard the door close, he jumped out of bed, and when, peeping through the blinds, he saw the carriage drive off with its four occupants, he at once began to dress. He felt bruised and sore from the blows he had received, and a red wheal round his chest, beneath the arms, showed where the rope had almost cut into the flesh. However, he soon dressed himself, and descended the stairs, went into the kitchen, and told the astonished girl that he was going out; then, having made a hasty meal of bread and cold meat, he put on his oilskins again, and started for the shore. He did not, however, wait long. So heavy was the sea, now, that nothing whatever could be done should any vessel drive ashore, and, as for the fisher boats, the sailors shook their heads as they spoke of them. "They were farther away to the west, so the chaps as got ashore tells us. They may have got in, somewhere, before it got to the worst. If not, it must have gone hard with them." Finding that there was nothing to be done, and that he was much more stiff and bruised than he had believed, Jim made his way back again, and turned into bed; where he soon fell asleep, and did not wake until the following morning. One of the grooms had come down from the Hall, at six o'clock, to inquire how he was, and the message given by the girl, that he had been out, but that he had come back and was now sound asleep, satisfied Mrs. Walsham, and enabled her to devote her undivided attention to her charge, who needed her care more than her son. Before night, indeed, the squire had sent down to Sidmouth for Dr. Walsham's successor, who said that Aggie was very feverish, and must be kept perfectly quiet for some days. He sent her up a soothing draught, and Mrs. Walsham sat up with her all night. She slept but little, and talked almost incessantly, sometimes rambling a little. The first thing in the morning, the doctor was again sent for, and on his recommendation the squire at once sent off a man, on horseback, to Exeter, for the leading physician of that town. When he arrived, late in the afternoon, Aggie was somewhat quieter, and his report was more cheering. "Her pulse is very high," he said; "but Mr. Langford tells me that it is not so rapid as it was in the morning, and that he thinks the symptoms are abating. Undoubtedly, it is a sharp feverish attack, brought on by excitement and exposure. A very little more, and it would have been a case of brain fever, but I trust now that it will soon pass off. The sedatives that have been administered are taking effect, and I trust she will soon fall asleep. "As you requested, I have made my arrangements for staying here tonight, and I trust that, by the morning, we shall have her convalescent." Mr. Wilks had gone down, the first thing in the morning, to see James, and found him up and about as usual. He was very greatly concerned, at hearing that Aggie had passed a bad night, and came four times up to the Hall, during the day, to inquire about her; and on his last visit, late in the evening, he was told that she was sleeping quietly, and that the doctor had every hope that she would wake, in the morning, free from fever. This proved to be the case; but she was ordered to keep her bed for a day or two. On the morning after the storm, the wind had gone down much, although a tremendous sea was still breaking on the shore. Messages arrived, in the course of the day, to say that all the missing boats, with one exception, had succeeded in gaining the shore before the storm was full on. The missing boat was never heard of again. Two days later, James Walsham had strolled up the hill to the east of the town, and was lying, with a book before him, in a favourite nook of his looking over the sea. It was one of the lovely days which sometimes come late in autumn, as if the summer were determined to show itself at its best, before leaving. It could not be said that James was studying, for he was watching the vessels passing far out at sea, and inwardly moaning over the fact that he was destined for a profession for which he had no real liking, instead of being free to choose one of travel and adventure. Presently, he heard voices behind him. The position, in which he was lying, was a little distance down on the slopes, on the seaward side of the path, and, as a screen of bushes grew behind it, he could not be seen by anyone passing along. "All the men, with their pistols and cutlasses, are to assemble here at ten o'clock tonight, Johnson. But do not give them orders till late, and let them come up, one by one, so as not to attract attention. Lipscombe's men are to assemble at the same hour, and march to meet us. This time, I think, there is no mistake. The cargo is to be landed where I told you. It will be high tide at twelve o'clock, and they are sure to choose that hour, so that the cutter can run close in. I have sent off a man on horseback to Weymouth, for the revenue cutter to come round. If she's in time, we shall catch that troublesome lugger, as well as her cargo. She has been a thorn in our side for the last year. This time, I do hope we shall have her." The speakers then moved on out of hearing, but James Walsham recognized the voice, as that of the revenue officer commanding the force at Sidmouth. Smuggling was, at that time, carried on on a large scale along the coast, and there were frequent collisions between those engaged in it and the revenue officers. The sympathies of the population were wholly with the smugglers, and the cheating of the revenue was not at all considered in the light of a crime. Many of the fishermen, from time to time, took a hand in smuggling cruises, and the country people were always ready to lend assistance in landing and carrying the cargoes. When out in their boats at night, James had often heard the fishermen tell stories of their smuggling adventures, and more than once he had been with them, when they had boarded a lugger laden with contraband, to warn them that the revenue cutter was on the cruising ground, and it would not be safe to attempt to run cargo at present. He now determined, at once, that he would warn the smugglers of their danger. The question was, where was the cargo to be run? The officer had not mentioned the spot, but, as the force from the next station to the east was to cooperate, it must be somewhere between the two. Waiting till the speakers must have gone well along the cliff, he rose to his feet, and returned to Sidmouth. He thought, at first, of telling some of the fishermen what he had heard, but as, in the event of an affray, it might come out how the smugglers had been warned of the intention of the revenue officers, he thought there would be less risk in giving them warning himself. He knew every path down the cliff for miles, and trusted that he should be able to make his way down, and give the boats notice of their danger, before the revenue men reached the shore. At nine o'clock he dressed himself, in the rough sailor's suit he wore when he went out with the fishermen, and started along the cliff. For some distance he kept well inland, as the officer might have placed a man on the lookout, to stop anyone going towards the scene of action. The spot he thought the most likely was a mile and a half along the shore. There was a good landing place, and an easy path up the cliff, and he knew that cargoes had been more than once run here. Accordingly, when he reached this spot, he sat down among some bushes on the edge of the cliff, and waited for some sort of signal. Half an hour later, he heard the tramp of a number of men, passing along behind him. "There go the revenue men," he thought to himself. "I suppose they are going to meet those coming the other way." An hour passed without further sound, and James began to get uneasy. If this was the spot fixed for the landing, some of the country people ought to be arriving, by this time, to help to carry off the cargo. They might, for aught he knew, be already near, waiting for the signal before they descended the path. No doubt the revenue men would be lying in wait, a short distance off, and would allow the friends of the smugglers to go down to the water, without letting them know of their presence. He kept his eyes fixed on the water to the east, watching anxiously for the appearance of a light. Presently he started. Immediately in front of him, about a mile at sea, a bright light was shown. In a second, it disappeared. Three times it flashed out, and then all was dark. The night was a very dark one. There was no moon, and the stars were obscured, and although he strained his eyes to the utmost, he could not make out the vessel from which the light had been shown. "How foolish to show such a bright light!" he said to himself. "It would have been almost sure to attract the attention of anyone on the watch." He made his way to the path, and descended to the edge of the water, and waited, expecting momentarily to be joined by people from above. But no one came. He strained his ears listening for the fall of approaching oars; but all was silent. Half an hour passed, and then it flashed across him that the signal must have been made to deceive the revenue men, and to cause them to assemble at that spot, and so leave the point really determined upon free for operations. With an exclamation of disgust at his own stupidity, in having been deceived, James ran up the path again at the top of his speed, and then took the road along the cliff. For two miles, he ran without interruption, and then saw a dark mass in front of him. He turned off, instantly, to the left. Doubtless he had been heard approaching, for two or three men detached themselves from the rest, and started to cut him off. James ran straight inland, and in the darkness soon lost sight of his pursuers. Then he turned, and made for the cliff again. Two or three hundred yards farther along, there was another path to the shore, and this he had no doubt, now, was the one the smugglers were about to use. He struck the cliff within a few yards of the spot. In an instant, two men jumped up and seized him. "Who are you?" For an instant, James thought that his assailants were revenue men, but, even in the darkness, he saw that they were countrymen. "Quick!" he said. "The revenue men are close at hand. They are watching, two or three hundred yards along. Listen! Here they come." A tramping of feet coming rapidly along the cliff was clearly heard, and the men, with an oath, released their hold and ran off, giving a loud whistle, and made for their carts, which were stationed a few hundred yards inland. James dashed down the path, shouting at the top of his voice. He had not gone many yards before he met a number of men, coming up with tubs of spirits on their shoulders. "Throw them down," he cried, "and make along the shore. The revenue men are close behind." His advice was taken at once. The tubs were thrown down, and went leaping and bounding down to the shore, while the men followed James, at full speed, down the path. Their pursuers were close behind. There was no longer any use in concealment. Their officer shouted to them to press forward at full speed, while, from the beach below, a hubbub of voices suddenly broke out, and, at the same moment, a blue light was lit on the cliff above. "Beat them back, my lads," one of the smugglers was shouting, as James ran down to the little crowd of men standing near two boats. "We are five to one against them. Come on." "Surrender in the king's name," the revenue officer shouted, as he rushed forward, followed by his men. The answer was a pistol shot, and, in a moment, a furious melee began. The advantage in numbers was all on the side of the smugglers. Those who had landed with the kegs were all armed with pistol and cutlass, and the countrymen had heavy sticks and bludgeons. The ten revenue men would have been overpowered, but suddenly a shout was heard, and another party of sailors ran up along the shore, and joined in the fray. It was the detachment from the other station, which had been waiting, at some little distance along the shore, for the signal from above. "To the boats, lads," the leader of the smugglers shouted. "We are caught in a trap." The smugglers rushed to the boats, and James, who was standing by the water's edge, leaped on board with them. Most of the country people fled at once along the shore, pursued by some of the revenue men, while the others made a rush for the boats. These had been kept afloat a few yards from the shore. Grapnels had been dropped over their sterns, and, as the men in charge hauled out the moment the fight began, they were in water shoulder deep when the smugglers scrambled on board. The revenue men dashed in after them, and strove to hold the boats; but they were beaten off with oars and cutlasses, and the boats were soon hauled out into deep water. The grapnels were lifted, and the men, many of whom were wounded more or less severely in the fray, got out their oars and pulled to the lugger, amid a dropping fire of pistol shots from shore. Chapter 7: Pressed. Many and deep were the maledictions uttered, as the smugglers climbed on board their vessel; but their captain said cheerily: "Never mind, lads, it might have been worse. It was only the first cargo of tubs, and half of those weren't ashore. The lace and silk are all right, so no great harm is done. Set to work, and get up sail as soon as you can. Likely enough there is a cutter in the offing; that blue light must have been a signal. They seem to have got news of our landing, somehow." The crew at once set to work to get up sail. Three or four of the countrymen, who had, like James, got on board the boats, stood in a group looking on, confused and helpless; but James lent his assistance, until the sails were hoisted and the craft began to move through the water. "Now, then," the captain said, "let us go below and look at the wounds. We daren't show a light, here on deck." The wounds were, for the most part, slashes and blows with cutlasses; for in the darkness and confusion of the fight, only two of the bullets had taken effect. One of the smugglers had fallen, shot through the head, while one of those on board had his arm broken by a pistol ball. "Now for our passengers," the captain said, after the wounds had been bandaged. "Who are you?" and he lifted a lantern to James's face. "Why, it is young Mr. Walsham!" he exclaimed in surprise. James knew the man now, for the lugger had several times put in at Sidmouth, where, coming in as a peaceable trader, the revenue officers, although well aware of the nature of her vocation, were unable to touch her, as vessels could only be seized when they had contraband on board. "Why, what brings you into this affair, young master?" James related the conversation he had overheard, and his determination to warn the smugglers of their danger. "I should have managed it, in plenty of time, if I had known the exact spot on which you were going to land; but I saw a signal light, two miles down the coast, and that kept me there for half an hour. It struck me, then, it was a ruse to attract the officers from the real spot of landing, but though I ran as hard as I could, I was only just before them." "Thank you heartily," the smuggler said. "I expect you saved us from a much worse mess than we got into. I have no doubt they meant to capture the tubs, as they were loaded, without raising an alarm; and the fellows on the shore would have come up quietly, and taken us by surprise as we were landing the last boat loads. Thanks to you, we have got well out of it, and have only lost one of our hands, and a score or so of tubs." "You can't put me ashore, I suppose?" James said. "That I can't," the smuggler replied. "I have no doubt that cutter from Weymouth is somewhere outside us, and we must get well off the coast before morning. If we give her the slip, I will send you off in a boat sometime tomorrow. I must go ashore, myself, to make fresh arrangements for getting my cargo landed." James went on deck again. The breeze was light, and the lugger was slipping along quietly through the water. He could faintly see the loom of the cliffs on his right, and knew that the lugger was running west, keeping as close inshore as she could, to avoid the cutter watching for her outside. He wondered what they would say at home, when it was found that he was missing; but consoled himself by thinking that his mother, who was still up at the Hall, would no doubt suppose that he had gone out for a night's fishing, as he had often done before, and that, as she was away, he had forgotten to leave word with the servant. Suddenly, a blue light burned out on the top of the cliff. An angry exclamation broke from the captain, who was standing at the helm. "Confound it!" he exclaimed. "They have caught sight of us from the cliff, and are signalling our whereabouts to the cutter." As he spoke, he turned the vessel's head seaward, and, for a quarter of an hour, sailed straight out. "Now," he said quietly, "I think we must be out of sight of those fellows on shore. Get her on the other tack, lads, but be as quiet as you can about it. There's no saying how close the cutter may be to us." The great sails were lowered, as the boat's head paid off to the east. The yards were shifted to the other sides of the masts, and the sails hoisted again, and the lugger began to retrace her way back along the coast. "It's just a chance, now," the captain said to James, who was standing close by him, "whether the commander of the cutter guesses, or not, that we shall change our course. He will know we are likely enough to do it." "What should you do if you were in his place?" James said. "I should run straight out to sea, and lay to, eight or ten miles off. He would be able to make us out then at daylight, whichever course we take; whereas, by trying to follow in the dark, he would run the chance of missing us altogether. I wish the wind would get up a bit. We are not moving through the water more than three knots an hour, and it's dying away. However, I fancy it will blow up again in the morning." "Do you know whether she is faster than you are?" James asked. "There is not much difference," the captain replied. "If the wind is strong, we have the legs of her; but in a light breeze, she is the fastest. She has chased us half a dozen times already, but we have always given her the slip." "Then, even if she does run out to sea, as you say," James said, "we ought to be safe, as we should be a dozen miles or so along the coast." "Yes, but not that ahead of her," the captain answered, "for she would be so much to the seaward. Still, that would be far enough; but she will begin to fire long before we are in range, and will bring any other king's ship within hearing down on us. However, I daresay we shall give her the slip, as we have done before." The hours passed slowly. The wind continued to drop, until the vessel scarcely moved through the water, and, after a while, the sweeps were got out, and were worked until the day broke. All eyes were on the lookout for the cutter, as the day dawn began to steal over the sky. "There she is, sure enough," the captain exclaimed at length, "lying to on the watch, some eight miles to the west. She must have seen us, for we are against the light sky; but, like, ourselves, she is becalmed." It was a quarter of an hour, however, before the position of the cutter was seen to change. Then her head was suddenly turned east. "She has got the wind," the captain said. "Now we only want a good breeze, and you'll have a lively day of it, lads." From the time when she had turned, the lugger had made only about eight miles along the coast to the east, and an equal distance seaward, for the tide had set against her. The morning was bright and clear, the sea was perfectly smooth. As yet, the sails hung idly down, but there were dark lines on the water that showed that a breeze was coming. "We shall have plenty of wind presently," the skipper said. "See how light the sky is to the south. There will be white tops on the waves in an hour or two. "Here comes a flaw. Haul in your sheets, lads, now she begins to move." The puff did not last long, dying away to nothing in a few minutes, and then the lugger lay immovable again. The men whistled, stamped the deck impatiently, and cast anxious glances back at the cutter. "She is walking along fast," the skipper said, as he examined her through a glass. "She has got the wind steady, and must be slipping along at six knots an hour. This is hard luck on us. If we don't get the breeze soon, it will be a close thing of it." Another quarter of an hour passed without a breath of wind ruffling the water. The cutter was fully two miles nearer to them than when she had first been seen, and was holding the wind steadily. "Here it comes, lads," the skipper said cheerfully. "Another ten minutes, and we shall have our share." The time seemed long, indeed, before the dark line on the water reached the lugger, and there was something like a cheer, from the crew, as the craft heeled slightly over, and then began to move through the water. It was the true breeze this time, and increased every moment in force, till the lugger was lying well over, with a white wave at her bow. But the cutter had first gained by the freshening breeze, and James Walsham, looking back at her, judged that there were not more than four miles of water between the boats. The breeze was nearly due west, and, as the lugger was headed as close as she would lie to it, the cutter had hauled in her sheets and lay up on the same course, so that they were now sailing almost parallel to each other. "If we could change places," the skipper said, "we should be safe. We can sail nearer the wind than she can, but she can edge away now, and has all the advantage of us." James had already perceived this, and wondered that the lugger did not pay off before the wind, so as to make a stern chase of it. "I want to get a few miles farther out," the skipper said. "Likely enough there is another cutter somewhere inshore. It is quite enough to have one of these fellows at one's heels." Another half hour and the cutter, edging in, was little over three miles distant. Then the skipper gave the word, the helm was put down, the sheets slackened off, and, in a minute, the lugger was running dead before the wind with her sails boomed out, one on either side. The cutter followed her example, and hoisted a large square sail. The wind was blowing fresh now, and the sea was getting up. Not a cloud was to be seen in the sky, and the sun shone brightly on the white heads which were beginning to show on the water. The lugger was tearing along, occasionally throwing a cloud of spray over her bows, and leaving a track of white water behind her. "I think she still gains on us," the captain said to the mate, who had taken the helm. "Ay, she is gaining," the sailor agreed, "but the wind is freshening every minute. She can't carry that topsail much longer. It's pressing her bows under now." "She will go almost as fast without it," the skipper said. The commander of the cutter seemed to be of the same opinion, for, just as he spoke, the topsail was seen to flutter, and then descended to the deck. It was a quarter of an hour before the skipper spoke again. "I think we just about hold our own," he said. "I didn't think the Polly could have held her running." "She couldn't, in a light wind," the mate replied; "but with this wind, it will want a fast boat to beat her." The hands were now set to work, shifting the kegs further aft. "That's better," the skipper said presently. "I am sure we are gaining ground, and our masts will stand it, if the cutter's will." With her stern low in the water, the lugger was now tearing along at a tremendous pace. Stout as were her masts, and strong the stays, James Walsham wondered at their standing the strain of the great brown sails, as they seemed, at times, almost to lift her bodily out of the water. Buoyant as the craft was, the waves broke over her bows and flooded her decks, and sheets of spray flew over her. The cutter, with her sharper bows and all her sail forward, was feeling it still more severely, and the spirits of all on board the lugger rose rapidly, as it was evident that they were dropping their pursuers. Suddenly, the gaff of the cutter's mainsail was seen to droop, and the boom was hauled on board. "I thought it would be too much for them," the skipper said exultantly. "They are going to reef." "We had better reef down too, I think," the mate said. "She has had as much as she could bear for some time." "I'll hold on ten minutes longer," the skipper said. "Every half mile counts." But before that time was up, the sails were one after another reefed, for the wind continued to freshen. The sky was still cloudless, but there was a misty light in the air, and a heavy sea was beginning to run. Suddenly, a gun flashed out from the cutter. The skipper uttered an oath. Their pursuer was more than three miles astern, and he knew that she could only be firing as a signal. There were several large ships in sight on their way up or down the Channel. To these, little attention had been paid. The skipper shaded his eyes with a hand, and gazed earnestly at a large ship on the weather beam, some four miles away. "That is a frigate, sure enough," he exclaimed. "We are fairly caught between them. "Haul in the sheets, lads, we will have a try for it yet." The lugger was brought sharp up into the wind, and was soon staggering along seaward, with the lee bulwark almost under water. The cutter instantly lowered her square sail, and followed her example, continuing to fire a gun every minute. All eyes were turned towards the frigate, which was now on the port beam. "We shall cross two miles to windward of her," the skipper said. "If she keeps on her course, a quarter of an hour will do it, but she is sure to notice the guns. The wind will take them down to her. "Ah, there she goes." As he spoke, a puff of smoke darted out from the frigate's bow. Her sails fluttered, and her head bore round, until she was on the same tack as the lugger. The latter was now about equidistant from her two pursuers. The cutter and the lugger were nearly abreast, but the former, being to windward, could edge down. The frigate was three miles to leeward, but she was fully a mile ahead. "There is no way out of it," the skipper said bitterly. "In a light wind we could run away from the frigate, but with this breeze we have no chance with her. Look how she is piling on sail!" The crew shared the captain's opinion. Some shook their fists and cursed vainly at their pursuers, some stood sullenly scowling, while the French portion of the crew gave way to wild outbursts of rage. Rapidly the three vessels closed in towards each other, for the cutter edged in so rapidly that the lugger was obliged to bear off towards the frigate again. As a last hope, the lugger's course was changed, and she again tried running, but the superior weight and power of the frigate brought her rapidly down. Presently a heavy gun boomed out, and a shot came dancing along the water, a hundred yards away. "Lower the sails," the skipper said. "It is no use going farther. The inside of a prison is better than the bottom of the sea, anyhow." Down came the sails, and the lugger lay rolling heavily in the waves, as the frigate bore down upon her with a white roll of water on her stem. "Get ready, lads," the skipper said. "There is just one chance yet. She will run by us. The instant she is past, up sail again. We shall be a mile away before they can get her round into the wind again. If she doesn't cripple us with her shot, we may weather her yet. We needn't mind the cutter." The frigate came foaming along, the crew busy in taking sail off her. The instant she had passed, and was preparing to round to, the sails of the lugger flew up like magic, and she was soon tearing along almost in the eye of the wind, as if to meet the cutter, which was running down towards her. "Down below, lads, every man of you," the captain shouted. "We shall have a broadside in a minute." In a moment, the deck was clear of all save the skipper and his mate, who stood at the tiller. The frigate swept slowly round, and then, as her guns came to bear, shot after shot was fired at the lugger, already three-quarters of a mile to the windward. The shot hummed overhead, one struck the water alongside, a yard or two away, but still she was untouched. "Some of her shots went as near the cutter as they did to us," the skipper said. "She won't fire again." They were now fast approaching the cutter, which, when she was within a quarter of a mile, changed her course and was brought up again into the wind, firing the four guns she carried on her broadside as she came round. The lugger's head was paid off, and this placed the cutter on her starboard quarter, both going free. The former was travelling the faster, but a gun was fired from the cutter's bow, and the shot struck splinters from the lugger's quarter. The crew were on deck again now. "Train that gun over the stern," the skipper said. "If we can knock her mast out of her, we are saved. If not, they will have us yet." He had scarcely spoken when there was a crash. A shot from the cutter had struck the mizzen mast, a few feet above the deck, and the mast and sail fell over to leeward. There was a cry of rage and dismay. "Luck's against us," the skipper said bitterly. "Down with the sail, lads. This time it is all up with us." The sail was lowered, and the lugger lay motionless in the water, until the cutter came up and lay within fifty yards of her. A boat was at once lowered, and an officer was rowed to the lugger. "So we have caught you, my friends, at last," he said, as he sprang on board. "You wouldn't have done it, if it had not been for the frigate," the skipper said. "No; I will say your craft sails like a witch," the officer replied. "I wish we could have done it without her. It will make all the difference to us. The frigate will get the lion's share of the prize. What is the value of your cargo?" "Two hundred kegs of brandy," the skipper replied, "and fifteen hundred pounds' worth of lace and silks." "A good prize," the officer said. "Not your own, I hope, for you have made a brave chase of it." "No," the skipper answered. "Fortunately, I only took a very small share this time. It's bad enough to lose my boat; I own two-thirds of her." "I am sorry for you," the officer said, for he was in high spirits at the success of the chase, and could afford to be pleasant. "Here comes a boat from the frigate. You played them a rare trick, and might have got off, if it hadn't been for that lucky shot of ours. "I see you were just getting out a stern chaser," and he pointed to the gun. "It is well for you that you didn't fire it, as you can't be charged with armed resistance." "I wish I had fired it, for all that. It might have been my luck to cripple you." "It would have made no difference if you had," the officer replied. "The frigate would have overhauled you. With this wind she would sail five feet to your four." The boat from the frigate now came alongside. "How are you, Cotterel?" the officer said, as he stepped on board. "That was a lucky shot of yours; but I think it's lucky for the lugger that you hit her, for the captain was so savage, at that trick they played him, that I believe he would have sunk her when he came up to her again. I heard him say to the first lieutenant, 'I won't give her a chance to play me such a trick again.'" "What orders have you brought?" the other asked. "We are outward bound, so you are to put a crew on board and take her into port; but, as we are very short of hands, we will relieve you of the prisoners." All on board the lugger were at once ordered into the frigate's boat, and were rowed off to the ship. On gaining the deck, they were drawn up in line, and the captain and first lieutenant came up. The good humour of the former had been restored by the capture of the lugger. "Hallo!" he said, looking at the bandaged heads and arms of some of the men, "so you have been having a fight trying to run your cargo, I suppose. That will make it all the worse for you, when you get on shore. Now, I might press you all without giving you a choice, but I don't want unwilling hands, so I will leave it to you. Which is it to be--an English prison for two or three years, or a cruise on board the Thetis?" The greater part of the men at once stepped forward, and announced their willingness to volunteer. "Who have we here," the captain asked, looking at the three countrymen. "They are passengers, sir," the skipper of the lugger said, with a half smile. A few questions brought to light the facts of the surprise while the cargo was being landed. "Well, my lads," the captain said, "you are in the same boat with the rest. You were engaged in an unlawful enterprise, and in resisting his majesty's officers. You will get some months in prison anyhow, if you go back. You had better stay on board, and let me make men of you." The countrymen, however, preferred a prison to a man o' war. James Walsham had been turning over the matter in his mind. He had certainly taken no part in the fray, but that would be difficult to prove, and he could not account for his presence except by acknowledging that he was there to warn them. It would certainly be a case of imprisonment. Surely, it would be better to volunteer than this. He had been longing for the sea, and here an opportunity opened for him for abandoning the career his mother intended for him, without setting himself in opposition to her wishes. Surely she would prefer that he should be at sea for a year or two to his being disgraced by imprisonment. He therefore now stepped forward. "I do not belong to the lugger's crew, sir, and had nothing to do with running their cargo, though I own I was on the spot at the time. I am not a sailor, though I have spent a good deal of time on board fishing boats. Mr. Horton, whom I see there, knows me, and will tell you that I am a son of a doctor in Sidmouth. But, as I have got into a scrape, I would rather serve than go back and stand a trial." "Very well, my lad," the captain said. "I like your spirit, and will keep my eye on you." The three countrymen and four of the French sailors, who declined to join the Thetis, were taken back to the cutter, and the Thetis at once proceeded on her way down channel. James had given a hastily scribbled line, on the back of an old letter which he happened to have in his pocket, to the men who were to be taken ashore, but he had very little hope that it would ever reach his mother. Nor, indeed, did it ever do so. When the cutter reached Weymouth with the lugger, the men captured in her were at once sent to prison, where they remained until they were tried at assizes three months afterwards; and, although all were acquitted of the charge of unlawful resistance to the king's officers, as there was no proof against any of the six men individually, they were sentenced to a year's imprisonment for smuggling. Whether Jim's hurriedly written letter was thrown overboard, or whether it was carried in the pocket of the man to whom he gave it until worn into fragments, James never knew, but it never reached his mother. The news that James was missing was brought to her upon the day after the event by Mr. Wilks. He had, as usual, gone down after breakfast to report how Aggie was getting on, with a message from his mother that her charge was now so completely restored that it was unnecessary for her to stay longer at the Hall, and that she should come home that evening at her usual time. Hearing from the girl that James had not returned since he went out at nine o'clock on the previous evening, the old soldier sauntered down to the beach, to inquire of the fishermen in whose boat James had gone out. To his surprise, he found that none of the boats had put to sea the evening before. The men seemed less chatty and communicative than usual. Most of them were preparing to go out with their boats, and none seemed inclined to enter into a conversation. Rather wondering at their unusual reticence, Mr. Wilks strolled along to where the officer of the revenue men was standing, with his boatswain, watching the fishermen. "A fine morning, lieutenant." "Yes," the latter assented. "There will be wind presently. Have you heard of the doings of last night?" "No," Mr. Wilks said in surprise, "I have heard nothing. I was just speaking to the fishermen, but they don't seem in as communicative a mood as usual this morning." "The scamps know it is safest for them to keep their mouths shut, just at present," the officer said grimly. "I have no doubt a good many of them were concerned in that affair last night. We had a fight with the smugglers. Two of my men were shot and one of theirs, and there were a good many cutlass wounds on each side. We have taken a score of prisoners, but they are all country people who were assisting in the landing; the smugglers themselves all got off. We made a mess of the affair altogether, thanks to some fellow who rushed down and gave the alarm, and upset all the plans we had laid. "It is too provoking. I had got news of the exact spot and hour at which the landing was to take place. I had my men all up on the cliff, and, as the fellows came up with kegs, they were to have been allowed to get a hundred yards or so inland and would there have been seized, and any shout they made would not have been heard below. Lieutenant Fisher, with his party from the next station, was to be a little way along at the foot of the cliffs, and when the boats came with the second batch, he was to rush forward and capture them, while we came down from above. Then we intended to row off and take the lugger. There was not wind enough for her to get away. "All was going well, and the men were just coming up the cliff with the tubs, when someone who had passed us on the cliff ran down shouting the alarm. We rushed down at once, but arrived too late. They showed fight, and kept us back till Fisher's party came up; but by that time the boats were afloat, and the smugglers managed to get in and carry them off, in spite of us. We caught, as I tell you, some of the countrymen, and Fisher has taken them off to Weymouth, but most of them got away. There are several places where the cliff can be climbed by men who know it, and I have no doubt half those fishermen you see there were engaged in the business." "Then the smuggler got away?" Mr. Wilks asked. "I don't know," the lieutenant said shortly. "I had sent word to Weymouth, and I hope they will catch her in the offing. The lugger came down this way first, but we made her out, and showed a blue light. She must have turned and gone back again, for this morning at daylight we made her out to the east. The cutter was giving chase, and at first ran down fast towards her. Then the smugglers got the wind, and the last we saw of them they were running up the Channel, the cutter some three miles astern. "I would give a couple of months' pay to know who it was that gave the alarm. I expect it was one of those fishermen. As far as my men could make out in the darkness, the fellow was dressed as a sailor. But I must say good morning, for I am just going to turn in." Mr. Wilks had been on the point of mentioning that James was missing, but a vague idea that he might, in some way, be mixed up with the events of the previous night, checked the question on his lips; and yet he thought, as the officer walked away, it was not probable. Had James been foolish enough to take part in such a business, he would either have been taken prisoner, or would, after he escaped, have returned home. He had evidently not been taken prisoner, or the officer would have been sure to mention it. Much puzzled, he walked slowly back to the fishermen. Some of the boats had already pushed off. He went up to three of the men, whose boat, being higher up than the rest, would not be afloat for another quarter of an hour. "Look here, lads," he said. "My young friend Jim Walsham is missing this morning, and hasn't been at home all night. As none of the fishing boats put out in the evening he cannot have gone to sea. Can any of you tell me anything about him?" The men gave no answer. "You need not be afraid of speaking to me, you know," he went on, "and it's no business of mine whether any of the men on the shore were concerned in that affair. The lieutenant has just been telling me of last night; but hearing of that, and finding Jim is missing, I can't help thinking there is some connection between the two things. Nothing you say to me will go further, that I can promise you; but the lad's mother will be in a terrible way. I can't make it out, for I know that, if he had anything to do with this smuggling business, he would have told me. Again, if he was there and got away, he would naturally have come straight home, for his absence would only throw suspicion upon him." "Well, Mr. Wilks," the youngest of the sailors said, "I don't know nothing about it myself. No one does, so far as I know, but I have heard say this morning as how he was there or thereabouts; but don't you let out as I told you, 'cause they would want to know who I heard it from." "You can rely upon my silence, my lad, and here's half a guinea to drink my health between you. But can't you tell me a little more?" "Well, sir, they do say as how it war Mr. Jim as came running down into the middle of them on the beach, shouting the alarm, with the revenue men close at his heels. I don't say as it were he--likely enough it weren't--but that's the talk, and that's all I have heared about the matter. How he came for to know of it, or how he got there, no one knows, for sartin he has had nought to do with any landings afore. He was a lot among us, but I know as he never was told about it; for, though everyone would have trusted Jim, still, seeing how he was placed, with his mother up at the Hall, and the squire a magistrate, it was thought better as he shouldn't be let into it. Everyone on the shore here likes Jim." "But if he was there, and he hasn't been taken prisoner--and I am sure the lieutenant would have told me if he was--why shouldn't he have got home?" "We didn't know as he hadn't got home, did us, Bill?" the fisherman appealed to one of his comrades. "No," the other said. "We thought likely he had got safely away with the rest. It war a dark night, and I expect as everyone was too busy looking after himself to notice about others." "He may have been wounded," the old soldier said anxiously, "and may be in hiding in some house near the place." The fisherman was silent. Such a thing was, of course, possible. "He might that," one of the sailors said doubtfully, "and yet I don't think it. The chase was a hot one, and I don't think anyone, wounded so bad as he couldn't make his way home, would have got away. I should say as it wur more likely as he got on board one of the boats. It seems to me as though he might have come to warn us--that is to say, to warn them, I mean--just to do em a good turn, as he was always ready to do if he had the chance. But he wouldn't have had anything to do with the scrimmage, and might have been standing, quiet like, near the boats, when the other lot came along the shore, and then, seeing as the game was up, he might, likely enough, have jumped on board and gone off to the lugger." "That is possible," Mr. Wilks said. "Anyhow, I will go off at once, and make inquiries at all the houses within a mile or so of the landing place." Chapter 8: Discharged. Contrary to his usual habits of punctuality, Mr. Wilks did not return to luncheon at the Hall, and it was two hours later before he came in, looking fagged and anxious. He had been to all the farm houses within two miles of the scene of the fight, and had ascertained, for certain, that Jim was not lying wounded at any of them. At first, his inquiries had everywhere been coldly received. There was scarce a farm house near the coast, but the occupants had relations with the smugglers, assisting with their carts and men at the landings, or having hiding places where goods could be stowed away. At first, therefore, all professed entire ignorance of the events of the previous night; but, when persuaded by the earnestness of the old soldier's manner that his mission was a friendly one, they became more communicative, and even owned that some of their men had been taken prisoners and marched to Weymouth; but none of them had heard of any wounded man being in hiding. Convinced, at last, that James must have gone off to the lugger, Mr. Wilks returned to Sidmouth, a prey to great anxiety. Everything depended now on whether the lugger was captured. If so, James would have to stand his trial for being concerned in the fight on the beach, and, as two of the revenue men had been killed, his sentence might be a heavy one. If she got away, all would be well. They would doubtless hear by letter from Jim, and it would be better that he should not return at present to Sidmouth, but should at once take up his residence in London, and commence his studies there. He met the squire just as the latter was starting for Sidmouth. "Well, Wilks, we began to think that you were lost," he said, cheerfully. "Aggie was downstairs to lunch, and was mightily offended that you should not be there at her first appearance. "But you look tired and fagged. Has anything gone wrong?" "Things have gone very wrong, squire." And he related to his friend all the news that he had gathered, and his conviction that James Walsham was on board the lugger. "This is a pretty kettle of fish," the squire said irritably. "What on earth did the boy mean by getting himself mixed up with such an affair as that?" "It is a foolish business, squire," the old soldier agreed. "But we can't expect wise heads on young shoulders, I suppose. He, somehow or other, learnt the surprise which the revenue men intended, and as most of his friends, the fishermen, would probably be concerned in it, he went to give them notice, intending, no doubt, to go quietly back again before the revenue men arrived. I don't know that he's altogether to be blamed in the matter. Most young fellows would do the same." "Well, I suppose they would," the squire agreed reluctantly; "but it is a most awkward business. If the lad gets caught, and gets two or three years' imprisonment, it will ruin his prospects in life. His mother will be broken hearted over the business, and I am sure Aggie will take it terribly to heart. They were great friends of old, though she hasn't seen much of him for the last two or three years, and, of course, that affair of the other day has made quite a hero of him." "We must hope the lugger will get safely over to France," his companion said. "Then no great harm will have been done." "We must hope so," the squire assented moodily. "Confound the young jackanapes, turning everything upside down, and upsetting us all with his mad-brain freaks." Mrs. Walsham was greatly distressed, when the news was broken to her by Mr. Wilks, and Aggie cried so that the squire, at last, said she must go straight up to bed unless she stopped, for she would be making herself ill again. When she was somewhat pacified, the matter was discussed in every light, but the only conclusion to be arrived at was, that their sole hope rested in the hugger getting safely off. "Of course, my dear madam," the squire said, "if they are taken I will do my best to get a pardon for your son. I am afraid he will have to stand his trial with the rest; but I think that, with the representations I will make as to his good character, I may get a mitigation, anyhow, of a sentence. If they find out that it was he who gave the alarm, there will be no hope of a pardon; but if that doesn't come out, one would represent his being there as a mere boyish freak of adventure, and, in that case, I might get him a free pardon. You must not take the matter too seriously to heart. It was a foolish business, and that is the worst that can be said of it." "I think it was a grand thing," Aggie said indignantly, "for him to risk being shot, and imprisoned, and all sorts of dreadful things, just to save other people." "And I think you are a goose, Aggie," the squire said. "If everyone were to go and mix themselves up in other people's business, there would be no end of trouble. I suppose next you will say that, if you heard me arranging with the constable to make a capture of some burglars, you would think it a grand thing to put on your hat to run off to warn them." "Oh, grandpapa, how can you say such a thing!" the girl said. "Burglars and smugglers are quite different. Burglars are wicked men, and thieves and robbers. Smugglers are not, they are only trying to get goods in without paying duty." "They try to rob the king, my dear, and in the eyes of the law are just as criminal as burglars. Both of them are leagued to break the law, and both will resist and take life if they are interfered with. I allow that, in general estimation, the smugglers are looked upon in a more favourable light, and that a great many people, who ought to know better, are in league with them, but that does not alter the facts of the case." The girl did not argue the question, but the squire was perfectly aware that he had in no way convinced her, and that her feeling, that James Walsham's action was a highly meritorious one, was in no way shaken. It was agreed that nothing was to be said about James's absence, and, after taking some refreshment, Mr. Wilks went down into Sidmouth again, to tell the girl at Mrs. Walsham's that she was not to gossip about James being away. Three days later, a letter was received by the squire from Richard Horton. "I am taking the opportunity of writing a few lines to you, my dear uncle, as I have a chance of sending it ashore by the revenue cutter Thistle, which is lying alongside of us. Between us, we have just captured a rascally smuggling lugger, with a cargo of lace, silk, and spirits. You will, I am sure, be surprised and grieved to hear that among the crew of the lugger was James Walsham. I could hardly believe my eyes, when I saw him in such disreputable company. It will be a sad blow for his poor mother. As we were short of hands, our captain offered the crew of the lugger the choice of shipping with us, or being sent on shore for trial. Most of them chose the former alternative, among them James Walsham, of which I was glad, as his mother will be spared the disgrace of his being placed in the dock with his associates. I need not say that if I could have obtained his release, I should have done so, knowing that you had a high opinion of him; but it was, of course, out of my power to interfere." The squire was alone in his study when he received the letter, for it was midday before the post arrived at Sidmouth, when a man from the Hall went down each day, with a bag, to fetch the letters. He rang the bell, and ordered the servant to tell Mr. Wilks he should be glad if he would step in to him. When his friend came, he handed him the letter without a word. "That settles the matter," he said, as he threw the letter angrily down upon the table. "A malicious young viper! I wish I had him here." "It is not nicely worded," the squire said gravely; "but it was an unpleasant story to have to tell." "It was not an unpleasant story for him to tell," the old soldier said hotly. "There is malice in every line of it. He speaks of the men as James's associates, talks about the disgrace he would bring on his mother. There's malice, squire, in every line of it." "I'm afraid it's a bad letter," the squire assented gravely. "It's a natural letter," Mr. Wilks said savagely. "It is written in a hurry, and he's had no time to pick and choose his words, and round off his sentences, as he generally does in his letters to you. He was so full of malicious exultation that he did not think how much he was showing his feeling, as he wrote." "It's a bad letter and a nasty letter," the squire assented; "but let that pass, now. The first question is--How are we to tell Jim's mother? Do you think it will be a relief to her, or otherwise?" "It will be a blow to know that the lugger has been captured," Mr. Wilks said--"a severe blow, no doubt, for her escape is what we have been building our hopes upon. It will be a heavy blow, too, for her to know that James is a seaman before the mast; that it will be years before she will see him again, and that all her plans for his future are upset. But I think this will be much better for her than if she knew he was a prisoner, and would have to stand a trial. "Between ourselves, squire, as far as the lad himself is concerned, I am not sure that he will be altogether sorry that events have turned out as they have. In our talks together, he has often confided to me that his own inclinations were altogether for a life of activity and adventure; but that, as his mother's heart was so set upon his following his father's profession, he had resolved upon never saying a word, to her, which would lead her to suppose that his own wishes lay in any other direction. This business will give him the opportunity he has longed for, to see the world, without his appearing in any way to thwart his mother's plans." "At any rate," the squire said, "I am heartily glad he has got off being tried. Even if I had got a free pardon for him, it would have been a serious slur upon him that he had been imprisoned, and would have been awkward for us all in the future. I think, Wilks, I will leave it to you to break it to his mother." "Very well," the other agreed. "It is an unpleasant business, squire; but perhaps I had better do it. It may console her if I tell her that, at heart, he always wanted to go to sea, and that, accustomed as he is to knock about in the fishermen's boats, he will find it no hardship on board a man o' war, and will come back, in the course of two or three years, none the worse for his cruise. She may think he will take up doctoring again after that, though I have my doubts whether he will do that. However, there is no use in telling her so. Shall I show her that letter, squire?" "No," the squire replied, "of course you can tell her what's in it; but I will keep the letter myself. I would give a good deal if he had not written it. It is certainly badly worded, though why he should feel any malice, towards the other, is more than I can tell." His companion was about to speak, but thought better of it, and, without another word, went to break the news to Mrs. Walsham. Mrs. Walsham was terribly upset. After suffering her to cry for some time in silence, Mr. Wilks said: "My dear madam, I know that this news must distress you terribly; but it may be that in this, as in all things, a providence has overruled your plans for your son, for his own good. I will tell you now what you would never have known had this affair never occurred. Jim, at heart, hates his father's profession. He is a dutiful son and, rather than give you pain, he was prepared to sacrifice all his own feelings and wishes. But the lad is full of life and energy. The dull existence of a country surgeon, in a little town like this, is the last he would adopt as his own choice; and I own that I am not surprised that a lad of spirit should long for a more adventurous life. I should have told you this long ago, and advised you that it would be well for you both to put it frankly to him that, although you would naturally like to see him following his father's profession, still that you felt that he should choose for himself; and that, should he select any other mode of life, you would not set your wishes against his. But the lad would not hear of my doing so. He said that, rather than upset your cherished plans, he would gladly consent to settle down in Sidmouth for life. I honoured him for his filial spirit; but, frankly, I think he was wrong. An eagle is not made to live in a hen coop, nor a spirited lad to settle down in a humdrum village; and I own that, although I regret the manner of his going, I cannot look upon it as an unmixed evil, that the force of circumstances has taken him out of the course marked out for him, and that he will have an opportunity of seeing life and adventure." Mrs. Walsham had listened, with a surprise too great to admit of her interrupting the old soldier's remarks. "I never dreamed of this," she said at last, when he ceased. "I cannot remember, now, that I ever asked him, but I took it for granted that he would like nothing better than to follow in his father's steps. Had I known that he objected to it, I would not for a moment have forced him against his inclinations. Of course it is natural that, being alone in the world, I should like to have him with me still, but I would never have been so selfish as to have sacrificed his life to mine. Still, though it would be hard to have parted from him in any way, it is harder still to part like this. If he was to go, he need not have gone as a common sailor. The squire, who has done so much for him, would no doubt, instead of sending him to school, have obtained a midshipman's berth for him, or a commission in the army; but it is dreadful to think of him as a common sailor, liable to be flogged." "Well, Mrs. Walsham, perhaps we may set the matter partly to rights. I will speak to the squire, and I am sure he will write to his friend at the admiralty, and have an order sent out, at once, for Jim's discharge. At the same time, it would be better that he should not return here just at present. His name may come out, at the trial of the smugglers, as being concerned in the affair, and it would be better that he should stay away, till that matter blows over. At any rate, if I were you I should write to him, telling him that you know now that he has no taste for the medical profession, and that, should he see anything that he thinks will suit him in America, you would not wish him to come home immediately, if he has a fancy for staying out there; but that, if he chooses to return, you are sure that the squire will exert himself, to give him a start in any other profession he may choose." Mrs. Walsham agreed to carry out the suggestion and, that afternoon, the squire sent off a letter to his friend at the admiralty, and three letters were also posted to James himself. The voyage of the Thetis was uneventful. Her destination was Hampton, at the opening of Chesapeake Bay, where the troops on board would join the expedition under General Braddock, which was advancing up the Potomac. When she arrived there, they found several ships of war under Commodore Keppel. Braddock's force had marched to Wills Creek, where a military post named Fort Cumberland had been formed. The soldiers on board were at once disembarked, and marched up the banks of the Potomac to join the force at Fort Cumberland. The sailors were employed in taking stores up the river in boats. James Walsham had done his best, during the voyage, to acquire a knowledge of his duties. His experience in the fishing boats was useful to him now, and he was soon able to do his work as an able-bodied seaman. His good spirits and willingness rendered him a general favourite. He was glad that he was not put in the same watch with Richard Horton, as, after their first meeting, the young lieutenant showed no signs of recognition. He was not, James found, popular among the men. He was exacting and overbearing with them, and some on board, who had served with him on his previous voyage, had many tales to his disadvantage. A fortnight after the arrival of the Thetis at Hampton, orders were issued among the ships of war for thirty volunteers for Braddock's expedition, of which the Thetis was to furnish ten. So many sent in their names, that the first lieutenant had difficulty in choosing ten, who were looked upon with envy by the rest of the ship's company; for there seemed little chance, at present, of fighting at sea, and the excitement of a march on shore, with adventures of all sorts, and encounters with the French and their Indian allies, seemed delightful to the tars. Upon the following day a ship arrived from England and, an hour afterwards, an order was passed forward that the first lieutenant wanted James Walsham upon the quarterdeck. "Walsham," he said, "an order has just come from the admiralty for your discharge, and you are to have a passage in the first ship returning, if you choose to take it. I am sorry you are leaving the ship, for I have noticed that you show great willingness and activity, and will make a first-rate sailor. Still, I suppose, your friends in England did not care about your remaining before the mast." James touched his hat and walked forward. He was scarcely surprised, for he had thought that his mother would probably ask the squire to use his influence to obtain his discharge. He scarcely knew whether he was glad or sorry. He was in a false position, and could not hope for promotion except by some lucky chance, such as was not likely to occur, of distinguishing himself. At the same time, he sighed as he thought that he must now return and take up the profession for which his mother had intended him. A quarter of an hour later, however, the ship's corporal came round and distributed the mails, and James, to his delight, found there were three letters for him. He tore open that from his mother. It began by gently upbraiding him for getting himself mixed up in the fight between the smugglers and the revenue men. "In the next place, my dear boy," she said, "I must scold you, even more, for not confiding in your mother as to your wishes about your future profession. Mr. Wilks has opened my eyes to the fact that, while I have all along been taking it for granted, that your wishes agreed with mine as to your profession, you have really been sacrificing all your own inclinations in order to avoid giving me pain. I am very thankful to him for having opened my eyes, for I should have been grieved indeed had I found, when too late, that I had chained you down to a profession you dislike. "Of course, I should have liked to have had you with me, but in no case would have had you sacrifice yourself; still less now, when I have met with such kind friends, and am happy and comfortable in my life. Therefore, my boy, let us set aside at once all idea of your becoming a doctor. There is no occasion for you to choose, immediately, what you will do. You are too old now to enter the royal navy, and it is well that, before you finally decide on a profession, you have the opportunity of seeing something of the world. "I inclose bank notes for a hundred pounds so that, if you like, you can stay for a few weeks or months in the colonies, and then take your passage home from New York or Boston. By that time, too, all talk about this affair with the smugglers will have ceased; but, as your name is likely to come out at the trial of the men who were taken, so the squire thinks it will be better for you to keep away, for a time." The rest of the letter was filled up with an account of the excitement and alarm which had been felt when he was first missed. "We were glad, indeed," she said, "when a letter was received from Richard Horton, saying that you were on board the Thetis. Mr. Wilks tells me it was an abominably spiteful letter, and I am sure the squire thinks so, too, from the tone in which he spoke this afternoon about his nephew; but I can quite forgive him, for, if it had not been for his letter, we should not have known what had become of you, and many months might have passed before we might have heard from you in America. As it is, only four or five days have been lost, and the squire is writing tonight to obtain your discharge, which he assures me there will be no difficulty whatever about." The squire's was a very cordial letter, and he, too, enclosed notes for a hundred pounds. "Mr. Wilks tells me," he said, "that you do not like the thought of doctoring. I am not surprised, and I think that a young fellow, of such spirit and courage as you have shown, ought to be fitted for something better than administering pills and draughts to the old women of Sidmouth. Tell me frankly, when you write, what you would like. You are, of course, too old for the royal navy. If you like to enter the merchant service, I have no doubt I could arrange with some shipping firm in Bristol, and would take care that, by the time you get to be captain, you should also be part owner of the ship. If, on the other hand, you would like to enter the army--and it seems to me that there are stirring times approaching--I think that, through one or other of my friends in London, I could obtain a commission for you. If there is anything else you would like better than this, you may command my best services. I never forget how much I am indebted to you for my present happiness, and, whatever I can do for you, still shall feel myself deeply your debtor." The old soldier wrote a characteristic letter. In the first place, he told James that he regarded him as a fool, for mixing up in an affair in which he had no concern whatever. Then he congratulated him on the fact that circumstances had broken the chain from which he would never otherwise have freed himself. "You must not be angry with me," he said, "for having betrayed your confidence, and told the truth to your mother. I did it in order to console her, by showing her that things were, after all, for the best; and I must say that madam took my news in the very best spirit, and I am sure you will see this by her letter to you. There is no one I honour and esteem more than I do her, and I was sure, all along, that you were making a mistake in not telling her frankly what your wishes were. Now you have got a roving commission for a time, and it will be your own fault if you don't make the best of it. There is likely to be an exciting time in the colonies, and you are not the lad I take you for, if you dawdle away your time in the towns, instead of seeing what is going on in the forest." These letters filled James with delight, and, without an hour's delay, he sat down to answer them. In his letter to the squire he thanked him most warmly for his kindness, and said that, above all things, he should like a commission in the army. He wrote a very tender and affectionate letter to his mother, telling her how much he felt her goodness in so promptly relinquishing her own plans, and in allowing him to choose the life he liked. "Thank Aggie," he concluded, "for the message she sent by you. Give her my love, and don't let her forget me." To the old soldier he wrote a gossipping account of his voyage. "It was impossible," he said, "for the news of my discharge to have come at a better moment. Thirty sailors from the fleet are going with General Braddock's force, and everyone else is envying their good luck--I among them. Now I shall go up, at once, and join the Virginian regiment which is accompanying them. I shall join that, instead of either of the line regiments, as I can leave when I like. Besides, if the squire is able to get me a commission, it would have been pleasanter for me to have been fighting here as a volunteer, than as a private in the line. "By the way, nobody thinks there will be much fighting, so don't let my mother worry herself about me; but, at any rate, a march through the great forests of this country, with a chance of a brush with the redskins, will be great fun. Perhaps, by the time it is over, I may get a letter from you saying that I have got my commission. As I hear there is a chance of a regular war between the French and us out here, the commission may be for a regiment on this side." After finishing his letters, and giving them to the ship's corporal to place in the next post bag, James said goodbye to his messmates, and prepared to go on shore. The ten men chosen for the expedition were also on the point of starting. Richard Horton was standing near, in a state of great discontent that he had not been chosen to accompany them in their expedition. James Walsham stepped up to him, and touched his hat respectfully. "I wish to thank you, Lieutenant Horton, for your extremely kind letter, telling my friends that I was on board this ship. It has been the means of my obtaining my discharge at once, instead of having to serve, for many months, before I could send the news home and obtain an answer in return." Without another word he turned and, walking to the gangway, took his place in a boat about starting with some sailors for the shore, leaving Richard Horton in a state of fury, with himself, for having been the means of obtaining James's discharge. He had already, more than once, felt uncomfortable as he thought of the wording of the letter; and that this indulgence of his spite had had the effect of restoring James's liberty, rendered him well-nigh mad with rage. On landing, James Walsham at once disposed of his sailor's clothes, and purchased a suit similar to those worn by the colonists; then he obtained a passage up the river to Alexandria, where the transports which had brought the troops were still lying. Here, one of the companies of the Virginia corps was stationed, and James, finding that they were expecting, every day, to be ordered up to Wills Creek, determined to join them at once. The scene was a busy one. Stores were being landed from the transports, teamsters were loading up their waggons, officers were superintending the operations, the men of the Virginia corps, who wore no uniform, but were attired in the costume used by hunters and backwoodsmen; namely, a loose hunting shirt, short trousers or breeches, and gaiters; were moving about unconcernedly, while a few of them, musket on shoulder, were on guard over the piles of stores. Presently a tall, slightly-built young man, with a pleasant but resolute face, came riding along, and checked his horse close to where James was standing. James noticed that the men on sentry, who had, for the most part, been sitting down on fallen logs of wood, bales, or anything else which came handy; with their muskets across their knees, or leaning beside them; got up and began pacing to and fro, with some semblance of military position. "Who is that young man?" he asked a teamster standing by. "That is Colonel Washington," the man replied, "one of the smartest of the colonial officers." "Why, he only looks two or three and twenty," James said in surprise. "He is not more than that," the man said; "but age don't go for much here, and Colonel Washington is adjutant general of the Virginian militia. Only a few months back, he made a journey with despatches, right through the forests to the French station at Port de Beuf, and, since then, he has been in command of the party which went out to build a fort, at the forks of the Ohio, and had some sharp fighting with the French. A wonderful smart young officer they say he is, just as cool, when the bullets are flying, as if sitting on horseback." James resolved, at once, that he would speak to Colonel Washington, and ask him if he could join the Virginian militia. He accordingly went up to him, and touched his hat. "If you please, sir, I am anxious to join the Virginian militia, and, as they tell me that you are adjutant general, I have come to ask you if I can do so." "I see no difficulty in it, my lad," the colonel said; "but if you have run away from home, in search of adventure, I should advise you to go back again, for we are likely to have heavy work." "I don't mind that, sir, and I have not run away. I am English. I was pressed on board a frigate, and was brought over here, but my friends in England procured my discharge, which came for me here, a fortnight after my arrival. They are, I believe, about to obtain for me a commission in a king's regiment; but, as I was here, I thought that I should like to see some service, as it may be some months before I hear that I have got my commission. I would rather if I could join as a volunteer, as I do not want pay, my friends having supplied me amply with money." "You seem to be a lad of spirit," Colonel Washington said, "and I will at once put you in the way of doing what you desire. You shall join the Virginian corps as a volunteer. Have you money enough to buy a horse?" "Yes, plenty," Jim said. "I have two hundred pounds." "Then you had better leave a hundred and fifty, at least, behind you," the colonel said. "I will direct you to a trader here, with whom you can bank it. You can get an excellent horse for twenty pounds. I asked you because, if you like, I can attach you to myself. I often want a mounted messenger; and, of course, as a volunteer, you would mess with me." "I should like it above all things," James said thankfully. "Then we will at once go to the tent of the officer commanding this company," Washington said, "and enroll you as a volunteer." On reaching the tent, Washington dismounted and led the way in. "Captain Hall," he said, "this is a young English gentleman, who will shortly have a commission in the king's army, but, in the meantime, he wishes to see a little brisk fighting, so he is to be enrolled as a volunteer in your company; but he is going to obtain a horse, and will act as a sort of aide-de-camp to me." Captain Hall at once entered James's name as a volunteer on the roll of his company. "Do you know of anyone who has a good horse for sale?" Washington asked. "Yes," the captain replied, "at least, there was a farmer here half an hour ago with a good-looking horse which he wants to sell. I have no doubt he is in the camp, still." Captain Hall went to the door of the tent, and told two of the men there to find the farmer, and tell him he had a purchaser for his horse. Ten minutes later the farmer came up, and James bought the horse, Captain Hall doing the bargaining for him. "Now," Washington said, "we will go round to the storekeeper I spoke of, and deposit the best part of your money with him. I should only take a pound or two, if I were you, for you will find no means of spending money when you once set forward, and, should anything happen to you, the Indians would not appreciate the value of those English notes of yours. You will want a brace of pistols and a sword, a blanket, and cooking pot--that is about the extent of your camp equipment." Chapter 9: The Defeat Of Braddock. England and France were, at this time, at peace in Europe, although the troops of both nations were about to engage in conflict, in the forests of America. Their position there was an anomalous one. England owned the belt of colonies on the east coast. France was mistress of Canada in the north, of Louisiana in the south, and, moreover, claimed the whole of the vast country lying behind the British colonies, which were thus cooped up on the seaboard. Her hold, however, of this great territory was extremely slight. She had strong posts along the chain of lakes from the Saint Lawrence to Lake Superior, but between these and Louisiana, her supremacy was little more than nominal. The Canadian population were frugal and hardy, but they were deficient in enterprise; and the priests, who ruled them with a rod of iron, for Canada was intensely Catholic, discouraged any movements which would take their flocks from under their charge. Upon the other hand, the colonists of New England, Pennsylvania, and Virginia were men of enterprise and energy, and their traders, pushing in large numbers across the Alleghenies, carried on an extensive trade with the Indians in the valley of the Ohio, thereby greatly exciting the jealousy of the French, who feared that the Indians would ally themselves with the British colonists, and that the connection between Canada and Louisiana would be thereby cut. The English colonists were greatly superior to the French in number; but they laboured under the disadvantage that the colonies were wholly independent of each other, with strong mutual jealousies, which paralysed their action and prevented their embarking upon any concerted operations. Upon the other hand, Canada was governed by the French as a military colony. The governor was practically absolute, and every man capable of bearing arms could, if necessary, be called by him into the field. He had at his disposal not only the wealth of the colony, but large assistance from France, and the French agents were, therefore, able to outbid the agents of the British colonies with the Indians. For years there had been occasional troubles between the New England States and the French, the latter employing the Indians in harassing the border; but, until the middle of the eighteenth century, there had been nothing like a general trouble. In 1749 the Marquis of Galissoniere was governor general of Canada. The treaty of Aix la Chapelle had been signed; but this had done nothing to settle the vexed question of the boundaries between the English and French colonies. Meanwhile, the English traders from Pennsylvania and Virginia were poaching on the domain which France claimed as hers, ruining the French fur trade, and making friends with the Indian allies of Canada. Worse still, farmers were pushing westward and settling in the valley of the Ohio. In order to drive these back, to impress the natives with the power of France, and to bring them back to their allegiance, the governor of Canada, in the summer of 1749, sent Celoron de Bienville. He had with him fourteen officers, twenty French soldiers, a hundred and eighty Canadians, and a band of Indians. They embarked in twenty-three birch-bark canoes, and, pushing up the Saint Lawrence, reached Lake Ontario, stopping for a time at the French fort of Frontenac, and avoiding the rival English port of Oswego on the southern shore, where a trade in beaver skins, disastrous to French interests, was being carried on, for the English traders sold their goods at vastly lower prices than those which the French had charged. On the 6th of July the party reached Niagara, where there was a small French fort, and thence, carrying their canoes round the cataract, launched them upon Lake Erie. Landing again on the southern shore of the lake, they carried their canoes nine miles through the forest to Chautauqua Lake, and then dropped down the stream running out of it until they reached the Ohio. The fertile country here was inhabited by the Delawares, Shawanoes, Wyandots, and Iroquois, or Indians of the Five Nations, who had migrated thither from their original territories in the colony of New York. Further west, on the banks of the Miami, the Wabash, and other streams, was a confederacy of the Miami and their kindred tribes. Still further west, in the country of the Illinois, near the Mississippi, the French had a strong stone fort called Fort Chartres, which formed one of the chief links of the chain of posts that connected Quebec with New Orleans. The French missionaries and the French political agents had, for seventy years, laboured hard to bring these Indian tribes into close connection with France. The missionaries had failed signally; but the presents, so lavishly bestowed, had inclined the tribes to the side of their donors, until the English traders with their cheap goods came pushing west over the Alleghenies. They carried their goods on the backs of horses, and journeyed from village to village, selling powder, rum, calicoes, beads, and trinkets. No less than three hundred men were engaged in these enterprises, and some of them pushed as far west as the Mississippi. As the party of Celoron proceeded they nailed plates of tin, stamped with the arms of France, to trees; and buried plates of lead near them, with inscriptions saying that they took possession of the land in the name of Louis the Fifteenth, King of France. Many of the villages were found to be deserted by the natives, who fled at their approach. At some, however, they found English traders, who were warned at once to leave the country; and, by some of them, letters were sent to the governor of Pennsylvania, in which Celoron declared that he was greatly surprised to find Englishmen trespassing in the domain of France, and that his orders were precise, to leave no foreign traders within the limits of the government of Canada. At Chiningue, called Logstown by the English, a large number of natives were gathered, most of the inhabitants of the deserted villages having sought refuge there. The French were received with a volley of balls from the shore; but they landed without replying to the fire, and hostilities were avoided. The French kept guard all night, and in the morning Celoron invited the chiefs to a council, when he told them he had come, by the order of the governor, to open their eyes to the designs of the English against their lands, and that they must be driven away at once. The reply of the chiefs was humble; but they begged that the English traders, of whom there were, at that moment, ten in the town, might stay a little longer, since the goods they brought were necessary to them. After making presents to the chiefs, the party proceeded on their way, putting up the coats of arms and burying the lead inscriptions. At Scioto a large number of Indians were assembled, and the French were very apprehensive of an attack, which would doubtless have been disastrous to them, as the Canadians of the party were altogether unused to war. A council was held, however, at which Celoron could obtain no satisfaction whatever, for the interests of the Indians were bound up with the English. There can be no doubt that, had they been able to look into the future, every Indian on the continent would have joined the French in their effort to crush the English colonies. Had France remained master of America the Indians might, even now, be roaming free and unmolested on the lands of their forefathers. France is not a colonizing nation. She would have traded with the Indians, would have endeavoured to Christianize them, and would have left them their land and freedom, well satisfied with the fact that the flag of France should wave over so vast an extent of country; but on England conquering the soil, her armies of emigrants pressed west, and the red man is fast becoming extinct on the continent of which he was once the lord. Celoron's expedition sailed down the Ohio until it reached the mouth of the Miami, and toiled for thirteen days against its shallow current, until they reached a village of the Miami Indians, ruled over by a chief called, by the French, La Demoiselle, but whom the English, whose fast friend he was, called Old Britain. He was the great chief of the Miami confederation. The English traders there withdrew at the approach of the French. The usual council was held, and Celoron urged the chief to remove from this location, which he had but newly adopted, and to take up his abode, with his band, near the French fort on the Maumee. The chief accepted the Frenchman's gifts, thanked him for his good advice, and promised to follow it at a more convenient time; but neither promises nor threats could induce him to stir at once. No sooner, indeed, had the French departed, than the chief gathered the greater part of the members of the confederation on that spot; until, in less than two years after the visit of Celoron, its population had increased eightfold, and it became one of the greatest Indian towns of the west, and the centre of English trade and influence. Celoron reached Miami, and then returned northward to Lake Erie, and thence back to Montreal, when he reported to the governor that English influence was supreme in the valley of the Ohio. In the following year, a company was formed in Virginia for effecting a settlement in Ohio, and a party proceeded west to the village of the chief called Old Britain, by whom they were received with great friendship, and a treaty of peace was solemnly made between the English and the Indians. While the festivities, consequent on the affair, were going on, four Ottawa Indians arrived from the French, with the French flag and gifts, but they were dismissed with an answer of defiance. If, at this time, the colonists could have cemented their alliance with the Indians, with gifts similar to those with which the French endeavoured to purchase their friendship, a permanent peace with the Indians might have been established; but the mutual jealousies of the colonies, and the nature of the various colonial assemblies, rendered any common action impossible. Pennsylvania was jealous of the westward advance of Virginia, and desired to thwart rather than to assist her. The governors of New York, Pennsylvania, and Virginia were fully conscious of the importance of the Indian alliance, but they could do nothing without their assemblies. Those of New York and Pennsylvania were largely composed of tradesmen and farmers, absorbed in local interests, and animated but by two motives; the cutting down of all expenditure, and bitter and continuous opposition to the governor, who represented the royal authority. Virginia and Pennsylvania quarrelled about their respective rights over the valley of the Ohio. The assembly of New York refused to join in any common action, saying, "We will take care of our Indians, and they may take care of theirs." The states further removed from the fear of any danger, from the action of the Indians and French, were altogether lukewarm. Thus, neither in the valley of the Ohio, nor on the boundaries of the New England states, did the Indians receive their promised gifts, and, as the French agents were liberal both in presents and promises, the Indians became discontented with their new friends, and again turned their eyes towards France. Old Britain, however, remained firm in his alliance; and the English traders, by constant presents, and by selling their goods at the lowest possible rates, kept him and his warriors highly satisfied and contented. The French, in vain, tried to stir up the friendly tribes to attack Oswego on Lake Ontario, and the village of Old Britain, which were the two centres to which the Indians went to trade with the English; but they were unsuccessful until, in June, 1752, Charles Langlade, a young French trader, married to a squaw at Green Bay, and strong in influence with the tribes of that region, came down the lakes with a fleet of canoes, manned by two hundred and fifty Ottawa and Ojibwa warriors. They stopped awhile at the fort at Detroit, then paddled up the Maumee to the next fort, and thence marched through the forests against the Miamis. They approached Old Britain's village in the morning. Most of the Indians were away on their summer hunt, and there were but eight English traders in the place. Three of these were caught outside the village, the remaining five took refuge in the fortified warehouse they had built, and there defended themselves. Old Britain and the little band with him fought bravely, but against such overwhelming numbers could do nothing, and fourteen of them, including their chief, were killed. The five white men defended themselves till the afternoon, when two of them managed to make their escape, and the other three surrendered. One of them was already wounded, and was at once killed by the French Indians. Seventy years of the teaching of the French missionaries had not weaned the latter from cannibalism, and Old Britain was boiled and eaten. The Marquis of Duquesne, who had succeeded Galissoniere as governor, highly praised Langlade for the enterprise, and recommended him to the minister at home for reward. This bold enterprise further shook the alliance of the Indians with the English, for it seemed to them that the French were enterprising and energetic, while the English were slothful and cowardly, and neglected to keep their agreements. The French continued to build forts, and Dinwiddie, governor of Virginia, sent George Washington to protest, in his name, against their building forts on land notoriously belonging to the English crown. Washington performed the long and toilsome journey through the forests at no slight risks, and delivered his message at the forts, but nothing came of it. The governor of Virginia, seeing the approaching danger, made the greatest efforts to induce the other colonies to join in common action; but North Carolina, alone, answered the appeal, and gave money enough to raise three or four hundred men. Two independent companies maintained by England in New York, and one in South Carolina, received orders to march to Virginia. The governor had raised, with great difficulty, three hundred men. They were called the Virginia Regiment. An English gentleman named Joshua Fry was appointed the colonel, and Washington their major. Fry was at Alexandria, on the Potomac, with half the regiment. Washington, with the other half, had pushed forward to the storehouse at Wills Creek, which was to form the base of operations. Besides these, Captain Trent, with a band of backwoodsmen, had crossed the mountain to build a fort at the forks of the Ohio, where Pittsburgh now stands. Trent had gone back to Wills Creek, leaving Ensign Ward, with forty men, at work upon the fort, when, on the 17th of April, a swarm of canoes came down the Allegheny, with over five hundred Frenchmen, who planted cannon against the unfinished stockade, and summoned the ensign to surrender. He had no recourse but to submit, and was allowed to depart, with his men, across the mountains. The French at once set to, to build a strong fort, which they named Fort Duquesne. While the governor of Virginia had been toiling, in vain, to get the colonists to move, the French had acted promptly, and the erection of their new fort at once covered their line of communication to the west, barred the advance of the English down the Ohio valley, and secured the allegiance of all the wavering Indian tribes. Although war had not yet been declared between England and France, the colonists, after this seizure, by French soldiers, of a fort over which the English flag was flying, henceforth acted as if the two powers were at war. Washington moved forward from Wills Creek with his hundred and fifty men, and surprised a French force which had gone out scouting. Several of the French were killed, and the commander of Fort Duquesne sent despatches to France to say that he had sent this party out with a communication to Washington, and that they had been treacherously assassinated. This obscure skirmish was the commencement of a war which set two continents on fire. Colonel Fry died a few days after this fight, and Washington succeeded to the command of the regiment, and collected his three hundred men at Green Meadow, where he was joined by a few Indians, and by a company from South Carolina. The French at Duquesne were quickly reinforced, and the command was given to Coulon de Villiers, the brother of an officer who had been killed in the skirmish with Washington. He at once advanced against the English, who had fallen back to a rough breastwork which they called Fort Necessity, Washington having but four hundred men, against five hundred French and as many Indians. For nine hours the French kept up a hot fire on the intrenchment, but without success, and at nightfall Villiers proposed a parley. The French ammunition was running short, the men were fatigued by their marches, and drenched by the rain which had been falling the whole day. The English were in a still worse plight. Their powder was nearly spent, their guns were foul, and among them they had but two cleaning rods. After a parley, it was agreed that the English should march off with drums beating and the honours of war, carrying with them all their property; that the prisoners taken in the previous affair should be set free, two officers remaining with the French as hostages until they were handed over. Washington and his men arrived, utterly worn out with fatigue and famine, at Wills Creek. This action left the French masters of the whole country beyond the Alleghenies. The two mother nations were now preparing for war, and, in the middle of January, 1755, Major General Braddock, with the 44th and 48th Regiments, each five hundred strong, sailed from Cork for Virginia; while the French sent eighteen ships of war and six battalions to Canada. Admiral Boscawen, with eleven ships of the line and one frigate, set out to intercept the French expedition. The greater part of the fleet evaded him, but he came up with three of the French men of war, opened fire upon them, and captured them. Up to this time a pretence of negotiations had been maintained between England and France, but the capture of the French ships brought the negotiations to a sudden end, and the war began. A worse selection than that of Major General Braddock could hardly have been made. He was a brave officer and a good soldier, but he was rough, coarse, and obstinate. He utterly despised the colonial troops, and regarded all methods of fighting, save those pursued by regular armies in the field, with absolute contempt. To send such a man to command troops destined to fight in thick forests, against an enemy skilled in warfare of that kind, was to court defeat. As might be expected, Braddock was very soon on the worst possible terms with the whole of the colonial authorities, and the delays caused by the indecision or obstinacy of the colonial assemblies chafed him to madness. At last, however, his force was assembled at Wills Creek. The two English regiments had been raised, by enlistment in Virginia, to 700 men each. There were nine Virginian companies of fifty men, and the thirty sailors lent by Commodore Keppel. General Braddock had three aides-de-camp--Captain Robert Orme, Captain Roger Morris, and Colonel George Washington. It was the 1st of June, when James Walsham rode with Colonel Washington into the camp, and, three days later, the last companies of the Virginian corps marched in. During the next week, some of the English officers attempted to drill the Virginians in the manner of English troops. "It is a waste of time," Colonel Washington said to James, one day, when he was watching them, "and worse. These men can fight their own way. Most of them are good shots, and have a fair idea of forest fighting; let them go their own way, and they can be trusted to hold their own against at least an equal number of French and Indians; but they would be hopelessly at sea if they were called upon to fight like English regulars. Most likely the enemy will attack us in the forest, and what good will forming in line, or wheeling on a flank, or any of the things which the general is trying to drum into their heads, do to them? If the French are foolish enough to wait at Fort Duquesne until we arrive, I have no doubt we shall beat them, but if they attack us in the woods it will go hard with us." During the ten days which elapsed between his arrival and the start, James was kept hard at work, being for the most part employed galloping up and down the road, urging up the waggoners, and bringing back reports as to their position and progress. On the 10th of June the army started; 300 axemen led the way, cutting and clearing the road; the long train of pack horses, waggons, and cannon followed; the troops marched in the forest on either side, while men were thrown out on the flanks, and scouts ranged the woods to guard against surprise. The road was cut but twelve feet wide, and the line of march often extended four miles. Thus, day by day they toiled on, crossing the Allegheny Mountains, range after range; now plunging down into a ravine, now ascending a ridge, but always in the deep shadow of the forest. A few of the enemy hovered round them, occasionally killing a straggler who fell behind. On the 18th of June, the army reached a place called the Little Meadows. So weak were the horses, from want of forage, that the last marches had been but three miles a day, and, upon Washington's advice, Braddock determined to leave the heavy baggage here, with the sick men and a strong guard under Colonel Dunbar; while he advanced with 1200 men, besides officers and drivers. But the progress was still no more than three miles a day, and it was not until the 7th of July that they arrived within eight miles of the French fort. Between them lay, however, an extremely difficult country with a narrow defile, and Braddock determined to ford the Monongahela, and then cross it again lower down. The garrison of Fort Duquesne consisted of a few companies of regular troops, some hundreds of Canadians, and 800 Indian warriors. They were kept informed, by the scouts, of the progress of the English, and, when the latter approached the Monongahela, a party under Captain Beaujeu set out to meet them. His force consisted of 637 Indians, 100 French officers and soldiers, and 146 Canadians, in all about 900 men. At one o'clock in the day, Braddock crossed the Monongahela for the second time. The troops had, all the day, been expecting the attack and had prepared for it. At the second ford the army marched in martial order, with music playing and flags flying. Once across the river they halted for a short time, and then again continued their advance. Braddock made every disposition for preventing a surprise. Several guides, with six Virginian light horsemen, led the way. Then came the advanced column, consisting of 300 soldiers under Gage, and a large body of axemen, under Sir John Sinclair, with two cannon. The main body followed close behind. The artillery and waggons moved along the road, the troops marched through the woods on either hand, numerous flanking parties were thrown out a hundred yards or more right and left, and, in the space between them and the line of troops, the pack horses and cattle made their way, as they best could, among the trees. Beaujeu had intended to place his men in ambuscade at the ford, but, owing to various delays caused by the Indians, he was still a mile away from the ford when the British crossed. He was marching forward when he came suddenly upon the little party of guides and Virginian light horsemen. These at once fell back. The Indians raised their war whoop, and, spreading right and left among the trees, opened a sharp fire upon the British. Gage's column wheeled deliberately into line, and fired volley after volley, with great steadiness, at the invisible opponents. The greater part of the Canadians bolted at once, but the Indians kept up their fire from behind the shelter of the trees. Gage brought up his two cannon and opened fire, and the Indians, who had a horror of artillery, began also to fall back. The English advanced in regular lines, cheering loudly. Beaujeu fell dead; but Captain Dumas, who succeeded him in command, advanced at the head of his small party of French soldiers, and opened a heavy fire. The Indians, encouraged by the example, rallied and again came forward, and, while the French regulars and the few Canadians who had not fled held the ground in front of the column, the Indians swarmed through the forests along both flanks of the English, and from behind trees, bushes, and rocks opened a withering fire upon them. The troops, bewildered and amazed by the fire poured into them by an invisible foe, and by the wild war whoops of the Indians, ceased to advance, and, standing close together, poured fruitlessly volley after volley into the surrounding forest. On hearing the firing, Braddock, leaving 400 men in the rear under Sir Peter Halket, to guard the baggage, advanced with the main body to support Gage; but, just as he came up, the soldiers, appalled by the fire which was mowing them down in scores, abandoned their cannon and fell back in confusion. This threw the advancing force into disorder, and the two regiments became mixed together, massed in several dense bodies within a small space of ground, facing some one way and some another, all alike exposed, without shelter, to the hail of bullets. Men and officers were alike new to warfare like this. They had been taught to fight in line against solid masses of the enemy, and against an invisible foe like the present they were helpless. The Virginians alone were equal to the emergency. They at once adopted their familiar forest tactics, and, taking their post behind trees, began to fight the Indians in their own way. Had Braddock been a man of judgment and temper, the fortunes of the day might yet have been retrieved, for the Virginians could have checked the Indians until the English troops were rallied and prepared to meet the difficulty; but, to Braddock, the idea of men fighting behind trees was at once cowardly and opposed to all military discipline, and he dashed forward on his horse, and with fierce oaths ordered the Virginians to form line. A body of them, however, under Captain Waggoner, made a dash for a huge fallen tree, far out towards the lurking places of the Indians, and, crouching behind it, opened fire upon them; but the regulars, seeing the smoke among the bushes, took them for the enemy and, firing, killed many and forced the rest to return. A few of the soldiers tried to imitate the Indians, and fight behind the trees, but Braddock beat them back with the flat of his sword, and forced them to stand with the others, who were now huddled in a mass, forming a target for the enemy's bullets. Lieutenant Colonel Burton led 100 of them towards a knoll from which the puffs came thickest, but he fell wounded, and his men, on whom the enemy instantly concentrated their fire, fell back. The soldiers, powerless against the unseen foe, for afterwards some of the officers and men who escaped declared that, throughout the whole fight, they had not seen a single Indian, discharged their guns aimlessly among the trees. They were half stupefied now with the terror and confusion of the scene, the rain of bullets, the wild yells which burst ceaselessly from their 600 savage foemen; while the horses, wild with terror and wounds, added to the confusion by dashing madly hither and thither. Braddock behaved with furious intrepidity. He dashed hither and thither, shouting and storming at the men, and striving to get them in order, and to lead them to attack the enemy. Four horses were, one after the other, shot under him. His officers behaved with equal courage and self devotion, and in vain attempted to lead on the men, sometimes advancing in parties towards the Indians, in hopes that the soldiers would follow them. Sir Peter Halket was killed, Horne and Morris, the two aides-de-camp, Sinclair the quartermaster general, Gates, Gage, and Gladwin were wounded. Of 86 officers, 63 were killed or disabled, while of non-commissioned officers and privates only 459 came off unharmed. James Walsham had been riding by the side of Washington when the fight began, and followed him closely as he galloped among the troops, trying to rally and lead them forward. Washington's horse was pierced by a ball and, staggering, fell. James leaped from his horse and gave it to the colonel, and then, seeing that there was nothing for him to do, withdrew a short distance from the crowd of soldiers, and crouched down between the trunks of two great trees growing close to each other; one of which protected him, for the most part, from the fire of the Indians, and the other from the not less dangerous fire of the English. Presently, seeing a soldier fall at a short distance from him, he ran out and picked up his musket and cartridge box, and began to fire at the bushes where the puffs of smoke showed that men were in hiding. After three hours' passive endurance of this terrible fire, Braddock, seeing that all was lost, commanded a retreat, and he and such officers as were left strove to draw off the soldiers in some semblance of order; but at this moment a bullet struck him, and, passing through his arm, penetrated his lungs, and he fell from his horse. He demanded to be left where he lay, but Captain Stewart of the Virginians, and one of his men, bore him between them to the rear. The soldiers had now spent all their ammunition, and, no longer kept in their places by their general, broke away in a wild panic. Washington's second horse had now been shot, and as, trying to check the men, he passed the trees where James had taken up his position, the latter joined him. In vain Washington and his other officers tried to rally the men at the ford. They dashed across it, wild with fear, leaving their wounded comrades, cannon, baggage, and military chest a prey to the Indians. Fortunately, only about fifty of the Indians followed as far as the ford, the rest being occupied in killing the wounded and scalping the dead. Dumas, who had now but twenty Frenchmen left, fell back to the fort, and the remnants of Braddock's force continued the flight unmolested. Chapter 10: The Fight At Lake George. Fortunate was it, for the remnant of Braddock's force, that the Indians were too much occupied in gathering the abundant harvest of scalps, too anxious to return to the fort to exhibit these trophies of their bravery, to press on in pursuit; for, had they done so, few indeed of the panic-stricken fugitives would ever have lived to tell the tale. All night these continued their flight, expecting every moment to hear the dreaded war whoop burst out again in the woods round them. Colonel Washington had been ordered, by the dying general, to press on on horseback to the camp of Dunbar, and to tell him to forward waggons, provisions, and ammunition; but the panic, which had seized the main force, had already been spread by flying teamsters to Dunbar's camp. Many soldiers and waggoners at once took flight, and the panic was heightened when the remnants of Braddock's force arrived. There was no reason to suppose that they were pursued, and even had they been so, their force was ample to repel any attack that could be made upon it; but probably their commander saw that, in their present state of utter demoralization, they could not be trusted to fight, and that the first Indian war whoop would start them again in flight. Still, it was clear that a retreat would leave the whole border open to the ravages of the Indians, and Colonel Dunbar was greatly blamed for the course he took. A hundred waggons were burned, the cannon and shells burst, and the barrels of powder emptied into the stream, the stores of provisions scattered through the woods, and then the force began its retreat over the mountains to Fort Cumberland, sixty miles away. General Braddock died the day that the retreat began. His last words were: "We shall know better how to deal with them next time." The news of the disaster came like a thunderbolt upon the colonists. Success had been regarded as certain, and the news that some fourteen hundred English troops had been utterly routed, by a body of French and Indians of half their strength, seemed almost incredible. The only consolation was that the hundred and fifty Virginians, who had accompanied the regulars, had all, as was acknowledged by the English officers themselves, fought with the greatest bravery, and had kept their coolness and presence of mind till the last, and that on them no shadow of the discredit of the affair rested. Indeed, it was said that the greater part were killed not by the fire of the Indians, but by that of the troops, who, standing in masses, fired in all directions, regardless of what was in front of them. But Colonel Dunbar, not satisfied with retreating to the safe shelter of Fort Cumberland, to the amazement of the colonists, insisted upon withdrawing with his own force to Philadelphia, leaving the whole of the frontier open to the assaults of the hostile Indians. After waiting a short time at Philadelphia, he marched slowly on to join a force operating against the French in the region of Lake George, more than two hundred miles to the north. He took with him only the regulars, the provincial regiments being under the control of the governors of their own states. Washington therefore remained behind in Virginia with the regiment of that colony. The blanks made in Braddock's fight were filled up, and the force raised to a thousand strong. With these he was to protect a frontier of three hundred and fifty miles long, against an active and enterprising foe more numerous than himself, and who, acting on the other side of the mountain, and in the shade of the deep forests, could choose their own time of attack, and launch themselves suddenly upon any village throughout the whole length of the frontier. Nor were the troops at his disposal the material which a commander would wish to have in his hand. Individually they were brave, but being recruited among the poor whites, the most turbulent and troublesome part of the population, they were wholly unamenable to discipline, and Washington had no means whatever for enforcing it. He applied to the House of Assembly to pass a law enabling him to punish disobedience, but for months they hesitated to pass any such ordinance, on the excuse that it would trench on the liberty of free white men. The service, indeed, was most unpopular, and Washington, whose headquarters were at Winchester, could do nothing whatever to assist the settlements on the border. His officers were as unruly as the men, and he was further hampered by having to comply with the orders of Governor Dinwiddie, at Williamsburg, two hundred miles away. "What do you mean to do?" he had asked James Walsham, the day that the beaten army arrived at Fort Cumberland. "I do not know," James said. "I certainly will not continue with Dunbar, who seems to me to be acting like a coward; nor do I wish to go into action with regulars again; not, at least, until they have been taught that, if they are to fight Indians successfully in the forests, they must abandon all their traditions of drill, and must fight in Indian fashion. I should like to stay with you, if you will allow me." "I should be very glad to have you with me," Washington said; "but I do not think that you will see much action here. It will be a war of forays. The Indians will pounce upon a village or solitary farm house, murder and scalp the inhabitants, burn the buildings to the ground, and in an hour be far away beyond reach of pursuit. All that I can do is to occupy the chief roads, by which they can advance into the heart of the colony, and the people of the settlements lying west of that must, perforce, abandon their homesteads, and fly east until we are strong enough to again take up the offensive. "Were I in your place, I would at once take horse and ride north. You will then be in plenty of time, if inclined, to join in the expedition against the French on Fort George, or in that which is going to march on Niagara. I fancy the former will be ready first. You will find things better managed there than here. The colonists in that part have, for many years, been accustomed to Indian fighting, and they will not be hampered by having regular troops with them, whose officers' only idea of warfare is to keep their men standing in line as targets for the enemy. "There are many bodies of experienced scouts, to which you can attach yourself, and you will see that white men can beat the Indians at their own game." Although sorry to leave the young Virginian officer, James Walsham thought that he could not do better than follow his advice, and accordingly, the next day, having procured another horse, he set off to join the column destined to operate on the lakes. The prevision of Washington was shortly realized, and a cloud of red warriors descended on the border settlements, carrying murder, rapine, and ruin before them. Scores of quiet settlements were destroyed, hundreds of men, women, and children massacred, and in a short time the whole of the outlying farms were deserted, and crowds of weeping fugitives flocked eastward behind the line held by Washington's regiment. But bad as affairs were in Virginia, those in Pennsylvania were infinitely worse. They had, for many years, been on such friendly terms with the Indians, that many of the settlers had no arms, nor had they the protection in the way of troops which the government of Virginia put upon the frontier. The government of the colony was at Philadelphia, far to the east, and sheltered from danger, and the Quaker assembly there refused to vote money for a single soldier to protect the unhappy colonists on the frontier. They held it a sin to fight, and above all to fight with Indians, and as long as they themselves were free from the danger, they turned a deaf ear to the tales of massacre, and to the pitiful cries for aid which came from the frontier. But even greater than their objection to war, was their passion of resistance to the representative of royalty, the governor. Petition after petition came from the border for arms and ammunition, and for a militia law to enable the people to organize and defend themselves; but the Quakers resisted, declaring that Braddock's defeat was a just judgment upon him and his soldiers for molesting the French in their settlement in Ohio. They passed, indeed, a bill for raising fifty thousand pounds for the king's use, but affixed to it a condition, to which they knew well the governor could not assent; viz, that the proprietary lands were to pay their share of the tax. To this condition the governor was unable to assent, for, according to the constitution of the colony, to which he was bound, the lands of William Penn and his descendants were free of all taxation. For weeks the deadlock continued. Every day brought news of massacres of tens, fifties, and even hundreds of persons, but the assembly remained obstinate; until the mayor, aldermen, and principal citizens clamoured against them, and four thousand frontiersmen started on their march to Philadelphia, to compel them to take measures for defence. Bodies of massacred men were brought from the frontier villages and paraded through the town, and so threatening became the aspect of the population, that the Assembly of Quakers were at last obliged to pass a militia law. It was, however, an absolutely useless one. It specially excepted the Quakers from service, and constrained nobody, but declared it lawful for such as chose to form themselves into companies, and to elect officers by ballot. The company officers might, if they saw fit, elect, also by ballot, colonels, lieutenant colonels, and majors. These last might then, in conjunction with the governor, frame articles of war, to which, however, no officer or man was to be subjected, unless, after three days' consideration, he subscribed them in presence of a justice of the peace, and declared his willingness to be bound by them. This mockery of a bill, drawn by Benjamin Franklin while the savages were raging in the colony and the smoke of a hundred villages was ascending to the skies, was received with indignation by the people, and this rose to such a height that the Assembly must have yielded unconditionally, had not a circumstance occurred which gave them a decent pretext for retreat. The governor informed them that he had just received a letter from the proprietors, as Penn's heirs were called, giving to the province five thousand pounds to aid in its defence, on condition that the money should be accepted as a free gift, and not as their proportion of any tax that was or might be laid by the Assembly. Thereupon, the Assembly struck out the clause taxing the proprietory estates, and the governor signed the bill. A small force was then raised, which enabled the Indians to be to some extent kept in check; but there was no safety for the unhappy settlers in the west of Pennsylvania during the next three years, while the French from Montreal were hounding on their savage allies, by gifts and rewards, to deeds of massacre and bloodshed. The northern colonies had shown a better spirit. Massachusetts, which had always been the foremost of the northern colonies in resisting French and Indian aggression, had at once taken the lead in preparation for war. No less than 4500 men, being one in eight of her adult males, volunteered to fight the French, and enlisted for the various expeditions, some in the pay of the province, some in that of the king. Shirley, the governor of Massachusetts, himself a colonist, was requested by his Assembly to nominate the commander. He did not choose an officer of that province, as this would have excited the jealousy of the others, but nominated William Johnson of New York--a choice which not only pleased that important province, but had great influence in securing the alliance of the Indians of the Five Nations, among whom Johnson, who had held the post of Indian commissioner, was extremely popular. Connecticut voted 1200 men, New Hampshire 500, Rhode Island 400, and New York 800, all at their own charge. Johnson, before assuming the command, invited the warriors of the Five Nations to assemble in council. Eleven hundred Indian warriors answered the invitation, and after four days' speech making agreed to join. Only 300 of them, however, took the field, for so many of their friends and relatives were fighting for the French, that the rest, when they sobered down after the excitement of the council, returned to their homes. The object of the expedition was the attack of Crown Point--an important military post on Lake Champlain--and the colonists assembled near Albany; but there were great delays. The five colonial assemblies controlled their own troops and supplies. Connecticut had refused to send her men until Shirley promised that her commanding officer should rank next to Johnson, and the whole movement was for some time at a deadlock, because the five governments could not agree about their contributions of artillery and stores. The troops were a rough-looking body. Only one of the corps had a blue uniform, faced with red. The rest wore their ordinary farm clothing. All had brought their own guns, of every description and fashion. They had no bayonets, but carried hatchets in their belts as a sort of substitute. In point of morals the army, composed almost entirely of farmers and farmers' sons, was exemplary. It is recorded that not a chicken was stolen. In the camps of the Puritan soldiers of New England, sermons were preached twice a week, and there were daily prayers and much singing of psalms; but these good people were much shocked by the profane language of the troops from New York and Rhode Island, and some prophesied that disaster would be sure to fall upon the army from this cause. Months were consumed in various delays; and, on the 21st of August, just as they were moving forward, four Mohawks, whom Johnson had sent into Canada, returned with the news that the French were making great preparations, and that 8000 men were marching to defend Crown Point. The papers of General Braddock, which fell, with all the baggage of the army, into the hands of the French, had informed them of the object of the gathering at Albany, and now that they had no fear of any further attempt against their posts in Ohio, they were able to concentrate all their force for the defence of their posts on Lake Champlain. On the receipt of this alarming news, a council of war was held at Albany, and messages were sent to the colonies asking for reinforcements. In the meantime, the army moved up the Hudson to the spot called the Great Carrying Place, where Colonel Lyman, who was second in command, had gone forward and erected a fort, which his men called after him, but was afterwards named Fort Edward. James Walsham joined the army a few days before it moved forward. He was received with great heartiness by General Johnson, to whom he brought a letter of introduction from Colonel Washington, and who at once offered him a position as one of his aides-de-camp. This he found exceedingly pleasant, for Johnson was one of the most jovial and open hearted of commanders. His hospitality was profuse, and, his private means being large, he was able to keep a capital table, which, on the line of march, all officers who happened to pass by were invited to share. This was a contrast, indeed, to the discipline which had prevailed in Braddock's columns, and James felt as if he were starting upon a great picnic, rather than upon an arduous march against a superior force. After some hesitation as to the course the army should take, it was resolved to march for Lake George. Gangs of axemen were sent to hew a way, and, on the 26th, 2000 men marched for the lake, while Colonel Blanchard, of New Hampshire, remained with 500 to finish and defend Fort Lyman. The march was made in a leisurely manner, and the force took two days to traverse the fourteen miles between Fort Lyman and the lake. They were now in a country hitherto untrodden by white men save by solitary hunters. They reached the southern end of the beautiful lake, which hitherto had received no English name, and was now first called Lake George in honour of the king. The men set to work, and felled trees until they had cleared a sufficient extent of ground for their camp, by the edge of the water, and posted themselves with their back to the lake. In their front was a forest of pitch pine, on their right a marsh covered with thick brush wood, on their left a low hill. Things went on in the same leisurely way which had marked the progress of the expedition. No attempt was made to clear away the forest in front, although it would afford excellent cover for any enemy who might attack them, nor were any efforts made to discover the whereabouts or intention of the enemy. Every day waggons came up with provisions and boats. On September 7th, an Indian scout arrived about sunset, and reported that he had found the trail of a body of men moving from South Bay, the southern extremity of Lake Champlain, towards Fort Lyman. Johnson called for a volunteer to carry a letter of warning to Colonel Blanchard. A waggoner named Adams offered to undertake the perilous service, and rode off with the letter. Sentries were posted, and the camp fell asleep. While Johnson had been taking his leisure on Lake George, the commander of the French force, a German baron named Dieskau, was preparing a surprise for him. He had reached Crown Point at the head of 3573 men--regulars, Canadians, and Indians--and he at once moved forward, with the greater portion of his command, on Cariolon, or, as it was afterwards called, Ticonderoga, a promontory at the junction of Lake George with Lake Champlain, where he would bar the advance of the English, whichever road they might take. The Indians with the French caused great trouble to their commander, doing nothing but feast and sleep, but, on September 4th, a party of them came in bringing a scalp and an English prisoner, caught near Fort Lyman. He was questioned, under the threat of being given over to the Indians to torture, if he did not tell the truth, but the brave fellow, thinking he should lead the enemy into a trap, told them that the English army had fallen back to Albany, leaving 500 men at Fort Lyman, which he represented as being entirely indefensible. Dieskau at once determined to attack that place, and, with 216 regulars of the battalions of Languedoc and La Reine, 684 Canadians, and about 600 Indians, started in canoes and advanced up Lake Champlain, till they came to the end of South Bay. Each officer and man carried provisions for eight days in his knapsack. Two days' march brought them to within three miles of Fort Lyman, and they encamped close to the road which led to Lake George. Just after they had encamped, a man rode by on horseback. It was Adams, Johnson's messenger. He was shot by the Indians, and the letter found upon him. Soon afterwards, ten or twelve waggons appeared, in charge of ammunition drivers who had left the English camp without orders. Some of the drivers were shot, two taken prisoners, and the rest ran away. The two prisoners declared that, contrary to the assertion of the prisoner at Ticonderoga, a large force lay encamped by the lake. The Indians held a council, and presently informed Dieskau that they would not attack the fort, which they believed to be provided with cannon, but would join in an attempt on the camp by the lake. Dieskau judged, from the report of the prisoners, that the colonists considerably outnumbered him, although in fact there was no great difference in numerical strength, the French column numbering 1500 and the colonial force 2200, besides 300 Mohawk Indians. But Dieskau, emulous of repeating the defeat of Braddock, and believing the assertions of the Canadians that the colonial militia was contemptible, determined to attack, and early in the morning the column moved along the road towards the lake. When within four miles of Johnson's camp, they entered a rugged valley. On their right was a gorge, hidden in bushes, beyond which rose the rocky height of French Mountain. On their left rose gradually the slopes of West Mountain. The ground was thickly covered with thicket and forest. The regulars marched along the road, the Canadians and Indians pushed their way through the woods as best they could. When within three miles of the lake, their scout brought in a prisoner, who told them that an English column was approaching. The regulars were halted on the road, the Canadians and Indians moved on ahead, and hid themselves in ambush among the trees and bushes on either side of the road. The waggoners, who had escaped the evening before, had reached Johnson's camp about midnight, and reported that there was a war party on the road near Fort Lyman. A council of war was held, and under an entire misconception of the force of the enemy, and the belief that they would speedily fall back from Fort Lyman, it was determined to send out two detachments, each 500 strong, one towards Fort Lyman, the other to catch the enemy in their retreat. Hendrick, the chief of the Mohawks, expressed his strong disapproval of this plan, and accordingly it was resolved that the thousand men should go as one body. Hendrick still disapproved of the plan, but nevertheless resolved to accompany the column, and, mounting on a gun carriage, he harangued his warriors with passionate eloquence, and they at once prepared to accompany them. He was too old and fat to go on foot, and the general lent him a horse, which he mounted, and took his place at the head of the column. Colonel Williams was in command, with Lieutenant Colonel Whiting as second. They had no idea of meeting the enemy near the camp, and moved forward so carelessly that not a single scout was thrown out in front or flank. The sharp eye of the old Indian chief was the first to detect a sign of the enemy, and, almost at the same moment, a gun was fired from the bushes. It is said that the Iroquois, seeing the Mohawks, who were an allied tribe, in the van, wished to warn them of danger. The warning came too late to save the column from disaster, but it saved it from destruction. From the thicket on the left a deadly fire blazed out, and the head of the column was almost swept away. Hendrick's horse was shot, and the chief killed with a bayonet as he tried to gain his feet. Colonel Williams, seeing rising ground on his right, made for it, calling his men to follow; but, as he climbed the slope, the enemy's fire flashed out from behind every tree, and he fell dead. The men in the rear pressed forward to support their comrades, when the enemy in the bushes on the right flank also opened fire. Then a panic began. Some fled at once for the camp, and the whole column recoiled in confusion, as from all sides the enemy burst out, shouting and yelling. Colonel Whiting, however, bravely rallied a portion of Williams' regiment, and, aided by some of the Mohawks, and by a detachment which Johnson sent out to his aid, covered the retreat, fighting behind the trees like the Indians, and falling back in good order with their faces to the enemy. So stern and obstinate was their resistance that the French halted three-quarters of a mile from the camp. They had inflicted a heavy blow, but had altogether failed in obtaining the complete success they looked for. The obstinate defence of Whiting and his men had surprised and dispirited them, and Dieskau, when he collected his men, found the Indians sullen and unmanageable, and the Canadians unwilling to advance further, for they were greatly depressed by the loss of a veteran officer, Saint Pierre, who commanded them, and who had been killed in the fight. At length, however, he persuaded all to move forward, the regulars leading the way. James Walsham had not accompanied the column, and was sitting at breakfast with General Johnson, on the stump of a tree in front of his tent, when, on the still air, a rattling sound broke out. "Musketry!" was the general exclamation. An instantaneous change came over the camp. The sound of laughing and talking was hushed, and every man stopped at his work. Louder and louder swelled the distant sound, until the shots could no longer be distinguished apart. The rattle had become a steady roll. "It is a regular engagement!" the general exclaimed. "The enemy must be in force, and must have attacked Williams' column." General Johnson ordered one of his orderlies to mount and ride out at full speed and see what was going on. A quarter of an hour passed. No one returned to his work. The men stood in groups, talking in low voices, and listening to the distant roar. "It is clearer than it was," the general exclaimed. Several of the officers standing round agreed that the sound was approaching. "To work, lads!" the general said. "There is no time to be lost. Let all the axemen fell trees and lay them end to end to make a breastwork. The rest of you range the waggons in a line behind, and lay the boats up in the intervals. Carry the line from the swamp, on the right there, to the slope of the hill." In an instant, the camp was a scene of animation, and the forest resounded with the strokes of the axe, and the shouts of the men as they dragged the waggons to their position. "I was a fool," Johnson exclaimed, "not to fortify the camp before; but who could have supposed that the French would have come down from Crown Point to attack us here!" In a few minutes terror-stricken men, whites and Indians, arrived at a run through the forest, and reported that they had been attacked and surprised by a great force in the forest, that Hendrick and Colonel Williams were killed, and numbers of the men shot down. They reported that all was lost; but the heavy roll of fire, in the distance, contradicted their words; and showed that a portion of the column, at least, was fighting sternly and steadily, though the sound indicated that they were falling back. Two hundred men had already been despatched to their assistance, and the only effect of the news was to redouble the efforts of the rest. Soon parties arrived carrying wounded; but it was not until an hour and a half after the engagement began, that the main body of the column were seen marching, in good order, back through the forest. By this time the hasty defences were well-nigh completed, and all the men were employed in cutting down the thick brushwood outside, so as to clear the ground as far as possible, and so prevent the enemy from stealing up, under shelter, to the felled trees. Three cannon were planted, to sweep the road that descended through the pines. Another was dragged up to the ridge of the hill. Two hundred and fifty men were now placed on each flank of the camp, the main body stood behind the waggons or lay flat behind the logs and boats, the Massachusetts men on the right, the Connecticut men on the left. "Now, my lads," Johnson shouted, in his cheery voice, "you have got to fight. Remember, if they get inside not one of you will ever go back to your families to tell the tale, while if you fight bravely you will beat them back sure enough." In a few minutes, ranks of white-coated soldiers could be seen moving down the roads, with their bayonets showing between the boughs. At the same time, Indian war whoops rose loud in the forest, and then dark forms could be seen, bounding down the slope through the trees towards the camp in a throng. There was a movement of uneasiness among the young rustics, few of whom ever heard a shot fired in anger before that morning; but the officers, standing pistol in hand, threatened to shoot any man who moved from his position. Could Dieskau have launched his whole force at once upon the camp at that moment, he would probably have carried it, but this he was powerless to do. His regular troops were well in hand; but the mob of Canadians and Indians were scattered through the forest, shouting, yelling, and firing from behind trees. He thought, however, that if he led the regulars to the attack, the others would come forward, and he therefore gave the word for the advance. The French soldiers advanced steadily, until the trees grew thinner. They were deployed into line, and opened fire in regular volleys. Scarcely had they done so, however, when Captain Eyre, who commanded the artillery, opened upon them with grape from his three guns, while from waggon, and boat, and fallen log, the musketry fire flashed out hot and bitter, and, reeling under the shower of iron and lead, the French line broke up, the soldiers took shelter behind trees, and thence returned the fire of the defenders. Johnson received a flesh wound in the thigh, and retired to his tent, where he spent the rest of the day. Lyman took the command, and to him the credit of the victory is entirely due. For four hours the combat raged. The young soldiers had soon got over their first uneasiness, and fought as steadily and coolly as veterans. The musketry fire was unbroken. From every tree, bush, and rock the rifles flashed out, and the leaden hail flew in a storm over the camp, and cut the leaves in a shower from the forest. Through this Lyman moved to and fro among the men, directing, encouraging, cheering them on, escaping as by a miracle the balls which whistled round him. Save the Indians on the English side, not a man but was engaged, the waggoners taking their guns and joining in the fight. The Mohawks, however, held aloof, saying that they had come to see their English brothers fight, but, animated no doubt with the idea that, if they abstained from taking part in the fray, and the day went against the English, their friends the Iroquois would not harm them. The French Indians worked round on to high ground, beyond the swamp on the left, and their fire thence took the defenders in the flank. Captain Eyre speedily turned his guns in that direction, and a few well-directed shells soon drove the Indians from their vantage ground. Dieskau directed his first attack against the left and centre; but the Connecticut men fought so stoutly, that he next tried to force the right, where the Massachusetts regiments of Titcomb, Ruggles, and Williams held the line. For an hour he strove hard to break his way through the intrenchments, but the Massachusetts men stood firm, although Titcomb was killed and their loss was heavy. At length Dieskau, exposing himself within short range of the English lines, was hit in the leg. While his adjutant Montreuil was dressing the wound, the general was again hit in the knee and thigh. He had himself placed behind a tree, and ordered Montreuil to lead the regulars in a last effort against the camp. But it was too late. The blood of the colonists was now up, and, singly or in small bodies, they were crossing their lines of barricade, and working up among the trees towards their assailants. The movement became general, and Lyman, seeing the spirit of his men, gave the word, and the whole of the troops, with a shout, leaped up and dashed through the wood against the enemy, falling upon them with their hatchets and the butts of their guns. The French and their allies instantly fled. As the colonists passed the spot where Dieskau was sitting on the ground, one of them, singularly enough himself a Frenchman, who had ten years before left Canada, fired at him and shot him through both legs. Others came up and stripped him of his clothes, but, on learning who he was, they carried him to Johnson, who received him with the greatest kindness, and had every attention paid to him. Chapter 11: Scouting. It was near five o'clock before the final rout of the French took place; but, before that time, several hundreds of the Canadians and Indians had left the scene of action, and had returned to the scene of the fight in the wood, to plunder and scalp the dead. They were resting, after their bloody work, by a pool in the forest, when a scouting party from Fort Lyman, under Captains M'Ginnis and Folsom, came upon them and opened fire. The Canadians and Indians, outnumbering their assailants greatly, fought for some time, but were finally defeated and fled. M'Ginnis was mortally wounded, but continued to give orders till the fight was over. The bodies of the slain were thrown into the pool, which to this day bears the name, "the bloody pool." The various bands of French fugitives reunited in the forest, and made their way back to their canoes in South Bay, and reached Ticonderoga utterly exhausted and famished, for they had thrown away their knapsacks in their flight, and had nothing to eat from the morning of the fight until they rejoined their comrades. Johnson had the greatest difficulty in protecting the wounded French general from the Mohawks, who, although they had done no fighting in defence of the camp, wanted to torture and burn Dieskau in revenge for the death of Hendrick and their warriors who had fallen in the ambush. He, however, succeeded in doing so, and sent him in a litter under a strong escort to Albany. Dieskau was afterwards taken to England, and remained for some years at Bath, after which he returned to Paris. He never, however, recovered from his numerous wounds, and died a few years later. He always spoke in the highest terms of the kindness he had received from the colonial officers. Of the provincial soldiers he said that, in the morning they fought like boys, about noon like men, and in the afternoon like devils. The English loss in killed, wounded, and missing was two hundred and sixty-two, for the most part killed in the ambush in the morning. The French, according to their own account, lost two hundred and twenty-eight, but it probably exceeded four hundred, the principal portion of whom were regulars, for the Indians and Canadians kept themselves so well under cover that they and the provincials, behind their logs, were able to inflict but little loss on each other. Had Johnson followed up his success, he might have reached South Bay before the French, in which case the whole of Dieskau's column must have fallen into his hands; nor did he press forward against Ticonderoga, which he might easily have captured. For ten days nothing was done except to fortify the camp, and when, at the end of that time, he thought of advancing against Ticonderoga, the French had already fortified the place so strongly that they were able to defy attack. The colonists sent him large reinforcements, but the season was getting late, and, after keeping the army stationary until the end of November, the troops, having suffered terribly from the cold and exposure, became almost mutinous, and were finally marched back to Albany, a small detachment being left to hold the fort by the lake. This was now christened Fort William Henry. The victory was due principally to the gallantry and coolness of Lyman; but Johnson, in his report of the battle, made no mention of that officer's name, and took all the credit to himself. He was rewarded by being made a baronet, and by being voted a pension, by parliament, of five thousand a year. James Walsham, having no duties during the fight at the camp, had taken a musket and lain down behind the logs with the soldiers, and had, all the afternoon, kept up a fire at the trees and bushes behind which the enemy were hiding. After the battle, he had volunteered to assist the over-worked surgeons, whose labours lasted through the night. When he found that no forward movement was likely to take place, he determined to leave the camp. He therefore asked Captain Rogers, who was the leader of a band of scouts, and a man of extraordinary energy and enterprise, to allow him to accompany him on a scouting expedition towards Ticonderoga. "I shall be glad to have you with me," Rogers replied; "but you know it is a service of danger. It is not like work with regular troops, where all march, fight, stand, or fall together. Here each man fights for himself. Mind, there is not a man among my band who would not risk his life for the rest; but, scattered through the woods as each man is, each must perforce rely principally on himself. The woods near Ticonderoga will be full of lurking redskins, and a man may be brained and scalped without his fellow, a few yards away, hearing a sound. I only say this that you may feel that you must take your chances. The men under me are, every one, old hunters and Indian fighters, and are a match for the redskin in every move of forest war. They are true grit to the backbone, but they are rough outspoken men, and, on a service when a foot carelessly placed on a dried twig, or a word spoken above a whisper, may bring a crowd of yelping redskins upon us, and cost every man his scalp, they would speak sharply to the king himself, if he were on the scout with them, and you must not take offence at any rough word that may be said." James laughed, and said that he should not care how much he was blown up, and that he should thankfully receive any lessons from such masters of forest craft. "Very well," Captain Rogers said. "In that case, it is settled. I will let you have a pair of moccasins. You cannot go walking about in the woods in those boots. You had better get a rifle. Your sword you had best leave behind. It will be of no use to you, and will only be in your way." James had no difficulty in providing himself with a gun, for numbers of weapons, picked up in the woods after the rout of the enemy, were stored in camp. The rifles had, however, been all taken by the troops, who had exchanged their own firelocks for them. Captain Rogers went with him among the men, and selected a well-finished rifle of which one of them had possessed himself. Its owner readily agreed to accept five pounds for it, taking in its stead one of the guns in the store. Before choosing it, Captain Rogers placed a bit of paper against a tree, and fired several shots at various distances at it. "It is a beautiful rifle," he said. "Its only fault is that it is rather heavy, but it shoots all the better for it. It is evidently a French gun, I should say by a first-rate maker, built probably for some French officer who knew what he was about. It is a good workmanlike piece, and, when you learn to hold it straight, you can trust it to shoot." That evening James, having made all his preparations, said goodbye to the general and to his other friends, and joined the scouts who were gathering by the shore of the lake. Ten canoes, each of which would carry three men, were lying by the shore. "Nat, you and Jonathan will take this young fellow with you. He is a lad, and it is his first scout. You will find him of the right sort. He was with Braddock, and after that affair hurried up here to see fighting on the lakes. He can't have two better nurses than you are. He is going to be an officer in the king's army, and wants to learn as much as he can, so that, if he ever gets with his men into such a mess as Braddock tumbled into, he will know what to do with them." "All right, captain! We will do our best for him. It's risky sort of business ours for a greenhorn, but if he is anyways teachable, we will soon make a man of him." The speaker was a wiry, active man of some forty years old, with a weatherbeaten face, and a keen gray eye. Jonathan, his comrade, was a head taller, with broad shoulders, powerful limbs, and a quiet but good-tempered face. "That's so, isn't it, Jonathan?" Nat asked. Jonathan nodded. He was not a man of many words. "Have you ever been in a canoe before?" Nat inquired. "Never," James said; "but I am accustomed to boats of all sorts, and can handle an oar fairly." "Oars ain't no good here," the scout said. "You will have to learn to paddle; but, first of all, you have got to learn to sit still. These here canoes are awkward things for a beginner. Now you hand in your traps, and I will stow them away, then you take your place in the middle of the boat. Here's a paddle for you, and when you begin to feel yourself comfortable, you can start to try with it, easy and gentle to begin with; but you must lay it in when we get near where we may expect that redskins may be in the woods, for the splash of a paddle might cost us all our scalps." James took his seat in the middle of the boat. Jonathan was behind him. Nat handled the paddle in the bow. There was but a brief delay in starting, and the ten boats darted noiselessly out on to the lake. For a time, James did not attempt to use his paddle. The canoe was of birch bark, so thin that it seemed to him that an incautious movement would instantly knock a hole through her. Once under weigh, she was steadier than he had expected, and James could feel her bound forward with each stroke of the paddles. When he became accustomed to the motion of the boat, he raised himself from a sitting position in the bottom, and, kneeling as the others were doing, he began to dip his paddle quietly in the water in time with their stroke. His familiarity with rowing rendered it easy for him to keep time and swing, and, ere long, he found himself putting a considerable amount of force into each stroke. Nat looked back over his shoulder. "Well done, young 'un. That's first rate for a beginner, and it makes a deal of difference on our arms. The others are all paddling three, and, though Jonathan and I have beaten three before now, when our scalps depended on our doing so, it makes all the difference in the work whether you have a sitter to take along, or an extra paddle going." It was falling dusk when the boat started, and was, by this time, quite dark. Scarce a word was heard in the ten canoes as, keeping near the right-hand shore of the lake, they glided rapidly along in a close body. So noiselessly were the paddles dipped into the water that the drip from them, as they were lifted, was the only sound heard. Four hours' steady paddling took them to the narrows, about five-and-twenty miles from their starting point. Here, on the whispered order of Nat, James laid in his paddle; for, careful as he was, he occasionally made a slight splash as he put it in the water. The canoes now kept in single file, almost under the trees on the right bank, for the lake was here scarce a mile across, and watchful eyes might be on the lookout on the shore to the left. Another ten miles was passed, and then the canoes were steered in to the shore. The guns, blankets, and bundles were lifted out; the canoes raised on the shoulders of the men, and carried a couple of hundred yards among the trees; then, with scarcely a word spoken, each man rolled himself in his blanket and lay down to sleep, four being sent out as scouts in various directions. Soon after daybreak, all were on foot again, although it had been arranged that no move should be made till night set in. No fires were lighted, for they had brought with them a supply of biscuit and dry deers' flesh sufficient for a week. "How did you get on yesterday?" Captain Rogers asked, as he came up to the spot where James had just risen to his feet. "First rate, captain!" Nat answered for him. "I hardly believed that a young fellow could have handled a paddle so well, at the first attempt. He rowed all the way, except just the narrows, and though I don't say as he was noiseless, he did wonderfully well, and we came along with the rest as easy as may be." "I thought I heard a little splash, now and then," the captain said, smiling; "but it was very slight, and could do no harm where the lake is two or three miles wide, as it is here. But you will have to lay in your paddle when we get near the other end, for the sides narrow in there, and the redskins would hear a fish jump, half a mile away." During the day the men passed their time in sleep, in mending their clothes, or in talking quietly together. The use of tea had not yet become general in America, and the meals were washed down with water drawn from the lake (where an over-hanging bush shaded the shore from the sight of anyone on the opposite bank), mixed with rum from the gourds which all the scouts carried. Nat spent some time in pointing out, to James, the signs by which the hunters found their way through the forest; by the moss and lichens growing more thickly on the side of the trunks of the trees opposed to the course of the prevailing winds, or by a slight inclination of the upper boughs of the trees in the same direction. "An old woodsman can tell," he said, "on the darkest night, on running his hand round the trunk of a tree, by the feel of the bark, which is north and south; but it would be long before you can get to such niceties as that; but, if you keep your eyes open as you go along, and look at the signs on the trunks, which are just as plain, when you once know them, as the marks on a man's face, you will be able to make your way through the woods in the daytime. Of course, when the sun is shining, you get its help, for, although it is not often a gleam comes down through the leaves, sometimes you come upon a little patch, and you are sure, now and then, to strike on a gap where a tree has fallen, and that gives you a line again. A great help to a young beginner is the sun, for a young hand in the woods gets confused, and doubts the signs of the trees; but, in course, when he comes on a patch of sunlight, he can't make a mistake nohow as to the direction." James indulged in a silent hope that, if he were ever lost in the woods, the sun would be shining, for, look as earnestly as he would, he could not perceive the signs which appeared so plain and distinct to the scout. Occasionally, indeed, he fancied that there was some slight difference between one side of the trunk and the other; but he was by no means sure that, even in these cases, he should have noticed it unless it had been pointed out to him; while, in the greater part of the trees he could discern no difference whatever. "It's just habit, my lad," Nat said encouragingly to him; "there's just as much difference between one side of the tree and the other, as there is between two men's faces. It comes of practice. Now, just look at the roots of this tree; don't you see, on one side they run pretty nigh straight out from the trunk, while from the other they go down deep into the ground. That speaks for itself. The tree has thrown out its roots, to claw into the ground and get a hold, on the side from which the wind comes; while, on the other side, having no such occasion, it has dipped its root down to look for moisture and food." "Yes, I do see that," James said, "that is easy enough to make out; but the next tree, and the next, and, as far as I see, all the others, don't seem to have any difference in their roots one side or the other." "That is so," the scout replied. "You see, those are younger trees than this, and it is like enough they did not grow under the same circumstances. When a few trees fall, or a small clearing is made by a gale, the young trees that grow up are well sheltered from the wind by the forest, and don't want to throw out roots to hold them up; but when a great clearing has been made, by a fire or other causes, the trees, as they grow up together, have no shelter, and must stretch out their roots to steady them. "Sometimes, you will find all the trees, for a long distance, with their roots like this; sometimes only one tree among a number. Perhaps, when they started, that tree had more room, or a deeper soil, and grew faster than the rest, and got his head above them, so he felt the wind more, and had to throw out his roots to steady himself; while the others, all growing the same height, did not need to do so." "Thank you," James said. "I understand now, and will bear it in mind. It is very interesting, and I should like, above all things, to be able to read the signs of the woods as you do." "It will come, lad. It's a sort of second nature. These things are gifts. The redskin thinks it just as wonderful that the white man should be able to take up a piece of paper covered with black marks, and to read off sense out of them, as you do that he should be able to read every mark and sign of the wood. He can see, as plain as if the man was still standing on it, the mark of a footprint, and can tell you if it was made by a warrior or a squaw, and how long they have passed by, and whether they were walking fast or slow; while the ordinary white man might go down on his hands and knees, and stare at the ground, and wouldn't be able to see the slightest sign or mark. For a white man, my eyes are good, but they are not a patch on a redskin's. I have lived among the woods since I was a boy; but even now, a redskin lad can pick up a trail and follow it when, look as I will, I can't see as a blade of grass has been bruised. No; these things is partly natur and partly practice. Practice will do a lot for a white man; but it won't take him up to redskin natur." Not until night had fallen did the party again launch their canoes on the lake. Then they paddled for several hours until, as James imagined, they had traversed a greater distance, by some miles, than that which they had made on the previous evening. He knew, from what he had learned during the day, that they were to land some six miles below the point where Lake George joins Lake Champlain, and where, on the opposite side, on a promontory stretching into the lake, the French were constructing their new fort. The canoes were to be carried some seven or eight miles through the wood, across the neck of land between the two lakes, and were then to be launched again on Lake Champlain, so that, by following the east shore of that lake, they would pass Ticonderoga at a safe distance. The halt was made as noiselessly as before, and, having hauled up the canoes, the men slept till daybreak; and then, lifting the light craft on their shoulders, started for their journey through the woods. It was toilsome work, for the ground was rough and broken, often thickly covered with underwood. Ridges had to be crossed and deep ravines passed, and, although the canoes were not heavy, the greatest care had to be exercised, for a graze against a projecting bough, or the edge of a rock, would suffice to tear a hole in the thin bark. It was not until late in the afternoon that they arrived on the shores of Lake Champlain. A fire was lighted now, the greatest care being taken to select perfectly dry sticks, for the Iroquois were likely to be scattered far and wide among the woods. The risk, however, was far less than when in sight of the French side of Lake George. After darkness fell, the canoes were again placed in the water, and, striking across the lake, they followed the right-hand shore. After paddling for about an hour and a half, the work suddenly ceased. The lake seemed to widen on their left, for they had just passed the tongue of land between the two lakes, and on the opposite shore a number of fires were seen, burning brightly on the hillside. It was Ticonderoga they were now abreast of, the advanced post of the French. They lingered for some time before the paddles were again dipped in water, counting the fires and making a careful note of the position. They paddled on again until some twelve miles beyond the fort, and then crossed the lake and landed on the French shore. But the canoes did not all approach the shore together, as they had done on the previous nights. They halted half a mile out, and Captain Rogers went forward with his own and another canoe and landed, and it was not for half an hour that the signal was given, by an imitation of the croaking of a frog, that a careful search had ascertained the forest to be untenanted, and the landing safe. No sooner was the signal given than the canoes were set in motion, and were soon safely hauled up on shore. Five men went out, as usual, as scouts, and the rest, fatigued by their paddle and the hard day's work, were soon asleep. In the morning they were about to start, and Rogers ordered the canoes to be hauled up and hidden among the bushes, where, having done their work, they would for the present be abandoned, to be recovered and made useful on some future occasion. The men charged with the work gave a sudden exclamation when they reached the canoes. "What is that?" Rogers said angrily. "Do you want to bring all the redskins in the forest upon us?" "The canoes are all damaged," one of the scouts said, coming up to him. There was a general movement to the canoes, which were lying on the bank a few yards' distance from the water's edge. Every one of them had been rendered useless. The thin birch bark had been gashed and slit, pieces had been cut out, and not one of them had escaped injury or was fit to take the water. Beyond a few low words, and exclamations of dismay, not a word was spoken as the band gathered round the canoes. "Who were on the watch on this side?" Rogers asked. "Nat and Jonathan took the first half of the night," one of the scouts said. "Williams and myself relieved them." As all four were men of the greatest skill and experience, Rogers felt sure that no neglect or carelessness on their part could have led to the disaster. "Did any of you see any passing boats, or hear any sound on the lake?" The four men who had been on guard replied in the negative. "I will swear no one landed near the canoes," Nat said. "There was a glimmer on the water all night; a canoe could not have possibly come near the bank, anywheres here, without our seeing it." "Then he must have come from the land side," Rogers said. "Some skulking Indian must have seen us out on the lake, and have hidden up when we landed. He may have been in a tree overhead all the time, and, directly the canoes were hauled up, he may have damaged them and made off. "There is no time to be lost, lads. It is five hours since we landed. If he started at once the redskins may be all round us now. It is no question now of our scouting round the French fort, it is one of saving our scalps." "How could it have been done?" James Walsham asked Nat, in a low tone. "We were all sleeping within a few yards of the canoes, and some of the men were close to them. I should have thought we must have heard it." "Heard it!" the hunter said contemptuously; "why, a redskin would make no more noise in cutting them holes and gashes, than you would in cutting a hunk of deer's flesh for your dinner. He would lie on the ground, and wriggle from one to another like an eel; but I reckon he didn't begin till the camp was still. The canoes wasn't hauled up till we had sarched the woods, as we thought, and then we was moving about close by them till we lay down. "I was standing theer on the water's edge not six feet away from that canoe. I never moved for two hours, and, quiet as a redskin may be, he must have taken time to do that damage, so as I never heard a sound as loud as the falling of a leaf. No, I reckon as he was at the very least two hours over that job. He may have been gone four hours or a bit over, but not more; but that don't give us much of a start. It would take him an hour and a half to get to the fort, then he would have to report to the French chap in command, and then there might be some talk before he set out with the redskins, leaving the French to follow." "It's no use thinking of mending the canoes, I suppose," James asked. The hunter shook his head. "It would take two or three hours to get fresh bark and mend those holes," he said, "and we haven't got as many minutes to spare. There, now, we are off." While they had been speaking, Rogers had been holding a consultation with two or three of his most experienced followers, and they had arrived at pretty nearly the same conclusion as that of Rogers, namely, that the Indian had probably taken two or three hours in damaging the canoes and getting fairly away into the forest; but that, even if he had done so, the Iroquois would be up in the course of half an hour. "Let each man pack his share of meat on his back," Rogers said. "Don't leave a scrap behind. Quick, lads, there's not a minute to be lost. It's a case of legs, now. There's no hiding the trail of thirty men from redskin eyes." In a couple of minutes, all were ready for the start, and Rogers at once led the way, at a long slinging trot, straight back from the lake, first saying: "Pick your way, lads, and don't tread on a fallen stick. There is just one chance of saving our scalps, and only one, and that depends upon silence." As James ran along, at the heels of Nat, he was struck with the strangeness of the scene, and the noiselessness with which the band of moccasin-footed men flitted among the trees. Not a word was spoken. All had implicit confidence in their leader, the most experienced bush fighter on the frontier, and knew that, if anyone could lead them safe from the perils that surrounded them, it was Rogers. James wondered what his plan could be. It seemed certain to him that the Indians must, sooner or later, overtake them. They would be aware of the strength of the band, and, confiding in their superior numbers, would be able to push forward in pursuit without pausing for many precautions. Once overtaken, the band must stand at bay, and, even could they hold the Indians in check, the sound of the firing would soon bring the French soldiers to the spot. They had been gone some twenty minutes only, when a distant war whoop rose in the forest behind them. "They have come down on the camp," Nat said, glancing round over his shoulder, "and find we have left it. I expect they hung about a little before they ventured in, knowing as we should be expecting them, when we found the canoes was useless. That war whoop tells 'em all as we have gone. They will gather there, and then be after us like a pack of hounds. "Ah! That is what I thought the captain was up to." Rogers had turned sharp to the left, the direction in which Ticonderoga stood. He slacked down his speed somewhat, for the perspiration was streaming down the faces even of his trained and hardy followers. From time to time, he looked round to see that all were keeping well together. Although, in such an emergency as this, none thought of questioning the judgment of their leader, many of them were wondering at the unusual speed at which he was leading them along. They had some two miles start of their pursuers, and, had evening been at hand, they would have understood the importance of keeping ahead until darkness came on to cover their trail; but, with the whole day before them, they felt that they must be overtaken sooner or later, and they could not see the object of exhausting their strength before the struggle began. As they ran on, at a somewhat slower pace now, an idea as to their leader's intention dawned upon most of the scouts, who saw, by the direction they were taking, that they would again strike the lake shore near the French fort. Nat, who, light and wiry, was running easily, while many of his comrades were panting with their exertions, was now by the side of James Walsham. "Give me your rifle, lad, for a bit. You are new to this work, and the weight of the gun takes it out of you. We have got another nine or ten miles before us, yet." "I can hold on for a bit," James replied. "I am getting my wind better, now; but why only ten miles? We must be seventy away from the fort." "We should never get there," Nat said. "A few of us might do it, but the redskins would be on us in an hour or two. I thought, when we started, as the captain would have told us to scatter, so as to give each of us some chance of getting off; but I see his plan now, and it's the only one as there is which gives us a real chance. He is making straight for the French fort. He reckons, no doubt, as the best part of the French troops will have marched out after the redskins." "But there would surely be enough left," James said, "to hold the fort against us; and, even if we could take it, we could not hold it an hour when they all came up." "He ain't thinking of the fort, boy, he's thinking of the boats. We know as they have lots of 'em there, and, if we can get there a few minutes before the redskins overtake us, we may get off safe. It's a chance, but I think it's a good one." Others had caught their leader's idea and repeated it to their comrades, and the animating effect soon showed itself in the increased speed with which the party hurried through the forest. Before, almost every man had thought their case hopeless, had deemed that they had only to continue their flight until overtaken by the redskins, and that they must, sooner or later, succumb to the rifles of the Iroquois and their French allies. But the prospect that, after an hour's run, a means of escape might be found, animated each man to renewed efforts. After running for some distance longer, Rogers suddenly halted and held up his hand, and the band simultaneously came to a halt. At first, nothing could be heard save their own quick breathing; then a confused noise was heard to their left front, a deep trampling and the sound of voices, and an occasional clash of arms. "It is the French column coming out," Nat whispered, as Rogers, swerving somewhat to the right, and making a sign that all should run as silently as possible, continued his course. Chapter 12: A Commission. Presently the noise made by the column of French troops was heard abreast of the fugitives. Then it died away behind them, and they again directed their course to the left. Ten minutes later, they heard a loud succession of Indian whoops, and knew that the redskins pursuing them had also heard the French column on its march, and would be warning them of the course which the band were taking. The scouts were now but four miles from Ticonderoga, and each man knew that it was a mere question of speed. "Throw away your meat," Rogers ordered, "you will not want it now, and every pound tells." The men had already got rid of their blankets, and were now burdened only with their rifles and ammunition. The ground was rough and broken, for they were nearing the steep promontory on which the French fort had been erected. They were still a mile ahead of their pursuers, and although the latter had gained that distance upon them since the first start, the scouts knew that, now they were exerting themselves to the utmost, the redskins could be gaining but little upon them, for the trained white man is, in point of speed and endurance, fairly a match for the average Indian. They had now descended to within a short distance of the edge of the lake, in order to avoid the valleys and ravines running down from the hills. The war whoops rose frequently in the forest behind them, the Indians yelling to give those at the fort notice that the chase was approaching. "If there war any redskins left at the fort," Nat said to James, "they would guess what our game was; but I expect every redskin started out on the hunt, and the French soldiers, when they hear the yelling, won't know what to make of it, and, if they do anything, they will shut themselves up in their fort." Great as were the exertions which the scouts were making, they could tell, by the sound of the war whoops, that some at least of the Indians were gaining upon them. Accustomed as every man of the party was to the fatigues of the forest, the strain was telling upon them all now. For twelve miles they had run almost at the top of their speed, and the short panting breath, the set faces, and the reeling steps showed that they were nearly at the end of their powers. Still they held on, with scarcely any diminishing of speed. Each man knew that if he fell, he must die, for his comrades could do nothing for him, and no pause was possible until the boats were gained. They were passing now under the French works, for they could hear shouting on the high ground to the right, and knew that the troops left in the fort had taken the alarm; but they were still invisible, for it was only at the point of the promontory that the clearing had been carried down to the water's edge. A low cry of relief burst from the men, as they saw the forest open before them, and a minute later they were running along in the open, near the shore of the lake, at the extremity of the promontory, where, hauled up upon the shore, lay a number of canoes and flat-bottomed boats, used for the conveyance of troops. A number of boatmen were standing near, evidently alarmed by the war cries in the woods. When they saw the party approaching they at once made for the fort, a quarter of a mile away on the high ground, and, almost at the same moment, a dropping fire of musketry opened from the entrenchments. "Smash the canoes," Rogers said, setting the example by administering a vigorous kick to one of them. The others followed his example, and, in a few seconds, every one of the frail barks was stove in. "Two of the boats will hold us well," Rogers said; "quick, into the water with them, and out with the oars. Ten row in each boat. Let the other five handle their rifles, and keep back the Indians as they come up. Never mind the soldiers." For the white-coated troops, perceiving the scouts' intention, were now pouring out from the intrenchments. A couple of minutes sufficed for the men to launch the boats and take their seats, and the oars dipped in the water just as three or four Indians dashed out from the edge of the forest. "We have won the race by three minutes," Rogers said, exultantly. "Stretch to your oars, lads, and get out of range as soon as you can." The Indians began to fire as soon as they perceived the boats. They were scarcely two hundred yards away, but they, like the white men, were panting with fatigue, and their bullets flew harmlessly by. "Don't answer yet," Rogers ordered, as some of the scouts were preparing to fire. "Wait till your hands get steady, and then fire at the French. There won't be many of the redskins up, yet." The boats were not two hundred yards from shore when the French soldiers reached the edge of the water and opened fire, but at this distance their weapons were of little avail, and, though the bullets splashed thickly around the boats, no one was injured, while several of the French were seen to drop from the fire of the scouts. Another hundred yards, and the boats were beyond any danger, save from a chance shot. The Indians still continued firing, and several of their shots struck the boats, one of the rowers being hit on the shoulder. "Lay in your rifles, and man the other two oars in each boat," Rogers said. "The French are launching some of their bateaux, but we have got a fair start, and they won't overtake us before we reach the opposite point. They are fresher than we are, but soldiers are no good rowing; besides, they are sure to crowd the boats so that they won't have a chance." Five or six boats, each crowded with men, started in pursuit, but they were fully half a mile behind when the two English boats reached the shore. "Now it is our turn," Rogers said, as the men, leaping ashore, took their places behind trees. As soon as the French boats came within range, a steady fire was opened upon them. Confusion was at once apparent among them. Oars were seen to drop, and as the fire continued, the rowing ceased. Another minute and the boats were turned, and were soon rowing out again into the lake. "There's the end of that," Rogers said, "and a close shave it has been. "Well, youngster, what do you think of your first scout in the woods?" "It has been sharper than I bargained for," James said, laughing, "and was pretty near being the last, as well as the first. If it hadn't been for your taking us to the boats, I don't think many of us would have got back to Fort Henry to tell the tale." "There is generally some way out of a mess," Rogers said, "if one does but think of it. If I had not thought of the French boats, we should have scattered, and a few of us would have been overtaken, no doubt; but even an Indian cannot follow a single trail as fast as a man can run, and I reckon most of us would have carried our scalps back to camp. Still, with the woods full of Iroquois they must have had some of us, and I hate losing a man if it can be helped. We are well out of it. "Now, lads, we had better be tramping. There are a lot more bateaux coming out, and I expect, by the rowing, they are manned by Indians. The redskin is a first-rate hand with the paddle, but is no good with an oar." The man who had been hit in the shoulder had already had his wound bandaged. There was a minute's consultation as to whether they should continue their journey in the boats, some of the men pointing out that they had proved themselves faster than their pursuers. "That may be," Rogers says; "but the Indians will land and follow along the shore, and will soon get ahead of us, for they can travel quicker than we can row, and, for aught we know, there may be a whole fleet of canoes higher up Lake George which would cut us off. No, lads, the safest way is to keep on through the woods." The decision was received without question, and the party at once started at a swinging trot, which was kept up, with occasional intervals of walking, throughout the day. At nightfall their course was changed, and, after journeying another two or three miles, a halt was called, for Rogers was sure that the Indians would abandon pursuit, when night came on without their having overtaken the fugitives. Before daybreak the march was continued, and, in the afternoon, the party arrived at Fort William Henry. James now determined to leave the force, and return at once to New York, where his letters were to be addressed to him. He took with him a letter from General Johnson, speaking in the warmest tones of his conduct. On arriving at New York he found, at the post office there, a great pile of letters awaiting him. They had been written after the receipt of his letter at the end of July, telling those at home of his share in Braddock's disaster. "I little thought, my boy," his mother wrote, "when we received your letter, saying that you had got your discharge from the ship, and were going with an expedition against the French, that you were going to run into such terrible danger. Fortunately, the same vessel which brought the news of General Braddock's defeat also brought your letter, and we learned the news only a few hours before your letter reached us. It was, as you may imagine, a time of terrible anxiety to us, and the squire and Aggie were almost as anxious as I was. Mr. Wilks did his best to cheer us all, but I could see that he, too, felt it very greatly. However, when your letter came we were all made happy again, though, of course, we cannot be but anxious, as you say you are just going to join another expedition; still, we must hope that that will do better, as it won't be managed by regular soldiers. Mr. Wilks was quite angry at what you said about the folly of making men stand in a line to be shot at, he thinks so much of drill and discipline. The squire and he have been arguing quite fiercely about it; but the squire gets the best of the argument, for the dreadful way in which the soldiers were slaughtered shows that, though that sort of fighting may be good in other places, it is not suited for fighting these wicked Indians in the woods. "The squire has himself been up to London about your commission, and has arranged it all. He has, as he will tell you in his letter, got you a commission in the regiment commanded by Colonel Otway, which is to go out next spring. He was introduced to the commander in chief by his friend, and told him that you had been acting as Colonel Washington's aide-de-camp with General Braddock, and that you have now gone to join General Johnson's army; so the duke said that, though you would be gazetted at once, and would belong to the regiment, you might as well stay out there and see service until it arrived; and that it would be a great advantage to the regiment to have an officer, with experience in Indian fighting, with it. I cried when he brought me back the news, for I had hoped to have you back again with us for a bit, before you went soldiering for good. However, the squire seems to think it is a capital thing for you. Mr. Wilks thinks so, too, so I suppose I must put up with it; but Aggie agrees with me, and says it is too bad that she should never have seen you, once, from the time when she saw you in that storm. "She is a dear little girl, and is growing fast. I think she must have grown quite an inch in the five months you have been away. She sends her love to you, and says you must take care of yourself, for her sake." The squire, in his letter, repeated the news Mrs. Walsham had given. "You are now an ensign," he said, "and, if you go into any more fights before your regiment arrives, you must, Mr. Wilks said, get a proper uniform made for you, and fight as a king's officer. I send you a copy of the gazette, where you will see your name." Mr. Wilks's letter was a long one. "I felt horribly guilty, dear Jim," he said, "when the news came of Braddock's dreadful defeat. I could hardly look your dear mother in the face, and, though the kind lady would not, I know, say a word to hurt my feelings for the world, yet I could see that she regarded me as a monster, for it was on my advice that, instead of coming home when you got your discharge, you remained out there and took part in this unfortunate expedition. I could see Aggie felt the same, and, though I did my best to keep up their spirits, I had a terrible time of it until your letter arrived, saying you were safe. If it had not come, I do believe that I should have gone quietly off to Exeter, hunted up my box again, and hired a boy to push it for me, for I am not so strong as I was. But I would rather have tramped about, for the rest of my life, than remain there under your mother's reproachful eye. However, thank God you came through it all right, and, after such a lesson, I should hope that we shall never have repetition of such a disaster as that. As an old soldier, I cannot agree with what you say about the uselessness of drill, even for fighting in a forest. It must accustom men to listen to the voice of their officers, and to obey orders promptly and quickly, and I cannot but think that, if the troops had gone forward at a brisk double, they would have driven the Indians before them. As to the whooping and yells you talk so much about, I should think nothing of them; they are no more to be regarded than the shrieks of women, or the braying of donkeys." James smiled as he read this, and thought that, if the old soldier had heard that chaos of blood-curdling cries break out, in the still depth of the forest, he would not write of them with such equanimity. "You will have heard, from the squire, that you are gazetted to Otway's regiment which, with others, is to cross the Atlantic in a few weeks, when it is generally supposed war will be formally declared. Your experience will be of great use to you, and ought to get you a good staff appointment. I expect that, in the course of a year, there will be fighting on a large scale on your side of the water, and the English ought to get the best of it, for France seems, at present, to be thinking a great deal more of her affairs in Europe than of her colonies in America. So much the better, for, if we can take Canada, we shall strike a heavy blow to her trade, and some day North America is going to be an important place in the world." The letters had been lying there several weeks, and James knew that Otway's regiment had, with the others, arrived a few days before, and had already marched for Albany. Thinking himself entitled to a little rest, after his labours, he remained for another week in New York, while his uniform was being made, and then took a passage in a trading boat up to Albany. Scarcely had he landed, when a young officer in the same uniform met him. He looked surprised, hesitated, and then stopped. "I see you belong to our regiment," he said. "Have you just arrived from England? What ship did you come in?" "I have been out here some time," James replied. "My name is Walsham. I believe I was gazetted to your regiment some months ago, but I only heard the news on my arrival at New York last week." "Oh, you are Walsham!" the young officer said. "My name is Edwards. I am glad to meet you. We have been wondering when you would join us, and envying your luck, in seeing so much of the fighting out here. Our regiment is encamped about half a mile from here. If you will let me, I will go back with you, and introduce you to our fellows." James thanked him, and the two walked along talking together. James learned that there were already five ensigns junior to himself, his new acquaintance being one of them, as the regiment had been somewhat short of officers, and the vacancies had been filled up shortly before it sailed. "Of course, we must call on the colonel first," Mr. Edwards said. "He is a capital fellow, and very much liked in the regiment." Colonel Otway received James with great cordiality. "We are very glad to get you with us, Mr. Walsham," he said, "and we consider it a credit to the regiment to have a young officer who has been, three times, mentioned in despatches. You will, too, be a great service to us, and will be able to give us a good many hints as to this Indian method of fighting, which Braddock's men found so terrible." "It is not formidable, sir, when you are accustomed to it; but, unfortunately, General Braddock forced his men to fight in regular fashion, that is, to stand up and be shot at, and that mode of fighting, in the woods, is fatal. A hundred redskins would be more than a match, in the forest, for ten times their number of white troops, who persisted in fighting in such a ridiculous way; but, fighting in their own way, white men are a match for the redskins. Indeed, the frontiersmen can thrash the Indians, even if they are two or three to one against them." "You have been in this last affair on the lake, have you not, Mr. Walsham? I heard you were with Johnson." "Yes, sir, I was, and at the beginning it was very nearly a repetition of Braddock's disaster; but, after being surprised and, at first, beaten, the column that went out made such a stout fight of it, that it gave us time to put the camp in a state of defence. Had the Indians made a rush, I think they would have carried it; but, as they contented themselves with keeping up a distant fire, the provincials, who were all young troops, quite unaccustomed to fighting, and wholly without drill or discipline, gradually got steady, and at length sallied out and beat them decisively." "I will not detain you, now," the colonel said; "but I hope, ere long, you will give us a full and detailed account of the fighting you have been in, with your idea of the best way of training regular troops for the sort of work we have before us. Mr. Edwards will take you over to the mess, and introduce you to your brother officers." James was well received by the officers of his regiment, and soon found himself perfectly at home with them. He had to devote some hours, every day, to acquiring the mysteries of drill. It was, to him, somewhat funny to see the pains expended in assuring that each movement should be performed with mechanical accuracy; but he understood that, although useless for such warfare as that which they had before them, great accuracy in details was necessary, for ensuring uniformity of movement among large masses of men in an open country. Otherwise, the time passed very pleasantly. James soon became a favourite in the regiment, and the young officers were never tired of questioning him concerning the redskins, and their manner of fighting. There were plenty of amusements. The snow was deep on the ground, now, and the officers skated, practised with snowshoes, and drove in sleighs. Occasionally they got up a dance, and the people of Albany, and the settlers round, vied with each other in their hospitality to the officers. One day, in February, an orderly brought a message to James Walsham, that the colonel wished to speak to him. "Walsham," he said, "I may tell you, privately, that the regiment is likely to form part of the expedition which is being fitted out, in England, against Louisbourg in Cape Breton, the key of Canada. A considerable number of the troops from the province will accompany it." "But that will leave the frontier here altogether open to the enemy," James said in surprise. "That is my own opinion, Walsham. Louisbourg is altogether outside the range of the present struggle, and it seems to me that the British force should be employed at striking at a vital point. However, that is not to the purpose. It is the Earl of Loudon's plan. However, it is manifest, as you say, that the frontier will be left terribly open, and therefore two companies of each of the regiments going will be left. Naturally, as you are the only officer in the regiment who has had any experience in this forest warfare, you would be one of those left here; but as an ensign you would not have much influence, and I think that it would be at once more useful to the service, and more pleasant for yourself, if I can obtain for you something like a roving commission. What do you think of that?" "I should greatly prefer that, sir," James said gratefully. "The general is a little vexed, I know," the colonel went on, "at the numerous successes, and daring feats, gained by Rogers and the other leaders of the companies of scouts, while the regulars have not had an opportunity to fire a shot: and I think that he would, at once, accept the proposal were I to make it to him, that a company, to be called the Royal Scouts, should be formed of volunteers taken from the various regiments, and that you should have the command." "Thank you, sir," James said, "and I should like it above all things; but I fear that we should have no chance, whatever, of rivalling the work of Rogers and the other partisan leaders. These men are all trained to the work of the woods, accustomed to fight Indians, equally at home in a canoe or in the forest. I have had, as you are good enough to say, some experience in the work, but I am a mere child by their side, and were I to lead fifty English soldiers in the forest, I fear that none of us would ever return." "Yes, but I should not propose that you should engage in enterprises of that sort, Walsham. My idea is that, although you would have an independent command, with very considerable freedom of action, you would act in connection with the regular troops. The scouts are often far away when wanted, leaving the posts open to surprise. They are so impatient of any discipline, that they are adverse to going near the forts, except to obtain fresh supplies. You, on the contrary, would act as the eyes of any post which you might think threatened by the enemy. At present, for instance, Fort William Henry is the most exposed to attack. "You would take your command there, and would report yourself to Major Eyre, who is in command. As for service there, your letter of appointment would state that you are authorized to act independently, but that, while it would be your duty to obey the orders of the commanding officer, you will be authorized to offer such suggestions to him as your experience in Indian warfare would lead you to make. You would train your men as scouts. It would be their special duty to guard the fort against surprise, and, of course, in case of attack to take part in its defence. In the event of the provincial scouts making any concerted movement against a French post, you would be authorized to join them. You would then have the benefit of their skill and experience, and, in case of success, the army would get a share of the credit. What do you think of my plan?" "I should like it above all things," James replied. "That would be precisely the duty which I should select had I the choice." "I thought so," the colonel said. "I have formed a very high opinion of your judgment and discretion, from the talks which we have had together, and I have spoken strongly in your favour to the general, who had promised me that, in the event of the army moving forward, you should have an appointment on the quartermaster general's staff, as an intelligence officer. "Since I heard that the main portion of the army is to sail to Louisbourg, I have been thinking this plan over, and it certainly seems to me that a corps, such as that that I have suggested, would be of great service. I should think that its strength should be fifty men. You will, of course, have another officer with you. Is there anyone you would like to choose, as I may as well take the whole scheme, cut and dried, to the general?" "I should like Mr. Edwards, sir. He is junior to me in the regiment, and is very active and zealous in the service; and I should greatly like to be allowed to enlist, temporarily, two of the scouts I have served with in the force, with power for them to take their discharge when they wished. They would be of immense utility to me in instructing the men in their new duties, and would add greatly to our efficiency." "So be it," the colonel said. "I will draw out the scheme on paper, and lay it before the general today." In the afternoon, James was again sent for. "The earl has approved of my scheme. You will have temporary rank as captain given you, in order to place your corps on an equal footing with the provincial corps of scouts. Mr. Edwards will also have temporary rank, as lieutenant. The men of the six companies, of the three regiments, will be paraded tomorrow, and asked for volunteers for the special service. If there are more than fifty offer, you can select your own men." Accordingly, the next morning, the troops to be left behind were paraded, and an order was read out, saying that a corps of scouts for special service was to be raised, and that volunteers were requested. Upwards of a hundred men stepped forward, and, being formed in line, James selected from them fifty who appeared to him the most hardy, active, and intelligent looking. He himself had, that morning, been put in orders as captain of the new corps, and had assumed the insignia of his temporary rank. The colonel had placed at his disposal two intelligent young non-commissioned officers. The next morning, he marched with his command for Fort William Henry. No sooner had he left the open country, and entered the woods, than he began to instruct the men in their new duties. The whole of them were thrown out as skirmishers, and taught to advance in Indian fashion, each man sheltering himself behind a tree, scanning the woods carefully ahead, and then, fixing his eyes on another tree ahead, to advance to it at a sharp run, and shelter there. All this was new to the soldiers, hitherto drilled only in solid formation, or in skirmishing in the open, and when, at the end of ten miles skirmishing through the wood, they were halted and ordered to bivouac for the night, James felt that his men were beginning to have some idea of forest fighting. The men themselves were greatly pleased with their day's work. It was a welcome change after the long monotony of life in a standing camp, and the day's work had given them a high opinion of the fitness of their young officer for command. But the work and instruction was not over for the day. Hitherto, none of the men had had any experience in camping in the open. James now showed them how to make comfortable shelters against the cold, with two forked sticks and one laid across them, and with a few boughs and a blanket laid over them, with dead leaves heaped round the bottom and ends; and how best to arrange their fires and cook their food. During the following days, the same work was repeated, and when, after a week's marching, the force issued from the forest into the clearing around Fort William Henry, James felt confident that his men would be able to hold their own in a brush with the Indians. Major Eyre, to whom James reported himself, and showed his appointment defining his authority and duties, expressed much satisfaction at the arrival of the reinforcement. "There are rumours, brought here by the scouts," he said, "that a strong force will, ere long, come down from Crown Point to Ticonderoga, and that we shall be attacked. Now that the lake is frozen, regular troops could march without difficulty, and my force here is very inadequate, considering the strength with which the French will attack. None of my officers or men have any experience of the Indian methods of attack, and your experience will be very valuable. It is a pity that they do not give me one of these companies of scouts permanently. Sometimes one or other of them is here, but often I am without any of the provincials, and, although I have every confidence in my officers and men, one cannot but feel that it is a great disadvantage to be exposed to the attack of an enemy of whose tactics one is altogether ignorant. "You will, of course, encamp your men inside the fort. I see you have brought no baggage with you, but I have some spare tents here, which are at your service." "Thank you, sir," James replied; "I shall be glad to put the men under cover, while they are here, but I intend to practise them, as much as possible, in scouting and camping in the woods, and, although I shall always be in the neighbourhood of the fort, I do not propose always to return here at night. Are any of Captain Rogers's corps at present at the fort?" "Some of them came in last night," Major Eyre replied. "I have authority," James said, "to enlist two of them in my corps." Major Eyre smiled. "I do not think you will find any of them ready to submit to military discipline, or to put on a red coat." "They are all accustomed to obey orders, promptly enough, when at work," James said, "though there is no attempt at discipline when off duty. You see them at their worst here. There is, of course, nothing like military order in the woods, but obedience is just as prompt as among our troops. As to the uniform, I agree with you, but on that head I should not be particular. I can hardly fancy any of the scouts buttoned tightly up with stiff collars; but as, after all, although they are to be enlisted, they will be attached to the corps, rather than be regular members of it, I do not think I need insist upon the uniform." After leaving the major, James saw to the pitching of the tents, and the comforts of his men, and when he had done so strolled off towards a group of scouts, who were watching his proceedings, and among whom he recognized the two men for whom he was looking. He received a cordial greeting from all who had taken part in his previous adventures with Captain Rogers's band. "And so you are in command of this party?" Nat said. "I asked one of the men just now, and he said you were the captain. You are young to be a captain, but, at any rate, it's a good thing to have a king's officer here who knows something about the woods. The rest ain't no more idea of them than nothing." "I want to chat to you, Nat, and also to Jonathan, if you will come across with me to my tent." "I'm agreeable," Nat said; and the two scouts walked across to the tent with James. Lieutenant Edwards, who shared the tent with him, was inside, arranging a few things which Major Eyre had sent down for their use. "Edwards, these are the two scouts, Nat and Jonathan, of whom you have often heard me speak. Now, let us sit down and have a chat. "There is some first-rate rum in that bottle, Nat. There are two tin pannikins, and there is water in that keg. "Now, Nat," he went on, when the party were seated on blankets laid on the ground, "this corps of mine has been raised, specially, to act as scouts round this or any other fort which may be threatened, or to act as the advanced guard of a column of troops." "But what do they know of scouting?" Nat said contemptuously. "They don't know no more than children." "They don't know much, but they are active fellows, and ready to learn. I think you will find that, already, they have a pretty fair idea of fighting in Indian fashion in the woods, and, as I have authority to draw extra supplies of ball cartridge, I hope, in a few weeks, to make fair shots of them. You have taught me something of forest ways, and I shall teach them all I know; but we want better teachers, and I want to propose, to you and Jonathan, to join the corps." "What, and put on a red coat, and choke ourselves up with a stiff collar!" Nat laughed. "Nice figures we should look! No, no, captain, that would never do." "No, I don't propose that you should wear uniform, Nat. I have got a special authority to enlist you and Jonathan, with the understanding that you can take your discharge whenever you like. There will be no drilling in line, or anything of that sort. It will be just scouting work, the same as with Captain Rogers, except that we shall not make long expeditions, as he does, but keep in the neighbourhood of the fort. I should want you to act both as scouts and instructors, to teach the men, as you have taught me, something of woodcraft, how to find their way in a forest, and how to fight the Indians in their own way, and to be up to Indian devices. You will be guides on the line of march, will warn me of danger, and suggest the best plan of meeting it. You will, in fact, be scouts attached to the corps, only nominally you will be members of it. I know your ways, and should not exact any observance of discipline, more than that which you have with Rogers, and should treat you in the light of non-commissioned officers." "Well, and what do you say, Jonathan?" Nat said, turning to his tall companion. "You and I have both taken a fancy to the captain here, and though he has picked up a lot for a young 'un, and will in time make a first-rate hand in the woods, I guess he won't make much hand of it, yet, if he hadn't got someone as knows the woods by his side. We have had a spell of hard work of it with Rogers lately, and I don't mind if I have a change, for a bit, with the redcoats." "I will go, of course," Jonathan said briefly. "Very well, then, that's settled, captain," Nat said. "Rogers will be in tonight, and I will tell him we are going to transfer ourselves over to you." "He won't mind, I hope," James said. "He won't mind," Nat replied. "We ain't very particular about times of service in our corps. We just comes and goes, pretty well as the fancy takes us. They would never get us to join, if they wanted to get us to bind down hard and fast. Sometimes they start on an expedition fifty strong, next time perhaps not more than thirty turns up. "Is there anything to do to join the corps?" "Not much, Nat. I give you each a shilling and attest you, that is to say, swear you in to serve the king, and, in your case, give you a paper saying that you are authorized to take your discharge, whensoever it pleases you." "Very well, captain. Then on those terms we join, always understood as we don't have to put on red coats." The two men were sworn in, and then Nat, standing up, said: "And now, captain, discipline is discipline. What's your orders?" James went to the door of the tent, and called the sergeant. "Sergeant, these two men are enlisted as scouts in the corps. They will draw rations, and be a regular part of the company like the rest, but they will not wear uniform, acting only as scouts. They will have the rank and position of corporals, and will specially instruct the men in woodcraft, and in the ways of the Indians. They will, of course, occupy the tent with the non-commissioned officers, and will mess with them. Being engaged as scouts, only, they will in other respects be free from anything like strictness. I trust that you will do what you can to make them comfortable." The sergeant saluted, and led the two scouts over to the tent occupied by himself and the other non-commissioned officers, and the roars of laughter that issued from it in the course of the evening, at the anecdotes of the scouts, showed that the newcomers were likely to be highly popular characters in their mess. Chapter 13: An Abortive Attack. Three weeks passed. James kept his men steadily at work, and even the scouts allowed that they made great progress. Sometimes they went out in two parties, with an officer and a scout to each, and their pouches filled with blank cartridge. Each would do its best to surprise the other; and, when they met, a mimic fight would take place, the men sheltering behind trees, and firing only when they obtained a glimpse of an adversary. "I did not think that these pipe-clayed soldiers could have been so spry," Nat said to James. "They have picked up wonderfully, and I wouldn't mind going into an Indian fight with them. They are improving with their muskets. Their shooting yesterday wasn't bad, by no means. In three months' time, they will be as good a lot to handle as any of the companies of scouts." Besides the daily exercises, the company did scouting work at night, ten men being out, by turns, in the woods bordering the lake. At one o'clock in the morning, on the 19th of March, Nat came into the officers' tent. "Captain," he said, "get up. There's something afoot." "What is it, Nat?" James asked, as he threw off his rugs. "It's the French, at least I don't see who else it can be. It was my turn tonight to go round and look after our sentries. When I came to Jim Bryan, who was stationed just at the edge of the lake, I said to him, 'Anything new, Jim?' and he says, 'Yes; seems to me as I can hear a hammering in the woods.' I listens, and sure enough axes were going. It may be some three miles down. The night is still, and the ice brought the sound. "'That's one for you, Jim,' says I. 'Them's axes sure enough.' I stands and looks, and then a long way down the lake on the left I sees a faint glare. They had had the sense to light the fires where we couldn't see them; but there were the lights, sure enough. It's the French, captain, the redskins would never have made fires like that, and if it had been a party of our scouts, they would have come on here, and not halted an hour's tramp away. "You had best get the troops under arms, captain. Who would have thought they would have been such fools as to light their fires within sight of the fort!" James at once went to Major Eyre's quarters, and aroused him, and in a few minutes the garrison were all under arms. Their strength, including James Walsham's corps, and some scouts of the company of John Stark, numbered three hundred and forty-six men, besides which there were a hundred and twenty-eight invalids in hospital. Two hours passed, and then a confused sound, as of a great body of men moving on the ice, was heard. The ice was bare of snow, and nothing could be seen, but the cannon on the side facing the lake at once opened fire, with grape and round shot, in the direction of the sound. After firing for a few minutes, they were silent. The sound on the ice could no longer be heard. "They have taken to the woods," Nat, who had taken up his station next to James Walsham, said. "It ain't likely they would stop on the ice with the balls pounding it up." "Do you think they will attack before morning?" James asked. "It ain't likely," Nat replied. "They won't know the positions, and, such a dark night as this, they wouldn't be able to make out anything about them. If they could have come straight along the ice to the head of the lake here, they would have made a dash, no doubt; but now they find we ain't to be caught asleep, I expect they will wait till morning." Again the sound of axes was heard in the wood, and the glare of light appeared above the trees. "There must be a tidy lot of 'em," Nat said. "Do you think it will be any use to go out and try to surprise them?" "Not a bit, captain. They are sure to have a lot of redskins with them, and they will be lurking in the woods, in hopes that we may try such a move. No; we have got a strong position here, and can lick them three to one; but in the woods, except Stark's men, and perhaps yours, none of the others wouldn't be no good at all." Mayor Eyre, shortly afterwards, sent for James, who gave him the opinion of the scout, and the major then ordered the troops to get under shelter again, leaving Stark's men to act as sentries, for the night was bitterly cold. It was not until ten o'clock next day that the French appeared, and, surrounding the fort on all sides, except on that of the lake, opened heavy musketry fire upon it. They were a formidable body. Vaudreuil, the governor of Canada, had spared no pains to make the blow a successful one. The force had been assembled at Crown Point, and numbered sixteen hundred regulars, Canadians, and Indians. Everything needful for their comfort had been provided--overcoats, blankets, bear skins to sleep on, and tarpaulins to cover them. They had been provided with twelve days' provisions, which were placed on hand sledges and drawn by the troops. They marched, over the ice of Lake Champlain, down to Ticonderoga, where they rested a week, and constructed three hundred scaling ladders. Three days' further march, up Lake George, brought them to the English fort. The weak point of the expedition was its leader, for Vaudreuil, who was himself a Canadian, had the greatest jealousy of the French officers, and had intrusted the command of the expedition to his brother, Rigaud. The fire did no damage, as the garrison lay sheltered behind their entrenchments, replying occasionally whenever the enemy mustered in force, as if with an intention of attacking. "I don't think they mean business, this time, captain," Nat said in a tone of disgust. "Why, there are enough of them to eat us, if they could but make up their minds to come on. They don't suppose they are going to take William Henry by blazing a way at it half a mile off!" "Perhaps they are going to make a night attack," James said. "They will have learned all about the position of our works." "Maybe so," Nat replied; "but I don't think so. When chaps don't attack at once, when there are four or five to one, I reckon that they ain't likely to attack at all. They meant to surprise us, and they haven't, and it seems to me as it has taken all the heart out of them." As evening approached, the fire ceased. At nightfall, strong guards were placed round the entrenchments, and the troops retired to their quarters, ready to turn out at a minute's notice. About midnight they were called out. There was again a sound on the lake. The cannon at once opened, and, as before, all was silent again. "Look, Walsham, look!" Edwards exclaimed. "They have set fire to the sloops." As he spoke, a tongue of flame started up from one of the two vessels lying in the ice, close to the shore, and, almost simultaneously, flames shot up from among the boats drawn up on the beach. "That's redskin work," Nat exclaimed. "Come, lads," James cried, leaping down from the low earthwork into the ditch. "Let us save the boats, if we can." The scouts followed him and ran down to the shore; but the Indians had done their work well. The two sloops, and many of the boats, were well alight, and it was evident at once that, long before a hole could be broken through the ice, and buckets brought down from the fort, they would be beyond all hopes of saving them. The French, too, opened fire from the woods bordering the lake, and, as the light of the flames exposed his men to the enemy's marksmen, James at once called them back to the fort, and the sloops and boats burned themselves out. At noon, next day, the French filed out from the woods on to the ice, at a distance of over a mile. "What now?" Edwards exclaimed. "They surely don't mean to be fools enough to march across the ice to attack us in broad daylight." "It looks to me," James replied, "as if they wanted to make a full show of their force. See, there is a white flag, and a party are coming forward." An officer and several men advanced towards the fort, and Major Eyre sent out one of his officers, with an equal number of men, to meet them. There was a short parley when the parties came together, and then the French officer advanced towards the fort with the English, his followers remaining on the ice. On nearing the fort, the French officer, Le Mercier, chief of the Canadian artillery, was blindfolded, and led to the room where Major Eyre, with all the British officers, was awaiting him. The handkerchief was then removed from his eyes, and he announced to the commandant that he was the bearer of a message from the officer commanding the French force, who, being desirous of avoiding an effusion of blood, begged the English commander to abstain from resistance, which, against a force so superior to his own, could but be useless. He offered the most favourable terms, if he would surrender the place peaceably, but said that if he were driven to make an assault, his Indian allies would unquestionably massacre the whole garrison. Major Eyre quietly replied that he intended to defend himself to the utmost. The envoy was again blindfolded. When he rejoined the French force, the latter at once advanced as if to attack the place, but soon halted, and, leaving the ice, opened a fusillade from the border of the woods, which they kept up for some hours, the garrison contemptuously abstaining from any reply. At night, the French were heard advancing again, the sound coming from all sides. The garrison stood to their arms, believing that this time the real attack was about to be made. Nearer and nearer came the sound, and the garrison, who could see nothing in the pitchy darkness, fired wherever they could hear a sound. Presently a bright light burst up. The redskins, provided with faggots of resinous sticks, had crept up towards some buildings, consisting of several store houses, a hospital, and saw mill, and the huts and tents of the rangers, and, having placed their torches against them, set them on fire and instantly retreated. The garrison could do nothing to save the buildings, as their efforts, in the absence of water, must be unavailing, and they would have been shot down by the foe lying beyond the circle of light. They therefore remained lying behind the entrenchment, firing wherever they heard the slightest sound, and momentarily expecting an attack; but morning came without the French advancing, and the garrison were then able to give their whole attention to saving the buildings in the fort. Some great wood stacks had now ignited, and the burning embers fell thickly on the huts, and for some hours it was only by the greatest exertions that the troops were able to save the buildings from destruction. Every moment they expected to be attacked, for, had the French advanced, the huts must have been left to themselves, in which case the garrison would have found themselves shelterless, and all their provisions and stores would have been consumed; but before noon the danger was over, for not only had the fires begun to burn low, but a heavy snow storm set in. All day it continued. "Now would be the time for them to attack," James Walsham said to his lieutenant. "We can scarce see twenty yards away." "Now is their chance," Edwards agreed; "but I don't believe in their attacking. I can't think who they have got in command. He ought to be shot, a man with such a force as he has, hanging about here for four days when he could have carried the place, with a rush, any moment." "No, I don't think they will attack," James replied. "Men who will stop to light a fire to warm themselves, within sight of an enemy's fort they want to surprise, are not likely to venture out of shelter of their blankets in such a snow as this." All day and all night the snow came down, till the ground was covered to a depth of over three feet. Early on Tuesday morning, twenty volunteers of the French regulars made a bold attempt to burn a sloop building on the stocks, with several storehouses and other structures near the water, and some hundreds of boats and canoes which were ranged near them. They succeeded in firing the sloop, and some buildings, but James, with his scouts, sallied out and forced them to retreat, with the loss of five of their number; and, by pulling down some of the huts, prevented the fire spreading. Next morning the sun rose brightly, and the white sheet of the lake was dotted with the French, in full retreat for Canada. Their total loss had been eleven killed and wounded, while, on the English side, seven men had been wounded, all slightly. Never was a worse conducted or more futile expedition. After this affair, the time passed slowly at Fort William Henry. Until the sun gained strength enough to melt the thick white covering of the earth, James practised his men in the use of snowshoes, and, as soon as spring had fairly commenced, resumed the work of scouting. This was done only as an exercise, for there was no fear that, after such a humiliating failure, the French would, for some time to come, attempt another expedition against the fort. In the autumn of 1756, General Montcalm had come out from France to take the command of the French troops. Few of the superior officers of the French army cared to take the command, in a country where the work was hard and rough, and little glory was to be obtained. Therefore the minister of war was able, for once, to choose an officer fitted for the post, instead of being obliged, as usual, to fill up the appointment by a court favourite. The Marquis of Montcalm was born at the chateau of Candiac, near Nimes, on the 29th of February, 1712. At the age of fifteen, up to which time he had studied hard, he entered the army. Two years later he became a captain, and was first under fire at the siege of Philipsbourg. In 1736 he married Mademoiselle Du Boulay, who brought him influential connections and some property. In 1741 Montcalm took part in the campaign in Bohemia. Two years later he was made colonel, and passed unharmed through the severe campaign of 1744. In the following year he fought in the campaign in Italy, and, in 1746, was wounded at the disastrous action at Piacenza, where he twice rallied his regiment, received five sabre cuts, and was made prisoner. He was soon liberated on parole, and was promoted, in the following year, to the rank of brigadier general, and, being exchanged for an officer of similar rank, rejoined the army, and was again wounded by a musket shot. Shortly afterwards the peace of Aix la Chapelle was signed, and Montcalm remained living quietly with his family, to whom he was tenderly attached, until informed, by the minister of war, that he had selected him to command the troops in North America, with the rank of major general. The Chevalier de Levis was appointed second in command. No sooner did Montcalm arrive in America, than difficulties arose between him and the Marquis de Vaudreuil, the governor, who had hoped to have himself received the appointment of commander of the French forces, and who, in virtue of his office, commanded the Canadian militia. From first to last this man opposed and thwarted Montcalm, doing all in his power to injure him, by reports to France in his disfavour. The misfortunes which befell France during the war were, in no slight degree, due to this divided authority, and to the obstacles thrown in the way of Montcalm by the governor. Montcalm's first blow against the English was struck in August, 1756, six months before the attack on Fort William Henry, which had been arranged by Vaudreuil. Three battalions of regular troops, with 700 Canadians and 250 Indians, with a strong force of artillery, were quietly concentrated at Fort Frontenac, and were intended for an attack upon the important English post of Oswego. Fighting had been going on in this neighbourhood for some time, and it was from Oswego that Shirley had intended to act against Niagara and Frontenac. That enterprise had fallen through, owing to Shirley having been deprived of the command; but a sharp fight had taken place between Colonel Bradstreet and his armed boatmen, and 1100 French, who were beaten off. Oswego was a place of extreme importance. It was the only English post on Ontario, situated as it was towards the southwest corner of the lake. So long as it remained in their possession, it was a standing menace against the whole line of communications of the French with the south. Owing to gross neglect, the fort had never been placed in a really defensive condition. The garrison was small, and crippled with the fever, which had carried off great numbers of them. The remainder were ill fed and discontented. On the 12th of August, the Earl of London sent Colonel Webb, with the 44th Regiment and some of Bradstreet's boatmen, to reinforce Oswego. They should have started a month before, and, had they done so, would have been in time; but confusion and misunderstanding had arisen from a change in command. Webb had scarcely made half his march, when tidings of the disaster met him, and he at once fell back with the greatest precipitation. At midnight on the 10th, Montcalm had landed his force within half a league of the first English fort. Four cannon were at once landed, and a battery thrown up, and so careless of danger were the garrison, that it was not till the morning that the invaders were discovered. Two armed vessels at once sailed down to cannonade them; but their light guns were no match for the heavy artillery of the French, and they were forced to retire. The attack was commenced without delay. The Indians and Canadians, swarming in the forest round the fort, kept up a hot fire upon it. By nightfall the first parallel was marked out at 180 yards from the rampart. Fort Ontario, considered the strongest of the three forts at Oswego, stood on a high plateau on the right side of the river, where it entered the lake. It was in the shape of a star, and formed of a palisade of trunks of trees set upright in the ground, hewn flat on both sides, and closely fitted together--an excellent defence against musketry, but worthless against artillery. The garrison of the fort, 370 in number, had eight small cannon and a mortar, with which, all next day, they kept up a brisk fire against the battery which the French were throwing up, and arming with twenty-six pieces of heavy artillery. Colonel Mercer, the commandant of Oswego, saw at once that the French artillery would, as soon as they opened fire, blow the stockade into pieces, and thinking it better to lose the fort, alone, than the fort and its garrison, he sent boats across the river after nightfall, and the garrison, having spiked their guns, and thrown their ammunition into the well, crossed the river, unperceived by the French. But Oswego was in no position for defence. Fort Pepperell stood on the mouth of the river, facing Fort Ontario. Towards the west and south the place was protected by an outer line of earthworks, mounted with cannon, but the side facing the river was wholly exposed, in the belief that Fort Ontario would prevent any attack in this direction. Montcalm lost no time. The next evening, his whole force set to work throwing up a battery, at the edge of the rising ground on which Fort Ontario stood, and, by daybreak, twenty heavy guns were in position, and at once opened fire. The grape and round shot swept the English position, smashing down the mud-built walls, crashing through the stockades, and carrying destruction among the troops. The latter made a shelter of pork barrels, three high and three deep, and planted cannon behind them, and returned the enemy's fire; but the Canadians and Indians had crossed the river, by a ford two miles up, and soon opened fire from all sides. Colonel Mercer, who had bravely led his men, and inspired them by his example, was cut in two by a cannon shot, and the garrison were seized with despair. A council of officers was held, and the garrison surrendered as prisoners of war, to the number of sixteen hundred, which included sick, the sailors belonging to the shipping, labourers, and upwards of a hundred women. Montcalm had the greatest difficulty in preventing the Indians, by means of threats, promises, and presents, from massacring the prisoners. Oswego was burned to the ground, the forts and vessels on the stocks destroyed, and, the place having been made a desert, the army returned with their prisoners and spoil to Montreal. The loss of Oswego had inflicted a very severe blow to the influence and prestige of England, among the Indians of the lake districts, but this was partly restored by the failure of the French expedition against William Henry, early in the following spring. The expedition against Louisbourg, to strengthen which the western frontier had been denuded of troops, proved a failure. A great delay had taken place at home, in consequence of ministerial changes, and it was not until the 5th of May that fifteen ships of the line and three frigates, under Admiral Holbourne, with 5000 troops on board, sailed from England for Halifax, where Loudon was to meet him with the forces from the colony. But, while the English fleet had been delaying, the French government had obtained information of its destination, and had sent three French squadrons across the Atlantic to Louisbourg. It was the 10th of July before the united English force assembled at Halifax, and there fresh delays arose. The troops, nearly twelve thousand in number, were landed, and weeks were spent in idle drill. At the beginning of August the forces were again embarked, when a sloop came in from Newfoundland, bringing letters which had been captured on board a French ship. From these, it appeared that there were twenty-two ships of the line, besides several frigates, in the harbour of Louisbourg, and that 7000 troops were in garrison, in what was by far the strongest fortress on the continent. Success was now impossible, and the enterprise was abandoned. Loudon, with his troops, sailed back to New York; and Admiral Holbourne, who had been joined by four additional ships, sailed for Louisbourg, in hopes that the French fleet would come out and fight him. He cruised for some time off the port, but Lamotte, the French admiral, would not come out. In September, a tremendous gale burst upon the British fleet: one ship was dashed on the rocks, a short distance from Louisbourg, and only a sudden shift of the wind saved the rest from a total destruction. Nine were dismasted, and others threw their cannon into the sea. Had Lamotte sailed out on the following day, the English fleet was at his mercy. Fortunately he did not do so, and Holbourne returned to England. The French in Canada were aware that Loudon had gathered all his troops at New York, and was preparing for an expedition, which was to be aided by a fleet from England; but, thinking it probable that it was directed against Quebec, the most vital point in Canada, since its occupation by the English would entirely cut the colony off from France, Montcalm was obliged to keep his forces in hand near that town, and was unable to take advantage of the unprotected state in which Loudon had left the frontier of the colonies. As soon, however, as, by despatch received from France, and by the statements of prisoners captured by the Indians on the frontier, Montcalm learned that the expedition, which had just left New York, was destined for Louisbourg, he was at liberty to utilize his army for the invasion of the defenceless colonies, and he determined to commence the campaign by the capture of Fort William Henry. James Walsham, with his company of Royal Scouts, had spent the spring at Fort William Henry. Loudon had, at first, sent an order for the corps to be broken up, and the men to rejoin their respective regiments, and to accompany them on the expedition; but the earnest representations of Colonel Monro of the 35th Regiment, who was now in command, of the total inadequacy of the garrison to defend itself, should a serious attack be made from Ticonderoga; and of the great value to him of the corps under Captain Walsham, which was now thoroughly trained in forest fighting, induced him to countermand the order. James was glad that he was not obliged to rejoin his regiment. The independent command was a pleasant one, and although life at Fort William Henry had, since the French repulse, been an uneventful one, there was plenty of fishing in the lake, and shooting in the woods, to vary the monotony of drill. He and Edwards were now both expert canoemen, and often ventured far down the lake, taking with them one or other of the scouts, and keeping a sharp lookout among the woods on either side for signs of the enemy. Once or twice they were chased by Indian canoes, but always succeeded in distancing them. "The news has just come in that the expedition has sailed," James said as he one day, towards the end of July, entered the hut which he now occupied with Edwards; for the corps had long since been put under huts, these being better suited for the hot season than tents. "It is rather a nuisance," Edwards grumbled, "being kept here, instead of going and taking share in a big siege." "Don't be impatient, Edwards," James replied. "If I am not greatly mistaken, you will have quite as much fighting as you want here before long. Montcalm's sudden attack on Oswego last autumn showed that he is an enterprising general, and I have no doubt that, as soon as he learns that Loudon's expedition is not intended for Quebec, he will be beating us up on the frontier with a vengeance." Montcalm, indeed, had already prepared to strike a blow. A thousand Indians, lured by the prospect of gifts, scalps, and plunder, had come in from the west and north, and were encamped near Montreal; and, besides these, there were the Mission Indians, and those of the Five Nations who adhered to France. Early in July, the movement began. Day after day, fleets of boats and canoes rowed up Lake Champlain, and, towards the end of the month, the whole force was gathered at Ticonderoga. Here were now collected eight thousand men, of whom two thousand were Indians, representing forty-one tribes and sub-tribes: among them were Iroquois, Hurons, Nipissings, Abenakis, Algonkins, Micmacs, and Malecites. These were all nominal Christians, and counted eight hundred warriors. With them were the western Indians: Ojibwas, Mississagas, Pottawattamies, Menomonies, Sacs, Foxes, Winnebagoes, Miamis, and Iowas. These were still unconverted. The French held these savage allies in abhorrence. Their drunkenness, their turbulence, their contempt of all orders, their cruelty to their captives, and their cannibalism, disgusted and shocked Montcalm and his officers; but they were powerless to restrain them, for without them as scouts, guides, and eyes in the forests, the French could have done nothing, and, at the slightest remonstrance, the Indians were ready to take offence, and to march away to their distant homes. The letters of Montcalm and his officers, to their friends, were full of disgust at the doings of their savage allies, and of regret that they could not dispense with their services, or restrain their ferocity. Vaudreuil and the Canadians, on the other hand, accustomed to the traditions of savage warfare, made no attempt whatever to check the ferocity of the Indians, and were, indeed, the instigators of the raids which the savages made upon the unprotected villages and settlements on the frontier; offered rewards for scalps, and wrote and talked gleefully of the horrible atrocities committed upon the colonists. Chapter 14: Scouting On Lake Champlain. One morning, Colonel Monro sent for James. "Captain Walsham," he said, "there are rumours that the French are gathering at Crown Point in considerable force. Captain Rogers is still disabled by his wound, and his band have suffered so heavily, in their last affair with the enemy, that for the time they are out of action. It is important that I should learn the truth of these rumours, for, if they be true, I must communicate at once to the general, in order that he may get together a sufficient force to relieve us, if Montcalm comes down and lays siege to the fort. Will you undertake the business?" "I will do my best, sir," James replied. "Do you propose that I should take all my company, or only a picked party?" "That I will leave to you, Captain Walsham. I want trustworthy news, and how you obtain it for me matters little." "Then I will take only a small party," James said. "Fifty men would be useless, for purposes of fighting, if the enemy are numerous, while with such a number it would be hopeless to attempt to escape detection by the Indians. The fewer the better for such an enterprise." On leaving the commandant, James at once summoned the two hunters to his hut, and told them the mission he had received. "I am ready, captain, that is if you, and I, and Jonathan makes up the party. As to going trapezing about round Crown Point with fifty soldiers, the thing ain't to be thought of. We should be there no more than half an hour before the Indians would know of it, and we should have no show either for fighting or running away. No, captain, the lads are good enough for scouting about round camp here; but, as for an expedition of that sort, we might as well start with a drove of swine." "That is just what I thought, Nat. One canoe may escape even the eyes of the Indians, but a dozen would have no chance of doing so." "We might get up the lakes," the scout said; "but the mischief would be in the woods. No, it never would do, captain. If we goes, it must be the three of us and no more. When do you think of starting?" "The sooner the better, Nat." "Very well, captain, I will go and get some grub ready, and, as soon as it gets dusk, we will get the canoe into the water." "I suppose you can't take me with you?" Lieutenant Edwards said, when James told him of the duty he had been requested to perform. "It is dismal here." "Not exactly," James laughed. "What would become of the company, if it were to lose its two officers and its two scouts at a blow! No, Edwards, you will command during my absence, and I think you will soon have more lively times here, for, if it be true that Montcalm will himself command the troops coming against us, it will be a different business altogether from the last. And now, leave me alone for an hour. I have some letters to write before I start. They will be for you to send off, in case we don't come back again. "Don't look serious, I have no intention of falling into the hands of Montcalm's savages. Still, there is no doubt the expedition is a risky one, and it is just as well to be prepared." Just as the sun was setting, Nat came into the officer's hut. "Everything is ready, captain," he said. "I hope you have made a good dinner, for it's the last hot meal you will eat, till you get back. I have cooked enough meat for the next four days, and that's about as long as it will keep good; after that, dried deer's flesh will have to do for us. "I expect, I tell you, we shall have to be pretty spry this time. If they are coming down in force, they are sure to send a lot of their Indians through the woods on each side of the lake, and the water will be swarming with their canoes. Jonathan and I have been talking it over, and trying to settle which would be the safest, to foot it all the way, or to go by water. We concluded, as there ain't much difference, and the canoe will be the quickest and easiest, so we had best keep to that plan." "I would certainly rather go that way, Nat, if you think that the danger is no greater." "No, I don't think there's much difference, captain. At any rate, we may as well go that way. Like enough, we shall have to tramp back by the woods." Half an hour later, the canoe put out. Although they had little fear that any of the Indian canoes would be so far up Lake George, there was scarce a word spoken in the boat for some hours after starting. Jonathan was always silent, and Nat, although talkative enough when in camp, was a man of few words when once embarked upon a serious expedition. As for James, he had little inclination for conversation. The enterprise was, he knew, one of extreme danger. Had it been only a French force he was about to reconnoitre, or even one composed of French and Canadians together, he would have thought little of it; but he knew that the redskins would be roaming thickly in the forest, ahead of the army, and, much as he relied upon the skill and experience of the two scouts, he knew it would be difficult, indeed, to elude their watchful eyes. He thought of the letters he had been writing, and wondered whether he should return to tear them up, or whether they would be read at home. All the time he was thinking, he worked his paddle vigorously, and at a high rate of speed. The light canoe bounded noiselessly over the water, impelled by three vigorous pairs of arms. When they approached the narrows connecting Lake George with Lake Champlain, the boat's head was directed towards the shore, for they could not get past Ticonderoga before daylight broke; and it was likely that a good watch would be kept, in the narrows, by the enemy; and it would be dangerous to try to effect a landing there. The canoe was carried ashore, and hidden in some bushes, and all lay down to sleep. When day broke, Nat rose and went down to the water to see that, in landing, they had left no mark upon the shore, which might betray them to the eye of a passing redskin. Going down on his hands and knees, he obliterated every sign of their footprints, raised the herbage upon which they had trodden, cut short to the ground such stalks as they had bruised or broken in their passage, and then, when confident that all was safe, he returned to his camp. When it again became dark, the canoe was carried down and replaced in the water, and they continued their passage. James had, at Nat's request, laid by his paddle. "You paddle wonderfully well, captain. I don't say you don't; but for a delicate piece of work like this, one can't be too careful. It ain't often I can hear your paddle dip in the water, not once in a hundred times, but then, you see, that once might cost us our scalps. We have got to go along as silent as a duck swimming. Speed ain't no object, for we shall be miles down Lake Champlain before daylight; but, if the French know their business, they will have half a dozen canoes in these narrows, to prevent us scouting on Lake Champlain; and, you see, they have got all the advantage of us, 'cause they've got just to lie quiet and listen, and we have got to row on. As far as seeing goes, I can make them out as soon as they can make us out; but they can hear us, while they won't give our ears a chance. "I tell you, captain, I don't expect to get through this narrows without a chase for it. If it come to running, of course you will take your paddle again, and we three can show our heels to any canoe on the lakes, perviding of course as it's only a starn chase. If there are three or four of them, then I don't say as it won't be a close thing." James accordingly lay quietly back in the boat, while his companions took the paddles. It was not necessary for him either to look out, or to listen, for he knew that his companions' eyes and ears were quicker than his own. It had been agreed, before starting, that they should go along close to the trees, on the left-hand side of the passage, because the keenest lookout would be kept on the right-hand side, as that would naturally be chosen by any boat going up, as being farthest from the French fort. "There is no fear, whatever, of our being seen from the land," Nat had said. "The redskins would know that so well that they wouldn't trouble to look out. It's only canoes we have got to be afraid of, and, as to them, it's just a chance. They might see us out in the light waters, in the middle; but, under the trees, they can't make us out thirty yards off. They will be lying there, quiet, if they are there at all, and we shall either get past them safe, or we shall pretty nigh run into them. It's just chance, and there's nothing to do for it but to paddle as noiselessly as fish, and trust to our luck." Having crossed the lake to the left shore, they entered the narrows. The paddles were dipped so quietly into the water, that even James could scarcely hear their sound. Every few strokes the scouts stopped paddling altogether, and sat listening intently. They were keeping close to the trees, so close that, at times, it seemed to James that, by stretching out his hands, he could touch the bushes. After an hour's paddling they stopped longer than usual. "What is it?" James whispered in Jonathan's ear, for Nat had taken the bow paddle. "There are men ahead," the scout whispered back. "We heard them speak just now." Presently the boat began to move again, but so quietly, that it was only by looking at the dark masses of the boughs, that stretched out overhead, that James knew the boat was in motion. Jonathan now crouched in the bottom of the boat, and placed his hand on Nat's shoulder as a sign for him to do the same. The time seemed endless to James, as he lay there. It was too dark, under the trees, for him even to see the outline of Nat's figure. The boat was, he was sure, moving; for occasionally, as he lay on his back, it grew lighter overhead, as they passed under openings in the trees. Suddenly his heart gave a bound, and he nearly started, for a guttural voice spoke, seemingly within a few feet of the canoe. He placed his hand on his rifle, in readiness to sit up and fire, but all was still again. It was a passing remark, made by one redskin to another; in a canoe, for the sound was to his right. Another long period passed, and then Jonathan sat up and took to his paddle again, and James judged that the danger was over. Raising his head, he could see nothing except the vague light of the sheet of water on his right. The boat was still keeping close under the trees, on the left shore of the lake, and he lay back again, and dozed off to sleep. He was awoke by Jonathan touching his foot. "You can take your paddle now, captain." He sat up at once, and looked round. They were far out now, on a broad sheet of water. There were some faint lights, as of fires burning low, high up to the left behind them; and he knew that they had already passed Ticonderoga, and were making their way along Lake Champlain. They paddled for some hours, and then landed on the right-hand side of the lake. "We are not likely to be disturbed here," Nat said, as they lifted the canoe from the water. "The Indians, coming down from Crown Point, would keep on the other side of the lake. They will all make for Ticonderoga, and will not think of keeping a lookout for anyone, as far down the lakes as this." "That was a close shave with that canoe, Nat. It startled me, when I heard the voice close to us. They must have been within ten yards of us." "About that," Nat said. "It was lucky they spoke when we were coming along. I expect they had been watching for some nights, and hadn't much idea anyone would come, or else they wouldn't have spoken. As it was, it was easy enough to pass them, on such a dark night. Of course, they were looking outside, and I just kept along as close as I could to the bushes, only just giving a light stroke, now and then, to take her along. Being inside them, I got a sight of 'em some distance away, but I knew they couldn't see us, sharp as their eyes are. The only chance was their hearing, and, as there was no noise for them to hear, I felt safe enough after I had once caught sight of 'em, and saw they were lying out at the edge of the shadow. "If they had been close under the bushes, as they ought to have been, we should have been in for a fight; for we mightn't have seen each other till the boats touched. Let that be a lesson to you, captain. When you are on the lookout for a canoe, at night, lie in among the bushes. It must pass between you and the light, then, and as they can't see you, you can either grapple or shoot, just as you like. "If they had a seen us, we should have had a hot time, for I could hear by their calls, right along the other side, that they were looking out for us in earnest, and, if a rifle had been fired, we should have had half a dozen canoes down upon us in no time; and, like enough, should have had to leave the boat, and take to the woods." "How far is Crown Point away?" "Not more than ten miles," Nat said. "It is thirty miles from Ticonderoga. It lies out on a point, just where Champlain widens out. I reckon our safest way, tonight, will be to scout along this side, till we are well past the point; then to paddle out well across the lake, and come up again, and land to the left of Crown Point. We shall then be in the track of boats coming up from the lower end of the lake, and can paddle boldly on. No one would be keeping any lookout that way. Our danger won't begin until we get ashore; in course, then we must act according to sarcumstances." This manoeuvre was carried out. They started as soon as it became dark, and, after paddling along the eastern shore for nearly three hours, struck out into the wide lake till they approached the opposite shore, and then, heading south again, paddled boldly down towards the spot where, at the end of a sweep of land, which seemed to close in the lake, stood the French fort of Crown Point. Before starting, the two scouts had stripped to the waist, had laid aside their caps, and, fastening a strip of leather round their heads, had stuck some feathers into it. They then painted their faces and bodies. "You needn't be particular about the flourishes, Jonathan. It's only the redskin outline as one wants to get. If we run against any other canoes coming up the lake, or they get sight of us as we near the shore; so as we look something like redskins, that's near enough. Of course, we can both speak Mohawk well enough to pass muster, and the captain will lay himself down in the bottom. "Captain, you will do well enough for a Canadian when we have once landed. There ain't much difference between a hunter one side of the frontier and the other, but it's as well that you shouldn't be seen till we land. The less questions asked, the better. Our Mohawk's good enough with any of the other tribes, but it wouldn't pass with a Mohawk, if we got into a long talk with him." Fortunately, however, these precautions proved unnecessary. No other canoes were seen on the lake, and they landed, unnoticed, at a spot a mile and a half to the west of Crown Point. Before starting from Fort William Henry, James had laid aside his uniform, and had dressed himself in hunting shirt and leggings, similar to those worn by the scouts. He had adopted various little details, in which the Canadian hunters differed from those on the English side of the frontier. The latter wore their hunting shirts loose in Indian fashion, while the Canadians generally wore a leathern belt outside theirs, at the waist. His cap was made of squirrels' skins, which would pass equally well on both sides of the frontier. The fire bag, in which tobacco, tinder, and other small matters were carried, was of Indian workmanship, as was the cord of his powder horn and bullet pouch. Altogether, his get-up was somewhat brighter and more picturesque than that of English scouts, who, as a rule, despised anything approaching to ornament. He knew that by disguising himself he would be liable, if captured, to be shot at once as a spy; but this could not be considered, under the circumstances, to add to the risk he ran, for, in any case, he was certain to be killed if detected, and it would have been out of the question to attempt to approach the French camp in the uniform of a British officer. Could he have spoken Canadian French, the mission would have been comparatively easy, but he knew only a few words of the language, and would be detected the instant he opened his lips. The canoe was hauled up and carefully concealed on land, and then they lay down until daylight; for no information, as to the strength of the enemy, could be gained in the dark. In the morning, the two scouts very carefully made their toilet. They had brought all necessaries with them; and soon, in their Indian hunting shirts and fringed leggings, and with carefully-painted faces, they were in a position to defy the keenest scrutiny. When, after a careful survey of each other, they felt that their disguise was complete, they moved boldly forward, accompanied by James. After half an hour's walking they emerged from the forest, and the strong fort of Crown Point lay before them. It was constructed of stone, and was capable of withstanding a long siege, by any force which could be brought against it. Round it was the camp of the French troops, and James judged, from the number of tents, that there must be some 1500 French soldiers there. A short distance away were a large number of roughly-constructed huts, roofed with boughs of trees. "Them's the Canadians," Jonathan said. "The redskins never build shelters while on the war path. There are a heap of redskins about." These, indeed, even at the distance of several hundred yards, could be easily distinguished from their white allies, by their plumed headdresses, and by the blankets or long robes of skins which hung from their shoulders. "I should put them down at three thousand." "It is a big army," Nat said. "I should think there must be quite as many Canadians as French. How many redskins there are, there ain't no knowing, but we may be sure that they will have got together as many as they could. Put 'em down at 4000, and that makes 7000 altogether, enough to eat up Fort William Henry, and to march to Albany--or to New York, if they are well led and take fancy to it--that is, if the colonists don't bestir themselves smartly. "Well, so far you have found out what you came to seek, captain. What's the next thing?" "We must discover, if we can, whether they mean to go up the lakes in boats, or to march through the woods," James replied. "They will have a tremendous job getting any guns through the woods, but, if they are going by water, of course they can bring them." "Very well," Nat replied. "In that case, captain, my advice is, you stop in the woods, and Jonathan and I will go down past the fort to the shore, and see what provision they are making in that way. You see, the place swarms with Canadians, and you would be sure to be spoken to. Redskins don't talk much to each other, unless there is some need for words, and we can go right through the French camp without fear. The only danger is of some loping Mohawk coming up to us, and I don't reckon there are many of 'em in the camp, perhaps nary a one." Although James did not like his followers to go into danger, without his sharing it, he saw that his presence would enormously add to their risks, and therefore agreed to their plan. Withdrawing some distance into the wood, and choosing a thick growth of underwood, he entered, and lay down in the bushes, while the two scouts walked quietly away towards the camp. Two hours passed. Several times he heard footsteps in the wood near him, and, peering through the leaves, caught sight of parties of Indians going towards the camp, either late arrivals from Montreal, or bands that had been out scouting or hunting. At the end of the two hours, to his great relief, he saw two figures coming from the other way through the woods, and at once recognized the scouts. He crawled out and joined them, as they came up. "Thank God you are back again! I have been in a fever, all the time you have been away." "I wish I had known the precise place where you were hiding. I should have made a sign to you to keep quiet; but it ain't of no use, now." "What's the matter then, Nat?" "I ain't quite sure as anything is the matter," the scout replied; "but I am feared of it. As bad luck would have it, just as we were coming back through the camp, we came upon a Mohawk chief. He looked hard at us, and then came up and said: "'The Owl thought that he knew all his brothers; but here are two whose faces are strange to him.' "Of course, I told him that we had been living and hunting, for years, in the English colony, but that, hearing that the Mohawks had joined the French, we had come to fight beside our brothers. He asked a few questions, and then passed on. But I could see the varmin was not satisfied, though, in course, he pretended to be glad to welcome us back to the tribe. So we hung about the camp for another half hour, and then made a sweep before we came out here. I didn't look round, but Jonathan stooped, as if the lace of his moccasin had come undone, and managed to look back, but, in course, he didn't see anything." "Then you have no reason to believe you are followed, Nat?" "Don't I tell you I have every reason?" Nat said. "If that redskin, the Owl, has got any suspicion--and suspicion you may be sure he's got--he won't rest till he's cleared the matter up. He is after us, sure enough." "Then had we not better make for the canoe at full speed?" "No," Nat said. "If they are behind us, they will be watching our trail; and if they see we change our pace, they will be after us like a pack of wolves; while, as long as we walk slowly and carelessly, they will let us go. If it were dark, we might make a run for it, but there ain't no chance at present. If we took to the lake, we should have a hundred canoes after us, while the woods are full of Indians, and a whoop of the Owl would bring a hundred of them down onto our track." "Why shouldn't the Owl have denounced you at once, if he suspected you?" James asked. "Because it ain't redskin nature to do anything, till you are sure," the scout replied. "There is nothing a redskin hates so much as to be wrong, and he would rather wait, for weeks, to make sure of a thing, than run the risk of making a mistake. I don't suppose he takes us for whites. He expects we belong to some other tribe, come in as spies." "Then what are you thinking of doing?" James asked. "We will go on a bit further," Nat said, "in hopes of coming across some stream, where we may hide our trail. If we can't find that, we will sit down, before long, and eat as if we was careless and in no hurry." For a time, they walked on in silence. "Do you think they are close to us?" James asked, presently. "Not far away," the scout said carelessly. "So long as they see we ain't hurrying, they will go easy. They will know, by this time, that we have a white man with us, and, like enough, the Owl will have sent back for one or two more of his warriors. Likely enough, he only took one with him, at first, seeing we were but two, and that he reckoned on taking us by surprise; but, when he saw you joined us, he would send back for perhaps a couple more." "Then what I would suggest," James said, "is, that we should at once stroll down to our canoe, put it in the water, and paddle out a few hundred yards, and there let down the lines we have got on board, and begin to fish. As long as we are quiet there, the redskins may not interfere with us, and, when it gets dark, we can make off. At the worst, we have a chance for it, and it seems to me anything would be better than this sort of wandering about, when we know that, at any time, we may have them down upon us." "Perhaps that is the best plan," Nat said. "What do you think, Jonathan?" Jonathan gave an assenting grunt, and they turned their faces towards the lake, still walking at the same leisurely pace. Not once did any of the three look back. As they neared the water, James found the temptation very strong to do so, but he restrained it, and sauntered along as carelessly as ever. The canoe was lifted from its hiding place and put in the water. As they were about to step in, the bushes parted, and the Owl stood beside them. "Where are my brothers going?" he asked quietly. "We are going fishing," Nat answered. "The noise in the woods will have frightened game away." "There is food in the camp," the Owl said. "The French give food to their brothers, the redskins." "My white brother wants fish," Nat said quietly, "and we have told him we will catch him some. Will the Owl go with us?" The Indian shook his head, and in a moment the canoe put off from the shore, the Indian standing, watching them, at the edge of the water. "That's a badly puzzled redskin," Nat said, with a low laugh. "His braves have not come up yet, or he would not have let us start. "There, that is far enough. We are out of the range of Indian guns. Now, lay in your paddles, and begin to fish. There are several canoes fishing further out, and the redskin will feel safe. He can cut us off, providing we don't go beyond them." The Indian was, as Nat had said, puzzled. That something was wrong he was sure; but, as he was alone, he was unable to oppose their departure. He watched them closely, as they paddled out, in readiness to give a war whoop, which would have brought down the fishing canoes outside, and given warning to every Indian within sound of his voice; but, when he saw them stop and begin to fish, he hesitated. If he gave the alarm, he might prove to be mistaken, and he shrank from facing the ridicule which a false alarm would bring upon him. Should they really prove, as he believed, to be spies, he would, if he gave the alarm, lose the honour and glory of their capture, and their scalps would fall to other hands--a risk not to be thought of. He therefore waited, until six of his braves came up. He had already retired among the trees, before he joined them; but the canoe was still visible through the branches. "The men we tracked have taken to the water. They are fishing. The Owl is sure that they are not of our tribe; but he must wait, till he sees what they will do. Let three of my brothers go and get a canoe, and paddle out beyond them, and there fish. I will remain with the others here. If they come back again, we will seize them. If they go out further, my brothers will call to the redskins in the other canoes, and will cut them off. The Owl and his friends will soon be with them." "There is another canoe coming out, Nat," James said. "Hadn't we better make a run for it, at once?" "Not a bit of it, captain. Dear me, how difficult it is to teach men to have patience! I have looked upon you as a promising pupil; but there you are, just as hasty and impatient as if you had never spent a day in the woods. Where should we run to? We must go up the lake, for we could not pass the point, for fifty canoes would be put out before we got there. We couldn't land this side, because the woods are full of redskins; and if we led them for ten miles down the lake, and landed t'other side, scores of them would land between here and there, and would cut us off. "No, lad; we have got to wait here till it's getting late. I don't say till it's dark, but till within an hour or so of nightfall. As long as we show no signs of going, the chances is as they won't interfere with us. It's a part of redskin natur to be patient, and, as long as they see as we don't try to make off, they will leave us alone. That's how I reads it. "You agrees with me, Jonathan? "In course, you do," he went on, as his companion grunted an assent. "I don't say as they mayn't ask a question or so; but I don't believe as they will interfere with us. "There is a fish on your line, captain. You don't seem, to me, to be attending to your business." James, indeed, found it difficult to fix his attention on his line, when he knew that they were watched by hostile eyes, and that, at any moment, a conflict might begin. The canoe that had come out last had shaped its course so as to pass close to those fishing outside them, and a few words had been exchanged with the occupants of each--a warning, no doubt, as to the suspicious character of the fishing party near them. Beyond this, nothing had happened. The Indians in the canoe had let down their lines, and seemed as intent as the others upon their fishing. The hours passed slowly. Under other circumstances, James would have enjoyed the sport, for the fish bit freely, and a considerable number were soon lying in the canoe. Nat and Jonathan appeared as interested in their work as if no other boat, but their own, were afloat on the lake. Never once did James see them glance towards the canoes. They did not talk much, but when they spoke, it was always in the Indian tongue. The time seemed endless, before the sun began to sink beyond the low hills on their left. It was an intense relief, to James, when Nat said at last: "The time is just at hand now, cap. The redskins are tired of waiting. At least, they think that they had better not put it off any longer. They know, as well as we do, that it won't do to wait till it gets dark. "Do you see that canoe, that came out last, is paddling down towards us? It looks as if it were drifting, but I have seen them dip a paddle in, several times. The others are pulling up their lines, so as to be in readiness to join in. Get your piece ready to pick up, and aim the moment I give the word. They think they are going to surprise us, but we must be first with them. Go on with your fishing, and just drop your line overboard, when you pick up your gun." The canoe approached slowly, until it was within thirty yards. James and his companions went on with their fishing, as if they did not notice the approach of the other canoe, until one of the Indians spoke. "Have my Indian brothers caught many fish?" "A goodish few," Nat replied. "One or two of them are large ones. "See here," and he stooped as if to select a large fish. "Now," he said suddenly. In an instant, the three rifles were levelled to the shoulder, and pointed at the Indians. The latter, taken completely by surprise, and finding themselves with three barrels levelled at them, as by one accord dived overboard. "Now your paddles," Nat exclaimed. Three strokes sent the canoe dancing up to that which the Indians had just left. It struck it on the broadside, and rolled it instantly over. "Those redskin guns are out of the way, anyhow," Nat said. "Now we have got to row for it." He gave a sharp turn to the canoe as he spoke, and it bounded away towards the right, thereby throwing those outside it on their quarter. Simultaneously with the upset of the canoe, half a dozen rifles rang out from the shore, an Indian war whoop rose at the edge of the woods, and, a minute later, half a dozen canoes shot out from shore. Chapter 15: Through Many Perils. The course Nat was taking was not parallel to that of the boats outside him. He was sheering gradually out into the lake, and, although the boat was travelling somewhat faster than its pursuers, James saw that its course would carry it across their bows at a dangerously close distance. The Indians were not long in seeing that the canoe was outstripping them, and in each of the boats one of the redskins laid aside his paddle, and began to fire. The balls struck the water near the canoe, but no one was hit. "Let them fire," Jonathan said. "It ain't every man as can shoot straight from a canoe going at racing pace. The more they fires the better. They will only fall further behind." After firing two or three shots each, the Indians appeared to be of the same opinion, and resumed their paddles; but they had lost so much ground that the canoe they were in chase of shot out into the lake fifty yards ahead of the nearest. Some more shots were fired, and then the Indians began hastily to throw the fish, with which their canoes were laden, into the water. After paddling two or three hundred yards farther, Nat laid in his paddle. "Out with them fish," he said. "You can leave one or two for supper, but the rest must go overboard. Be quick about it, for those canoes from the shore are coming up fast." The work was concluded just as the canoes with the Owl and his warriors came up with the others, which, having now got rid of their fish, again set out, and, in a close body, the ten canoes started in pursuit. "Paddle steady," Nat said; "and whatever you do, be keerful of your blades. If one was to break now it would mean the loss of our scalps. Don't gain on 'em; as long as the redskins on shore think as their friends are going to catch us, they won't care to put out and join in the chase; but if they thought we was getting away, they might launch canoes ahead of us and cut us off. The nearer we are to them the better, as long as we are keeping ahead." For an hour the chase continued. The Indians, although straining every nerve, did not gain a foot upon the fugitives, who, although paddling hard, had still some reserve of strength. The sun, by this time, was touching the tops of the hills. "Now, cap," Nat said, "it's time to teach 'em as we can bite a bit. They won't be quite so hot over it, if we give them a lesson now. Do you turn round and pepper them a bit. "Now, old hoss! You and I must row all we know for a bit." Turning himself in the canoe, resting his elbow on his knee to steady his rifle, James took as careful an aim as the dancing motion of the boat permitted, and fired. A dull sound came back, like an echo, to the crack of the piece, and a paddle in the leading boat fell into the water. A yell arose from the Indians, but no answering shout came back. The Indians were now paddling even harder than before, in hope of overtaking the canoe, now that it was impelled by but two rowers. But the scouts were rowing their hardest, and proved the justice of their fame, as the best paddlers on the lakes, by maintaining their distance from their pursuers. Again and again James fired, several of his bullets taking effect. It was now rapidly becoming dusk. "That will do, captain. We had best be showing them our heels now, and get as far ahead as we can, by the time it is quite dark." James laid by his rifle and again took his paddle, and, as all were rowing at the top of their speed, they gradually increased the distance between themselves and their pursuers. Rapidly the gap of water widened, and when darkness fell on the lake, the fugitives were more than half a mile ahead of their pursuers. The night was dark, and a light mist rising from the water further aided them. When night had set in, the pursuing canoes could no longer be seen. For another half hour they paddled on, without intermitting their efforts, then, to James's surprise, Nat turned the head of the canoe to the western shore. He asked no question, however, having perfect faith in Nat's sagacity. They were nearly in the middle of the lake when they altered their course, and it took them half an hour's hard paddling, before the dark mass of trees loomed up in the darkness ahead of him. Ten minutes before, Nat had passed the word that they should paddle quietly and noiselessly. It was certain that the chase would be eagerly watched from the shore, and that any Indians there might be in the wood would be closely watching near the water's edge. Accordingly, as noiselessly as possible they approached the shore, and, gliding in between the overhanging trees, laid the canoe alongside a clump of bushes. Then, without a word being spoken, they laid in their paddles and stretched themselves full length in the canoe. James was glad of the rest, for, trained and hard as were his muscles, he was exhausted by the long strain of the row for life. He guessed that Nat would calculate that the Indian canoes would scatter, when they lost sight of them, and that they would seek for them more closely on the eastern shore. At the same time he was surprised that, after once getting out of sight of their pursuers, Nat had not immediately landed on the opposite shore, and started on foot through the woods. After recovering his breath, James sat up and listened attentively. Once or twice he thought he heard the sound of a dip of a paddle, out on the lake, but he could not be sure of it; while from time to time he heard the croak of a frog, sometimes near, sometimes at a distance along the shore. He would have thought little of this, had not a slight pressure of Jonathan's hand, against his foot, told him that these were Indian signals. Some hours passed before Nat made a move, then he touched Jonathan, and sat up in the canoe. The signal was passed on to James, the paddles were noiselessly taken up, and, without a sound that could be detected by the most closely-listening ear, the canoe stole out again on to the lake. Until some distance from shore they paddled very quietly, then gradually the strokes grew more vigorous, until the canoe was flying along at full speed up the lake, her course being laid so as to cross very gradually towards the eastern side. It was not until, as James judged, they must have been several miles from the point at which they had started, that they approached the eastern shore. They did so with the same precautions which had been adopted on the other side, and sat, listening intently, before they gave the last few strokes which took them to the shore. Quietly they stepped out, and the two scouts, lifting the canoe on their shoulders, carried it some fifty yards into the forest, and laid it down among some bushes. Then they proceeded on their way, Nat walking first, James following him so close that he was able to touch him, for, in the thick darkness under the trees, he could not perceive even the outlines of his figure. Jonathan followed close behind. Their progress was slow, for even the trained woodsmen could, with difficulty, make their way through the trees, and Nat's only index, as to the direction to be taken, lay in the feel of the bark of the trunks. After an hour's progress, he whispered: "We will stop here till daylight. We can't do any good at the work. We haven't made half a mile since we started." It was a positive relief, to James, to hear the scout's voice, for not a single word had been spoken since they lost sight of their pursuers in the darkness. The fact that he had ventured now to speak showed that he believed that they were comparatively safe. "May I speak, Nat?" he asked, after they had seated themselves on the ground. "Ay, you may speak, captain, but don't you raise your voice above a whisper. There is no saying what redskin ears may be near us. I guess these forests are pretty well alive with them. You may bet there isn't a redskin, or one of the irregular Canadian bands, but is out arter us tonight. The war whoop and the rifles will have put them all on the lookout. "They will have seen that we were pretty well holding our own, and will guess that, when night came on, we should give the canoes the slip. I guess they will have placed a lot of canoes and flatboats across the lake, opposite Crown Point, for they will know that we should either head back, or take to the woods. I guess most of the redskins near Crown Point will have crossed over at this point, as, in course, we were more likely to land on this side. I had a mighty good mind to land whar we was over there, but there are sure to be such a heap of Indians, making their way up that side from Montreal, that I judge this will be the best; but we shall have all we can do to get free of them." "Why didn't you land at once, Nat, after we lost sight of them, instead of crossing over?" "Because that's where they will reckon we shall land, captain. That's where they will look for our tracks the first thing in the morning, and they will know that we can't travel far such a dark night as this, and they will search every inch of the shore for three or four miles below where they lost sight of us, to find where we landed. They would know well enough we couldn't get ashore, without leaving tracks as they would make out, and they would reckon to pick up our trail fast enough, in the wood, and to overtake us before we had gone many miles. "Now, you see, we have doubled on them. The varmint in the woods will search the edge of the lake in the morning, but it's a good long stretch to go over, and, if we have luck, they mayn't strike on our landing place for some hours after daylight. In course, they may hit on it earlier; still, it gives us a chance, anyhow. Another thing is, we have twenty miles less to travel through the woods than if we had to start up there, and that makes all the difference when you've got redskins at your heels. If we don't have the bad luck to come across some of the varmint in the woods, I expect we shall carry our scalps back to Fort William Henry. "Now you had best sleep till daybreak. We sha'n't get another chance till we get into the fort again." With the first dawn of morning, they were on their way. Striking straight back into the woods, they walked fast, but with the greatest care and caution, occasionally making bends and detours, to prevent the redskins following their traces at a run, which they would have been able to do, had they walked in a straight line. Whenever the ground was soft, they walked without trying to conceal their tracks, for Nat knew that, however carefully they progressed, the Indians would be able to make out their trail here. When, however, they came to rocky and broken ground, they walked with the greatest caution, avoiding bruising any of the plants growing between the rocks. After walking ten miles in this direction, they turned to the south. "We ought to be pretty safe, now," Nat said. "They may be three or four hours before they hit on our landing place, and find the canoe. I don't say as they won't be able to follow our trail--there ain't no saying what redskin eyes can do--but it 'ull take them a long time, anyway. There ain't much risk of running against any of them in the forest, now. I guess that most of them followed the canoe down the lake last night. "Anyway, we are well out from Lake Champlain now. When we have gone another fifteen mile, we sha'n't be far from the upper arm. There's a canoe been lying hidden there for the last two years, unless some tramping redskin has found it, which ain't likely." Twenty miles further walking brought them to the shore of the lake. Following this for another hour, they came upon the spot, where a little stream ran into the lake. "Here we are," Nat said. "Fifty yards up here we shall find the canoe." They followed the stream up for a little distance, and then Nat, leaving its edge, made for a clump of bushes a few yards away. Pushing the thick foliage aside, he made his way into the centre of the clump. "Here it is," he said, "just as I left it." The canoe was lifted out and carried down to the lake, and, taking their seats, they paddled up Lake Champlain, keeping close under the shore. "We have had good luck, captain," Nat said. "I hardly thought we should har got out without a scrimmage. I expect as the best part of the redskins didn't trouble themselves very much about it. They expect to get such a lot of scalps and plunder, when they take the fort, that the chance of three extra wasn't enough inducement for 'em to take much trouble over it. The redskins in the canoes, who chased us, would be hot enough over it, for you picked out two if not more of them; but those who started from the fort wouldn't have any particular reason to trouble much, especially as they think it likely that those who were chasing us would get the scalps. When a redskin's blood's up there ain't no trouble too great for him, and he will follow for weeks to get his revenge; but, take 'em all in all, they are lazy varmint, and as long as there is plenty of deer's meat on hand, they will eat and sleep away their time for weeks." By night, they reached the upper end of Lake Champlain, the canoe was carefully hidden away again, and they struck through the woods in the direction of Fort William Henry. They were now safe from pursuit, and, after walking two or three miles, halted for the night, made a fire, and cooked some of the dried meat. When they had finished their meal, Nat said: "Now we will move away a bit, and then stretch ourselves out." "Why shouldn't we lie down here, Nat?" "Because it would be a foolish thing to do, captain. There ain't no saying what redskins may be wandering in the woods in time of war. A thousand nights might pass without one of 'em happening to come upon that fire, but if they did, and we were lying beside it, all the trouble we have taken to slip through their hands would be chucked clean away. No, you cannot be too careful in the woods." They started early the next morning, and, before noon, arrived at Fort William Henry, where James at once reported, to Colonel Monro, what he had learned of the strength of the French force gathering at Crown Point. "Thank you, Captain Walsham," the commandant said. "I am greatly indebted to you, for having brought us certain news of what is coming. I will write off at once, and ask for reinforcements. This is a serious expedition, and the colonies will have to make a great effort, and a speedy one, if they are going to save the fort, for, from what we hear of Montcalm, he is not likely to let the grass grow under his feet. I shall report the services you have rendered." As soon as Colonel Monro received the report James had brought him, he sent to General Webb, who, with two thousand six hundred men, chiefly provincials, was at Fort Edward, fourteen miles away. On the 25th of July that general visited Fort William Henry, and, after remaining there four days, returned to Fort Edward, whence he wrote to the governor of New York, telling him the French were coming, and urging him to send forward the militia at once, saying that he was determined to march himself, with all his troops, to the fort. Instead of doing so, three days later he sent up a detachment of two hundred regulars under Lieutenant Colonel Young, and eight hundred Massachusetts men under Colonel Frye. This raised the force at Fort William Henry to two thousand two hundred men, and reduced that of Webb to sixteen hundred. Had Webb been a brave and determined man, he would have left a few hundred men, only, to hold Fort Edward, and marched with the rest to assist Monro, when, on the morning of the 3d of August, he received a letter from him, saying that the French were in sight on the lake. But, as he was neither brave nor determined, he remained at Fort Edward, sending off message after message to New York, for help which could not possibly arrive in time. Already, the garrison of Fort William Henry had suffered one reverse. Three hundred provincials, chiefly New Jersey men, under Colonel Parker, had been sent out to reconnoitre the French outposts. The scouts, under James Walsham, were of the party. They were to proceed in boats down the lake. "I don't like this business, no way, captain," Nat said, as the company took their place in the boats. "This ain't neither one thing or the other. If Monro wants to find out about the enemy, Jonathan and I kin do it. If he wants to fight the enemy, this lot ain't enough; besides, these New Jersey men know no more about the forest than so many children. You mark my words, this is going to be a bad business. Why, they can see all these boats halfway down the lake, and, with all these redskins about, they will ambush us as soon as we try to land. "Look here, captain; you know that I ain't no coward. I don't think no one can say that of me. I am ready to fight when there is a chance of fighting, but I don't see no good in getting myself killed off, when there ain't no good in it. So what I says is this: don't you be in a hurry, captain, with these boats of ours." "But I must obey orders, Nat," James said, smiling. "Yes, you must obey orders, captain, no doubt. But there's two ways of obeying orders. The one is to rush in front, and to do a little more than you are told. The other is to take things quiet, and just do what you are told, and no more. Now, my advice is, on this here expedition you go on the last plan. If you are ordered to land first, why land first it must be. If you don't get orders to land first, just let them as is in a hurry land afore you. I ain't been teaching all these lads to know something about the woods, for the last six months, jest to see them killed off like flies, because a blundering wrong-headed colonel sends them out with two hundred and fifty ploughmen, for the redskins to see and attack jest when they fancies." "Very well, Nat, I will take your advice, and, for once, we won't put ourselves in the front, unless we are ordered." Satisfied with this, Nat passed quietly round among the men, as they were taking their places in the boats, and told them that there was no occasion for them to row as if they were racing. "I shall be in the captain's boat," he said. "You keep close to us, and don't you try to push on ahead. When we are once fairly in the woods, then we will do the scouting for the rest, but there ain't no hurry for us to begin that, till we are on shore." "Look at us," Nat grumbled in James's ear, as the boats started down the lake. "There we are, rowing along the middle, instead of sneaking along close to the shore. Does Parker think that the redskins are as blind as he is, and that, 'cause it's night, a lot of big boats like these can't be seen out in the middle of the lake? I tell you, captain, if we ain't ambushed as soon as we land, I will grant I know nothing of redskin ways." James had, in fact, before starting, suggested to Colonel Parker that it would be well to keep under the shelter of the bushes; but the officer had replied stiffly: "When I want your advice, Captain Walsham, I will ask for it." After which rebuff, James was more willing than he had hitherto been to act in accordance with the advice of the scout. Accordingly, as they rowed down the lake, the boats with the Royal Scouts, although keeping up with the others, maintained their position in the rear of the column. Towards daybreak, the boats' heads were turned to shore, and, when they neared it, Colonel Parker gave the order for the men to lay in their oars, while the three boats, which happened to be in advance, were told to advance at once and land. The boats passed through the thick curtain of trees, which hung down over the water's edge. A minute passed, and then three others were ordered to follow them. "Did you hear nothing?" Nat whispered to James. "No, I didn't hear anything, Nat. Did you?" "Well, I think I did hear something, captain. It seems to me as I heard a sort of scuffle." "But they never could surprise some thirty or forty men, without the alarm being given?" "It depended what sort of men they were," Nat said scornfully. "They wouldn't surprise men that knew their business; but those chaps would just jump out of their boats, as if they was landed on a quay at New York, and would scatter about among the bushes. Why, Lord bless you, the Indians might ambush and tomahawk the lot, before they had time to think of opening their lips to give a shout." The second three boats had now disappeared among the trees, and Colonel Parker gave the word for the rest to advance in a body. "Look to your firelocks, lads," James said. "Whatever happens, keep perfectly cool. You at the oars, especially, sit still and be ready to obey orders." The boats were within fifty yards of the trees when, from beneath the drooping boughs, a volley of musketry was poured out, and, a moment later, a swarm of canoes darted out from beneath the branches, and the terrible Indian war whoop rang in the air. Appalled by the suddenness of the attack, by the deadly fire, and the terrible yells, the greater portion of the men in the boats were seized with the wildest panic. Many of them jumped into the water. Others threw themselves down in the bottom of the boats. Some tried to row, but were impeded by their comrades. "Steady, men, steady!" James shouted, at the top of his voice. "Get the boats' heads round, and keep together. We can beat off these canoes, easy enough, if you do but keep your heads." His orders were obeyed promptly and coolly by the men of his company. The boats were turned with their heads to the lake, as the canoes came dashing up, and the men who were not employed in rowing fired so steadily and truly that the redskins in several of the leading canoes fell, upsetting their boats. "Don't hurry," James shouted. "There is no occasion for haste. They can go faster than we can. All we have got to do is to beat them off. Lay in all the oars, except the two bow oars, in each boat. All the rest of the men stand to their arms, and let the boats follow each other in file, the bow of one close to the stern of that ahead." The check, which the volley had given to the canoes, gave time to the men in several of the boats, close to those of the scouts, to turn. They were rowing past James's slowly-moving boats, when he shouted to them: "Steady, men, your only chance of escape is to show a front to them, as we are doing. They can overtake you easily, and will row you down one after the other. Fall in ahead of our line, and do as we are doing. You need not be afraid. We could beat them off, if they were ten times as many." Reassured by the calmness with which James issued his orders, the boats took up the positions assigned to them. James, who was in the last boat in the line, shuddered at the din going on behind him. The yells of the Indians, the screams and cries of the provincials, mingled with the sharp crack of rifles or the duller sound of the musket. The work of destruction was soon over. Save his own company and some fifty of the provincials in the boats ahead, the whole of Colonel Parker's force had been killed, or were prisoners in the hands of the Indians, who, having finished their work, set off in pursuit of the boats which had escaped them. James at once changed the order. The front boat was halted, and the others formed in a line beside it, presenting the broad side to the approaching fleet of canoes. When the latter came within a hundred yards, a stream of fire opened from the boats, the men aiming with the greatest coolness. The canoes were checked at once. A score of the paddlers had sunk, killed or wounded, into the bottom, and several of the frail barks were upset. As fast as the men could load, they continued their fire, and, in two minutes from the first shot, the canoes were turned, and paddled at full speed towards the shore, pursued by a hearty cheer from the English. The oars were then manned again, and the remains of Parker's flotilla rowed up the lake to Fort William Henry. Several of the prisoners taken by the Indians were cooked and eaten by them. A few days afterwards a party of Indians, following the route from the head of Lake Champlain, made a sudden attack on the houses round Fort Edward, and killed thirty-two men. It was an imposing spectacle, as the French expedition made its way down Lake George. General Levis had marched by the side of the lake with twenty-five hundred men, Canadians, regulars, and redskins; while the main body proceeded, the troops in two hundred and fifty large boats, the redskins in many hundreds of their canoes. The boats moved in military order. There were six regiments of French line: La Reine and Languedoc, La Sarre and Guienne, Bearn and Roussillon. The cannons were carried on platforms formed across two boats. Slowly and regularly the procession of boats made its way down the lake, till they saw the signal fires of Levis, who, with his command, was encamped near the water at a distance of two miles from the fort. Even then, the English were not aware that near eight thousand enemies were gathered close to them. Monro was a brave soldier, but wholly unfitted for the position he held, knowing nothing of irregular warfare, and despising all but trained soldiers. At daybreak, all was bustle at Fort Henry. Parties of men went out to drive in the cattle, others to destroy buildings which would interfere with the fire from the fort. The English position was now more defensible than it had been when it was attacked in the spring. The forest had been cleared for a considerable distance round, and the buildings which had served as a screen to the enemy had, for the most part, been removed. The fort itself lay close down by the edge of the water. One side and the rear were protected by the marsh, so that it could only be attacked from one side. Beyond the marsh lay the rough ground where Johnson had encamped two years before; while, on a flat hill behind this was an entrenched camp, beyond which, again, was another marsh. As soon as the sun rose, the column of Levis moved through the forest towards the fort, followed by Montcalm with the main body, while the artillery boats put out from behind the point which had hid them from the sight of the English, and, surrounded by hundreds of Indian canoes, moved slowly forward, opening fire as they went. Soon the sound of firing broke out near the edge of the forest, all round the fort, as the Indians, with Levis, opened fire upon the soldiers who were endeavouring to drive in the cattle. Hitherto James Walsham, with Edwards and his two scouts, was standing quietly, watching the approaching fleet of boats and canoes; Nat expressing, in no measured terms, his utter disgust at the confusion which reigned in and around the fort. "It looks more like a frontier settlement suddenly surprised," he said, "than a place filled with soldiers who have been, for weeks, expecting an attack. Nothing done, nothing ready. The cattle all over the place. The tents on that open ground there still standing. Stores all about in the open. Of all the pig-headed, obstinate, ignorant old gentlemen I ever see, the colonel beats them all. One might as well have an old woman in command. Indeed, I know scores of old women, on the frontier, who would have been a deal better here than him." But if Monro was obstinate and prejudiced, he was brave, cool, and determined, and, now that the danger had come, he felt secure of his ground, and took the proper measures for defence, moving calmly about, and abating the disposition to panic by the calm manner in which he gave his orders. Nat had scarcely finished his grumbling, when the colonel approached. "Captain Walsham," he said, "you will take your company at once, and cover the parties driving in the cattle. You will fall back with them, and, when you see all in safety, retire into the intrenched camp." The company were already under arms, waiting for orders and, at the double, James led them up the sloping ground towards the forest, whence the war whoops of the Indians, and the sharp cracks of the rifles, were now ringing out on all sides. James made for the spot where a score of soldiers were driving a number of cattle before them, some hurrying the beasts on across the rough ground, others firing at the Indians, who, as their numbers increased, were boldly showing themselves behind the trees, and advancing in pursuit. As soon as they neared the spot, James scattered his men in skirmishing order. Each placed himself behind one of the blackened stumps of the roughly-cleared forest, and opened fire upon the Indians. Several of these fell, and the rest bounded back to the forest, whence they opened a heavy fire. Now the company showed the advantage of the training they had gone through, fighting with the greatest steadiness and coolness, and keeping well in shelter, until, when the soldiers and cattle had got well on their way towards the fort, James gave the order to fall back, and the band, crawling among the stumps, and pausing to fire at every opportunity, made their way back without having lost a man, although several had received slight wounds. Chapter 16: The Massacre At Fort William Henry. When the skirmishing round Fort Henry was over, La Corne, with a body of Indians, occupied the road that led to Fort Edward; and Levis encamped close by, to support him, and check any sortie the English might make from their intrenched camp. Montcalm reconnoitred the position. He had, at first, intended to attack and carry the intrenched camp, but he found that it was too strong to be taken by a rush. He therefore determined to attack the fort, itself, by regular approaches from the western side, while the force of Levis would intercept any succour which might come from Fort Edward, and cut off the retreat of the garrison in that direction. He gave orders that the cannon were to be disembarked at a small cove, about half a mile from the fort, and near this he placed his main camp. He now sent one of his aides-de-camp with a letter to Monro. "I owe it to humanity," he said, "to summon you to surrender. At present I can restrain the savages, and make them observe the terms of a capitulation, but I might not have the power to do so under other circumstances, and an obstinate defence on your part could only retard the capture of the place a few days, and endanger the unfortunate garrison, which cannot be relieved, in consequence of the dispositions I have made. I demand a decisive answer within an hour." Monro replied simply that he and his soldiers would defend themselves till the last. The trenches were opened on the night of the 4th. The work was extremely difficult, the ground being covered with hard stumps of trees and fallen trunks. All night long 800 men toiled at the work, while the guns of the fort kept up a constant fire of round shot and grape; but by daybreak the first parallel was made. The battery on the left was nearly finished, and one on the right begun. The men were now working under shelter, and the guns of the fort could do them little harm. While the French soldiers worked, the Indians crept up through the fallen trees, close to the fort, and fired at any of the garrison who might, for a moment, expose themselves. Sharpshooters in the fort replied to their fire, and all day the fort was fringed with light puffs of smoke, whilst the cannon thundered unceasingly. The next morning, the French battery on the left opened with eight heavy cannon and a mortar, and on the following morning the battery on the right joined in with eleven other pieces. The fort only mounted, in all, seventeen cannon, for the most part small, and, as some of them were upon the other faces, the English fire, although kept up with spirit, could reply but weakly to that of the French. The fort was composed of embankments of gravel, surmounted by a rampart of heavy logs, laid in tiers, crossing each other, the interstices filled with earth; and this could ill support the heavy cannonade to which it was exposed. The roar of the distant artillery continuing day after day was plainly audible at Fort Edward; but although Monro had, at the commencement of the attack, sent off several messengers asking for reinforcements, Webb did not move. On the third day of the siege he had received 2000 men from New York, and, by stripping all the forts below, he could have advanced with 4500 men, but some deserters from the French told him that Montcalm had 12,000 men, and Webb considered the task of advancing, through the intervening forests and defiles between him and Fort Henry, far too dangerous an operation to be attempted. Undoubtedly it would have been a dangerous one, for the Indians pervaded the woods as far as Fort Edward. No messenger could have got through to inform Monro of his coming, and Montcalm could therefore have attacked him, on the march, with the greater part of his force. Still, a brave and determined general would have made the attempt. Webb did not do so, but left Monro to his fate. He even added to its certainty by sending off a letter to him, telling him that he could do nothing to assist him, and advising him to surrender at once. The messenger was killed by the Indians in the forest, and the note taken to Montcalm, who, learning that Webb did not intend to advance, was able to devote his whole attention to the fort. Montcalm kept the letter for several days, till the English rampart was half battered down, and then sent it in by an officer to Monro, hoping that it would induce the latter to surrender. The old soldier, however, remained firm in his determination to hold out, even though his position was now absolutely hopeless. The trenches had been pushed forward until within 250 yards of the fort, and the Indians crept up almost to the wall on this side. Two sorties were made--one from the fort, the other from the intrenched camp; but both were repulsed with loss. More than 300 of the defenders had been killed and wounded. Smallpox was raging, and the casemates were crowded with sick. All their large cannon had been burst or disabled, and only seven small pieces were fit for service. The French battery in the foremost trench was almost completed, and, when this was done, the whole of Montcalm's thirty-one cannon and fifteen mortars would open fire, and, as a breach had already been effected in the wall, further resistance would have been madness. On the night of the 8th, it was known in the fort that a council of war would be held in the morning, and that, undoubtedly, the fort would surrender. James, with his company, had, after escorting the cattle to the fort, crossed the marsh to the intrenched camp, as the fort was already crowded with troops. The company therefore avoided the horrors of the siege. When the report circulated that a surrender would probably be made the next morning, Nat went to James. "What are you going to do, captain?" "Do, Nat? Why, I have nothing to do. If Monro and his council decide to surrender, there is an end of it. You don't propose that our company is to fight Montcalm's army alone, do you?" "No, I don't," Nat said, testily; "there has been a deal too much fighting already. I understand holding out till the last, when there's a hope of somebody coming to relieve you; but what's the use of fighting, and getting a lot of your men killed, and raising the blood of those redskin devils to boiling point? If the colonel had given up the place at once, we should have saved a loss of 300 men, and Montcalm would have been glad enough to let us march off to Fort Edward." "But probably he will agree to let us do that now," James said. "He may agree," Nat said, contemptuously; "but how about the redskins? Do you think that, after losing a lot of their braves, they are going to see us march quietly away, and go home without a scalp? I tell you, captain, I know redskin nature, and, as sure as the sun rises tomorrow, there will be a massacre; and I, for one, ain't going to lay down my rifle, and let the first redskin, as takes a fancy to my scalp, tomahawk me." "Well, but what do you propose, Nat?" "Well, captain, I have heard you say yours is an independent command, and that you can act with the company wherever you like. While you are here, I know you are under the orders of the colonel; but if you had chosen to march away on any expedition of your own, you could have done it." "That is so, Nat; but now the siege is once begun, I don't know that I should be justified in marching away, even if I could." "But they are going to surrender, I tell you," Nat insisted. "I don't see as how it can be your duty to hand over your company to the French, if you can get them clear away, so as to fight for the king again." "What do you say, Edwards?" James asked his lieutenant. "I don't see why we shouldn't march away, if we could," Edwards said. "Now that the game is quite lost here, I don't think anyone could blame you for saving the company, if possible, and I agree with Nat that Montcalm will find it difficult, if not impossible, to keep his Indians in hand. The French have never troubled much on that score." "Well, Nat, what is your plan?" James asked, after a pause. "The plan is simple enough," Nat said. "There ain't no plan at all. All we have got to do is to march quietly down to the lake, to take some of the canoes that are hauled up at the mouth of the swamp, and to paddle quietly off, keeping under the trees on the right-hand side. There ain't many redskins in the woods that way, and the night is as dark as pitch. We can land eight or ten miles down the lake, and then march away to the right, so as to get clean round the redskins altogether." "Very well, Nat, I will do it," James said. "It's a chance, but I think it's a better chance than staying here, and if I should get into a row about it, I can't help it. I am doing it for the best." The corps were quietly mustered, and marched out through the gate of the intrenchments, on the side of the lake. No questions were asked, for the corps had several times gone out on its own account, and driven back the Indians and French pickets. The men had, from their first arrival at the fort, laid aside their heavy boots, and taken to moccasins as being better fitted for silent movement in the forest. Therefore not a sound was heard as, under Nat's guidance, they made their way down the slope into the swamp. Here they were halted, for the moment, and told to move with the greatest care and silence, and to avoid snapping a bough or twig. This, however, was the less important, as the cannon on both sides were still firing, and a constant rattle of musketry was going on round the fort. Presently, they reached the point where the canoes were hauled up, and were told off, three to a canoe. "Follow my canoe in single file," James said. "Not a word is to be spoken, and remember that a single splash of a paddle will bring the redskins down upon us. Likely enough there may be canoes out upon the lake--there are sure to be Indians in the wood." "I don't think there's much fear, captain," Nat whispered. "There's no tiring a redskin when he's out on the scout on his own account, but when he's acting with the whites he's just as lazy as a hog, and, as they must be sure the fort can't hold out many hours longer, they will be too busy feasting, and counting the scalps they mean to take, to think much about scouting tonight." "We shall go very slowly. Let every man stop paddling the instant the canoe ahead of him stops," were James's last instructions, as he stepped into the stern of a canoe, while Nat and Jonathan took the paddles. Edwards was to take his place in the last canoe in the line. Without the slightest sound, the canoes paddled out into the lake, and then made for the east shore. They were soon close to the trees, and, slowly and noiselessly, they kept their way just outside the screen afforded by the boughs drooping down, almost into the water. Only now and then the slightest splash was to be heard along the line, and this might well have been taken for the spring of a tiny fish feeding. Several times, when he thought he heard a slight sound in the forest on his right, Nat ceased paddling, and lay for some minutes motionless, the canoes behind doing the same. So dark was it, that they could scarce see the trees close beside them, while the bright flashes from the guns from fort and batteries only seemed to make the darkness more intense. It was upwards of an hour before James felt, from the greater speed with which the canoe was travelling, that Nat believed that he had got beyond the spot where any Indians were likely to be watching in the forest. Faster and faster the boat glided along, but the scouts were still far from rowing their hardest. For, although the whole of the men were accustomed to the use of the paddle, the other boats would be unable to keep up with that driven by the practised arms of the leaders of the file. After paddling for another hour and a half, the scout stopped. "We are far enough away now," Nat said. "There ain't no chance in the world of any redskins being in the woods, so far out as this. The hope of scalps will have taken them all down close to the fort. We can land safely, now." The word was passed down the line of canoes, the boats glided through the screen of foliage, and the men landed. "Better pull the canoes ashore, captain. If we left them in the water, one might break adrift and float out beyond the trees. Some redskin or other would make it out, and we should have a troop of them on our trail, before an hour had passed." "There's no marching through the forest now, Nat," James said. "I can't see my own hand close to my face." "That's so, captain, and we'd best halt till daylight. I could make my way along, easy enough, but some of these fellows would be pitching over stumps, or catching their feet in a creeper, and, like enough, letting off their pieces as they went down. We may just as well stay where we are. They ain't likely to miss us, even in the camp, and sartin the redskins can't have known we have gone. So there's no chance whatever of pursuit, and there ain't nothing to be gained by making haste." James gave the order. The men felt about, till each found a space of ground, sufficiently large to lie down upon, and soon all were asleep except the two scouts, who said, at once, that they would watch by turns till daylight. As soon as it was sufficiently light to see in the forest, the band were again in motion. They made due east, until they crossed the trail leading from the head of Lake Champlain to Fort Edward; kept on for another hour, and then, turning to the south, made in the direction of Albany, for it would have been dangerous to approach Fort Edward, round which the Indians were sure to be scattered thickly. For the first two hours after starting, the distant roar of the guns had gone on unceasingly, then it suddenly stopped. "They have hoisted the white flag," Edwards said. "It is all over. Thank God, we are well out of it! I don't mind fighting, Walsham, but to be massacred by those Indians is a hideous idea." "I am glad we are out of it too," James agreed; "but I cannot think that Montcalm, with so large a force of French regulars at his command, will allow those fiendish Indians to massacre the prisoners." "I hope not," Edwards said. "It will be a disgrace indeed to him and his officers if he does; but you know what the Indians are, better than I do, and you have heard Nat's opinion. You see, if Montcalm were to use force against the Indians, the whole of them would go off, and then there would be an end to any hope of the French beating the colonists in the long run. Montcalm daren't break with them. It's a horrible position for an officer and a gentleman to be placed in. Montcalm did manage to prevent the redskins from massacring the garrison of Oswego, but it was as much as he could do, and it will be ten times as difficult, now that their blood is up with this week of hard fighting, and the loss of many of their warriors. Anyhow, I am glad I am out of it, even if the bigwigs consider we had no right to leave the fort, and break us for it. I would rather lose my commission than run the risk of being massacred in cold blood." James agreed with him. For two days, they continued their march through the forest, using every precaution against surprise. They saw, however, nothing of the enemy, and emerged from the forest, on the evening of the second day's march, at a distance of a few miles from Albany. They had not reached that town many hours, when they learned that Nat's sombre predictions had been fulfilled. The council of war in the fort agreed that further resistance was impossible, and Lieutenant Colonel Young went out, with a white flag, to arrange the terms of surrender with Montcalm. It was agreed that the English troops should march out, with the honours of war, and be escorted to Fort Edward by a detachment of French troops; that they should not serve for eighteen months; and that all French prisoners captured in America, since the war began, should be given up within three months. The stores, ammunition, and artillery were to be handed over to the French, except one field piece, which the garrison were to be allowed to retain, in recognition of their brave defence. Before signing the capitulation, Montcalm summoned the Indian chiefs before him, and asked them to consent to the conditions, and to restrain their young braves from any disorder. They gave their approval, and promised to maintain order. The garrison then evacuated the fort, and marched to join their comrades in the intrenched camp. No sooner had they moved out, than a crowd of Indians rushed into the fort through the breach and embrasures, and butchered all the wounded who had been left behind to be cared for by the French. Having committed this atrocity the Indians, and many of the Canadians, rushed up to the intrenched camp, where the English were now collected. The French guards, who had been stationed there, did nothing to keep them out; and they wandered about, threatening and insulting the terrified women, telling the men that everyone should be massacred, and plundering the baggage. Montcalm did his best, by entreaty, to restrain the Indians, but he took no steps whatever to give effectual protection to the prisoners, and that he did not do so will remain an ineffaceable blot upon his fame. Seeing the disposition of the redskins, he should have ordered up all the regular French troops, and marched the English garrison under their protection to Fort Edward, in accordance with the terms of surrender; and he should have allowed the English troops to again fill their pouches with cartridge, by which means they would have been able to fight in their own defence. The next morning, the English marched at daybreak. Seventeen wounded men were left behind in the huts, having been, in accordance with the agreement, handed over to the charge of a French surgeon; but as he was not there in the morning, the regimental surgeon, Miles Whitworth, remained with them attending to their wants. The French surgeon had caused special sentinels to be placed for their protection, but these were now removed, when they were needed most. At five in the morning the Indians entered the huts, dragged out the inmates, tomahawked and scalped them before the eyes of Whitworth, and in the presence of La Corne and other Canadian officers, as well as of a French guard stationed within forty feet of the spot--none of whom, as Whitworth declared on oath, did anything to protect the wounded men. The Indians, in the meantime, had begun to plunder the baggage of the column. Monro complained, to the officers of the French escort, that the terms of the capitulation were broken; but the only answer was that he had better give up all the baggage to the Indians, to appease them. But it had no effect in restraining the passion of the Indians. They rushed upon the column, snatching caps, coats, and weapons from men and officers, tomahawking all who resisted, and, seizing upon shrieking women and children, carried them away or murdered them on the spot. A rush was made upon the New Hampshire men, at the rear of the column, and eighty of them were killed or carried away. The Canadian officers did nothing at all to try to assuage the fury of the Indians, and the officers of the Canadian detachment, which formed the advance guard of the French escort, refused any protection to the men, telling them they had better take to the woods and shift for themselves. Montcalm, and the principal French officers, did everything short of the only effectual step, namely, the ordering up of the French regular troops to save the English. They ran about among the yelling Indians, imploring them to desist, but in vain. Some seven or eight hundred of the English were seized and carried off by the savages, while some seventy or eighty were massacred on the spot. The column attempted no resistance. None had ammunition, and, of the colonial troops, very few were armed with bayonets. Had any resistance been offered, there can be no doubt all would have been massacred by the Indians. Many of the fugitives ran back to the fort, and took refuge there, and Montcalm recovered from the Indians more than four hundred of those they had carried off. These were all sent under a strong guard to Fort Edward. The greater part of the survivors of the column dispersed into the woods, and made their way in scattered parties to Fort Edward. Here cannon had been fired at intervals, to serve as a guide to the fugitives, but many, no doubt, perished in the woods. On the morning after the massacre the Indians left in a body for Montreal, taking with them two hundred prisoners, to be tortured and murdered on their return to their villages. Few events cast a deeper disgrace on the arms of France than this massacre, committed in defiance of their pledged honour for the safety of their prisoners, and in sight of four thousand French troops, not a man of whom was set in motion to prevent it. These facts are not taken only from English sources, but from the letters of French officers, and from the journal of the Jesuit Roubaud, who was in charge of the Christianized Indians, who, according to his own account, were no less ferocious and cruel than the unconverted tribes. The number of those who perished in the massacre is uncertain. Captain Jonathan Carver, a colonial officer, puts the killed and captured at 1500. A French writer, whose work was published at Montreal, says that they were all killed, except seven hundred who were captured; but this is, of course, a gross exaggeration. General Levis and Roubaud, who were certain to have made the best of the matter, acknowledged that they saw some fifty corpses scattered on the ground, but this does not include those murdered in the fort and camp. Probably the total number killed was about two hundred, and besides these must be counted the two hundred prisoners carried off to be tortured by the Indians. The greater portion of these were purchased from the Indians, in exchange for rum, by Vaudreuil, the governor at Montreal; but to the eternal disgrace of this man, he suffered many of them to be carried off, and did not even interfere when, publicly, in the sight of the whole town, the Indians murdered some of the prisoners, and, not content with eating them themselves, forced their comrades to partake of the flesh. Bougainville, one of the aides-de-camp of Montcalm, was present, and testified to the fact, and the story is confirmed by the intendant Bigot, a friend of the governor. The ferocity of the Indians cost them dear. They had dug up and scalped the corpses in the graveyard of Fort William Henry. Many of these had died of smallpox, and the savages took the infection home to their villages, where great numbers perished of the disease. As soon as their Indian allies had left, the French soldiers were set to work demolishing the English fort, and the operation was completed by the destruction, by fire, of the remains. The army then returned to Crown Point. In view of the gross breach of the articles of capitulation by the French, the English government refused also to be bound by it, and the French prisoners in their hands were accordingly retained. Colonel Monro himself was one of those who survived. He had made his way through the savages back to the fort, to demand that the protection of the French troops should be given to the soldiers, and so escaped the massacre. Upon his arrival at Albany, James reported, to the officer in command there, the reason which had induced him to quit the fort with his company. These reasons were approved of, but the officer advised James to send in a written report to General Webb, and to march at once to Fort Edward, and place himself under that officer's directions. When he reached the fort, the fugitives were coming in from the woods. James at once reported himself to the general, and handed in his written statement. At the same time he gave his reasons, in a few words, for the course he had taken. Webb was far too much excited by the news of the terrible events which had taken place, and for which, as he could not but be aware, he would be to some extent held responsible, by public opinion, for having refused to move to Monro's assistance, to pay much attention to the young officer's statement. "You were quite right, sir, quite right to carry off your command," he said hastily. "Thank God there are so many the fewer of his majesty's troops sacrificed! You will please take your company out at once into the woods. They are accustomed to the work, which is more than any of my troops here are. Divide them into four parties, and let them scour the forest, and bring in such of the fugitives as they can find. Let them take as much provisions and rum as they can carry, for many of the fugitives will be starving." James executed his orders, and, during the next five days, sent in a considerable number of exhausted men, who, hopelessly lost in the woods, must have perished unless they had been discovered by his party. Had Montcalm marched direct upon Fort Edward, he could doubtless have captured it, for the fall of Fort William Henry had so scared Webb, that he would probably have retreated the moment he heard the news of Montcalm's advance, although, within a day or two of the fall of the fort, many thousands of colonial militia had arrived. As soon, however, as it was known that Montcalm had retired, the militia, who were altogether unsupplied with the means of keeping the field, returned to their homes. Loudon, on his way back from the unsuccessful expedition against Louisbourg, received the news of the calamity at Fort William Henry. He returned too late to do anything to retrieve that disaster, and determined, in the spring, to take the offensive by attacking Ticonderoga. This had been left, on the retirement of Montcalm, with a small garrison commanded by Captain Hepecourt, who, during the winter, was continually harassed by the corps of Captain Rogers, and James Walsham's scouts. Toward the spring, receiving reinforcements, Hepecourt caught Rogers and a hundred and eighty men in an ambush, and killed almost all of them; Rogers himself, and some twenty or thirty men, alone escaping. In the spring there was a fresh change of plans. The expedition against Ticonderoga was given up, as another attempt at Louisbourg was about to be made. The English government were determined that the disastrous delays, which had caused the failure of the last expedition, should not be repeated. Loudon was recalled, and to General Abercromby, the second in command, was intrusted the charge of the forces in the colonies. Colonel Amherst was raised to the rank of major general, and appointed to command the expedition from England against Louisbourg, having under him Brigadier Generals Whitmore, Lawrence, and Wolfe. Before the winter was ended two fleets put to sea: the one, under Admiral Boscawen, was destined for Louisbourg; while the other, under Admiral Osborne, sailed for the Straits of Gibraltar, to intercept the French fleet of Admiral La Clue, which was about to sail from Toulon for America. At the same time Sir Edward Hawke, with seven ships of the line and three frigates, sailed for Rochefort, where a French squadron with a fleet of transports, with troops for America, were lying. The two latter expeditions were perfectly successful. Osborne prevented La Clue from leaving the Mediterranean. Hawke drove the enemy's vessels ashore at Rochefort, and completely broke up the expedition. Thus Canada, at the critical period, when the English were preparing to strike a great blow at her, was cut off from all assistance from the mother country, and left to her own resources. As before, Halifax was the spot where the troops from the colonies were to meet the fleet from England, and the troops who came out under their convoy, and here, on the 28th of May, the whole expedition was collected. The colonies had again been partially stripped of their defenders, and five hundred provincial rangers accompanied the regulars. James Walsham's corps was left for service on the frontier, while the regiments, to which they belonged, sailed with the force destined for the siege of Louisbourg. This fortress stood, at the mouth of a land-locked bay, on the stormy coast of Cape Breton. Since the peace of Aix la Chapelle, vast sums had been spent in repairing and strengthening it, and it was, by far, the strongest fortress in English or French America. The circuit of its fortifications was more than a mile and a half, and the town contained about four thousand inhabitants. The garrison consisted of the battalions of Artois, Bourgogne, Cambis, and Volontaires Etrangers, with two companies of artillery, and twenty-four of colonial troops; in all, three thousand and eighty men, besides officers. In the harbour lay five ships of the line and seven frigates, carrying five hundred and forty-four guns, and about three thousand men, and there were two hundred and nineteen cannons and seventeen mortars mounted on the ramparts and outworks, and forty-four in reserve. Of the outworks, the strongest were the grand battery at Lighthouse Point, at the mouth of the harbour; and that on Goat Island, a rocky islet at its entrance. The strongest front of the works was on the land side, across the base of the triangular peninsula on which the town stood. This front, twelve hundred yards in extent, reached from the sea, on the left, to the harbour on the right, and consisted of four strong bastions with connecting works. The best defence of Louisbourg, however, was the craggy shore, which, for leagues on either side, was accessible only at a few points, and, even there, a landing could only be effected with the greatest difficulty. All these points were watched, for an English squadron, of nine ships of war, had been cruising off the place, endeavouring to prevent supplies from arriving; but they had been so often blown off, by gales, that the French ships had been able to enter, and, on the 2nd of June, when the English expedition came in sight, more than a year's supply of provisions was stored up in the town. Chapter 17: Louisbourg And Ticonderoga. All eyes in the fleet were directed towards the rocky shore of Gabarus Bay, a flat indentation some three miles across, its eastern extremity, White Point, being a mile to the west of Louisbourg. The sea was rough, and the white masses of surf were thrown high up upon the face of the rock, along the coast, as far as the eye could reach. A more difficult coast on which to effect a landing could not have been selected. There were but three points where boats could, even in fine weather, get to shore--namely, White Point, Flat Point, and Fresh Water Cove. To cover these, the French had erected several batteries, and, as soon as the English fleet was in sight, they made vigorous preparations to repel a landing. Boats were at once lowered, in order to make a reconnaissance of the shore. Generals Amherst, Lawrence, and Wolfe all took part in it, and a number of naval officers, in their boats, daringly approached the shore to almost within musket shot. When they returned, in the afternoon, they made their reports to the admiral, and these reports all agreed with his own opinion--namely, that there was but little chance of success. One naval captain alone, an old officer named Fergusson, advised the admiral to hold no council of war, but to take the responsibility on himself, and to make the attempt at all risks. "Why, admiral," he said, "the very children at home would laugh at us, if, for a second time, we sailed here with an army, and then sailed away again without landing a man." "So they would, Fergusson, so they would," the admiral said. "If I have to stop here till winter, I won't go till I have carried out my orders, and put the troops ashore." In addition to the three possible landing places already named, was one to the east of the town named Lorambec, and it was determined to send a regiment to threaten a landing at this place, while the army, formed into three divisions, were to threaten the other points, and effect a landing at one or all of them, if it should be found possible. On the next day, however, the 3rd of June, the surf was so high that nothing could be attempted. On the 4th there was a thick fog and a gale, and the frigate Trent struck on a rock, and some of the transports were nearly blown on shore. The sea was very heavy, and the vessels rolled tremendously at their anchors. Most of the troops suffered terribly from seasickness. The next day, the weather continued thick and stormy. On the 6th there was fog, but towards noon the wind went down, whereupon the signal was made, the boats were lowered, and the troops took their places in them. Scarcely had they done so, when the wind rose again, and the sea got up so rapidly that the landing was postponed. The next day the fog and heavy surf continued, but in the evening the sea grew calmer, and orders were issued for the troops to take to the boats, at two o'clock next morning. This was done, and the frigates got under sail, and steered for the four points at which the real or pretended attacks were to be made, and, anchoring within easy range, opened fire soon after daylight; while the boats, in three divisions, rowed towards the shore. The division under Wolfe consisted of twelve companies of Grenadiers, with the Light infantry, Fraser's Highlanders, and the New England Rangers. Fresh Water Cove was a crescent-shaped beach a quarter of a mile long, with rocks at each end. On the shore above lay 1000 Frenchmen under Lieutenant Colonel de Saint Julien, with eight cannons, on swivels, planted to sweep every part of the beach. The intrenchments, behind which the troops were lying, were covered in front by spruce and fir trees, felled and laid on the ground with the tops outward. Not a shot was fired until the English boats approached the beach, then, from behind the leafy screen, a deadly storm of grape and musketry was poured upon them. It was clear at once that to advance would be destruction, and Wolfe waved his hand as a signal to the boats to sheer off. On the right of the line, and but little exposed to the fire, were three boats of the Light Infantry under Lieutenants Hopkins and Brown, and Ensign Grant, who, mistaking the signal, or wilfully misinterpreting it, dashed for the shore directly before them. It was a hundred yards or so east of the beach--a craggy coast, lashed by the breakers, but sheltered from the cannon by a small projecting point. The three young officers leapt ashore, followed by their men. Major Scott, who commanded the Light Infantry and Rangers, was in the next boat, and at once followed the others, putting his boat's head straight to the shore. The boat was crushed to pieces against the rocks. Some of the men were drowned, but the rest scrambled up the rocks, and joined those who had first landed. They were instantly attacked by the French, and half of the little party were killed or wounded before the rest of the division could come to their assistance. Some of the boats were upset, and others stove in, but most of the men scrambled ashore, and, as soon as he landed, Wolfe led them up the rocks, where they formed in compact order and carried, with the bayonet, the nearest French battery. The other divisions, seeing that Wolfe had effected a landing, came rapidly up, and, as the French attention was now distracted by Wolfe's attack on the left, Amherst and Lawrence were able to land at the other end of the beach, and, with their divisions, attacked the French on the right. These, assaulted on both sides, and fearing to be cut off from the town, abandoned their cannon and fled into the woods. Some seventy of them were taken prisoners, and fifty killed. The rest made their way through the woods and marshes to Louisbourg, and the French in the other batteries commanding the landing places, seeing that the English were now firmly established on the shore, also abandoned the positions, and retreated to the town. General Amherst established the English camp just beyond the range of the cannon on the ramparts, and the fleet set to work to land guns and stores at Flat Point Cove. For some days this work went on; but so violent was the surf, that more than a hundred boats were stove in in accomplishing it, and none of the siege guns could be landed till the 18th. While the sailors were so engaged, the troops were busy making roads and throwing up redoubts to protect their position. Wolfe, with 1200 men, made his way right round the harbour, and took possession of the battery at Lighthouse Point which the French had abandoned; planted guns and mortars there, and opened fire on the battery on the islet which guarded the entrance to the harbour; while other batteries were raised, at different points along the shore, and opened fire upon the French ships. These replied, and the artillery duel went on night and day, until, on the 25th, the battery on the islet was silenced. Leaving a portion of his force in the batteries he had erected, Wolfe returned to the main army in front of the town. In the meantime, Amherst had not been idle. Day and night a thousand men had been employed, making a covered road across a swamp to a hillock less than half a mile from the ramparts. The labour was immense, and the troops worked knee deep in mud and water. When Wolfe had silenced the battery on the islet, the way was open for the English fleet to enter and engage the ships and town from the harbour, but the French took advantage of a dark and foggy night, and sank six ships across the entrance. On the 25th, the troops had made the road to the hillock, and began to fortify themselves there, under a heavy fire from the French; while on the left, towards the sea, about a third of a mile from the Princess's Bastion, Wolfe, with a strong detachment, began to throw up a redoubt. On the night of the 9th of July, 600 French troops sallied out and attacked this work. The English, though fighting desperately, were for a time driven back; but, being reinforced, they drove the French back into the town. Each day the English lines drew closer to the town. The French frigate Echo, under cover of a fog, had been sent to Quebec for aid, but she was chased and captured. The frigate Arethuse, on the night of the 14th of July, was towed through the obstructions at the mouth of the harbour, and, passing through the English ships in a fog, succeeded in getting away. Only five vessels of the French fleet now remained in the harbour, and these were but feebly manned, as 2000 of the officers and seamen had landed, and were encamped in the town. On the afternoon of the 16th a party of English, led by Wolfe, suddenly dashed forward, and, driving back a company of French, seized some rising ground within three hundred yards of the ramparts, and began to intrench themselves there. All night, the French kept up a furious fire at the spot, but, by morning, the English had completed their intrenchment, and from this point pushed on, until they had reached the foot of the glacis. On the 21st, the French man of war Celebre was set on fire by the explosion of a shell. The wind blew the flames into the rigging of two of her consorts, and these also caught fire, and the three ships burned to the water's edge. Several fires were occasioned in the town, and the English guns, of which a great number were now in position, kept up a storm of fire night and day. On the night of the 23rd, six hundred English sailors silently rowed into the harbour, cut the cables of the two remaining French men of war, and tried to tow them out. One, however, was aground, for the tide was low. The sailors therefore set her on fire, and then towed her consort out of the harbour, amidst a storm of shot and shell from the French batteries. The French position was now desperate. Only four cannon, on the side facing the English batteries, were fit for service. The masonry of the ramparts was shaken, and the breaches were almost complete. A fourth of the garrison were in hospital, and the rest were worn out by toil. Every house in the place was shattered by the English artillery, and there was no shelter either for the troops or the inhabitants. On the 26th, the last French cannon was silenced, and a breach effected in the wall; and the French, unable longer to resist, hung out the white flag. They attempted to obtain favourable conditions, but Boscawen and Amherst insisted upon absolute surrender, and the French, wholly unable to resist further, accepted the terms. Thus fell the great French stronghold on Cape Breton. The defence had been a most gallant one; and Drucour, the governor, although he could not save the fortress, had yet delayed the English so long before the walls, that it was too late in the season, now, to attempt an attack on Canada itself. Wolfe, indeed, urged that an expedition should at once be sent against Quebec, but Boscawen was opposed to this, owing to the lateness of the season, and Amherst was too slow and deliberate, by nature, to determine suddenly on the enterprise. He, however, sailed with six regiments for Boston, to reinforce Abercromby at Lake George. Wolfe carried out the orders of the general, to destroy the French settlements on the Gulf of Saint Lawrence--a task most repugnant to his humane nature. After this had been accomplished, he sailed for England. When Amherst had sailed with his expedition to the attack of Louisbourg, he had not left the colonists in so unprotected a state as they had been in the preceding year. They, on their part, responded nobly to the call, from England, that a large force should be put in the field. The home government had promised to supply arms, ammunition, tents, and provisions, and to make a grant towards the pay and clothing of the soldiers. Massachusetts, as usual, responded most freely and loyally to the demand. She had already incurred a very heavy debt by her efforts in the war, and had supplied 2500 men--a portion of whom had gone with Amherst--but she now raised 7000 more, whom she paid, maintained, and clothed out of her own resources, thus placing in the field one-fourth of her able-bodied men. Connecticut made equal sacrifices, although less exposed to danger of invasion; while New Hampshire sent out one-third of her able-bodied men. In June the combined British and provincial force, under Abercromby, gathered on the site of Fort William Henry. The force consisted of 6367 officers and soldiers of the regular army, and 9054 colonial troops. Abercromby himself was an infirm and incapable man, who owed his position to political influence. The real command was in the hands of Brigadier General Lord Howe--a most energetic and able officer, who had, during the past year, thoroughly studied forest warfare, and had made several expeditions with the scouting parties of Rogers and other frontier leaders. He was a strict disciplinarian, but threw aside all the trammels of the traditions of the service. He made both officers and men dress in accordance with the work they had before them. All had to cut their hair close, to wear leggings to protect them from the briars, and to carry in their knapsacks thirty pounds of meal, which each man had to cook for himself. The coats, of both the Regulars and Provincials, were cut short at the waist, and no officer or private was allowed to carry more than one blanket and a bear skin. Howe himself lived as simply and roughly as his men. The soldiers were devoted to their young commander, and were ready to follow him to the death. "That's something like a man for a general," Nat said enthusiastically, as he marched, with the Royal Scouts, past the spot where Lord Howe was sitting on the ground, eating his dinner with a pocket knife. "I have never had much hope of doing anything, before, with the regulars in the forest, but I do think, this time, we have got a chance of licking the French. What do you say, captain?" "It looks more hopeful, Nat, certainly. Under Loudon and Webb things did not look very bright, but this is a different sort of general altogether." On the evening of the 4th of July baggage, stores, and ammunition were all on board the boats, and the whole army embarked at daybreak on the 5th. It was indeed a magnificent sight, as the flotilla started. It consisted of 900 troop boats, 135 whale boats, and a large number of heavy flatboats carrying the artillery. They were in three divisions, the regulars in the centre, the provincial troops on either flank. Each corps had its flags and its music, the day was fair and bright, and, as the flotilla swept on past the verdure-clad hills, with the sun shining brilliantly down on the bright uniforms and gay flags, on the flash of oars and the glitter of weapons, a fairer sight was seldom witnessed. At five in the afternoon, they reached Sabbath Day Point, twenty-five miles down the lake, where they halted some time for the baggage and artillery. At eleven o'clock they started again, and by daybreak were nearing the outlet of the lake. An advanced party of the French were watching their movements, and a detachment was seen, near the shore, at the spot where the French had embarked on the previous year. The companies of Rogers and James Walsham landed, and drove them off, and by noon the whole army was on shore. The troops started in four columns, but so dense was the forest, so obstructed with undergrowth, that they could scarcely make their way, and, after a time, even the guides became confused in the labyrinth of trunks and boughs, and the four columns insensibly drew near to each other. Curiously, the French advanced party, 350 strong, who had tried to retreat, also became lost in the wood, and, not knowing where the English were, in their wanderings again approached them. As they did so Lord Howe, who, with Major Putnam, and 200 rangers and scouts, was at the head of the principal column, suddenly came upon them. A skirmish followed. Scarcely had it begun when Lord Howe dropped dead, shot through the breast. For a moment, something like a panic seized the army, who believed that they had fallen into an ambush, and that Montcalm's whole force was upon them. The rangers, however, fought steadily, until Rogers' Rangers and the Royal Scouts, who were out in front, came back and took the French in the rear. Only about 50 of these escaped, 148 were captured, and the rest killed or drowned in endeavouring to cross the rapids. The loss of the English was small in numbers, but the death of Howe inflicted an irreparable blow upon the army. As Major Mante, who was present, wrote: "In Lord Howe, the soul of General Abercromby's army seemed to expire. From the unhappy moment that the general was deprived of his advice, neither order nor discipline was observed, and a strange kind of infatuation usurped the place of resolution." The loss of its gallant young general was, indeed, the destruction of an army of 15,000 men. Abercromby seemed paralysed by the stroke, and could do nothing, and the soldiers were needlessly kept under arms all night in the forest, and, in the morning, were ordered back to the landing place. At noon, however, Bradstreet was sent out to take possession of the sawmill, at the falls which Montcalm had abandoned the evening before. Bradstreet rebuilt the two bridges, which had been destroyed by the enemy, and the army then advanced, and in the evening occupied the deserted encampment of the French. Montcalm had, for some days, been indecisive as to his course. His force was little more than a fourth of that of the advancing foe. He had, for some time, been aware of the storm which was preparing against him. Vaudreuil, the governor, had at first intended to send a body of Canadians and Indians, under General Levis, down the valley of the Mohawk to create a diversion, but this scheme had been abandoned, and, instead of sending Levis, with his command, to the assistance of Montcalm, he had kept them doing nothing at Montreal. Just about the hour Lord Howe was killed, Montcalm fell back with his force from his position by the falls, and resolved to make a stand at the base of the peninsula on which Ticonderoga stands. The outline of the works had already been traced, and the soldiers of the battalion of Berry had made some progress in constructing them. At daybreak, just as Abercromby was drawing his troops back to the landing place, Montcalm's whole army set to work. Thousands of trees were hewn down, and the trunks piled one upon another, so as to form a massive breastwork. The line followed the top of the ridge, with many zigzags, so that the whole front could be swept by a fire of musketry and grape. The log wall was eight or nine feet high, and the upper tier was formed of single logs, in which notches were cut to serve as loopholes. The whole space in front was cleared of trees, for the distance of a musket shot, the trees being felled so that their tops turned outwards, forming an almost impenetrable obstacle, while, immediately in front of the log wall, the ground was covered with heavy boughs, overlapping and interlaced, their points being sharpened. This position was, in fact, absolutely impregnable against an attack, in front, by infantry. It was true that Abercromby might have brought up his artillery, and battered down the breastwork, or he might have planted a battery on the heights which commanded the position, or he might have marched a portion of his army through the woods, and placed them on the road between Ticonderoga and Crown Point, and so have cut off the whole French army, and forced them to surrender, for they had but eight days' provisions. But Howe was dead, there was no longer leading or generalship, and Abercromby, leaving his cannon behind him, marched his army to make a direct attack on the French intrenchment. In the course of the night Levis, with 400 of his men, arrived, and the French were in readiness for the attack. The battalions of La Sarre and Languedoc were posted on the left under Bourlamaque, Berry and Royal Roussillon in the centre under Montcalm, La Reine, Beam, and Guienne on the right under Levis. A detachment of volunteers occupied the low ground between the breastwork and the outlet of Lake George, while 450 Canadian troops held an abattis on the side towards Lake Champlain, where they were covered by the guns of the fort. Until noon, the French worked unceasingly to strengthen their position, then a heavy fire broke out in front, as the rangers and light infantry drove in their pickets. As soon as the English issued from the wood, they opened fire, and then the regulars, formed in columns of attack, pushed forward across the rough ground with its maze of fallen trees. They could see the top of the breastwork, but not the men behind it, and as soon as they were fairly entangled in the trees, a terrific fire opened upon them. The English pushed up close to the breastwork, but they could not pass the bristling mass of sharpened branches, which were swept by a terrific crossfire from the intrenchment. After striving for an hour, they fell back. Abercromby, who had remained at the mill a mile and a half in the rear, sent orders for them to attack again. Never did the English fight with greater bravery. Six times did they advance to the attack, but the task set them was impossible. At five in the afternoon, two English columns made an assault on the extreme right of the French, and, although Montcalm hastened to the spot with his reserves, they nearly succeeded in breaking through, hewing their way right to the very foot of the breastwork, and renewing the attack over and over again, the Highland regiment, which led the column, fighting with desperate valour, and not retiring until its major and twenty-five of the officers were killed or wounded, and half the men had fallen under the deadly fire. At six o'clock another desperate attempt was made, but in vain; then the regulars fell back in disorder, but, for an hour and a half, the provincials and rangers kept up a fire, while their comrades removed the wounded. Abercromby had lost in killed, wounded, and missing 1944 officers and men, while the loss of the French was 377. Even now, Abercromby might have retrieved his repulse, for, with 13,000 men still remaining, against 3300 unwounded Frenchmen, he could still have easily forced them to surrender, by planting cannons on the heights, or by cutting off their communication and food. He did neither, but, at daybreak, re-embarked his army, and retired with all speed down the lake. Montcalm soon received large reinforcements, and sent out scouting parties. One of these caught a party commanded by Captain Rogers in an ambush, but were finally driven back, with such heavy loss that, from that time, few scouting parties were sent out from Ticonderoga. In October, Montcalm, with the main portion of his army, retired for the winter to Montreal; while the English fell back to Albany. While Abercromby was lying inactive at the head of Lake George, Brigadier General Forbes had advanced from Virginia against Fort Duquesne, and, after immense labour and hardships, succeeded in arriving at the fort, which the French evacuated at his approach, having burnt the barracks and storehouses, and blown up the fortifications. A stockade was formed, and a fort afterwards built there. This was called Fort Pitt, and the place itself, Pittsburg. A small garrison was left there, and the army, after having collected and buried the bones of Braddock's men, retired to Virginia. The general, who, though suffering terribly from disease, had steadfastly carried out the enterprise in the face of enormous difficulties, died shortly after the force returned to the settlements. Another successful enterprise, during the autumn, had been the capture of Fort Frontenac, and the gaining of a foothold by the English on Lake Ontario. Thus, the campaign of 1758 was, on the whole, disastrous to the French. They had held their own triumphantly at Ticonderoga, but they had lost their great fortress of Louisbourg, their right had been forced back by the capture of Fort Duquesne, and their line of communication cut by the destruction of Fort Frontenac. Chapter 18: Quebec. In the following spring, the French prepared to resist the serious attack which they expected would be made by way of Lake Champlain and Ontario. But a greater danger was threatening them, for, in the midst of their preparations, the news arrived from France that a great fleet was on its way, from England, to attack Quebec. The town was filled with consternation and surprise, for the Canadians had believed that the navigation of the Saint Lawrence was too difficult and dangerous for any hostile fleet to attempt. Their spirits rose however when, a few days later, a fleet of twenty-three ships, ladened with supplies from France, sailed up the river. A day or two later, the British fleet was at the mouth of the Saint Lawrence, and the whole forces of the colony, except three battalions posted at Ticonderoga, and a strong detachment placed so as to resist any hostile movement from Lake Ontario, were mustered at Quebec. Here were gathered five French battalions, the whole of the Canadian troops and militia, and upwards of a thousand Indians, in all amounting to more than sixteen thousand. The position was an extremely strong one. The main force was encamped on the high ground below Quebec, with their right resting on the Saint Charles River, and the left on the Montmorenci, a distance of between seven and eight miles. The front was covered by steep ground, which rose nearly from the edge of the Saint Lawrence, and the right was covered by the guns of the citadel of Quebec. A boom of logs, chained together, was laid across the mouth of the Saint Charles, which was further guarded by two hulks mounted with cannon. A bridge of boats, crossing the river a mile higher up, connected the city with the camp. All the gates of Quebec, except that of Saint Charles, which faced the bridge, were closed and barricaded. A hundred and six cannon were mounted on the walls, while a floating battery of twelve heavy pieces, a number of gunboats, and eight fire ships formed the river defences. The frigates, which had convoyed the merchant fleet, were taken higher up the river, and a thousand of their seamen came down, from Quebec, to man the batteries and gunboats. Against this force of sixteen thousand men, posted behind defensive works, on a position almost impregnable by nature, General Wolfe was bringing less than nine thousand troops. The steep and lofty heights, that lined the river, rendered the cannon of the ships useless to him, and the exigencies of the fleet, in such narrow and difficult navigation, prevented the sailors being landed to assist the troops. A large portion of Montcalm's army, indeed, consisted of Canadians, who were of little use in the open field, but could be trusted to fight well behind intrenchments. Wolfe was, unfortunately, in extremely bad health when he was selected, by Pitt, to command the expedition against Quebec; but under him were Brigadier Generals Monckton, Townshend, and Murray, all good officers. The fleet consisted of twenty-two ships of war, with frigates and sloops, and a great number of transports. It was, at first, divided into three squadrons. That under Admiral Durell sailed direct for the Saint Lawrence, to intercept the ships from France, but arrived at its destination a few days too late. That of Admiral Holmes sailed for New York, to take on board a portion of the army of Amherst and Abercromby. That of Admiral Saunders sailed to Louisbourg, but, finding the entrance blocked with ice, went on to Halifax, where it was joined by the squadron with the troops from New York. They then sailed again to Louisbourg, where they remained until the 6th of June, 1759, and then joined Durell at the mouth of the Saint Lawrence. Wolfe's force had been intended to be larger, and should have amounted to fourteen thousand men; but some regiments which were to have joined him from the West Indies were, at the last moment, countermanded, and Amherst, who no doubt felt some jealousy, at the command of this important expedition being given to an officer who had served under his orders at the taking of Louisbourg, sent a smaller contingent of troops than had been expected. Among the regiments which sailed was that of James Walsham. After the fight at Ticonderoga, in which upwards of half of his force had fallen, the little corps had been broken up, and the men had returned to duty with their regiments. Owing to the number of officers who had fallen, James now stood high on the list of lieutenants. He had had enough of scouting, and was glad to return to the regiment, his principal regret being that he had to part from his two trusty scouts. There was great joy, in the regiment, when the news was received that they were to go with the expedition against Quebec. They had formed part of Wolf''s division at Louisbourg, and, like all who had served with him, regarded with enthusiasm and confidence the leader whose frail body seemed wholly incapable of sustaining fatigue or hardship, but whose indomitable spirit and courage placed him ever in the front, and set an example which the bravest of his followers were proud to imitate. From time to time, James had received letters from home. Communication was irregular; but his mother and Mr. Wilks wrote frequently, and sometimes he received half a dozen letters at once. He had now been absent from home for four years, and his mother told him that he would scarcely recognize Aggie, who was now as tall as herself. Mrs. Walsham said that the girl was almost as interested as she was in his letters, and in the despatches from the war, in which his name had several times been mentioned, in connection with the services rendered by his scouts. Richard Horton had twice, during James's absence, returned home. The squire, Mrs. Walsham said, had received him very coolly, in consequence of the letter he had written when James was pressed as a seaman, and she said that Aggie seemed to have taken a great objection to him. She wondered, indeed, that he could stay an hour in the house after his reception there; but he seemed as if he didn't notice it, and took especial pains to try and overcome Aggie's feeling against him. While waiting at the mouth of the Saint Lawrence, Admiral Durell had succeeded in obtaining pilots to take the fleet up the river. He had sailed up the river to the point where the difficult navigation began, and where vessels generally took on board river pilots. Here he hoisted the French flag at the masthead, and the pilots, believing the ships to be a French squadron, which had eluded the watch of the English, came off in their boats, and were all taken prisoners, and forced, under pain of death, to take the English vessels safely up. The first difficulty of the passage was at Cape Tourmente, where the channel describes a complete zigzag. Had the French planted some guns on a plateau, high up on the side of the mountains, they could have done great damage by a plunging fire; but Vaudreuil had neglected to take this measure, and the fleet passed up in safety, the manner in which they were handled and navigated astonishing the Canadians, who had believed it to be impossible that large ships could be taken up. On the 26th, the whole fleet were anchored off the Island of Orleans, a few miles below Quebec. The same night, a small party landed on the island. They were opposed by the armed inhabitants, but beat them off, and, during the night, the Canadians crossed to the north shore. The whole army then landed. From the end of the island, Wolfe could see the full strength of the position which he had come to attack. Three or four miles in front of him, the town of Quebec stood upon its elevated rock. Beyond rose the loftier height of Cape Diamond, with its redoubts and parapets. Three great batteries looked threateningly from the upper rock of Quebec, while three others were placed, near the edge of the water, in the lower town. On the right was the great camp of Montcalm, stretching from the Saint Charles, at the foot of the city walls, to the gorge of the Montmorenci. From the latter point to the village of Beauport, in the centre of the camp, the front was covered with earthworks, along the brink of a lofty height; and from Beauport to the Saint Charles were broad flats of mud, swept by the fire of redoubts and intrenchments, by the guns of a floating battery, and by those of the city itself. Wolfe could not see beyond Quebec, but, above the city, the position was even stronger than below. The river was walled by a range of steeps, often inaccessible, and always so difficult that a few men could hold an army in check. Montcalm was perfectly confident of his ability to resist any attack which the British might make. Bougainville had long before examined the position, in view of the possibility of an English expedition against it, and reported that, with a few intrenchments, the city would be safe if defended by three or four thousand men. Sixteen thousand were now gathered there, and Montcalm might well believe the position to be impregnable. He was determined to run no risk, by advancing to give battle, but to remain upon the defensive till the resources of the English were exhausted, or till the approach of winter forced them to retire. His only source of uneasiness lay in the south, for he feared that Amherst, with his army, might capture Ticonderoga and advance into the colony, in which case he must weaken his army, by sending a force to oppose him. On the day after the army landed on the island, a sudden and very violent squall drove several of the ships ashore, and destroyed many of the flatboats. On the following night, the sentries at the end of the island saw some vessels coming down the river. Suddenly these burst into flames. They were the fire ships, which Vaudreuil had sent down to destroy the fleet. They were filled with pitch, tar, and all sorts of combustibles, with shell and grenades mixed up with them, while on their decks were a number of cannon, crammed to the mouth with grapeshot and musketballs. Fortunately for the English, the French naval officer in command lost his nerve, and set fire to his ship half an hour too soon; the other captains following his example. This gave the English time to recover from the first feeling of consternation at seeing the fire ships, each a pillar of flame, advancing with tremendous explosion and noise against them. The troops at once got under arms, lest the French should attack them, while the vessels lowered their boats, and the sailors rowed up to meet the fire ships. When they neared them, they threw grapnels on board, and towed them towards land until they were stranded, and then left them to burn out undisturbed. Finding that it would be impossible to effect a landing, under the fire of the French guns, Wolfe determined, as a first step, to seize the height of Point Levi opposite Quebec. From this point he could fire on the town across the Saint Lawrence, which is, here, less than a mile wide. On the afternoon of the 29th, Monckton's brigade crossed, in the boats, to Beaumont on the south shore. His advanced guard had a skirmish with a party of Canadians, but these soon fell back, and no further opposition was offered to the landing. In the morning a proclamation, issued by Wolfe, was posted on the doors of the parish churches. It called upon the Canadians to stand neutral in the contest, promising them, if they did so, full protection to their property and religion; but threatening that, if they resisted, their houses, goods, and harvest should be destroyed, and their churches sacked. The brigade marched along the river to Point Levi, and drove off a body of French and Indians posted there, and, the next morning, began to throw up intrenchments and to form batteries. Wolfe did not expect that his guns here could do any serious damage to the fortifications of Quebec. His object was partly to discourage the inhabitants of the city exposed to his fire, partly to keep up the spirits of his own troops by setting them to work. The guns of Quebec kept up a continual fire against the working parties, but the batteries continued to rise, and the citizens, alarmed at the destruction which threatened their houses, asked the governor to allow them to cross the river, and dislodge the English. Although he had no belief that they would succeed, he thought it better to allow them to try. Accordingly, some fifteen hundred armed citizens, and Canadians from the camp, with a few Indians, and a hundred volunteers from the regulars, marched up the river, and crossed on the night of the 12th of July. The courage of the citizens evaporated very quickly, now they were on the same side of the river as the English, although still three miles from them. In a short time a wild panic seized them. They rushed back in extreme disorder to their boats, crossed the river, and returned to Quebec. The English guns soon opened, and carried destruction into the city. In one day eighteen houses, and the cathedral, were burned by exploding shells; and the citizens soon abandoned their homes, and fled into the country. The destruction of the city, however, even if complete, would have advanced Wolfe's plans but little. It was a moral blow at the enemy, but nothing more. On the 8th of July, several frigates took their station before the camp of General Levis, who, with his division of Canadian militia, occupied the heights along the Saint Lawrence next to the gorge of Montmorenci. Here they opened fire with shell, and continued it till nightfall. Owing to the height of the plateau on which the camp was situated, they did but little damage, but the intention of Wolfe was simply to keep the enemy occupied and under arms. Towards evening, the troops on the island broke up their camp, and, leaving a detachment of marines to hold the post, the brigades of Townshend and Murray, three thousand strong, embarked after nightfall in the boats of the fleet, and landed a little below the Montmorenci, At daybreak, they climbed the heights, and, routing a body of Canadians and Indians who opposed them, gained the plateau and began to intrench themselves there. A company of rangers, supported by the regulars, was sent into the neighbouring forests; to prevent the parties from cutting bushes for the fascines, to explore the bank of the Montmorenci, and, if possible, to discover a ford across the river. Levis, with his aide-de-camp, a Jacobite Scotchman named Johnston, was watching the movements of Wolfe from the heights above the gorge. Levis believed that no ford existed, but Johnston found a man who had, only that morning, crossed. A detachment was at once sent to the place, with orders to intrench themselves, and Levis posted eleven hundred Canadians, under Repentigny, close by in support. Four hundred Indians passed the ford, and discovered the English detachment in the forest, and Langlade, their commander, recrossed the river, and told Repentigny that there was a body of English, in the forest, who might be destroyed if he would cross at once with his Canadians. Repentigny sent to Levis, and Levis to Vaudreuil, then three or four miles distant. Before Vaudreuil arrived on the spot, the Indians became impatient and attacked the rangers; and drove them back, with loss, upon the regulars, who stood their ground, and repulsed the assailants. The Indians, however, carried thirty-six scalps across the ford. If Repentigny had advanced when first called upon, and had been followed by Levis with his whole command, the English might have suffered a very severe check, for the Canadians were as much superior to the regulars, in the forest, as the regulars to the Canadians in the open. Vaudreuil called a council of war, but he and Montcalm agreed not to attack the English, who were, on their part, powerless to injure them. Wolfe's position on the heights was indeed a dangerous one. A third of his force was six miles away, on the other side of the Saint Lawrence, and the detachment on the island was separated from each by a wide arm of the river. Any of the three were liable to be attacked and overpowered, before the others could come to its assistance. Wolfe, indeed, was soon well intrenched, but, although safe against attack, he was powerless to take the offensive. The fact, however, that he had taken up his position so near their camp, had discomfited the Canadians, and his battery played, with considerable effect, on the left of their camp. The time passed slowly. The deep and impassable gulf of the Montmorenci separated the two enemies, but the crests of the opposite cliffs were within easy gunshot of each other, and men who showed themselves near the edge ran a strong chance of being hit. Along the river, from the Montmorenci to Point Levi, continued fighting went on between the guns of the frigates, and the gunboats and batteries on shore. The Indians swarmed in the forest, near the English camp, and constant skirmishing went on between them and the rangers. The steady work of destruction going on in the city of Quebec, by the fire from Point Levi, and the ceaseless cannonade kept up by the ships and Wolfe's batteries; added to the inactivity to which they were condemned, began to dispirit the Canadian militia, and many desertions took place, the men being anxious to return to their villages and look after the crops; and many more would have deserted, had it not been for the persuasion of the priests, and the fear of being maltreated by the Indians, whom the governor threatened to let loose upon any who should waver in their resistance. On the 18th of July a fresh move was made by the English. The French had believed it impossible for any hostile ships to pass the batteries of Quebec; but, covered by a furious cannonade from Point Levi, the man of war Sutherland, with a frigate and several small vessels, aided by a favouring wind, ran up the river at night and passed above the town. Montcalm at once despatched six hundred men, under Dumas, to defend the accessible points in the line of precipices above Quebec, and on the following day, when it became known that the English had dragged a fleet of boats over Point Levi, and had launched them above the town, a reinforcement of several hundreds more was sent to Dumas. On the night of the 20th Colonel Carleton, with six hundred men, rowed eighteen miles up the river, and landed at Pointe aux Trembles on the north shore. Here, many of the fugitives from Quebec had taken refuge, and a hundred women, children and old men were taken prisoners by Carleton, and brought down the next day with the retiring force. Wolfe entertained the prisoners kindly, and sent them, on the following day, with a flag of truce into Quebec. On the night of the 28th, the French made another attempt to burn the English fleet, sending down a large number of schooners, shallops, and rafts, chained together, and filled, as before, with combustibles. This time, the fire was not applied too soon, and the English fleet was for some time in great danger, but was again saved by the sailors, who, in spite of the storm of missiles, vomited out by cannon, swivels, grenades, shell, and gun and pistol barrels loaded up to the muzzle, grappled with the burning mass, and towed it on shore. It was now the end of July, and Wolfe was no nearer taking Quebec than upon the day when he first landed there. In vain he had tempted Montcalm to attack him. The French general, confident in the strength of his position, refused to leave it. Wolfe therefore determined to attack the camp in front. The plan was a desperate one, for, after leaving troops enough to hold his two camps, he had less than five thousand men to attack a position of commanding strength, where Montcalm could, at an hour's notice, collect twice as many to oppose him. At a spot about a mile above the gorge of the Montmorenci a flat strip of ground, some two hundred yards wide, lay between the river and the foot of the precipices, and, at low tide, the river left a flat of mud, nearly half a mile wide, beyond the dry ground. Along the edge of the high-water mark, the French had built several redoubts. From the river, Wolfe could not see that these redoubts were commanded by the musketry of the intrenchments along the edge of the heights above, which also swept with their fire the whole face of the declivity, which was covered with grass, and was extremely steep. Wolfe hoped that, if he attacked one of the redoubts, the French would come down to defend it, and that a battle might be so brought on; or that, if they did not do so, he might find a spot where the heights could be stormed with some chance of success. At low tide, it was possible to ford the mouth of the Montmorenci, and Wolfe intended that the troops from his camp, on the heights above that river, should cross here, and advance along the strand to cooperate with Monckton's brigade, who were to cross from Point Levi. On the morning of the 31st of July, the Centurion, of 64 guns; and two armed transports, each with 14 guns, stood close in to one of the redoubts, and opened fire upon it; while the English batteries, from the heights of the Montmorenci, opened fire across the chasm upon the French lines. At eleven o'clock, the troops from Point Levi put off in their boats, and moved across the river, as if they intended to make a landing between Beauport and the city. For some hours, Montcalm remained ignorant as to the point on which the English attack was to be made, but became presently convinced that it would be delivered near the Montmorenci, and he massed the whole of his army on that flank of his position. At half-past five o'clock the tide was low, and the English boats dashed forward, and the troops sprang ashore on to the broad tract of mud, left bare by the tide; while, at the same moment, a column 2000 strong moved down from the height towards the ford at the mouth of the Montmorenci. The first to land were thirteen companies of Grenadiers, and a detachment of Royal Americans, who, without waiting for the two regiments of Monckton's brigade, dashed forward against the redoubt at the foot of the hill. The French at once abandoned it, but the Grenadiers had no sooner poured into it, than a storm of bullets rained down upon them, from the troops who lined the heights above. Without a moment's hesitation, the Grenadiers and Americans dashed forward, and strove to climb the steep ascent, swept as it was by a terrific hail of bullets and buckshot from the French and Canadians. Numbers rolled, dead or wounded, to the bottom of the hill, but the others struggled on. But at this moment, the cloud, which had been threatening all day, suddenly opened, and the rain poured down in a torrent. The grassy slopes instantly became so slippery that it was absolutely impossible to climb them, and the fire from above died away, as the wet rendered the firelocks unserviceable. The Grenadiers fell back into the redoubt. Wolfe, who had now arrived upon the spot, saw that it was absolutely impossible to carry the heights under the present conditions, and ordered the troops to retreat. Carrying off many of the wounded with them, they fell back in good order. Those of the Grenadiers and Americans who survived recrossed, in their boats, to the island; the 15th Regiment rowed back to Point Levi; and the 78th Highlanders, who belonged to Monckton's brigade, joined the column from below the Montmorenci, and slowly retired along the flats and across the ford. The loss fell entirely upon the Grenadiers and Americans, and was, in proportion to their number, enormous--four hundred and forty-three, including one colonel, eight captains, twenty-one lieutenants, and three ensigns, being killed, wounded, or missing. The blow to the English was a severe one, and even Wolfe began to despair, and meditated leaving a portion of his troops on Isle aux Coudres and fortifying them there, and sailing home, with the rest, to prepare another expedition in the following year. In the middle of August, he issued a third proclamation to the Canadians, declaring, as they had refused his offers of protection, and had practised the most unchristian barbarity against his troops on all occasions, he could no longer refrain, in justice to himself and his army, in chastising them as they deserved. The barbarities consisted in the frequent scalping and mutilating of sentinels, and men on outpost duty, which were perpetrated alike by the Canadians and Indians. Wolfe's object was twofold: first, to cause the militia to desert, and secondly, to exhaust the colony. Accordingly the rangers, light infantry and Highlanders were sent out, in all directions, to waste the settlements wherever resistance was offered. Farm houses and villages were laid in ashes, although the churches were generally spared. Wolfe's orders were strict that women and children were to be treated with honour. "If any violence is offered to a woman, the offender shall be punished with death." These orders were obeyed, and, except in one instance, none but armed men, in the act of resistance, were killed. Vaudreuil, in his despatches home, loudly denounced these barbarities; but he himself was answerable for atrocities incomparably worse, and on a far larger scale, for he had, for years, sent his savages, red and white, along a frontier of 600 miles, to waste, burn, and murder at will, and these, as he was perfectly aware, spared neither age nor sex. Montcalm was not to be moved from his position by the sight of the smoke of the burning villages. He would not risk the loss of all Canada, for the sake of a few hundred farm houses. Seeing the impossibility of a successful attack below the town, Wolfe determined to attempt operations on a large scale above it. Accordingly, with every fair wind and tide, ships and transports ran the gauntlet of the batteries of Quebec, and, covered by a hot fire from Point Levi, generally succeeded, with more or less damage, in getting above the town. A fleet of flatboats was also sent up, and 1200 troops marched overland, under Brigadier Murray, to embark in them. To meet this danger above the town, Bougainville was sent from the camp at Beaufort with 1500 men. Murray made another descent at Pointe-aux-Trembles, but was repulsed with loss. He tried a second time at another place, but a body of ambushed Canadians poured so heavy a fire into the boats, that he was forced to fall back again with considerable loss. His third attempt was more successful, for he landed at Deschambault, and burned a large building filled with stores, and with all the spare baggage of the officers of the French regular troops. Vaudreuil now regretted having sent the French frigates up the river, and withdrawing their crews to work in the batteries. Had they been kept just above the town, they could have overpowered the English vessels as they passed up. The sailors were now sent up to man their ships again; but Admiral Holmes, who had taken command of the ships of war above Quebec, was already too strong for them, and the sailors were recalled to Quebec. Both armies were suffering. Dysentery and fever had broken out in the English camp, and the number of effective men was greatly reduced. Upon the other hand, the French were suffering from shortness of supplies. The English frigates above the town prevented food being brought down from Montreal in boats, and the difficulties of land carriage were very great. The Canadians deserted in great numbers, and Montcalm's force had been weakened by the despatch of Levis, to assist in checking the advance of Amherst. The latter had captured Ticonderoga and Crown Point. Niagara had also been taken by the English. Amherst, however, fell back again, and Levis was able to rejoin Montcalm. But the greatest misfortune which befell the English was the dangerous illness of Wolfe, who, always suffering from disease, was for a time utterly prostrate. At the end of August, however, he partially recovered, and dictated a letter to his three brigadier generals, asking them to fix upon one of three plans, which he laid before them, for attacking the enemy. The first was that the army should march eight or ten miles up the Montmorenci, ford the river, and fall upon the rear of the enemy. The second was to cross the ford at the mouth of the Montmorenci, and march along the shore, until a spot was found where the heights could be climbed. The third was to make a general attack from the boats upon Beauport. Monckton, Townshend, and Murray met in consultation, and considered all the plans to be hopeless; but they proposed that an attempt should be made to land above the town, and so to place the army between Quebec and its base of supplies, thereby forcing Montcalm to fight or to surrender. The attempt seemed a desperate one, but Wolfe determined to adopt it. He had not much hope of its succeeding, but should it not do so, there was nothing for him but to sail, with his weakened army, back to England. He therefore determined at last to make the attempt, and implored his physician to patch him up, so that he could, in person, take the command. "I know perfectly well that you cannot cure me," he wrote; "but pray make me up, so that I may be without pain for a few days, and able to do my duty. That is all I want." On the 3rd of September, Wolfe took the first steps towards the carrying out of his plans, by evacuating the camp at Montmorenci. Montcalm sent a strong force to attack him, as he was moving; but Monckton at Point Levi saw the movement, and, embarking two battalions in boats, made a feint of landing at Beauport. Montcalm recalled his troops to repulse the threatened attack, and the English were able to draw off from Montmorenci without molestation. On the night of the 4th, a fleet of flatboats passed above the town, with the baggage and stores. On the 5th the infantry marched up by land, and the united force, of some 3600 men, embarked on board the ships of Admiral Holmes. The French thought that the abandonment of Montmorenci, and the embarkation of the troops, was a sign that the English were about to abandon their enterprise, and sail for England. Nevertheless, Montcalm did not relax his vigilance, being ever on the watch, riding from post to post, to see that all was in readiness to repel an attack. In one of his letters at this time, he mentioned that he had not taken off his clothes since the 23d of June. He now reinforced the troops under Bougainville, above Quebec, to 3000 men. He had little fear for the heights near the town, believing them to be inaccessible, and that a hundred men could stop a whole army. This he said, especially, in reference to the one spot which presented at least a possibility of being scaled. Here Captain de Vergor, with a hundred Canadian troops, were posted. The battalion of Guienne had been ordered to encamp close at hand, and the post, which was called Anse du Foulon, was but a mile and a half distant from Quebec. Thus, although hoping that the English would soon depart, the French, knowing the character of Wolfe, made every preparation against a last attack before he started. From the 7th to the 12th, Holmes' fleet sailed up and down the river, threatening a landing, now at one point and now at another, wearing out the French, who were kept night and day on the qui vive, and were exhausted by following the ships up and down, so as to be ready to oppose a landing wherever it might be made. James Walsham's regiment formed part of Monckton's brigade, and his colonel had frequently selected him to command parties who went out to the Canadian villages, as, from the knowledge he had acquired of irregular warfare, he could be trusted not to suffer himself to be surprised by the parties of Canadians or Indians, who were always on the watch to cut off detachments sent out from the British camp. There were still ten men in the regiment who had formed part of his band on the lakes. These were drafted into his company, and, whatever force went out, they always accompanied him. Although James had seen much, and heard more, of the terrible barbarities perpetrated by the Canadians and their Indian allies on the frontier, he lamented much the necessity which compelled Wolfe to order the destruction of Canadian villages; and when engaged on this service, whether in command of the detachment, or as a subaltern if more than one company went out, he himself never superintended the painful work; but, with his ten men, scouted beyond the village, and kept a vigilant lookout against surprise. In this way, he had several skirmishes with the Canadians, but the latter never succeeded in surprising any force to which he was attached. Walsham and his scouts were often sent out with parties from other regiments, and General Monckton was so pleased with his vigilance and activity, that he specially mentioned him to General Wolfe, at the same time telling him of the services he had performed on the lakes, and the very favourable reports which had been made by Johnson, Monro, Lord Howe, and Abercromby, of the work done by the corps which he had organized and commanded. "I wish we had a few more officers trained to this sort of warfare," General Wolfe said. "Send him on board the Sutherland tomorrow. I have some service which he is well fitted to carry out." James accordingly repaired on board the Sutherland, and was conducted to the general's cabin. "General Monckton has spoken to me in high terms of you, Lieutenant Walsham, and he tells me that you have been several times mentioned in despatches, by the generals under whom you served; and you were with Braddock as well as with Johnson, Howe, and Abercromby, and with Monro at the siege of Fort William Henry. How is it that so young an officer should have seen so much service?" James informed him how, having been pressed on board a man of war, he had been discharged, in accordance with orders from home, and, hearing that his friends were going to obtain a commission for him, in a regiment under orders for America, he had thought it best to utilize his time by accompanying General Braddock as a volunteer, in order to learn something of forest warfare; that, after that disastrous affair, he had served with Johnson in a similar capacity, until, on his regiment arriving, he had been selected to drill a company of scouts, and had served with them on the lakes, until the corps was broken up when the regiment sailed for Canada. "In fact, you have seen more of this kind of warfare than any officer in the army," General Wolfe said. "Your special services ought to have been recognized before. I shall have you put in orders, tomorrow, as promoted to the rank of captain. And now, I am about to employ you upon a service which, if you are successful, will give you your brevet majority. "There must be some points at which those precipices can be climbed. I want you to find out where they are. It is a service of great danger. You will go in uniform, otherwise, if caught, you would meet with the fate of a spy; but at the same time, even in uniform you would probably meet with but little mercy, if you fell into the hands of the Canadians or Indians. Would you be willing to undertake such a duty?" "I will try, sir," James said. "Do you wish me to start tonight?" "No," the general replied. "You had better think the matter over, and let me know tomorrow how you had best proceed. It is not an enterprise to be undertaken without thinking it over in every light. You will have to decide whether you will go alone, or take anyone with you; when and how you will land; how you will regain the ships. You will, of course, have carte blanche in all respects." After James had returned on shore, he thought the matter over in every light. He knew that the French had many sentries along the edge of the river, for boats which, at night, went over towards that side of the river, were always challenged and fired upon. The chance of landing undetected, therefore, seemed but slight; nor, even did he land, would he be likely, at night, to discover the paths, which could be little more than tracks up the heights. Had he been able to speak Canadian French, the matter would have been easy enough, as he could have landed higher up the river and, dressed as a Canadian farmer, have made his way through the French lines without suspicion. But he knew nothing of French, and, even had he spoken the language fluently, there was sufficient difference between the Canadian French and the language of the old country, for the first Canadian who spoke to him to have detected the difference. Nor could he pass as an Indian; for, although he had picked up enough of the language to converse with the redskin allies of the English on the lakes, the first Indian who spoke to him would detect the difference; and, indeed, it needed a far more intimate acquaintance with the various tribes, than he possessed, for him to be able to paint and adorn himself so as to deceive the vigilant eyes of the French Indians. Had his two followers, Nat and Jonathan, been with him, they could have painted and dressed him so that he could have passed muster, but, in their absence, he abandoned the idea as out of the question. The prospect certainly did not seem hopeful. After long thought, it seemed to him that the only way which promised even a chance of success would be for him to be taken prisoner by the French soldiers. Once fairly within their lines, half the difficulty was over. He had learned to crawl as noiselessly as an Indian, and he doubted not that he should be able to succeed in getting away from any place of confinement in which they might place him. Then he could follow the top of the heights, and the position of the sentries or of any body of men encamped there would, in itself, be a guide to him as to the existence of paths to the strand below. The first step was the most difficult. How should he manage to get himself taken prisoner? And this was the more difficult, as it was absolutely necessary that he should fall into the hands of French regulars, and not of the Canadians, who would finish the matter at once by killing and scalping him. The next morning, he again went off to the Sutherland. He was in high spirits, for his name had appeared in orders as captain, and as appointed assistant quartermaster general on the headquarter staff. On entering the general's cabin, he thanked him for the promotion. "You have earned it over and over again," the general said. "There are no thanks due to me. Now, have you thought out a plan?" James briefly stated the difficulties which he perceived in the way of any other scheme than that of getting himself taken prisoner by the French, and showed that that was the only plan that seemed to offer even a chance of success. "But you may not be able to escape," Wolfe said. "I may not," James replied, "and in that case, sir, I must of course remain a prisoner until you take Quebec, or I am exchanged. Even then you would be no worse off than you are at present, for I must, of course, be taken prisoner at some point where the French are in force, and where you do not mean to land. My presence there would give them no clue whatever to your real intentions, whereas, were I taken prisoner anywhere along the shore, they would naturally redouble their vigilance, as they would guess that I was looking for some way of ascending the heights." "How do you propose being taken?" Wolfe asked. "My idea was," James replied, "that I should land with a party near Cap Rouge, as if to reconnoitre the French position there. We should, of course, be speedily discovered, and would then retreat to the boats. I should naturally be the last to go, and might well manage to be cut off." "Yes," Wolfe replied, "but you might also, and that far more easily, manage to get shot. I don't think that would do, Captain Walsham. The risks would be twenty to one against your escaping being shot. Can you think of no other plan?" "The only other plan that I can think of," James said, "might involve others being taken prisoners. I might row in towards Cap Rouge in broad daylight, as if to examine the landing place, and should, of course, draw their fire upon the boat. Before starting, I should fire two or three shots into the boat close to the water line, and afterwards plug them up with rags. Then, when their fire became heavy, I should take the plugs out and let the boat fill. As she did so, I could shout that I surrendered, and then we could drift till we neared the shore in the water-logged boat, or swim ashore. I can swim well myself, and should, of course, want four men, who could swim well also, picked out as the crew." "The plan is a dangerous one," Wolfe said, "but less so than the other." "One cannot win a battle without risking life, sir," James said quietly. "Some of us might, of course, be hit, but as we risk our lives whenever we get within range of the enemy, I do not see that that need be considered; at any rate, sir, I am ready to make the attempt, if the plan has your approval." "I tell you frankly, Captain Walsham, that I think your chances of success are absolutely nil. At the same time, there is just a faint possibility that you may get ashore alive, escape from the French, discover a pathway, and bring me the news; and, as the only chance of the expedition being successful now depends upon our discovering such a path, I am not justified in refusing even this faint chance." The general touched a bell which stood on the table before him. "Will you ask the captain to come here," he said to the officer who answered the summons. "Captain Peters," he said when the captain appeared, "I want you to pick out for me four men, upon whom you can thoroughly rely. In the first place they must be good swimmers, in the second place they must be able to hold their tongues, and lastly they must be prepared to pass some months in a French prison. A midshipman, with the same qualifications, will be required to go with them." The captain naturally looked surprised at so unusual a request. "Captain Walsham is going to be taken prisoner by the French," General Wolfe explained, "and the only way it can be done is for a whole boat's crew to be taken with him," and he then detailed the plan which had been arranged. "Of course, you can offer the men any reward you may think fit, and can promise the midshipman early promotion," he concluded. "Very well, general. I have no doubt I can find four men and a midshipman willing to volunteer for the affair, especially as, if you succeed, their imprisonment will be a short one. When will the attempt be made?" "If you can drift up the river as far as Cap Rouge before daylight," James said, in answer to an inquiring look from the general, "we will attempt it tomorrow morning. I should say that the best plan would be for me to appear opposite their camp when day breaks, as if I was trying to obtain a close view of it in the early morning." "The sooner the better," General Wolfe said. "Every day is of importance. But how do you propose to get back again, that is, supposing that everything goes well?" "I propose, general, that I should conceal myself somewhere on the face of the heights. I will spread a handkerchief against a rock or tree, so that it will not be seen either from above or below, but will be visible from the ships in the river. I cannot say, of course, whether it will be near Cap Rouge or Quebec; but, if you will have a sharp lookout kept through a glass, as the ships drift up and down, you are sure to see it, and can let me know that you do so by dipping the ensign. At night I will make my way down to the shore, and if, at midnight exactly, you will send a boat for me, I shall be ready to swim off to her, when they show a lantern as they approach the shore. Of course, I cannot say on what day I may be in a position to show the signal, but at, any rate, if a week passes without your seeing it, you will know that I have failed to make my escape, or that I have been killed after getting out." Chapter 19: A Dangerous Expedition. The details of the proposed expedition being thus arranged, the captain left the cabin with James, and the latter paced to and fro on the quarterdeck, while the captain sent for the boatswain and directed him to pick out four men who could swim well, and who were ready to volunteer for desperate service. While the captain was so engaged, James saw a naval officer staring fixedly at him. He recognized him instantly, though more than four years had elapsed since he had last seen him. He at once stepped across the quarterdeck. "How are you, Lieutenant Horton? It is a long time since we last parted on the Potomac." Horton would have refused the proffered hand, but he had already injured himself very sorely, in the eyes of the squire, by his outburst of ill feeling against James, so he shook hands and said coldly: "Yes, your position has changed since then." "Yes," James said with a laugh, "but that was only a temporary eclipse. That two months before the mast was a sort of interlude for which I am deeply thankful. Had it not been for my getting into that smuggling scrape, I should have been, at the present moment, commencing practice as a doctor, instead of being a captain in his majesty's service." The words were not calculated to improve Horton's temper. What a mistake he had made! Had he interfered on James Walsham's behalf--and a word from him, saying that James was the son of a medical man, and was assuredly mixed up in this smuggling affair only by accident--he would have been released. He had not spoken that word, and the consequence was, he had himself fallen into bad odour with the squire, and James Walsham, instead of drudging away as a country practitioner, was an officer of rank equal to himself, for he, as second lieutenant in the Sutherland, ranked with a captain in the army. Not only this, but whenever he went to Sidmouth he had heard how James had been mentioned in the despatches, and how much he was distinguishing himself. Everything seemed to combine against him. He had hated James Walsham from the day when the latter had thrashed him, and had acted as Aggie's champion against him. He had hated him more, when he found Aggie installed as the squire's heiress, and saw how high James stood in her good graces, and that he had been taken up by the squire. He had hoped that he had gained the advantage over him, when he had come back a naval officer, while James was still a schoolboy, and had kept aloof from the house while he devoted himself to the young heiress. Everything had seemed going on well with his plans, until the very circumstance which, at the time, seemed so opportune, namely, the pressing James as a seaman on board the Thetis, had turned out so disastrous. The letter, in which he had suffered his exultation to appear, had angered the squire, had set Mrs. Walsham and her friend the ex-sergeant against him, and had deeply offended Aggie. It had, too, enabled the squire to take instant measures for procuring James's discharge, and had now placed the latter in a position equal to his own. James, on his part, did not like Richard Horton, but he felt no active animosity against him. He had got the best of it in that first quarrel of theirs, and, although he had certainly felt very sore and angry, at the time Richard was staying at the Hall, and seemed to have taken his place altogether as Aggie's friend, this feeling had long since died away, for he knew, from the letters of Mr. Wilks, that Aggie had no liking whatever for Richard Horton. "You were at Sidmouth in the spring, I heard," he said. "You found my mother looking well, I hope?" "Yes, I was there a fortnight before we sailed," Richard said. "I think she was looking about as usual." For a few minutes, they talked in a stiff and somewhat constrained tone, for Richard could not bring himself to speak cordially to this man, whom he regarded as a dangerous rival. Presently, the captain came up to them. "I have picked four volunteers for your work, Captain Walsham. They were somewhat surprised, at first, to find that they were required for a bout in a French prison; but sailors are always ready for any hare-brained adventure, and they made no objection whatever, when I explained what they would have to do. Next to fighting a Frenchman, there's nothing a sailor likes so much as taking him in. Young Middleton goes in command of the boat. He is a regular young pickle, and is as pleased at the prospect as if a French prison were the most amusing place in the world. He knows, of course, that there will be some considerable danger of his being shot before he is taken prisoner; but I need hardly say that the danger adds to the interest of the scheme. It's a risky business you have undertaken, Captain Walsham, terribly risky; but, if you succeed, you will have saved the expedition from turning out a failure, and we shall all be under obligations to you for the rest of our lives. "Has Captain Walsham told you what he is undertaking, Mr. Horton?" "No, sir." "He is going to get taken prisoner, in the gig, in order that he may, if possible, give the French the slip again, find out some way down that line of cliffs, and so enable the general to get into the heart of the French expedition. It is a grand scheme, but a risky one. "The chances are a hundred to one against you, Captain Walsham." "That is just what the general said," James replied, with a smile. "I don't think, myself, they are more than five to one against me; but, even if they were a thousand, it would be worth trying, for a thousand lives would be cheaply sacrificed to ensure the success of this expedition." "There are not many men who would like to try it," the captain said. "I say honestly I shouldn't, myself. Anything in the nature of duty, whether it's laying your ship alongside a Frenchman of twice her weight of metal, or a boat expedition to cut out a frigate from under the guns of the battery, I should be ready to take my share in; but an expedition like yours, to be carried out alone, in cold blood and in the dark, I should have no stomach for. I don't want to discourage you, and I honour your courage in undertaking it; but I am heartily glad that the general did not propose to me, instead of to you, to undertake it." "You would have done it if he had, sir," James said, smiling, "and so would any officer of this expedition. I consider myself most highly honoured in the general entrusting me with the mission. Besides, you must remember that it is not so strange, to me, as it would be to most men. I have been for four years engaged in forest warfare, scouting at night in the woods, and keeping my ears open to the slightest sound which might tell of a skulking redskin being at hand. My eyes have become so accustomed to darkness, that, although still very far short of those of the Indians, I can see plainly where one unaccustomed to such work would see nothing. I am accustomed to rely upon my own senses, to step noiselessly, or to crawl along on the ground like an Indian. Therefore, you see, to me this enterprise does not present itself in the same light as it naturally would to you." "You may make light of it," the captain said, "but it's a dangerous business, look at it as you will. Well, if you go through it safely, Captain Walsham, you will be the hero of this campaign." Late in the afternoon the tide turned, and the vessels began to drift up the river. The four sailors had, of course, mentioned to their comrades the service upon which they were about to be engaged. The captain had not thought it necessary to enjoin secrecy upon them, for there was no communication with the shore, no fear of the knowledge spreading beyond the ship; besides, the boat had to be damaged, and this alone would tell the sailors, when she was lowered in the water, that she was intended to be captured. A marine was called up to where the captain's gig was hanging from the davits. James pointed out a spot just below the waterline, and the man, standing a yard or two away, fired at it, the ball making a hole through both sides of the boat. Another shot was fired two or three inches higher, and the four holes were then plugged up with oakum. All was now in readiness for the attempt. James dined with Captain Peters, the first lieutenant and four officers of the general's staff being also present, General Wolfe himself being too ill to be at table, and Admiral Holmes having, early in the morning, gone down the river to confer with Admiral Saunders. "I drink good health and a safe return to you, Captain Walsham, for our sake as well as yours. As a general thing, when an officer is chosen for dangerous service, he is an object of envy by all his comrades; but, for once, I do not think anyone on board would care to undertake your mission." "Why, sir, your little midshipman is delighted at going with me. He and I have been chatting the matter over, and he is in the highest glee." "Ah! He has only got the first chance of being shot at," Captain Peters said. "That comes in the line of duty, and I hope there isn't an officer on board a ship but would volunteer, at once, for that service. But your real danger only begins when his ends. "By the way," he asked, as, after dinner was over, he was walking up and down the quarterdeck, talking to James, "have you and Lieutenant Horton met before? I thought you seemed to know each other when I came up, but, since then I have noticed that, while all the other officers of the ship have been chatting with you, he has kept aloof." "We knew each other at home, sir," James said, "but we were never very good friends. Our acquaintanceship commenced, when we were boys, with a fight. I got the best of it, and Horton has never, I think, quite forgiven me." "I don't like the young fellow," Captain Peters said shortly. "I know he was not popular in the Thetis, and they say he showed the white feather out in the East. I wouldn't have had him on board, but the first lord asked me, as a personal favour, to take him. I have had no reason to complain of him, since he joined, but I know that he is no more popular, among my other officers, than he was in the Thetis." "I never heard a word against him, sir," James said earnestly. "His uncle, Mr. Linthorne, has large estates near Sidmouth, and has been the kindest friend to me and mine. At one time, it was thought that Horton would be his heir, but a granddaughter, who had for years been missing, was found; but still Horton will take, I should think, a considerable slice of the property, and it would grieve the squire, terribly, if Horton failed in his career. I think it's only a fault of manners, sir, if I may say so, and certainly I myself know nothing whatever against him." "I don't know," Captain Peters replied thoughtfully. "Just before I sailed, I happened to meet an old friend, and over our dinner I mentioned the names of my officers. He told me he knew this Mr. Linthorne well, and that Horton had gone to sea with him for the first time as a midshipman, and that there was certainly something queer about him as a boy, for Linthorne had specially asked him to keep his eye upon him, and had begged him, frankly, to let him know how he conducted himself. That rather set me against him, you know." "I don't think that was anything," James urged. "I do not much like Horton, but I should not like you to have a false impression of him. It was a mere boyish affair, sir--in fact, it was connected with that fight with me. I don't think he gave a very strictly accurate account of it, and his uncle, who in some matters is very strict, although one of the kindest of men, took the thing up, and sent him away to sea. Horton was certainly punished severely enough, for that stupid business, without its counting against him afterwards." "I like the way you speak up in his defence, Captain Walsham, especially as you frankly say you don't like him, and henceforth I will dismiss the affair from my mind, but I should say that he has never forgiven it, although you may have done so." "That's natural enough," James laughed, "because I came best out of it." To Richard Horton, the news that James Walsham was about to undertake a desperate enterprise, which, if he succeeded in it, would bring him great honour and credit, was bitter in the extreme, and the admiration expressed by the other officers, at his courage in undertaking it, added to his anger and disgust. He walked moodily up and down the quarterdeck all the afternoon, to think the matter over, and at each moment his fury increased. Could he in any way have put a stop to the adventure, he would instantly have done so, but there was no possible way of interfering. The thought that annoyed him most was of the enthusiasm with which the news of the successful termination of the enterprise would be received at Sidmouth. Already, as he knew, Aggie regarded James as a hero, and the squire was almost as proud of his mention in despatches as if he had been his own son; but for this he cared but little. It was Aggie's good opinion Richard Horton desired to gain. James Walsham still thought of her as the girl of twelve he had last seen, but Richard Horton knew her as almost a woman, and, although at first he had resolved to marry her as his uncle's heiress, he now really cared for her for herself. On the visit before James had left home, Richard had felt certain that his cousin liked him; but, since that time, he had not only made no progress, but he felt that he had lost rather than gained ground. The girl was always friendly with him, but it was the cool friendliness of a cousin, and, somehow, Richard instinctively felt James Walsham was the cause. In vain he had angrily told himself that it was absurd to suppose that his cousin could care for this fellow, whom she had only seen as an awkward boy, who had been content to stop away from the house, and never go near her for weeks. Still, though he told himself it was absurd, he knew that it was so. When the conversation happened to turn upon James, she seldom took any part in it; but Richard knew that it was not from indifference as to the subject. There was a soft flush on her cheek, a light in her eyes, which he had never been able to call up; and, many a time, he had ground his teeth in silent rage, when the squire and Mr. Wilks were discussing the news received in James's last letter, and expressing their hopes that, ere long, he would be back from foreign service. Although by no means fond of encountering danger, Richard felt that he would gladly pick an open quarrel with the man he regarded as his rival, and shoot him like a dog--for in those days, duels were matters of everyday occurrence--but there was no possibility of doing this, at the present juncture; and, moreover, he knew that this would be the worst possible way of ridding himself of him; for, were James to fall by his hands, his chances of winning Aggie would be hopelessly extinguished. "No," he said to himself, "that is out of the question; but I will do something. Come what may, he shall never go back to Sidmouth." The squadron drifted up beyond Cap Rouge, and anchored, at the top of the flood, an hour before daybreak. The gig was lowered, and James Walsham, amid many good wishes and hearty farewells from the officers, took his place in her, by the side of the midshipman. "Look out for my signal," he said. "Any time, after today, you may see it." "We will see it if you make it, my boy," said the captain, who had come on deck to see him off. "Don't you fear about that. If you make your signal, you may rely upon it, our boat will be ashore for you that night." Another moment, and the boat pulled away from the side of the ship. "Take it easy, lads," young Middleton said, "only just dip your oars in the water. We have but three miles to row, with the stream, and don't want to be there till the day begins to show." The oars had been muffled, and, noiselessly, the boat dropped down the stream, until she neared Cap Rouge, then they rowed in towards the French shore. The day was just beginning to break, in the east, as they neared the spot where the French camp was situated. It stood high up on the plateau; but there were a small number of tents on the low ground, by the river, as some batteries had been erected here. They were but two hundred yards from the shore when a French sentry challenged. They gave no answer, and the soldier at once fired. "Keep about this distance out," James ordered. "Row quietly. I will stand up, as if I were watching the shore." As soon as the shot was fired, it was answered by shots from other sentries. A minute later, a drum was heard to beat sharply, and then, in the faint light, a number of French soldiers could be seen, running at full speed towards the shore. The shots fell thickly round the boat, and one of the men dropped his oar, as a bullet struck him on the shoulder. "Pull out the plugs," James said. The oakum was pulled out and thrown overboard, and the water rushed in. "Now turn her head from the shore, as if we were trying to escape." So rapidly did the water rush in through the four holes that, in a minute, the gunwale was nearly level with the water. "Turn her over now," James said, and in a moment the boat was upset, and the men clinging to the bottom. A shout of exultation rose from the shore, as the boat was seen to upset, and the firing at once ceased. "Swim towards the shore, and push the boat before you," the young midshipman said. "They won't fire any more now, and we have finished the first part of our business." Pushing the boat before them, the men made their way slowly towards the shore, striking the land half a mile below the point where they had overturned. The French soldiers had followed them down the bank, and surrounded them as they landed. The holes in the boat explained for themselves the cause of the disaster. An officer stepped forward. "You are our prisoners," he said to James. The latter bowed. "It is the fortune of war," he said. "Your men are better shots than I gave them credit for," and he pointed to the holes in the boat. He spoke in English, but the officer guessed his meaning. Some of the Indians and Canadians soon came flocking down, and, with angry gestures, demanded that the prisoners should be shot; but the French officer waived them off, and placed a strong guard of his own men around them, to prevent their being touched by the Indians. The young midshipman spoke French fluently, having been specially selected by the captain for that reason; but it had been agreed, between him and James, that he should not betray his knowledge of the language, as he might, thereby, pick up information which might be useful. They were at once conducted before Bougainville. "Do you speak French?" he asked. James shook his head. The midshipman looked as if he had not understood the question. "It is clear," the French officer said to those standing around him, "that they came in to reconnoitre the landing place, and thought, in the dim light, they could run the gauntlet of our sentries' fire. It was more accurate than they gave them credit for." "The boat was struck twice, you say?" "Yes, general," the officer who conducted them into the tent replied. "Two balls right through her, and one of the men was hit on the shoulder." "The reconnaissance looks as if Wolfe meant to attempt a landing here," Bougainville said. "We must keep a sharp lookout. I will send them on to Quebec, for the general to question them. He will find someone there who speaks their language. I will send, at once, to tell him we have captured them. But I can't very well do so, till we have a convoy going, with regulars to guard it. If they were to go in charge of Canadians, the chances of their arriving alive in Quebec would be slight. "Let the sailors be placed in a tent in your lines, Chateaudun, and place a sentry over them, to see that the Indians don't get at them. The two officers can have the tent that Le Boeuf gave up yesterday. You can put a sentry there, but they can go in and out as they like. There is no fear of their trying to escape; for, if they once went outside the lines of the regulars, the Indians and Canadians would make short work of them." The officer led James and the midshipman to a tent in the staff lines, whose owner had ridden to Quebec, on the previous night, with despatches, and motioned to them that it was to be theirs. He also made signs to them that they could move about as they chose; but significantly warned them, by a gesture, that if they ventured beyond the tents, the Indians would make short work of them. For a time, the prisoners made no attempt to leave the tent, for the Indians stood scowling at a short distance off, and would have entered, had not the sentry on duty prevented them from doing so. "Do not talk too loudly," James said. "It is probable that, in a camp like this, there is someone who understands English. Very likely they are playing the same game with us that we are with them. They pretend there is no one who can speak to us; but, very likely, there may be someone standing outside now, trying to listen to what we say." Then, raising his voice he went on: "What abominable luck I have! Who could have reckoned upon the boat being hit, twice, at that distance? I thought we had fairly succeeded. The general will be in a nice way, when he finds we don't come back." "Yes," Middleton rejoined, "and to think that we are likely to spend the winter in prison, at Quebec, instead of Old England. I am half inclined to try and escape!" "Nonsense!" James replied. "It would be madness to think of such a thing. These Indians can see in the dark, and the moment you put your foot outside the lines of these French regulars, you would be carried off and scalped. No, no, my boy; that would be simply throwing away our lives. There is nothing for it, but to wait quietly, till either Wolfe takes Quebec, or you are exchanged." The prisoners were treated with courtesy by the French officers, and comfortable meals were provided. In the evening, they went outside the tent for a short time, but did not venture to go far, for Indians were still moving about, and the hostile glances, which they threw at the prisoners, were sufficient to indicate what would happen to the latter, if they were caught beyond the protection of the sentry. "Bougainville was right in supposing that prisoners would not be likely to attempt to escape," James said, in a low voice. "The look of those Indians would be quite sufficient to prevent anyone from attempting it, under ordinary circumstances. It is well that my business will take me down the river towards Quebec, while they will make sure that I shall have made up the river, with a view of making my way off to the ships, the next time they go up above Cap Rouge." "It will be risky work getting through them," the midshipman remarked; "but all the same, I wish I was going with you, instead of having to stick here in prison." "It would be running too great a risk of spoiling my chance of success," James said. "I am accustomed to the redskins, and can crawl through them as noiselessly as they could themselves. Besides, one can hide where two could not. I only hope that, when they find I have gone, they won't take it into their heads to revenge my escape upon you." "There is no fear of that," the midshipman said. "I shall be sound asleep in the tent, and when they wake me up, and find you are gone, I shall make a tremendous fuss, and pretend to be most indignant that you have deserted me." The two prisoners had eaten but little of the meals served to them that day, putting the greater portion aside, and hiding it in the straw which served for their beds, in order that James might take with him a supply, for it might be three or four days before he could be taken off by the ships' boats. "I suppose you won't go very far tonight?" the midshipman said, suddenly. "No," James replied. "I shall hide somewhere along the face of the cliff, a mile or so away. They are not likely to look for me down the river at all; but, if they do, they will think I have gone as far as I can away, and the nearer I am to this place, the safer." "Look here," the midshipman said. "I am going strictly to obey orders; but, at the same time, it is just possible that something may turn up that you ought to know, or that might make me want to bolt. Suppose, for instance, I heard them say that they meant to shoot us both in the morning--it's not likely, you know; still, it's always as well to be prepared for whatever might happen--if so, I should crawl out of camp, and make my way along after you. And if so, I shall walk along the edge, and sometimes give two little whistles like this; and, if you hear me, you answer me." "Don't be foolish, Middleton," James said seriously. "You would only risk your life, and mine, by any nonsense of that sort. There can't be any possible reason why you should want to go away. You have undertaken to carry this out, knowing that you would have, perhaps, to remain a prisoner for some time; and having undertaken it, you must keep to the plans laid down." "But I am going to, Captain Walsham. Still, you know, something might turn up." "I don't see that anything possibly could turn up," James insisted; "but, if at any future time you do think of any mad-brained attempt of escaping, you must take off your shoes, and you must put your foot down, each time, as gently as if the ground were covered with nails; for, if you were to tread upon a twig, and there were an Indian within half a mile of you, he would hear it crack. But don't you attempt any such folly. No good could possibly come of it, and you would be sure to fall into the hands of the savages or Canadians; and you know how they treat prisoners." "I know," the boy said; "and I have no wish to have my scalp hanging up in any of their wigwams." It was midnight, before the camp was perfectly still, and then James Walsham quietly loosened one of the pegs of the canvas, at the back of the tent, and, with a warm grasp of the midshipman's hand, crawled out. The lad listened attentively, but he could not hear the slightest sound. The sentinel was striding up and down in front of the tent, humming the air of a French song as he walked. Half an hour passed without the slightest stir, and the midshipman was sure that James was, by this time, safely beyond the enemy's camp. He was just about to compose himself to sleep, when he heard a trampling of feet. The sentry challenged, the password was given, and the party passed on towards the general's tent. It was some thirty yards distant, and the sentry posted there challenged. "I wonder what's up?" the midshipman said to himself; and, lifting the canvas, he put his head out where James had crawled through. The men had halted before the general's tent, and the boy heard the general's voice, from inside the tent, ask sharply, "What is it?" "I regret to disturb you, Monsieur le General; but we have here one of the Canadian pilots, who has swam ashore from the enemy's fleet higher up the river, and who has important news for you." The midshipman at once determined to hear what passed. He had already taken off his shoes; and he now crawled out from the tent, and, moving with extreme caution, made his way round to the back of the general's tent, just as the latter, having thrown on his coat and lighted a candle, unfastened the entrance. The midshipman, determined to see as well as hear what was going on, lifted up the flap a few inches behind, and, as he lay on the ground, peered in. A French officer had just entered, and he was followed by a Canadian, whom the midshipman recognized at once, as being the one who piloted the Sutherland up and down the river. "Where do you come from?" Bougainville asked. "I swam ashore two hours ago from the English ship Sutherland," the Canadian said. "How did you manage to escape?" "I would have swam ashore long ago, but at night I have always been locked up, ever since I was captured, in a cabin below. Tonight the door opened quietly, and someone came in and said: "'Hush!--can you swim?' "'Like a fish,' I said. "'Are you ready to try and escape, if I give you the chance?' "'I should think so,' I replied. "'Then follow me, but don't make the slightest noise.' "I followed him. We passed along the main deck, where the sailors were all asleep in their hammocks. A lantern was burning here, and I saw, by its light, that my conductor was an officer. He led me along till we entered a cabin--his own, I suppose. "'Look,' he whispered, 'there is a rope from the porthole down to the water. If you slide quietly down by it, and then let yourself drift till you are well astern of the ship, the sentry on the quarterdeck will not see you. Here is a letter, put it in your cap. If you are fired at, and a boat is lowered to catch you, throw the paper away at once. Will you swear to do that?' "I said I would swear by the Virgin. "'Very well,' he went on; 'if you get away safely and swim to shore, make your way without a minute's delay to the French camp at Cap Rouge, and give this letter to the general. It is a matter of the most extreme importance.' "This is the letter, general." He handed a small piece of paper, tightly folded up, to Bougainville, who opened it, and read it by the light of the candle. He gave a sharp exclamation. "Quick!" he exclaimed. "Come along to the tent of the prisoners. I am warned that the capture was a ruse, and that the military officer is a spy, whose object here is to discover a landing place. He is to escape the first opportunity." The three men at once ran out from the tent. The instant they did so, the midshipman crawled in under the flap, rushed to the table on which the general had thrown the piece of paper, seized it, and then darted out again, and stole quietly away in the darkness. He had not gone twenty yards, when a volley of angry exclamations told him that the French general had discovered that the tent was empty. The night was a dark one, and to prevent himself from falling over tent ropes, the midshipman threw himself down and crawled along on his hands and knees, but he paused, before he had gone many yards, and listened intently. The general was returning to his tent. "It is no use doing anything tonight," he said. "Even an Indian could not follow the track of a waggon. At daybreak, Major Dorsay, let the redskins know that the prisoners have escaped, and offer a reward of fifty crowns for their recapture, dead or alive--I care not which. Let this good fellow turn in at the guard tent. I will talk to him in the morning. Good night!" The midshipman kept his eyes anxiously on the dim light that could be faintly seen through the tent. If the general missed the paper, he might guess that it had been taken by the fugitives, and might order an instant search of the camp. He gave a sigh of relief, when he saw the light disappear the moment the French officer had entered the tent, and then crawled away through the camp. Chapter 20: The Path Down The Heights. As the midshipman crawled away from the tent of the French general, he adopted the precautions which James had suggested, and felt the ground carefully for twigs or sticks each time he moved. The still-glowing embers of the campfires warned him where the Indians and Canadians were sleeping, and, carefully avoiding these, he made his way up beyond the limits of the camp. There were no sentries posted here, for the French were perfectly safe from attack from that quarter, and, once fairly beyond the camp, the midshipman rose to his feet, and made his way to the edge of the slopes above the Saint Lawrence. He walked for about a mile, and then paused, on the very edge of the sharp declivity, and whistled as agreed upon. A hundred yards further, he repeated the signal. The fourth time he whistled he heard, just below him, the answer, and a minute later James Walsham stood beside him. "You young scamp, what are you doing here?" "It was not my fault, Captain Walsham, it wasn't indeed; but I should have been tomahawked if I had stayed there a moment longer." "What do you mean by 'you would have been tomahawked,'" James asked angrily, for he was convinced that the midshipman had made up his mind, all along, to accompany him. "The pilot of the Sutherland swam ashore, with the news that you had been taken prisoner on purpose, and were really a spy." "But how on earth did he know that?" James asked. "I took care the man was not on deck, when we made the holes in the boat, and he does not understand a word of English, so he could not have overheard what the men said." "I am sorry to say, sir, that it is a case of treachery, and that one of our officers is concerned in it. The man said that an officer released him from his cell, and took him to his cabin, and then lowered him by a rope through the porthole." "Impossible!" James Walsham said. "It sounds impossible, sir; but I am afraid it isn't, for the officer gave him a note to bring to the general, telling him all about it, and that note I have got in my pocket now." The midshipman then related the whole circumstances of his discovery. "It is an extraordinary affair," James said. "However, you are certainly not to blame for making your escape when you did. You could not have got back into your tent till too late; and, even could you have done so, it might have gone hard with you, for of course they would have known that you were, what they would call an accomplice, in the affair." "I will go on if you like, sir," the boy said, "and hide somewhere else, so that if they track me they will not find you." "No, no," James said, "I don't think there's any fear of our being tracked. Indian eyes are sharp; but they can't perform miracles. In the forest it would be hopeless to escape them, but here the grass is short and the ground dry, and, without boots, we cannot have left any tracks that would be followed, especially as bodies of French troops have been marching backwards and forwards along the edge of these heights for the last fortnight. I won't say that it is impossible that they can find us, but it will not be by our tracks. "Now, come down to this bush where I was lying. We will wait there till daylight breaks. It is as far down as I dare go by this light, but, when we can see, we will find a safer place further down." Cautiously they made their way down to a clump of bushes, twenty feet below the edge, and there, lying down, dozed until it became light enough to see the ground. The slope was very steep, but bushes grew here and there upon it, and by means of these, and projecting rocks, they worked their way down some thirty feet lower, and then sat down among some bushes, which screened them from the sight of anyone who might be passing along the edge of the river, while the steep slope effectually hid them from anyone moving along above. "Is there any signature to that letter," James asked presently. The midshipman took the piece of paper out and looked at it. "No, there is no signature," he said; "but I know the handwriting. I have seen it in orders, over and over again." James was silent a few minutes. "I won't ask you who it is, though I fear I know too well. Look here, Middleton, I should like you to tear that letter up, and say no more about it." "No, sir," the boy said, putting the paper in his pocket. "I can't do that. Of course I am under your orders, for this expedition; but this is not an affair in which I consider that I am bound to obey you. This concerns the honour of the officers of my ship, and I should not be doing my duty if I did not, upon my return, place this letter in the hands of the captain. A man who would betray the general's plans to the enemy, would betray the ship, and I should be a traitor, myself, if I did not inform the captain. I am sorry, awfully sorry, that this should happen to an officer of the Sutherland, but it will be for the captain to decide whether he will make it public or not. "There is one thing. If it was to be anyone, I would rather that it was he than anyone else, for there isn't a man on board can abide him. No, sir, I am sorry, but I cannot give up the letter, and, even if you had torn it up when you had it in your hand just now, I should have reported the whole thing to the captain, and say I could swear to the handwriting." James was silent. The boy was right, and was only doing his duty in determining to denounce the act of gross treachery which had been perpetrated. He was deeply grieved, however, to think of the consequences of the discovery, and especially of the blow that it would be, to the squire, to hear that his nephew was a traitor, and indeed a murderer at heart, for, had not his flight taken place before the discovery was made, he would certainly have been executed as a spy. The day passed quietly. That the Indians were searching for him, far and wide, James Walsham had no doubt, and indeed, from their hiding place he saw several parties of redskins moving along on the river bank, carefully examining the ground. "It's lucky we didn't move along there," he said to his companion, "for the ground is so soft that they would assuredly have found our tracks. I expect that they think it possible that we may have been taken off, in a boat, during the night." "I hope they will keep on thinking so," the midshipman said. "Then they will give up looking for us." "They won't do that," James replied; "for they will be sure that they must have seen our tracks, had we passed along that muddy bank. Fortunately, they have no clue to where we really are. We might have gone east, west, or north, and the country is so covered with bush that anything like a regular search is absolutely impossible." "I hope we ain't going to be very long, before we get on board again," the midshipman said, as he munched the small piece of bread James served out to him for his dinner. "The grub won't last more than two days, even at this starvation rate, and that one bottle of water is a mockery. I could finish it all, straight off. Why, we shall be as badly off as if we were adrift at sea, in a boat." "Not quite so bad," James replied. "We can chew the leaves of some of these bushes; besides, people don't die of hunger or thirst in four days, and I hope, before that, to be safely on board." Not until it was perfectly dark did they leave their hiding place, and, by the aid of the bushes, worked their way up to the top of the ascent again. James had impressed on his companion that, on no account, was he to speak above a whisper, that he was to stop whenever he did, and, should he turn off and descend the slope, he was at once to follow his example. The midshipman kept close to his companion, and marvelled how assuredly the latter walked along, for he himself could see nothing. Several times, James stopped and listened. Presently, he turned off to the right, saying "hush!" in the lowest possible tone, and, proceeding a few paces down the slope, noiselessly lay down behind the bush. The midshipman imitated his example, though he wondered why he was so acting, for he could hear nothing. Two or three minutes later he heard a low footfall, and then the sound of men speaking in a low voice, in some strange tongue. He could not see them, but held his breath as they were passing. Not till they had been gone some minutes did James rise, and pursue his course. "Two Indians," he said, "and on the search for us. One was just saying to the other he expected, when they got back to camp, to find that some of the other parties had overtaken us." Another mile further, and they saw the light of several fires ahead. "That is a French battery," James said. "We must make a detour, and get to the other side of it; then I will crawl back, and see if there is any path down to the river." The detour was made, and then, leaving the midshipman in hiding a few paces from the edge, James crawled back. He soon saw, by the fires, that the battery was manned by sailors from the French fleet, and he had little fear of these discovering him. Keeping well below them, he came presently upon a narrow path. Above him, he could hear a French sentry walking. He followed the path down, with the greatest caution, stepping with the most extreme care, to avoid displacing a stone. He found the path was excessively steep and rugged, little more, indeed, than a sheep track. It took him half an hour to reach the bottom, and he found that, in some places, sappers had been lately at work obliterating the path, and that it could scarcely be considered practicable for men hampered with their arms and ammunition. Another half hour's work took him to the top again, and a few minutes later he rejoined his companion. "That won't do," he said. "We must try again. There is a path, but the troops could scarcely climb it if unopposed, and certainly could not do so without making such a noise as would attract the notice of the sentinels above." "That is the battery they call Sillery," the midshipman said. "They have fired at us over and over again from there, as we went up or down the river. There is another about a mile further on. It is called Samos." Upon reaching the Samos battery, James again crept up and reconnoitred. The way down, however, was even more difficult than at Sillery. There was, indeed, no regular path, and so steep was the descent that he doubted whether it would be possible for armed men to climb it. Even he, exceptionally strong and active as he was, and unencumbered with arms, had the greatest difficulty in making his way down and up again and, indeed, could only do so by grasping the trunks of trees and strong bushes. "It can't be done there," he said to the midshipman when he joined him again. "And now we must look for a hiding place. We must have been five or six hours since we started, and the nights are very short. At any rate, we cannot attempt another exploration before morning." "I wish we could explore the inside of a farm house and light upon something to eat and drink," the midshipman said. "It's no use wishing," James replied. "We can't risk anything of that sort and, probably, all the farm houses are full of troops. We have got a little bread left. That will hold us over tomorrow comfortably." "It may hold us," Middleton said; "but it certainly won't hold me comfortably. My idea of comfort, at the present time, would be a round of beef and a gallon of ale." "Ah! You are an epicure," James laughed. "If you had had three or four years of campaigning in the forest, as I have had, you would learn to content yourself on something a good deal less than that." "I might," the boy said; "but I have my doubts about it. There's one comfort. We shall be able to sleep all day tomorrow, and so I sha'n't think about it. As the Indians did not find our tracks yesterday, they are not likely to do so today." They were some time before they found a hiding place, for the descent was so steep that they had to try several times, before they could get down far enough to reach a spot screened by bushes, and hidden from the sight of anyone passing above. At last they did so, and soon lay down to sleep, after partaking of a mouthful of water each, and a tiny piece of bread. They passed the day for the most part in sleep, but the midshipman woke frequently, being now really parched with thirst. Each time, he chewed a few leaves from the bush in which they were lying, but derived but small comfort from it. "It's awful to think of tomorrow," he said, as evening approached. "Even supposing you find a way down tonight, it must be midnight tomorrow before we are taken off." "If I find a way down," James said, "I will, if possible, take you down with me, and then we can take a long drink at the river; but, at any rate, I will take the bottle down with me, and bring it up full for you. The next place to try is the spot where we saw some tents, as we went up the river. There is no battery there, and the tents can only have been pitched there because there was some way down to the water. It cannot be more than half a mile away, for it was not more than a mile from Fort Samos." "Can't I go with you?" the midshipman said. "I will be as quiet as a cat; and, if you find it is a good path, and come up to fetch me down, you see there will be a treble risk of being seen." "Very well," James agreed. "Only mind, if you set a stone rolling, or break a twig, it will cost us both our lives, to say nothing of the failure of our expedition." "I will be as quiet as a mouse. You see if I ain't," the midshipman said confidently; "and I will try not to think, even once, of the water below there, so as not to hurry." Together they crept cautiously along the edge of the ridge, until they came to a clump of some fifteen tents. As they approached they could see, by the light of the fires, that the encampment was one of Canadian troops. James had not intended to move forward until all were asleep, but the men were all chatting round the fires, and it did not seem to him that a sentry had, as yet, been placed on the edge of the descent. He therefore crept forward at once, followed closely by the midshipman, keeping, as far as possible, down beyond the slope of the descent. Presently, he came to a path. He saw at once that this was very different from the others--it was regularly cut, sloping gradually down the face of the sharp descent, and was wide enough for a cart to pass. He at once took his way down it, moving with the greatest caution, lest a sentry should be posted some distance below. It was very dark, for, in many places, the trees met overhead. About halfway down he suddenly came to a stop, for, in front of him, rose a bank breast high. Here, if anywhere, a sentry should have been placed, and, holding his companion's arm, James listened intently for some time. "Mind what you are doing," he said in a whisper. "This is a breastwork and, probably, the path is cut away on the other side. Fortunately, we are so far down the hill now, that there is not much risk of their hearing any slight noise we might make. You stand here, till I find out what's on the other side." James climbed over the breastwork, and cautiously let himself go on the other side. He fell some five or six feet. "Come on," he said in a low voice. "Lower yourself down by your arms. I can reach your legs then." The gap cut in the path was some ten feet across, and six feet deep. When, with some difficulty, they clambered up on the other side, they found the path obstructed by a number of felled trees, forming a thick abattis. They managed to climb the steep hillside, and kept along it until past the obstruction. Then they got on to the path again, and found it unbroken to the bottom. "So far, so good," James said. "Now, do you stop here, while I crawl forward to the water. The first thing to discover is whether they have a sentinel stationed anywhere near the bottom of this path." The time seemed terribly long to Middleton before James returned, though it was really but a few minutes. "All right!" he said, as he approached him. "There is no one here, though I can hear some sentries farther up the river. Now you can come forward, and have a drink. Fortunately, the river is high." After having satisfied their thirst, Middleton asked: "Where are you going now? I don't care how far we have got to march, for, after that drink, I feel ready for anything." "It won't do to hide anywhere near," James said; "for, if the boat which comes to take us off were to be seen, it would put them on their guard, and there would be plenty of sentries about here in future. No, we will keep along at the foot of the precipice till we are about halfway, as far as we can tell, between Samos and Sillery, and then we will climb up, as high as we can get, and show our signal in the morning. But you must be careful as we walk, for, as I told you, there are some sentries posted by the water's edge, higher up." "I will be careful, don't you fear," the midshipman said. "There is not much fear of a fellow, walking about in the dark without boots, not being careful. I knocked my toe against a rock, just now, and it was as much as I could do not to halloa. I will be careful in future, I can tell you." An hour's walking brought them to a spot where the hill was rather less steep than usual. They climbed up, until they gained a spot some fifty feet above the level of the river, and there sat down in a clump of bushes. "As soon as it's daylight, we will choose a spot where we can show a signal, without the risk of it's being seen from below," James said. "We mustn't go to sleep, for we must move directly the dawn commences, else those sentries below might make us out." At daybreak they shifted their position, and gained a spot completely hidden from below, but from which an entire view of the river could be obtained. "Tide will be low in a couple of hours," the midshipman said. "There are the fleet below. They will come up with the first flood, so, in three or four hours, they will be abreast of us. I hope they will make out our signal." "I have no fear of that," James replied. "They are sure to keep a sharp lookout for it." Presently the tide grew slacker, and, half an hour later, the ships were seen to hoist their sails, and soon began to drop slowly up the river. When they approached, James fastened his handkerchief against the trunk of a tree, well open to view from the river, and then stood with his eyes fixed on the approaching ships. Just as the Sutherland came abreast of the spot where they were standing, the ensign was dipped. James at once removed his handkerchief. "Now," he said, "Middleton, you can turn in and take a sleep. At twelve o'clock tonight there will be a boat below for us." Two or three hours after darkness had fallen, James and his companion made their way down the slope, and crawled out to the water's edge. There was no sentry within hearing, and they sat down, by the edge of the river, until suddenly a light gleamed for an instant, low down on the water, two or three hundred yards from the shore. They at once stepped into the river, and, wading out for some little distance, struck out towards where they had seen the light. A few minutes' swimming, and they saw something dark ahead. Another few strokes took them alongside, and they were hauled into the boat. The slight noise attracted the attention of a sentry, some little distance along the shore, and his qui vive came sharply across the water, followed a few seconds later by the flash of his gun. The crew now bent to their oars, and, a quarter of an hour later, the boat was alongside the Sutherland, which, with her consorts, was slowly drifting up the stream. General Wolfe and the admiral were on deck, and anxiously waiting the arrival of the boat. The former, in his anxiety, hailed the boat as it approached. "Is Captain James Walsham on board?" "Yes, sir," James replied. "Bravo, bravo!" the general cried, delighted. "Bravo!" he repeated, seizing James Walsham's hand as he stepped on deck. "I did not expect to see you again, Captain Walsham, at least until we took Quebec. Now, come to my cabin at once and tell me all about it. But perhaps you are hungry." "I am rather hungry, general," James said quietly. "We have had nothing to eat but a crust of bread for three days." "We? Who are we?" the general asked quickly. "Mr. Middleton and myself, sir. He escaped after I had left, and joined me." "The galley fires are out," the admiral said, "but you shall have some cold meat in my cabin, instantly." James was at once led to the cabin, where, in two or three minutes, food and a bottle of wine were placed before him. The general would not allow him to speak a word, till his hunger was satisfied. Then, when he saw him lay down his knife and fork, he said: "Now, Captain Walsham, in the first place, have you succeeded--have you found a practicable path down to the river?" "I have found a path, sir. It is cut in one place, and blocked with felled trees, but the obstacles can be passed. There are some Canadians, in tents, near the top of the path, but they seem to keep a very careless watch, and no sentry is placed at the bottom, or on the edge of the river anywhere near." "Admirable, admirable!" Wolfe exclaimed. "At last there is a chance of our outreaching Montcalm. And you were not seen examining the path? Nothing occurred to excite their suspicion, and lead them to keep a better lookout in future?" "No, sir," James replied. "They have had no suspicion of my presence anywhere near. The spot where I was taken off was two miles higher. I moved away in order that, if we were seen swimming off to the boat, no suspicion should occur that we had been reconnoitring the pathway." "That is right," the general said. "Now, tell me the whole story of what you have been doing, in your own way." James related his adventures, up to the time when he was joined by the midshipman. "But what made Mr. Middleton escape?" the admiral asked. "I thought that his instructions were precise, that he was to permit himself to be taken prisoner, and was to remain quietly in Quebec, until we could either exchange him or take the place." "That was how he understood his instructions, sir," James said; "but I would rather that you should question him, yourself, as to his reasons for escaping. I may say they appear to me to be perfectly valid, as an occurrence took place upon which it was impossible for Captain Peters to calculate, when he gave them." James then finished the report of his proceedings, and General Wolfe expressed his great satisfaction at the result. "I will put you in orders, tomorrow, for your brevet-majority," he said; "and never was the rank more honourably earned." The admiral rang a hand bell. "Send Mr. Middleton to me. Where is he?" "He is having supper in Captain Peters' cabin." "Ask Captain Peters if he will be good enough to come in with him." A minute later Captain Peters entered, followed by the midshipman. "I suppose, Peters, you have been asking young Middleton the reason why he did not carry out his instructions?" "I have, admiral," Captain Peters said gravely, "and I was only waiting until you were disengaged to report the circumstance to you. He had better tell you, sir, his own way." Captain Peters then took a seat at the table, while the midshipman related his story, in nearly the same words in which he had told it to James. When he told of the account the Canadian pilot had given of his escape, the admiral exclaimed: "But it seems altogether incredible. That some one has unbolted the man's cabin from the outside seems manifest, and it is clear that either gross treachery, or gross carelessness, enabled him to get free. I own that, although the sergeant of marines declares positively that he fastened the bolts, I think that he could not have done so, for treachery seems almost out of the question. That an officer should have done this seems impossible; and yet, what the man says about the cabin, and being let out by a rope, would seem to show that it must have been an officer." "I am sorry to say, sir," Middleton said, "that the man gave proofs of the truth of what he was saying. The officer, he said, gave him a paper, which I heard and saw the general reading aloud. It was a warning that Captain Walsham had purposely allowed himself to be captured, and that he was, in fact, a spy. The French officer, in his haste, laid down the paper on the table when he rushed out, and I had just time to creep under the canvas, seize it, and make off with it. Here it is, sir. I have showed it to Captain Peters." The admiral took the paper and read it, and handed it, without a word, to General Wolfe. "That is proof conclusive," he said. "Peters, do you know the handwriting?" "Yes," Captain Peters said gravely. "I recognized it at once, as did Mr. Middleton. It is the handwriting of Lieutenant Horton." "But what on earth could be the motive of this unhappy young man?" the admiral asked. "I imagine, sir, from what I saw on the evening before Captain Walsham set out, and, indeed, from what Captain Walsham said when I questioned him, that it was a case of private enmity against Captain Walsham." "Is this so, Captain Walsham?" General Wolfe asked. "I have no enmity against him, sir," James said, "though I own that his manner impressed me with the idea that he regarded me as an enemy. The fact is, we lived near each other as boys, and we had a fight. I got the best of it. He gave an account of the affair, which was not exactly correct, to his uncle, Mr. Linthorne, a wealthy landowner and a magistrate. The latter had me up at the justice room; but I brought forward witnesses, who gave their account of the affair. Mr. Linthorne considered that his nephew--whom he had at that time regarded as his heir--had not given a correct account, and was so angry that he sent him to sea. "I would say, sir," he said earnestly, "that, were it possible, I should have wished this unhappy affair to be passed over." "Impossible!" the admiral and general said together. "I fear it is impossible now, sir," James said gravely; "but it might have been stopped before." "Captain Walsham wanted me to tear up the note," the midshipman put in; "but, though I was awfully sorry such a thing should happen to an officer of the Sutherland, I was obliged to refuse to do so, as I thought it was my duty to hand the note to you." "Certainly it was, Mr. Middleton," the admiral said. "There can be no question about that." "I wonder that you even suggested such a thing, Captain Walsham," the general remarked. "This was not a private affair. The whole success of the enterprise was jeopardized." "It was, sir," James said quietly; "but you must remember that, at the time I asked Mr. Middleton to tear up the note, it had ceased to be jeopardized, for I had got fairly away. I am under great obligations to Mr. Linthorne, and would do much to save him pain. I regarded this act, not as one of treason against the country, but as one of personal enmity to myself, and I am sure that Lieutenant Horton, himself, did not think of the harm that his letter might do to the cause, but was blinded by his passion against me." "Your conduct does credit to your heart, Captain Walsham, if not to your head," General Wolfe said. The admiral rang the bell. "Tell Lieutenant Horton that I wish to speak to him, and order a corporal, with a file of marines, to be at the door." The messenger found Lieutenant Horton pacing the quarterdeck with hurried steps. On the receipt of the message, instead of going directly to the admiral's cabin, he ran down below, caught something from a shelf by his berth, placed it in the breast of his coat, and then went to the admiral's cabin. The corporal, with the two marines, had already taken his station there. The young officer drew a deep breath, and entered. A deadly fear had seized him, from the moment he saw the signal of James Walsham, although it seemed impossible to him that his treachery could have been discovered. The sudden summons at this hour of the night confirmed his fears, and it was with a face almost as pale as death that he entered the cabin. "Lieutenant Horton," the admiral said, "you are accused of having assisted in the escape of the pilot, who was our prisoner on board this ship. You are further accused of releasing him with the special purpose that the plans which General Wolfe had laid, to obtain information, might be thwarted." "Who accuses me?" Richard Horton asked. "Captain Walsham is my enemy. He has for years intrigued against me, and sought to do me harm. He was the companion of smugglers, and was captured by the Thetis, and had the choice of being sent to prison, and tried for his share in the killing of some of the coast guards, or of going before the mast. I was a lieutenant in the Thetis at the time, and I suppose, because I did not then interfere on his behalf, he has now trumped up this accusation against me, an accusation I defy him to prove." "You are mistaken, Lieutenant Horton," the admiral said. "Captain Walsham is not your accuser. Nay, more, he has himself committed a grave dereliction of duty in trying to screen you, and by endeavouring to destroy the principal evidence against you. Mr. Middleton overheard a conversation between the Canadian pilot and the French general, and the former described how he had been liberated by an English officer, who assisted him to escape by a rope from the porthole in his cabin." "I do not see that that is any evidence against me," Richard Horton said. "In the first place, the man may have been lying. In the second place, unless he mentioned my name, why am I suspected more than any other officer? And, even if he did mention my name, my word is surely as good as that of a Canadian prisoner. It is probable that the man was released by one of the crew--some man, perhaps, who owed me a grudge--who told him to say that it was I who freed him, in hopes that some day this outrageous story might get about." "Your suggestions are plausible, Mr. Horton," the admiral said coldly. "Unfortunately, it is not on the word of this Canadian that we have to depend. "There, sir," he said, holding out the letter; "there is the chief witness against you. Captain Peters instantly recognized your handwriting, as Mr. Middleton had done before him." Richard Horton stood gazing speechlessly at the letter. So confounded was he, by the unexpected production of this fatal missive, that he was unable to utter a single word of explanation or excuse. "Lay your sword on the table, sir," the admiral said, "and retire to your cabin, where you will remain, under close arrest, till a court martial can be assembled." Richard Horton unbuckled his sword and laid it on the table, and left the cabin without a word. "It would have been better to send a guard with him," Captain Peters said; "he might jump overboard, or blow his brains out." "Quite so, Peters," the admiral said. "The very thing that was in my mind, when I told him to retire to his cabin--the very best thing he could do, for himself and for the service. A nice scandal it would be, to have to try and hang a naval officer for treachery. "I am sure you agree with me, general?" "Thoroughly," the general said. "Let him blow his brains out, or desert; but you had best keep a sharp lookout that he does not desert at present. After we have once effected our landing, I should say keep as careless a watch over him as possible; but don't let him go before. It is bad enough that the French know that Captain Walsham went ashore for the purpose of discovering a landing place; but it would be worse were they to become aware that he has rejoined the ships, and that he was taken off by a boat within a couple of miles of the spot where we mean to land." The admiral was right. Richard Horton had, when summoned to the cabin, hastily placed a pistol in his bosom, with the intention of blowing out his brains, should he find that the discovery he dreaded had been made. Had the marines posted outside the cabin been ordered to accompany him, he would at once have carried his purpose into execution; but, finding himself free, he walked to his cabin, still determined to blow out his brains before morning; but, the impulse once past, he could not summon up resolution to carry his resolve into effect. He would do it, he said to himself, before the court martial came on. That would be time enough. This was the decision he arrived at when the morning dawned upon him, lying despairing in his cot. Chapter 21: The Capture Of Quebec. On the day on which he received James' report, Wolfe issued his orders for the attack. Colonel Burton, at Point Levi, was to bring up every man who could be spared, to assist in the enterprise, and that officer accordingly marched to the spot indicated for embarkation, after nightfall, with 1200 men. As night approached, the main fleet, under Admiral Saunders, below Quebec, ranged itself opposite Beauport, and opened a tremendous cannonade, while the boats were lowered, and filled with sailors and marines. Montcalm, believing that the movements of the English above the town were only a feint, and that their main body was still below it, massed his troops in front of Beauport, to repel the expected landing. To Colonel Howe, of the Light Infantry, was given the honour of leading the little party, who were to suddenly attack Vergor's camp, at the head of the path. James Walsham, knowing the way, was to accompany him as second in command. Twenty-four picked men volunteered to follow them. Thirty large troop boats, and some boats belonging to the ships, were in readiness, and 1700 men took their places in them. The tide was still flowing, and, the better to deceive the French, the vessels and boats were allowed to drift upwards for a little distance, as if to attempt to effect a landing above Cap Rouge. Wolfe had, that day, gained some intelligence which would assist him to deceive the enemy, for he learned that a number of boats, laden with provisions from Quebec, were coming down with the tide. Wolfe was on board the Sutherland. He was somewhat stronger than he had been for some days, but felt a presentiment that he would die in the approaching battle. About two o'clock, the tide began to ebb, and two lanterns--the signal for the troops to put off--were shown in the rigging of the Sutherland. Fortune favoured the English. Bougainville had watched the vessels, until he saw them begin to drift down again with the stream, and, thinking that they would return again with the flood, as they had done for the last seven days, allowed his weary troops to retire to their camp. The battalion of Guienne, instead of encamping near the heights, had remained on the Saint Charles; and Vergor, an incapable and cowardly officer, had gone quietly to bed, and had allowed a number of the Canadians under him to go away to their village, to assist in getting in the harvest. For two hours, the English boats drifted down with the stream. As they neared their destination, they suddenly were challenged by a French sentry. An officer, who spoke the language replied, "France." "A quel regiment?" "De la reine," the officer replied, knowing that a part of that regiment was with Bougainville. The sentry, believing that they were the expected provision boats, allowed them to pass on. A few hundred yards further, another sentry challenged them. The same officer replied in French, "Provision boats. Don't make a noise; the English will hear us." A few minutes later, the boats rowed up to the strand, at the foot of the heights. Vergor had placed no sentry on the shore, and the troops landed unchallenged. Guided by James Walsham, Colonel Howe, with his twenty-four volunteers, led the way. As silently as they could, they moved up the pathway, until they gained the top, and saw before them the outline of the tents. They went at them with a rush. Vergor leaped from his bed, and tried to run off, but was shot in the heel and captured. His men, taken by surprise, made little resistance. One or two were caught, but the rest fled. The main body of the troops were waiting, for the most part, in the boats by the edge of the bank. Not a word was spoken as the men listened, almost breathlessly, for a sound which would tell them whether the enterprise had succeeded. Suddenly the stillness was broken by the musketry on the top of the heights, followed by a loud British cheer. Then all leapt from the boats, and each man, with his musket slung at his back, scaled the rocks as best he might. The narrow path had been made impassable by trenches and abattis, but the obstructions were soon cleared away, and the stream of soldiers poured steadily up. As soon as a sufficient number had gained the plateau, strong parties were sent off to seize the batteries at Samos and Sillery, which had just opened fire upon the boats and ships. This was easily done, and the English footing on the plateau was assured. As fast as the boats were emptied of the men, they rowed back to the ships to fetch more, and the whole force was soon on shore. The day began to break a few minutes after the advanced troops had gained the heights, and, before it was fairly daylight, all the first party were drawn up in line, ready to resist attack. But no enemy was in sight. A body of Canadians, who had sallied from the town on hearing the firing, and moved along the strand towards the landing place, had been quickly driven back, and, for the present, no other sign of the enemy was to be seen. Wolfe reconnoitred the ground, and found a suitable place for a battle, at a spot known as the Plains of Abraham, from a pilot of that name who had owned a piece of land there, in the early days of the colony. It was a tract of grass, with some cornfields here and there, and studded by clumps of bushes. On the south, it was bounded by the steep fall down to the Saint Lawrence; on the north, it sloped gradually down to the Saint Charles. Wolfe led his troops to this spot and formed them in line, across the plateau and facing the city. The right wing rested on the edge of the height, along the Saint Lawrence, but the left did not extend far enough to reach the slopes down to the Saint Charles. To prevent being outflanked on this wing, Brigadier Townshend was stationed here, with two battalions, drawn up at right angles to the rest, and facing the Saint Charles. Webb's regiment formed the reserve, the 3d battalion of Royal Americans were left to guard the landing, and Howe's light infantry occupied a wood, far in the rear of the force, to check Bougainville should he approach from that direction. Wolfe, with his three brigadiers, commanded the main body, which, when all the troops had arrived, numbered less than three thousand five hundred men. Quebec was less than a mile distant from the spot where the troops were posted, in order of battle, but an intervening ridge hid it from the sight of the troops. At six o'clock, the white uniforms of the battalion of Guienne, which had marched up in hot haste from their camp on the Saint Charles, made their appearance on the ridge, and halted there, awaiting reinforcements. Shortly afterwards, there was an outbreak of hot firing in the rear, where the light troops, under Colonel Howe, repulsed a detachment of Bougainville's command, which came up and attacked them. Montcalm had been on the alert all night. The guns of Saunders' fleet thundered unceasingly, opposite Beauport, and its boats hovered near the shore, threatening a landing. All night, the French troops remained in their intrenchments. Accompanied by the Chevalier Johnston, he remained all night in anxious expectation. He felt that the critical moment had come, but could not tell from which direction the blow was to arrive. He had sent an officer to Vaudreuil, whose quarters were near Quebec, begging him to send word instantly, should anything occur above the town. Just at daybreak, he heard the sound of cannon from that direction. This was the battery at Samos, opening fire upon the English ships. But no word came from Vaudreuil and, about six o'clock, Montcalm mounted and, accompanied by Johnston, rode towards the town. As he approached the bridge across the Saint Charles, the country behind the town opened to his view, and he presently saw the red line of British troops, drawn up on the heights above the river, two miles away. Instantly, he sent Johnston off, at full gallop, to bring up the troops from the centre and left. Vaudreuil had already ordered up those on the right. Montcalm rode up to Vaudreuil's quarters, and, after a few words with the governor, galloped over the bridge of the Saint Charles towards the seat of danger. It must have been a bitter moment for him. The fruits of his long care and watching were, in a moment, snatched away, and, just when he hoped that the enemy, foiled and exhausted, were about to return to England, he found that they had surmounted the obstacles he had deemed impregnable, and were calmly awaiting him on a fair field of battle. One who saw him said that he rode towards the field, with a fixed look, uttering not a word. The army followed in hot haste, crossed the Saint Charles, passed through Quebec, and hurried on to the ridge, where the battalion of Guienne had taken up its position. Nothing could have been stronger than the contrast which the two armies afforded. On the one side was the red English line, quiet and silent, save that the war pipes of the Highlanders blew loud and shrilly; on the other were the white-coated battalions of the regular army of France, the blue-clad Canadians, the bands of Indians in their war paint and feathers, all hurried and excited by their rapid march, and by the danger which had so unexpectedly burst upon them. Now the evils of a divided command were apparent. Vaudreuil countermanded Montcalm's orders for the advance of the left of the army, as he feared that the English might make a descent upon Beauport. Nor was the garrison of Quebec available, for Ramesay, its commander, was under the orders of Vaudreuil and, when Montcalm sent to him for twenty-five field guns from one of its batteries, he only sent three, saying that he wanted the rest for his own defence. Montcalm held a council of war with all his officers, and determined to attack at once. For this he has been blamed. That he must have fought was certain, for the English, in the position which they occupied, cut him off from the base of his supplies; but he might have waited for a few hours, and in that time he could have sent messengers, and brought up the force of Bougainville, which could have marched, by a circuitous route, and have joined him without coming in contact with the English. Upon the other hand, Montcalm had every reason to believe that the thirty-five hundred men he saw before him formed a portion, only, of the English army, that the rest were still on board the fleet opposite Beauport, and that a delay would bring larger reinforcements to Wolfe than he could himself receive. He was, as we know, mistaken, but his reasoning was sound, and he had, all along, believed the English army to be far more numerous than it really was. He was doubtless influenced by the fact that his troops were full of ardour, and that any delay would greatly dispirit the Canadians and Indians. He therefore determined to attack at once. The three field pieces, sent by Ramesay, opened fire upon the English line with canister, while fifteen hundred Canadians and Indians crept up among the bushes and knolls, and through the cornfield, and opened a heavy fire. Wolfe threw out skirmishers in front of the line, to keep these assailants in check, and ordered the rest of the troops to lie down to avoid the fire. On the British left, the attack was most galling. Bands of the sharpshooters got among the thickets, just below the edge of the declivity down to the Saint Charles, and from these, and from several houses scattered there, they killed and wounded a considerable number of Townshend's men. Howe was called up, with his light troops, from the rear; and he, and the two flank battalions of Townshend, dashed at the thickets, and, after some sharp fighting, partially cleared them, and took and burned some of the houses. Towards ten o'clock, the French advanced to the attack. Their centre was formed of regular troops, only, with regulars and Canadian battalions on either flank. Two field pieces which, with enormous labour, the English had dragged up the path from the landing place, at once opened fire with grape upon the French line. The advance was badly conducted. The French regulars marched steadily on, but the Canadians, firing as they advanced, threw themselves on the ground to reload, and this broke the regularity of the line. The English advanced some little distance, to meet their foes, and then halted. Not a shot was fired until the French were within forty paces, and then, at the word of command, a volley of musketry crashed out along the whole length of the line. So regularly was the volley given, that the French officers afterwards said that it sounded like a single cannon shot. Another volley followed, and then the continuous roar of independent firing. When the smoke cleared off a little, its effects could be seen. The French had halted where they stood, and, among them, the dead and wounded were thickly strewn. All order and regularity had been lost under that terrible fire, and, in three minutes, the line of advancing soldiers was broken up into a disorderly shouting mob. Then Wolfe gave the order to charge, and the British cheer, mingled with the wild yell of the Highlanders, rose loud and fierce. The English regiments advanced with levelled bayonets. The Highlanders drew their broadswords and rushed headlong forward. The charge was decisive. The French were swept helplessly before it, and the battle was at an end, save that the scattered parties of Canadians and Indians kept up, for some time, a fire from the bushes and cornfields. Their fire was heaviest on the British right, where Wolfe himself led the charge, at the head of the Louisbourg Grenadiers. A shot shattered his wrist. He wrapped his handkerchief around it and kept on. Another shot struck him, but he still advanced. When a third pierced his breast, he staggered and sat down. Two or three officers and men carried him to the rear, and then laid him down, and asked if they should send for a surgeon. "There is no need," he said. "It is all over with me." A moment later, one of those standing by him cried out: "They run, see how they run!" "Who run?" Wolfe asked. "The enemy, sir. They give way everywhere." "Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton," Wolfe said. "Tell him to march Webb's regiment down to the Charles River, to cut off their retreat from the bridge;" then, turning on his side, he said: "Now, God be praised, I will die in peace!" and, a few minutes later, he expired. Montcalm, still on horseback, was borne by the tide of fugitives towards the town. As he neared the gate, a shot passed through his body. It needed some hard work before the Canadians, who fought bravely, could be cleared out from the thickets. The French troops did not rally from their disorder till they had crossed the Saint Charles. The Canadians retired in better order. Decisive as the victory was, the English, for the moment, were in no condition to follow it up. While on the French side Montcalm was dying, and his second in command was mortally wounded; on the English, Wolfe was dead and Monckton, second in rank, badly wounded, and the command had fallen upon Townshend, at the moment when the enemy were in full flight. Knowing that the French could cut the bridge of boats across the Saint Charles, and so stop his pursuit, and that Bougainville was close at hand, he halted his troops, and set them to work to intrench themselves on the field of battle. Their loss had been six hundred and sixty-four, of all ranks, killed and wounded; while the French loss was estimated at about double that number. In point of numbers engaged, and in the total loss on both sides, the fight on the Plains of Abraham does not deserve to rank as a great battle, but its results were of the most extreme importance, for the victory transferred Canada from France to England. Vaudreuil, after joining his force with that of Bougainville, would have still vastly outnumbered the English, and could, by taking up a fresh position in their rear, have rendered himself impregnable, until the winter forced the English to retire; while the latter had no means of investing or besieging Quebec. But his weakness was now as great as his presumption had been before, and, on the evening of the battle, he abandoned the lines of Beauport, and, leaving all his tents and stores behind him, retreated hastily, or rather it may be said fled, for as the Chevalier Johnston said of it: "It was not a retreat, but an abominable flight, with such disorder and confusion that, had the English known it, three hundred men sent after us would have been sufficient to have cut all our army to pieces. The soldiers were all mixed, scattered, dispersed, and running as hard as they could, as if the English army were at their heels." The flight was continued, until they reached the impregnable position of Jacques Cartier on the brink of the Saint Lawrence, thirty miles from the scene of action. Montcalm died in Quebec the next morning. Levis soon arrived at Jacques Cartier from Montreal, and took the command, and at once attempted to restore order, and persuaded Vaudreuil to march back to join Bougainville, who had remained firmly with his command, at Cap Rouge, while the horde of fugitives swept by him. Vaudreuil, before leaving, had given orders to Ramesay to surrender, if Quebec was threatened by assault, and Levis, on his march to its relief, was met by the news that, on the morning of the 18th, Ramesay had surrendered. The garrison was utterly dispirited, and unwilling to fight. The officers were even more anxious to surrender than the men, and, on the fleet approaching the walls Ramesay obeyed Vaudreuil's orders, and surrendered. Townshend granted favourable conditions, for he knew that Levis was approaching, and that his position was dangerous in the extreme. He therefore agreed that the troops and sailors of the garrison should march out from the place, with the honours of war, and were to be carried to France, and that the inhabitants should have protection in person and property, and free exercise of religion. The day after the capture of Quebec, James Walsham returned on board ship. The thought of Richard Horton, awaiting the court martial, which would assuredly award him the sentence of death for his treachery, was constantly in his mind. He remembered the conversation between Captain Peters and the admiral, and General Wolfe's words: "I should say, keep as careless a watch over him as possible," and he determined, if possible, to aid him in making his escape, confident that, in the general exultation at the success of the enterprise, no one would trouble greatly about the matter, and that the admiral would be only too pleased that an inquiry should be avoided, which could but end in the disgrace and execution of a naval officer. James was relieved when, on his arrival, he found that Richard Horton was still in confinement, for he feared that he might have carried out the other alternative spoken of by the admiral, and might have committed suicide. "Captain Peters," he said, going up to that officer, "I should be obliged if you would give me an order to see Lieutenant Horton." "Can't do it, my lad. The admiral's orders are precise. Nobody is to be admitted to see him, without an order signed by himself." James accordingly sought the admiral's cabin. "What do you want to see him for, eh?" the admiral asked. James hesitated. He would not tell an untruth in the matter, and yet he could think of no excuse which could answer, without doing so. "I want to see him, sir, to have some conversation with him." "Ah!" the admiral said, looking at him keenly. "Conversation, eh! You are not going to take him a pistol, or poison, or anything of that sort, to help him to put an end to his wretched existence?" "No, indeed, sir," James said warmly. "Humph! You are not thinking, I hope," he said, with a twinkle of the eye, "of helping him to escape?" James was silent. "Well, well," the admiral said hastily, "that's not a fair question to ask. However, I will tell you in confidence that, if he should escape, which is the most unlikely thing in the world, you know, no one would be particularly sorry, and there would be no great fuss made about it. Everyone in the navy here would feel it cast a slur upon the service if, at a time like this, a naval officer were tried and shot for treachery. However, if it must be it must. "Here is an order for you to see him. If it was anyone else, I might have my doubts about granting it, but as you are the man against whom he played this scurvy trick, I feel safe in doing so. "There you are, my lad. Give me your hand. You are a fine fellow, Major Walsham, a very fine fellow." Immediately upon entering Quebec, James had purchased a large turn-screw, some ten yards of fine but strong rope, and three or four bladders. When he procured the order, he went to his cabin, took off his coat, wound the rope round his body, and then, putting on his coat, placed the flattened bladders under it and buttoned it up, slipping the turn-screw up his sleeve, and then proceeded to the prisoner's cabin. The sentry at once admitted him, on producing the admiral's order. Richard Horton was lying down on his berth, and started with surprise as his visitor entered. "I am glad you have come to see me, James Walsham, for I have been wishing to speak to you, and I thought you would come. I have been thinking much for the last two days. I know that it is all up with me. The proofs are too strong, and I will not face a court martial, for I have the means--I know I may tell you safely--of avoiding it. The hour that brings me news that the court is ordered to assemble, I cease to live. "When a man is at that point, he sees things more clearly, perhaps, than he did before. I know that I have wronged you, and, when the admiral said that you had done all in your power to shield me, I felt more humiliated than I did when that fatal letter was produced. I know what you have come for--to tell me that you bear me no malice. You are a fine fellow, Walsham, and deserve all your good fortune, just as I deserve what has befallen me. I think, if it had not been for the squire taking me up, I should never have come to this, but might have grown up a decent fellow. But my head was turned. I thought I was going to be a great man, and this is what has come of it." "I have come partly, as you suppose, to tell you that I bear you no malice, Richard Horton. I, too, have thought matters over, and understand your feeling against me. That first unfortunate quarrel, and its unfortunate result, set you against me, and, perhaps, I never did as much as I might to turn your feelings the other way. However, we will not talk more of that. All that is past and over. I come to you, now, as the nephew of the man who has done so much for me. I have brought with me the means of aiding your escape." "Of aiding my escape, Walsham! You must be mad! I am too securely fastened here; and, even were it not so, I would not accept a kindness which would cost you your commission, were it known." "As to the second reason, you may make your mind easy. From words which dropped, from the admiral, I am sure that everyone will be so glad, at your escape, that no very strict inquiry will be made. In the next place, your fastenings are not so very secure. The porthole is screwed down as usual." "Yes," Horton said; "but, in addition, there are a dozen strong screws placed round it." "Here is a long turn-screw which will take them out as quickly as the carpenter put them in," James said, producing the tool; "and here," and he opened his coat, "is a rope for lowering yourself down into the water." "You are very good, James," Horton said quietly; "but it is no use. I can't swim." "I know you could not, as a boy," James replied, "and I thought it likely enough that you have not learned since; but I think, with these, you may make a shift to get ashore," and he produced four bladders and some strong lashing. "If you blow these out, fasten the necks tightly, and then lash them round you, you can't sink. The drift of the tide will take you not very far from the point below, and, if you do your best to strike out towards the shore, I have no doubt you will be able to make it. You must lower yourself into the water very quietly, and allow yourself to float down, till you are well astern of the vessel." Richard Horton stood for a minute or two, with his hand over his eyes; then he said in a broken voice: "God bless you, Walsham. I will try it. If I am shot, 'tis better than dying by my own hand. If I escape, I will do my best to retrieve my life. I shall never return to England again, but, under a new name, may start afresh in the colonies. God bless you, and make you happy." The young men wrung each other hands, with a silent clasp, and James returned to his own cabin. The next morning, the officer of marines reported to Captain Peters that the prisoner was missing. The porthole was found open, and a rope hanging to the water's edge. The captain at once took the report to the admiral. "A bad job," the admiral said, with a twinkle of the eye. "A very bad job! How could it have happened?" "The sentries report, sir, that they heard no noise during the night, and that the only person who visited the cabin, with the exception of the sergeant with the prisoner's food, was Major Walsham, with your own order." "Yes, now I think of it, I did give him an order; but, of course, he can have had nothing to do with it. Horton must have managed to unscrew the porthole, somehow, perhaps with a pocketknife, and he might have had a coil of rope somewhere in his cabin. Great carelessness, you know. However, at a time like this, we need not bother our heads about it. He's gone, and there's an end of it." "He could not swim, sir," the captain said. "I heard him say so, once." "Then most likely he's drowned," the admiral remarked briskly. "That's the best thing that could happen. Enter it so in the log book: 'Lieutenant Horton fell out of his cabin window, while under arrest for misconduct; supposed to have been drowned.' That settles the whole matter." Captain Peters smiled to himself, as he made the entry. He was convinced, by the calm manner in which the admiral took it, that he more than suspected that the prisoner had escaped, and that James Walsham had had a hand in getting him off. Shortly after Quebec surrendered, Townshend returned to England with the fleet, leaving Murray in command of the army at Quebec. In the spring, Levis advanced with eight or nine thousand men against Quebec; and Murray, with three thousand, advanced to meet him, and gave battle nearly on the same ground on which the previous battle had been fought. The fight was a desperate one; but the English, being outflanked by the superior numbers of the French, were driven back into Quebec, with the loss of a third of their number. Quebec was now besieged by the French until, in May, an English fleet arrived, and destroyed the vessels which had brought down the stores and ammunition of Levis from Montreal. The French at once broke up their camp, and retreated hastily; but all hope was now gone, the loss of Quebec had cut them off from France. Amherst invaded the country from the English colonies, and the French were driven back to Montreal, before which the united English forces, 17,000 strong, took up their position; and, on the 8th of September, 1760, Vaudreuil signed the capitulation, by which Canada and all its dependencies passed to the English crown. All the French officers, civil and military, and the French troops and sailors, were to be sent back to France, in English ships. James Walsham was not present at the later operations round Quebec. He had been struck, in the side, by a shot by a lurking Indian, when a column had marched out from Quebec, a few days after its capture; and, for three or four weeks, he lay between life and death, on board ship. When convalescence set in, he found that he was already on blue water, all the serious cases being taken back by the fleet when, soon after the capture of Quebec, it sailed for England. The voyage was a long one, and, by the time the fleet sailed with their convoy into Portsmouth harbour, James had recovered much of his strength. An hour after landing, he was in a post chaise on his way home. It seemed strange, indeed, to him, as he drove through the little town, on his way up to the Hall. He had left it, in the beginning of 1755, a raw young fellow of eighteen. He returned, in the last month of 1759, a man of twenty-three, with the rank of major, and no inconsiderable share of credit and honour. He stopped the vehicle at the lodge gate, had his baggage taken out there, and proceeded on foot towards the Hall, for he was afraid that, if he drove straight up to the door, the sudden delight of seeing him would be too much for his mother. John Petersham opened the door, and, recognizing him at once, was about to exclaim loudly, when James made a motion for him to be silent. "Show me quietly into the squire's study, John," he said, grasping the butler's hand with a hearty squeeze, "and don't say anything about my being here, until he has seen my mother. They are all well, I hope?" "All well, sir, and right glad they will be to see you; for Mrs. Walsham, and all of them, have been fretting sorely since the news came that you were badly wounded." "I have had a narrow shave of it," James said; "but, thank God, I am as well now as ever!" As he spoke, he opened the door of the study, and entered. The squire, who was reading the paper, looked up, and leapt to his feet with a cry of satisfaction. "My dear boy, I am glad--thank God you are back again! What a relief your coming will be to us all!" And he shook James warmly by both hands. "I should hardly have known you, and yet you are not so much changed, either. Dear, dear, how delighted your mother will be! You have not seen her yet?" "No, sir," James said. "I dismissed the post chaise at the gate, and walked up quietly. I was afraid, if I drove suddenly up, the shock might be too much for her." "Quite right!" the squire said. "We must break it to her quietly. Wilks must do it--or no, he shall tell Aggie, and she shall tell your mother." He rang the bell, and John, who had been expecting a summons, instantly appeared. "Tell Mr. Wilks I want to speak to him, John." The old soldier speedily appeared, and his delight was as great as if James had been his son. He went off to break the news, and, in a short time, Mrs. Walsham was in the arms of her son. Major Walsham went no more to the wars, nor did he follow his original intention of entering the medical profession. Indeed, there was no occasion for him to do either. For Aggie insisted on his leaving the army; and she had a very strong voice in the matter. James had not long been home before he and the young lady came to an understanding. Before speaking to her, James had consulted his old friend. "You know how I feel," he said; "but I don't know whether it would be right. You see, although I am major in the service, I have nothing but my pay. I owe everything to the squire, and he would naturally look very much higher for a husband for his granddaughter." "Don't you be a fool, James Walsham," Mr. Wilks said. "I made up my mind that you should marry Aggie, ever since the day when you got her out of the sea. The squire has known, for years, what I thought on the subject. You will meet with no opposition from him, for he is almost as proud of you as I am. Besides, he thinks only of Aggie's happiness, and, unless I am greatly mistaken, that young lady has fully made up her mind on the subject." This was indeed the case, for Aggie, when James had settled the point with her, made no hesitation in telling him that she had regarded him as her special property since she had been a child. "I considered it all settled, years and years ago," she said demurely, "and I was quite aggrieved, I can tell you, when, on your arrival, you just held out your hand to me, instead of--well, instead of doing the same to me as to your mother." "You shall have no reason for complaint, that way, in the future, Aggie, I promise you. But how could I tell? The last time I saw you, you were flirting, as hard as you could, with someone else." "Well, sir, whose fault was that? You chose to make yourself disagreeable, and stay away, and what was I to do? I should do the same in the future, I can tell you, if you neglected me in the same way." "I sha'n't give you the chance, Aggie. You can rely upon that." The squire was fully prepared for the communication which James had to make to him, and, as there were no reasons for waiting, the ceremony took place very shortly afterwards. The squire never asked any questions about his nephew. The official report had come home that Lieutenant Horton had died of drowning, while under arrest, but the squire forbore all inquiry, and, to the end of his life, remained in ignorance of the disgraceful circumstances. Perhaps, in his heart, the news was a relief to him. He had never been fond of Richard as a lad, and his confidence, once shaken, had never been restored. He had intended to carry out his promise to leave him twenty thousand pounds; but he was well pleased that all that belonged to him should descend to his granddaughter. Mr. Wilks was the only resident at the Hall who ever learned, from James, the facts of Richard Horton's disgrace. Years afterwards a few lines, without signature or address, came to James from America. The writer said that he was sure that he would be glad to hear that, under a changed name, he was doing very well. "I shall never return to England," he ended, "nor ever forget your kindness and generosity." The marriage of the young people made but few changes at the Hall. The squire proposed to give Aggie, at once, a sum which would have purchased an estate in the neighbourhood; but he was delighted to find that she, and James, had made up their minds that the party at the Hall should not be broken up. "What do you want to send us away for, grandpapa?" she asked. "You three will be happier for having us with you, and James and I will be happier for having you with us. What nonsense to talk about buying another estate! We might get a little house up in London. It would make a change, for James and me to spend two or three months every year there, but of course this will be our home." And so it was arranged, and so matters continued until, in the lapse of time, the seniors passed away, and James Walsham and his wife, and it may be said their children, became the sole occupants of the Hall, the estate having been largely increased, by the purchase of adjoining property, by the squire before his death. James Walsham might have represented his county in Parliament had he chosen, but he was far too happy in his country life, varied by a few months passed every year in town, to care about taking part in the turmoil of politics. He did much for Sidmouth, and especially for its fishermen, and, to the end of his life, retained a passionate love for the sea. 
15958	----	French and English: A Story of the Struggle in America by Evelyn Everett-Green. CONTENTS BOOK 1: BORDER WARFARE. Chapter 1: A Western Settler. Chapter 2: Friends In Need. Chapter 3: Philadelphia. Chapter 4: An Exciting Struggle. BOOK 2: ROGER'S RANGERS. Chapter 1: A Day Of Vengeance. Chapter 2: Robert Rogers. Chapter 3: The Life Of Adventure. Chapter 4: Vengeance And Disaster. BOOK 3: DISASTER. Chapter 1: A Tale Of Woe. Chapter 2: Escape. Chapter 3: Albany. Chapter 4: Ticonderoga. BOOK 4: WOLFE. Chapter 1: A Soldier At Home. Chapter 2: Louisbourg. Chapter 3: Victory. Chapter 4: The Fruits Of Victory. BOOK 5: WITHIN QUEBEC. Chapter 1: The Impregnable City. Chapter 2: The Defences Of Quebec. Chapter 3: Mariners Of The Deep. Chapter 4: Hostilities. BOOK 6: WITHOUT QUEBEC. Chapter 1: In Sight Of His Goal. Chapter 2: Days Of Waiting. Chapter 3: A Daring Design. Chapter 4: In The Hour Of Victory. BOOK 7: ENGLISH VICTORS. Chapter 1: A Panic-Stricken City. Chapter 2: Surrender. Chapter 3: Friendly Foes. Chapter 4: The Last. Book 1: Border Warfare Chapter 1: A Western Settler. Humphrey Angell came swinging along through the silent aisles of the vast primeval forest, his gun in the hollow of his arm, a heavy bag of venison meat hanging from his shoulders. A strange, wild figure, in the midst of a strange, wild scene: his clothes, originally of some homespun cloth, now patched so freely with dressed deerskin as to leave little of the original material; moccasins on his feet, a beaver cap upon his head, his leather belt stuck round with hunting knives, and the pistol to be used at close quarters should any emergency arise. He was a stalwart fellow, as these sons of the forest had need to be--standing over six feet, and with a muscular development to match his stately height. His tawny hair had been darkened by exposure to hot suns, and his handsome face was deeply imbrowned from the influences of weather in all seasons. His blue eyes had that direct yet far-away look which comes to men who live face to face with nature, and learn to know her in all her moods, and to study her caprices in the earning of their daily bread. Humphrey Angell was not more than twenty years of age, and he had lived ten years in the forest. He had come there as a child with his father, who had emigrated in his young life from England to the settlement of Pennsylvania, and had afterwards become one of the scattered settlers on the debatable ground between the French and English borders, establishing himself in the heart of the boundless forest, and setting to work with the utmost zeal and industry to gather round himself a little farmstead where he could pass his own later years in peace, and leave it for an inheritance to his two sons. Humphrey could remember Pennsylvania a little, although the life in the small democratic township seemed now like a dream to him. All his interests centred in the free forest, where he had grown to manhood. Now and again a longing would come upon him to see something of the great, tumultuous, seething world of whose existence he was dimly aware. There were times in the long winter evenings when he and his brother, the old father, and the brother's wife would sit round the stove after the children had been put to bed, talking of the past and the future. Then old Angell would tell his sons of the life he had once led in far-away England, before the spirit of adventure drove him forth to seek his fortune in the New World; and at such times Humphrey would listen with eager attention, feeling the stirrings of a like spirit within him, and wondering whether the vast walls of the giant forest would for ever shut him in, or whether it would be his lot some day to cross the heaving, mysterious, ever-moving ocean of which his father often spoke, and visit the country of which he was still proud to call himself a son. Yet he loved his forest home and the free, wild life he led. Nor was the element of peril lacking to the daily lot--peril which had not found them yet, but which might spring upon them unawares at any moment. For after years of peace and apparent goodwill on the part of the Indians of the Five Nations, as this tract of debatable land had come to be called, a spirit of ill will and ferocity was arising again; and settlers who had for years lived in peace and quietness in their lonely homes had been swooped down upon, scalped, their houses burnt, their wives and children tomahawked--the raid being so swift and sudden that defence and resistance had alike been futile. What gave an added horror to this sudden change of policy on the part of the Indians was the growing conviction throughout the settlement that it was due to the agency of white men. France, not content with the undisputed possession of Canada, and of vast tracts of territory in the west and south which she had no means of populating, was bitterly jealous of the English colony in the east, and, above all; of any attempts which it might make to extend its western border. Fighting there had been already. Humphrey had heard rumours of disasters to the English arms farther away to the south. He had heard of Braddock's army having been cut to pieces in its attempt to reach and capture the French Fort Duquesne, and a vague uneasiness was penetrating to these scattered settlers, who had hitherto lived in quietness and peace. Perhaps had they known more of the spirit of parties beyond their limited horizon, they would have been more uneasy still. But habit is an enormous power in a man's life. Humphrey had gone forth into the forest to kill meat for the family larder three or four days in the week, in all seasons when the farm work was not specially pressing. He came back day by day to the low-browed log house, with its patches of Indian corn and other crops, its pleasant sounds of life, the welcome from the children, the approval of father and brother if the day had been successful, and the smiles of the housewife when he displayed the contents of his bag. It was almost impossible to remember from day to day that peril from the silent, mysterious forest threatened them. They had lived there for ten years unmolested and at peace; who would care to molest them now? And yet Humphrey, who knew the forest so well--its mysterious, interminable depths, its trackless, boundless extent, rolling over hill and valley in endless billows--he knew well how silently, how suddenly an ambushed foe might approach, spring out from the thick, tangled shelter to do some murderous deed, and in the maze of giant timber be at once swallowed up beyond all danger of pursuit. In the open plains the Indian raids were terrible enough, but the horrors of uncertainty and ignorance which enveloped the settlers in the forests might well cause the stoutest heart to quail when once it became known that the Indians had become their enemies, and that there was another enemy stirring up the strife, and bribing the fierce and greedy savages to carry desolation and death into the settlements of the English colonists. Whispers--rumours--had just begun to penetrate into these leafy solitudes; but communication with the outside world was so rare that the Angell family, who had long been self-supporting, and able to live without the products of the mother colony away to the east, had scarcely realized the change that was creeping over the country. The old man had never seen anything of Indian warfare, and his sons had had little more experience. They had been peaceful denizens of the woods, and bore arms for purposes of the chase rather than for self-preservation from human foes, as did the bulk of those dwellers in the woods that fringed the western border of the English-speaking colony. "We have no enemies; why should we fear?" asked Charles, the elder brother, a man of placable temperament, a fine worker with the axe or plough, a man of indomitable industry, endurance, and patience, but one who had never shown any desire after adventure or the chances of warfare. He was ten years older than Humphrey; and the brothers had two sisters now married and settled in the colony. The younger brother sometimes talked of visiting the sisters, and bringing back news of them to the father at home; but Charles never desired to leave the homestead. He was a singularly affectionate husband and father, and had been an excellent son to the fine old man, who now had his time of ease by the hearth in the winter weather, though during a great part of the year he toiled in the fields with a right good will, and with much of his old fire and energy. Humphrey was nearing home now, and started whistling a favourite air which generally heralded his approach, and brought the children tumbling out to meet him in a rush of merry welcome. But there was no answering hubbub to be heard from the direction of the house, no patter of little feet, no lowing of kine. Humphrey stopped suddenly short in his whistling, and bent his ear forward as though to listen. A faint, muffled, strangled cry seemed to be borne to his ears. Under his bronze his face suddenly grew white. He flung the heavy bag from off his back, and grasping his gun more firmly in his hands, he rushed through the narrow pathway; and came out upon the clearing around the little farmstead. In the morning he had left it, smiling in the autumn sunshine, a peaceful, prosperous-looking place, homely, quaint, and bright. Now his eyes rested upon a heap of smoking ruins, trampled crops, empty sheds; and upon a still more horrible sight--the remains of mangled corpses tied to the group of trees which sheltered the porch. It was enough to curdle the blood of the stoutest hearted, and freeze with horror the bravest warrior. Humphrey was no warrior, but a strong-limbed, tender-hearted youth; and as he looked at the awful scene before him, a blood-red mist seemed to swim before his eyes. He gasped, and clutched at the nearest tree trunk for support. Surely, surely it was some fever dream which had come upon him. It could not, it should not be a terrible reality. "Humphrey, Humphrey! help, help!" It was the strangled, muffled cry again. The sound woke the young man from his trance of horror and amazement. He uttered a hoarse cry, which he scarcely knew for his own, and dashed blindly onwards. "Here, here! This way. By the barn! Quick!" No need to hasten Humphrey's flying feet. He rushed through the trampled fields. He gained the clearing about the house and its buildings. He reached the spot indicated, and saw a sight he would never forget. His brother Charles was tightly, cruelly bound to the stump of a tree which had been often used for tethering animals at milking time just outside the barn. His clothes were half torn from off his back, and several gaping, bleeding wounds told of the fight which had ended in his capture. Most significant of all was the long semicircular red line round the brow, where the scalping knife had plainly passed. Humphrey's stout knife was cutting through the cruel cords, even while his horrified eyes were taking in these details. When his brother was released, he seemed to collapse for a moment, and fell face downwards upon the ground, a quiver running through all his limbs, such as Humphrey had seen many a time in some wild creature stricken with its death wound. He uttered a sharp cry of terror and anguish, and averting his eyes from the awful sights with which the place abounded, he dashed to the well, and bringing back a supply of pure cold water, flung it over his brother's prostrate form, laving his face and hands, and holding a small vessel to his parched and swollen lips so that the draught could trickle into his mouth. There was an effort to swallow, a quiver and a struggle, and the wounded man opened his eyes and sat up. "Where am I--what is it?" he gasped, draining the cup again and again, like one who has been near to perish with thirst. "O Humphrey, I have had such an awful dream!" Humphrey had so placed his brother that he should not see on opening his eyes that ghastly sight which turned the younger man sick with horror each time his eyes wandered that way. Charles saw the familiar outline of the forest, and his brother's face bending over him. He had for a moment a vague impression of something unspeakably awful and horrible, but at that moment he believed that some mischance had befallen himself alone, and that he had imagined some black, nameless horror in a fevered dream. A shiver ran through Humphrey's frame. His blue eyes were dazed and dilated. What answer could he make? He busied himself with dressing the wounds upon his brother's chest and shoulders, from which the blood still oozed slowly. "What is it?" asked Charles once again; "how did I come to be hurt?" Humphrey made no reply, but a groan burst unawares from his lips. The sound seemed to startle Charles from his momentary calm. He suddenly put up his hand to his brow, felt the smart of the significant red line left by the scalping knife, and the next moment he had sprung to his feet with a sharp, low cry of unspeakable anguish. He faced round then--and looked! Humphrey stood beside him shoulder to shoulder, with his arm about his brother, lest physical weakness should again overpower him. But Charles seemed like one turned to stone. For perhaps three long minutes he stood thus--speechless, motionless; then a wild cry burst from his lips, accompanied by a torrent of the wildest, fiercest invective--appeals to Heaven for vengeance, threats of undying hatred, undying hostility to those savage murderers whose raid had made this fair spot into a desolation so awful. Humphrey stood still and silent the while, like one spellbound. He scarcely knew his brother in this moment of passionate despair and fury. Charles had been a silent, placable man all his life through. Born and bred in the Quaker settlement, till he had taken to the life of the forest he had been a man of quiet industry and toil rather than a fighter or a talker. A peaceful creed had been his, and he had perhaps never before raised a hand in anger against a fellow creature. This made the sudden wild and passionate outburst the more strange and awful to Humphrey. It was almost as though Charles was no longer the brother he had known all these years, but had been transformed into a different being by the swift and fearful calamity which had swept down upon them during these past few hours. "I will avenge--I swear it! As they have done, so shall it be done unto them. Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, life for life--is not that written in the Scriptures? The avenger of blood shall follow and overtake. His hand shall not spare, neither his eye pity. The evildoer shall be rooted out of the land. His place shall be no more found. Even as they have done, so shall it be done unto them." He stopped, and suddenly raised his clasped hands to heaven. A torrent of words broke from his lips. "O God, Thou hast seen, Thine eyes have beheld. If it had been an open enemy that had done this thing, then could I perchance have borne it. If it had been the untutored savage, in his ignorant ferocity, then would I have left Thee, O Lord, to deal with him--to avenge! But the white brother has risen up against his own flesh and blood. The white man has stood by to see. He has hounded on the savages! He has disgraced his humanity! O Lord God, give him into my hands! let me avenge me of mine adversary. Let the ignorant Indian escape if Thou wilt, but grant unto me to slay and slay and slay amid the ranks of the white man, who has sold his soul for gain, and has become more treacherous and cruel than the Indian ally whose aid he has invoked. Judge Thou betwixt us, O Lord; look upon this scene! Strengthen Thou mine arm to the battle, for here I vow that I will henceforth give my life to this work. I will till the fields no more. I will beat my pruning hook into a sword. I will slay, and spare not, and Thou, O God of battles, shalt be with me. Thou shalt strengthen mine arm; Thou shalt give unto me the victory. Thou shalt deliver mine enemy into mine hand. I know it, I see it! For Thou art God, and I am Thy servant, and I will avenge upon him who has defied Thee this hideous crime upon which Thine eyes have looked!" Humphrey stood by silent and awed. An answering thrill was in his own heart. He had averted his eyes from the ghastly spectacle of those charred and mangled corpses; but they turned upon them once more at this moment, and he could not marvel at his brother's words. He, too, had been trained to peaceable thoughts and ways. He had hoped that there would soon be an end of these rumours of wars. His immediate forefathers had been men of peace, and he had never known the craving after the excitement of battle. Yet as his brother spoke there came upon him a new feeling. He felt his arm tingling; he felt the hot blood surging through his veins. He was conscious that were an enemy to show face at that moment between the trees of the forest, he would be ready to spring upon him like a wild beast, and rend him limb from limb without pity and without remorse. But the Indians had made off as silently and as swiftly as they appeared. Not a vestige of the band remained behind. And there was work for the brothers at that moment of a different sort, and work which left its lasting mark upon the memory and even upon the nature of Humphrey Angell. Together the brothers dug a deep grave. Reverently they deposited in it all that was left of the mortal remains of those whom they had loved so tenderly and well: the kindly house mother, to whose industry and thrift so much of their comfort had been due; the little, innocent, prattling children and brave little lads, who were already learning to be useful to father and mother. None of them spared--no pity shown to sex or age. All ruthlessly murdered; husband and father forced to watch the horrid spectacle, himself a helpless prisoner, waiting for his doom. Humphrey had not hitherto dared to ask the question which had been exercising him all the while--how it was that his brother's life had been spared. He also wanted to know where the old man their father was; for the corpses they had laid in the grave were those of Charles's wife and children. Charles noted his questioning glance around when the grave had received its victims, and he pointed to the smoking ruins of the house. "He lies there. They bound him in his chair. They tied the babe down in his cradle. They set fire to the house. Heaven send that the reek choked them before the fire touched them! They lie yonder beneath the funeral pyre--our venerable sire and my bonny, laughing babe!" He stopped short, choked by a sudden rush of tears; and Humphrey, flinging down his spade, threw himself along the ground in a paroxysm of unspeakable anguish, choking sobs breaking from him, the unaccustomed tears raining down his cheeks. The brothers wept together. Perhaps those tears saved Charles from some severe fever of the brain. He wept till he was perfectly exhausted, and at last his condition of prostration so far aroused Humphrey that he was forced into action. He half lifted, half dragged his brother into one of the empty barns, where he laid him down upon some straw. He rolled up his own coat for a pillow, and after hastily finishing the filling in of the grave, he went back into the forest for his game bag, and having kindled a fire, cooked some of the meat, and forced his brother to eat and drink. It was growing dark by that time, and the blackness of the forest seemed to be swallowing them up. A faint red glow still came from the direction of the burning homestead, where the fire still smouldered amid the smoking ruins. Humphrey closed the door of the barn, to shut out the sight and also the chill freshness of the autumn night. He lay down upon the straw beside his brother, worn out in body and mind. But there could be no thought of sleep for either man that night; the horror was too pressing and ever present, and anguish lay like a physical load upon their hearts. The silence was full of horror for both; in self defence Humphrey began to speak. "When was it, Charles? I was in the forest all day, and I saw and heard nothing. The silence was never broken save by the accustomed sounds of the wild creatures of the wood. No war party came my way. When was it?" "At the noontide meal. We had all gathered within doors. There was none to give warning of danger. Suddenly and silently as ghosts they must have filed from out the forest. We were already surrounded and helpless before the first wild war whoop broke upon our ears!" Charles put up his hands as though to shut out that awful yell, the echoes of which rang so long in the ears of those who had heard it. Humphrey shivered, and his hands clinched themselves nervously together. "Why was I not here to fight and to die?" "Better to live--and to avenge their blood!" answered Charles, with a gleam lighting his sunken eyes. He was silent awhile, and then went on with his narrative. "It was not a fight; it was only a slaughter! The children rushed screaming from the house, escaping the first rush of the painted savages when they burst in upon us. But there were others outside, who hacked and slashed them as they passed. I had only my hunting knife in my belt. I stood before Ellen, and I fought like ten demons! God is witness that I did all that one man could. But what avail against scores of such foes? Three corpses were heaped at my threshold. I saw them carrying away many others dead or wounded, Our father fought too; and Ellen backed into the corner where the gun stood, and with her own hands she shot down two of the savages. "Would to heaven she had shot at the white one, who was tenfold more of a fiend! But he shall not escape--he shall not escape! I shall know his face when I see it next. And I will not go down to the grave till he and I have stood face to face once more, when I am not bound and helpless, but a free man with weapons in my hand. That day will come; I read it in the book of fate. The Lord God, unto whom vengeance belongeth, He will cause it to come to pass!" Humphrey was afraid of these wild outbursts, as likely to bring on fever; and yet he could not but desire to know more. "A white man? Nay, brother; that is scarce to be believed. A white man to league himself to such deeds as these!" "A white man--a Frenchman. For I called upon him in our tongue, and he answered me in the same, but with that halting accent which I know belongs to the sons of France. Moreover, he made no secret of it. He called us dogs of English, who were robbers of the soil where none had right to penetrate save the subjects of his royal master. He swore that they would make an end of us, root and branch; and he laughed when he saw the Indians cutting down the little ones, and covering their tender bodies with cruel wounds; nor had he any pity upon the one white woman; and when I raved upon him and cursed him, he laughed back, and said he had no power to allay the fury of the savages. Those who would preserve themselves safe should retire within the bounds of the colony to which they belong. France would have an end of encroachment, and the Indians were her friends, and would help her to drive out the common foe!" Humphrey set his teeth and clinched his hands. The old instinctive hatred of centuries between French and English, never really dead, now leaped into life in his breast. He had heard plenty of talk during his boyhood of France's boundless pretensions with regard to the great New World of the West, and how she sought, by the simple process of declaring territory to be hers, to extend her power over millions of miles of the untrodden plains and forests, which she could never hope to populate. He had laughed with others at these claims, and had thought little enough of them when with father and brother he set out for the western frontier. There was then peace between the nations. Nor had it entered into the calculations of the settlers that their white brethren would stir up the friendly Indians against them, and bring havoc and destruction to their scattered dwellings. That was a method of warfare undreamed of a few years back; but it was now becoming a terrible reality. "But your life was spared?" said Humphrey at last; "and yet the scalping-knife came very close to doing its horrid work." "Yes: they spared me--he spared me--when he had made me suffer what was tenfold worse than death; yet I wot well he only thought to leave me to a lingering death of anguish, more terrible than that of the scalping knife! They knew not that I had any to come to my succour. When he drew off the howling Indians and left me bound to the stump, he thought he left me to perish of starvation and burning thirst. It was no mercy that he showed me--rather a refinement of cruelty. I begged him to make an end of my wretched life; but he smiled, and bid me a mocking farewell. "Great God of heaven and earth, look down and avenge me of mine adversary! I trust there are not many such fiends in human shape even in the ranks of the jealous and all-grasping French. But if there be, may it be mine to carry death and desolation into their ranks! May they be driven forth from this fair land which they have helped to desolate! May death and destruction come swiftly upon them; and when they fall, let them rise up no more!" "Amen!" said Humphrey solemnly; and the brothers sat in silence for a great while, the gloom hiding them the one from the other, though they knew that their hearts were beating in sympathy. "The war has broken out," said Humphrey at last. "We can perchance find our place in the ranks of those who go to drive out the oppressive race, whose claims are such as English subjects will not tolerate." "Ay, there will be fighting, fighting, fighting now till they are driven forth, and till England's flag waves proudly over this great land!" cried Charles, with a strange confidence and exultation in his tones. "England will fight, and I will fight with her. I will slay and slay, and spare not; and I will tell this tale to all wherever I go. I will hunt out mine enemy until I compass his death. They have despoiled me of home, of wife, of children. They have taken away all the joy of life. The light of my eyes is gone. Henceforth I have but one thing to live for. I bare my sword against France. Against her will I fight until the Lord gives us the victory. The world shall know, and all ears shall tingle at the tale which I will tell. There shall be no quarter, no pity for those who use such means as those which have left me what I am tonight!" Humphrey could not marvel at the intensity of the ferocity in Charles's tones. It sounded strange in one of so gentle and placable a nature; but he had cause--he had cause! "Think you that the man was other than one of those wild fellows who run from all law and order in the townships and become denizens of the wood, and little better than the wild Indians themselves? We. have heard of these coureurs de bois, as they are called. There are laws passed against them, severe and restrictive, by their own people. Perchance it were scarce just to the French to credit them with all that this man has done." "Peace, Humphrey," was the stern reply. "We know that the French are inciting the Indians against our peaceful settlers, and that what has happened here today is happening in other places along our scattered frontier. The work is the work of France, and against France will I fight till she is overthrown. I have sworn it. Seek not to turn me from my purpose. I will fight, and fight, and fight till I see her lying in the dust, and till I have met mine enemy face to face and have set my foot upon his neck. God has heard my vow; He will fight for me till it be fulfilled." Chapter 2: Friends In Need. It was not to be surprised at that, after that terrible day and night, Charles should awake from the restless sleep into which he had dropped towards dawn in a state of high fever. He lay raving in delirium for three days, whilst Humphrey sat beside him, putting water to his parched lips, striving to soothe and quiet him; often shuddering with horror as he seemed to see again with his brother's eyes those horrid scenes upon which the fevered man's fancy ever dwelt; waking sometimes at night in a sweat of terror, thinking he heard the Indian war whoop echoing through the forest. Those were terrible days for Humphrey--days of a loneliness that was beyond anything he had experienced before. His brother was near him in the flesh, but severed from him by a whole world of fevered imaginings. Sometimes Humphrey found it in his heart to wish that the Indians would come back and make a final end of them both. All hope and zest and joy in life seemed to have been taken from him at one blow. He could neither think of the happy past without pangs of pain, nor yet face a future which seemed barren of hope and promise. He could only sit beside his brother, tend him, nurse him, pray for him. But the words of prayer too often died away upon his lips. Had they not all prayed together, after the godly habit of the household, upon the very morning when this awful disaster fell upon them? Were these vast solitudes too far away for God to hear the prayers that went up from them? Humphrey had never known what awful loneliness could engulf the human spirit till he sat beside the fevered man in the vast solitude of the primeval forest, asking in his heart whether God Himself had not forsaken them. It was the hour of sundown, and Humphrey had gone outside for a breath of fresh air. He looked ten years older than he had done a few days back, when he had come whistling through the forest track, expecting to see the children bounding forth to meet him. His eyes were sunken, his face was pale and haggard, his dress was unkempt and ragged. There were no clever fingers now to patch tattered raiment, and keep things neat and trim. There was an unwonted sound in the forest! It was distant still. To some ears it would have been inaudible; but Humphrey heard it, and his heart suddenly beat faster. The sound was that of approaching steps--the steps of men. A few minutes more and he heard the sound of voices, too. He had been about to dash into the shed for his gun, but the fresh sounds arrested his movement. He had ears as sharp as those of an ambushed Indian, and he detected in a moment that the men who were approaching the clearing were of his own nationality. The words he could not hear, but he could distinguish the intonation. It was not the rapid, thin-sounding French tongue; it was English--he was certain of it! And a light leaped to his eyes at the bare thought of meeting a brother countryman in this desolate place. Probably it was some other settler, one of that hardy race that fringed the colony on its western frontier. Miles and miles of rolling forest lay between these scattered holdings, and since war was but lately begun, nothing had been done for the protection of the hapless people now becoming an easy prey of the Indians stirred up to molest them. Humphrey knew none of their neighbours. Forest travelling was too difficult and dangerous to tempt the settler far away from his own holding. If it were one of these coming now, most likely he too had suffered from attack or fear of attack, and was seeking a friend in the nearest locality. He stood like one spellbound, watching and waiting. The sound of steps drew nearer to the fringe of obscuring forest trees; the sound of voices became plainer and more plain. In another minute Humphrey saw them--two bronzed and stalwart men--advancing from the wood into the clearing. They came upon it unawares, as was plain from their sudden pause. But they were white men; they were brothers in this wild land. There was something like a sob in Humphrey's throat, which he hastily swallowed down, as he advanced with great strides to meet them. "You are welcome," he said. "I had thought the Indians had left no living beings behind them in all this forest save my brother and myself." No introductions were needed in this savage place; the face of every white man lit up at sight of a like countenance, and at the sound of the familiar tongue. The men shook hands with a hearty grip, and one said to Humphrey: "You have had Indians here?" Humphrey made an expressive gesture with his hand. "This was a week ago as fair a holding as heart of man could wish to see in this grim forest. You see what is left today!" "Your house is burnt down, as we plainly see. Have you lost aught beside? Has human blood been spilt?" "The corpse of my venerable father, and that of a bold baby boy, lie beneath yon heap of ruins which made their funeral pyre. In yonder grave lie the mingled corpses of my brother's wife and four fair children, hacked to death and half burnt by the savages. And yet this work is not the work of savages alone. With them we have dwelt at peace these many years. The shame, the horror, the disgrace of it is that we owe these horrors to the white sons of France, who hound on the savages to make these raids, and stand by to see them do their bloody work!" The two strangers exchanged glances--meaning glances--and one of them laid a hand upon Humphrey's shoulder, looking earnestly into his eyes the while. "Is it so in very truth? So have we heard in whispers, but it was a thing we could scarce believe. We have travelled far from the lands of the south to join our brethren of the English race. We heard rumours of wars cruel and bloody. Yet it seemed to us too strange a thing to believe that here, amid the hostile, savage Indians, white man could wage war with white man, and take the bloody heathen man as his ally, instead of the brother who bears the name of Christ!" Humphrey looked with some wonder and fascination into the face of the youth who spoke. It was a refined and beautiful face, notwithstanding the evidences of long exposure to sun and wind. The features were finely cut, sensitive and expressive, and the eyes were very luminous in their glance, and possessed strangely penetrating powers. In stature the young man was almost as tall as Humphrey, but of a much slighter build; yet he was wiry and muscular, as could well be seen, and plainly well used to the life of the wild woodlands. His dress was that of the backwoods, dressed deerskin being the chief material used. Both travellers wore moccasins on their feet, and carried the usual weapons of offence and defence. Yet Humphrey felt as though this man was in some sort different from those he had met in the woods at rare times when out hunting. His voice, his words, his phraseology seemed in some sort strange, and he asked him wonderingly: "From whence are you, friends?" "From the land of the far south--from the rolling plains of the giant Mississippi, that vast river of which perchance you have heard?" "Ay, verily," answered Humphrey, with a touch of bitterness in his tone. "I have heard of that great river, which the French King claims to have discovered, and which they say he will guard with a chain of forts right away from Canada, and will thus command all the New World of the West, pinning us English within the limits of that portion of land lying betwixt the ocean and the range of the Allegheny Mountains," and Humphrey waved his hand in that direction, and looked questioningly at the men before him. He had an impression that all who came from the far south, from the colony of Louisiana, as he had heard it called, must be in some sort French subjects. And yet these men spoke his own tongue, and seemed to be friends and brothers. "That was the chimera of the French Monarch more than a century ago. Methinks it is little nearer its accomplishment now than when our forefathers, acting as pioneers, made a small settlement in a green valley near to the mouth of the giant river, waiting for the King to send his priests and missionaries to convert the heathen from their evil ways, and found a fair Christian realm in that fair land." "Then were your forefathers French subjects?" asked Humphrey, rather bewildered. "If so, how come you to speak mine own tongue as you do?" "I come of no French stock!" cried the companion stranger, who had remained silent until now, looking searchingly round the clearing, and examining Humphrey himself with curiosity; "I have no drop of French blood in my veins, whatever Julian may have. I am Fritz Neville. I come of an English family. But you shall hear all later on, as we sit by our fire at night. I would hear all your tale of desolation and woe. We, for our part, have no cause to love the French oppressors, whose ambition and greed seem to know no bounds. Can you give us shelter by your hearth tonight? Food we have of our own, since we find game in sufficient abundance in these forest tracks." As he spoke he unslung from his shoulders a fine young fawn which they had lately shot, and Humphrey made eager answer to the request for hospitality. "Would that we had better to offer! But the homestead is burnt. My brother lies sick of a fever in yon shed--a fever brought on by loss of blood and by anguish of mind. I have been alone in this place with him hard upon a week now, and to me it seems as though years instead of days had passed over my head since the calamity happened." "I can well believe that," said the first speaker, whom his companion had spoken of as Julian. "There be times in a man's life when hours are as days and days as years. But let me see your brother if he be sick. I have some skill in the treatment of fevers, and I have brought in my wallet some simples which we find wonderfully helpful down in the south, from where I come. I doubt not I can bring him relief." Humphrey's face brightened with a look of joyful relief, and Fritz exclaimed heartily: "Yes, yes, Julian is a notable leech. We all come to him with our troubles both of body and mind. "Lead on, comrade. I will cook the supper whilst you and he tend the sick man; and afterwards we will tell all our tale; and take counsel for the future." It was new life to Humphrey to hear the sound of human voices, to feel the touch of friendly hands, to know himself not alone in the awful isolation of the vast forest. He led the way to the rough shed, which he had contrived during the past days to convert into a rude species of sleeping and living room. He had made a hearth and a chimney, so that he could cook food whilst still keeping an eye upon his sick brother. He had contrived a certain amount of rude comfort in Charles's bed and surroundings. The place looked pleasant to the wearied, travellers, for it was spotlessly clean, and it afforded shelter from the keen night air. They had been finding the nights grow cold as they journeyed northward, and Fritz rubbed his hands at sight of the glow of the fire, and set to work eagerly upon his culinary tasks; whilst Julian and Humphrey bent over Charles, the former examining the condition of his pulse and skin with the air of one who knows how to combat the symptoms of illness. He administered a draught, and bathed the sick man's temples with some pungent decoction of herbs which he prepared with hot water; and after giving him a small quantity of soup, told Humphrey that he would probably sleep quietly all night, and might very likely awake without any fever, though as weak as a child. And in effect only a short time elapsed before his eyes closed, and he sank into a peaceful slumber, such as he had not known throughout the past days. "Thank God you came!" said Humphrey with fervour; "I had thought to bury my brother here beside his wife, and the loneliness and horror had well nigh driven me mad. If he live, I shall have something left to live for; else I could have wished that we had all perished together!" "Nay," cried Fritz from the fire, "we can do better than that: we can join those who have the welfare of the country at heart. We can punish proud France for her ambition and encroachments, and perchance--who knows?--England's flag may ere long proudly wave where now only the banner of France has floated from her scattered forts." But just at this moment Humphrey could not be roused to any patriotic fervour. The sense of personal loss and horror was strong upon him. His thoughts were turning vaguely towards the mother country from which his fathers had come. For the moment the wild West was hateful to him. He could not face the thought of taking up the old life again. He had been uprooted too suddenly and ruthlessly. The spell of the forest was gone. Sometimes he felt that he never wished to look upon waving trees again. As they partook of the well-cooked supper which Fritz had provided, and afterwards sat smoking their pipes beside the fire, whilst the wind moaned and sighed round the corners of the shed, and whispered through the trees around the clearing, he told these strangers the whole history of his life, and how it had seemed to be suddenly cut in half a week ago, whilst the last half already began to look and feel to him longer than the first. There was no lack of sympathy and interest in the faces of his hearers. When they heard how a Frenchman had been with the Indians upon their raid, Fritz smote the ground heavily with his open hand, exclaiming: "That is what we heard as we journeyed onward; that is the rumour that reached us even in the far south. It was hard to believe that brother should turn against brother out here in these trackless wilds, amid hordes of savage Indians. We said it must surely be false--that Christian men could not be guilty of such wickedness! Yet it has proved all too true. We have heard stories during our journey which have filled our hearts with loathing and scorn. France is playing a treacherous, a vile and unworthy game. England is no match for her yet--unprepared and taken at a disadvantage. But you will see, you will see! She will arise from sleep like a giant refreshed! And then let proud France tremble for her bloody laurels!" His eye flashed, and Julian said thoughtfully: "Ay, truly has she stained her laurels with blood; and she is even now staining her annals with dark crimes, when she stirs up the savage Indian to bring death and desolation to those peaceful settlers with whom they have so long lived as friends. God will require their blood at the hands of France. Let her beware! for the hour of her destruction will not be prolonged if she sells herself to sin." There was a long silence then between the three men; it was at length broken by Humphrey, who looked from one to the other, and said: "You have not yet told me of yourselves. Who are you, and whence do you come? I have heard of vast plains and mighty rivers in the south and west, but I know nothing beyond these forest tracks which lie about our desolated home." Fritz signed to Julian to be the speaker, and he leaned his back against the wall, clasping his hands behind his head. The firelight gleamed upon his earnest face and shone in his brilliant eyes. Humphrey regarded him with a species of fascination. He had never seen a man quite of this type before. "Have you ever heard," asked Julian, "of that great explorer La Salle, who first made the voyage of the great river Mississippi, and founded the infant colony of Louisiana, albeit he himself perished by the hand of an assassin in the wilderness, before he had half achieved the object to which he was pledged?" "I have heard the name," said Humphrey; "I used to hear the men of Philadelphia talk of such things when I was a boy. But he was a Frenchman." "Yes, and came with a commission from the King of France hard upon a century ago. My great-grandfather and his father were of the company of La Salle, although they bore their part in a different expedition from that which is known to the world." "Are you then French?" asked Humphrey, half disappointed, though he could not tell why. Julian smiled, reading the thought in his heart. "French in little beside name," he replied. "My great grandfather, Gaspard Dautray, was half English through his mother, an Englishwoman; and he married Mary Neville, an English maiden, from whose family Fritz there is descended. In brief, let me tell you the story. Long before La Salle had penetrated the fastnesses of the west, there had grown up in a green valley a little colony of English, outcasts from their own land by reason of their faith. They had lived at peace for long with the Indian tribes; but when more white men began invading their country, jealousy and fury were awakened in the hearts of the Indians, and this little settlement was in great danger. In their extremity this little colony sent to La Salle, and though he himself was absent, his lieutenant sent them a band of men to aid them in defending their lives and property, and in routing the attacking Indian force. "But it was no longer safe to remain in the green valley which had sheltered them so long. They heard of the lands of the south, down the great mysterious river, and they resolved to seek an asylum there. "With the company of La Salle, and yet not attached to it, was a holy man whom all the world called Father Fritz; a priest, yet one who followed not the Pope of Rome, but loved each Christian brother, and recognized only one Church--the Church of the baptized. He went with the little band, and they made themselves a new home in the land of the south. They were beloved of the Indians about them. Father Fritz taught them, baptized such as were truly converted, and lived amongst them to a hoary old age, loving and beloved; seeking always to hold them back from greed and covetousness, and teaching them that the hope for which they must look was the coming of the Lord Jesus Christ Himself to reign upon the earth." Julian paused, looking thoughtfully into the fire. Humphrey heaved a great sigh, and said half bitterly: "But the Lord delayeth His coming, and men wage war against their brethren." "Yes, verily; yet I think that should make us long the more for the day which will surely come. However, let me tell my tale. The great enterprise of France in the south and west has come to but a very small thing. No chain of forts guards the great river. The highway from Canada to the south has never been opened up. France is speaking of it to this day. These very hostile movements towards England are all part and parcel of the old plan. She still desires to hold the whole territory by this chain of forts, and shut England in between the sea and those mountains yonder. You have heard, I doubt not, how England is resolved not to be thus held in check. Major George Washington and General Braddock have both made attacks upon Fort Duquesne, and though both have suffered defeat owing to untoward causes and bad generalship, the spirit within them is still unquenched. Fort Duquesne, Fort Niagara, Fort Ticonderoga--these are the three northern links of the chain, and I think that England will never rest until she has floated her flag over these three forts. "We have come from far to the heart of that great struggle which all men know must come. The day of rest for us seemed ended. We have been travelling all through the long, hot summer months, to find and to be with our countrymen when the hour of battle should come." Humphrey looked from one to the other, and said: "There are only two of you. Where are all the rest from your smiling valley of the south? Were you the only twain that desired to join the fight?" "A dozen of us started, but two turned back quickly, discouraged by the hardness of the way, and a few died of fever in the great swamps and jungles: Others turned aside when we neared the great lakes, thinking to find an easier way. But Fritz and I had our own plan of making our way to New England, and after long toil and travel here we are at the end of our journey. For this indeed seems like the end, when we have found a comrade who will show us the way and lead us to the civilized world again!" "Ay, I can do that," answered Humphrey; "I know well the road back to the world. Nor is it a matter of more than a few days' travel to reach the outlying townships. I have often said I would go and visit our sisters and friends, but I have never done so. Alas that I should go at last with such heavy tidings!" "Heavy tidings indeed," said Fritz, with sympathy; "yet we will avenge these treacherous murders upon those who have brought them to pass." "That will not restore the dead to life," said Humphrey mournfully. "No, but it will ease the burning heart of its load of rage and vengeance." Humphrey's eyes turned for a moment towards his sleeping brother. He knew how welcome would be such words to him--that is, if he awoke from his fever dreams in the same mood as they had found him. "And yet," said Julian thoughtfully, "we have been taught by our fathers that brothers should live at peace together, even as we in our valley lived long at peace with all and with one another. So long as the memory of our venerable Father remained alive there was all harmony and concord, and every man sought his brother's well being as earnestly as his own." "Can you remember the holy man?" asked Humphrey, with interest. "No; but my father remembered him well. He was well grown towards manhood before the venerable old man died at a great age. My grandfather has told me story after story of him. I have been brought up to love and revere his memory, and to hold fast the things which he taught us. But after his death, alas! a new spirit gradually entered into the hearts of our people. They began to grow covetous of gain, to trade with the Indians for their own benefit, to fall into careless and sometimes evil practices. Before my father died he said to me that the Home of Peace was no longer the place it once had been, and that he should like to think that I might find a better place to live in, since I was young and had my life before me." "Was that long ago?" "Just a year. My mother had died six months earlier. The dissensions of the parent countries had begun to reach to us. We had been French and English from the beginning, but had dwelt in peace and brotherly goodwill for nigh upon eighty years. We had married amongst ourselves, so that some amongst us scarce knew whether to call themselves French or English. But for all that disunion grew and spread. Stragglers of Louisiana found their way to us. They brought new fashions of thought and teaching with them. Some Romish priests found us out, and took possession of the little chapel which Father Fritz had built with such loving care, and the Mass was said instead of that simpler service which he had drawn up for us. Many of us the priests dubbed as heretics, and because we would not change our views for them, they became angry, and we were excommunicated. It has been nothing but growing strife and disunion for the past two years. I was glad to turn my back upon it at last, and find my way to a freer land, and one where a man may worship God according to his conscience; albeit I have no desire to speak ill of the priests, who were good men, and sought to teach us what they deemed to be the truth." "I am a Protestant," said Humphrey; "I know little about Romish devices. I was taught to hate and abhor them. We dwelt among the Quaker folk of Pennsylvania. but we are not Quakers ourselves. Out here in the wilds we must live as we can. We have the Bible--and that is all." "People say of the Quakers that they will not fight!" said Fritz suddenly. "Is that so?" "I know not," answered Humphrey; "I think I have heard my father say something of that sort. But surely they will fight to avenge such things as that!" and he made a gesture with his hand as though indicating the burnt homestead and the graves of the murdered woman and children. "If they be men they surely will. You will go and tell them your story, Humphrey?" "Ay, that I will!" answered Humphrey, between his shut teeth. Fritz sat staring into the fire for some time, and then he too broke out with some heat. "Yes, it is the same story all over. It was the French who came and spoiled our happy home. If they had let us alone, perchance we might have been there still, hunting, fishing, following the same kind of life as our fathers--at peace with ourselves and with the world. But they came amongst us. They sowed disunion and strife. They were resolved to get rid of the English party, as they called it. They were all softness and mildness to them. But those in whom the sturdy British spirit flourished they regarded with jealousy and dislike. They sowed the seeds of disunion. They spoiled our valley and our life. Doubtless the germs were there before, but it was the emissaries of France who wrought the mischief. If they could have done it, I believe they would have taught the Indians to distrust us English; but that was beyond their power. Even they held in loving reverence the name of Father Fritz, and none of his children, as they called us all alike, could do wrong in their eyes. So then it was their policy to get rid of such as would not own the supremacy of France in all things. I was glad at the last to go. We became weary of the bickerings and strife. Some of the elders remained behind, but the rest of us went forth to find ourselves a new home and a new country." Humphrey listened to this tale with as much interest as it was possible for him to give to any concern other than his own. Something of that indignant hatred which was springing into active life all through the western continent began to inflame his breast. It had been no effect of Charles's inflamed imagination. The French were raising the Indians against them, and striving to overthrow England's sons wherever they had a foothold, beyond their immediate colonies. It was time they should arise and assert themselves. Humphrey's eyes kindled as he sat thinking upon these things. "I too will go forth and fight France," he said at last; and with that resolve the sense of numb lethargy and despair fell away from him like a worn-out garment, and his old fire and energy returned. Chapter 3: Philadelphia. "I will go and tell my tale in the ears of my countrymen," said Charles, with steady voice but burning eyes, "and then I will go forth and fight the French, and slay and slay till they be driven from off the face of the western world!" The fever had left Charles now. Some of his former strength had come back to him. But his brother looked at him often with wondering eyes, for it seemed to him that this Charles was a new being, with whom he had but scant acquaintance. He could not recognize in this stern faced, brooding man the quiet, homely farmer and settler whose home he had shared for so long. Their new comrades were glad of the rest afforded them by the necessity of waiting till Charles should be fit to move. They had been travelling for many months, and the shelter of a roof--even though it was only the roof of a shed--was grateful to them. Fritz and Charles took a strong mutual liking almost from the first. Both were men of unwonted strength and endurance, and both were fired by a strong personal enmity towards the French and their aggressive policy. Julian told Humphrey, in their private conferences, something of the cause of this personal rancour. "There was a fair maid in our valley--Renee we called her--and her parents were French. But we were all friends together; and Fritz and she loved each other, and were about to be betrothed. Then came these troubles, and the priest forbade Renee to wed a heretic; and though she herself would have been faithful, her parents were afraid. It seemed to all then that the French were going to be masters of the land. There was another youth who loved her also, and to him they married her. That was just before we came away--a dozen of us English youths, who could not stand the new state of things and the strife of party. Fritz has neither forgotten nor forgiven. The name of France us odious in his ears." "And in yours, too?" asked Humphrey. Julian's face was grave and thoughtful. "I have my moments of passionate anger. I hate everything that is vile and treacherous and aggressive. But I would seek to remember that after all we are brothers, and that we all bear the name of Christ. That is what Father Fritz of old sought to make us remember. Perhaps it comes the easier to me in that I have French blood in my veins, albeit I regard myself now as an English subject. I have cast in my lot with the English." Humphrey and Julian drew together, much as did Charles and Fritz. Julian was a year or two older than Humphrey, and Charles was several years older than Fritz; but all had led a free open-air life, and had tastes and feelings in common. They understood woodcraft and hunting; they were hardy, self reliant, courageous. It was of such men as these that the best soldiers were made in the days that were at hand; although the military leaders, especially if they came from the Old World with its code of civilized warfare, were slow to recognize it. A heavy storm of wind and rain--the precursor of the coming winter--raged round the little settlement for several days, during which the party sat round their fire, talking of the past and the future, and learning to know each other more and more intimately. Charles recovered rapidly from the loss of blood and the fever weakness. His constitution triumphed easily over his recent illness, and he was only longing to be on the road, that he might the sooner stand face to face with the foe. And now the storm was abating. The sun began to shine out through the driving wrack of clouds. The woodland tracks might be wet, but little reeked the travellers of that. They bound upon their backs as much provision as would suffice for their immediate needs. They looked well to their arms and ammunition. They had mended their clothes, and were strong and fresh and full of courage. The journey before them seemed as nothing to the pair who had traversed so many thousands of miles of wood and water. And the settlers had friends at the other end who would remember them, and have tears of sympathy to shed at hearing their terrible tale. The brothers stood looking their last upon the clearing which had for so long been their home. In Humphrey's eyes there was an unwonted moisture; but Charles's face was set and stern, and his lips twitched with the excess of restrained emotion. His eyes were fixed upon the mound which hid from his view the corpses of wife and children. Suddenly he lifted his clinched hand towards heaven. "Strengthen, O Lord, this right hand of mine, that it may be strong against the nation whose crimes bring desolation upon Thy children. Be with us in the hour of vengeance and victory. Help us to render unto them even as they have rendered to us." Julian and Fritz had withdrawn themselves a little, respecting the inevitable emotion which must come to men at such a moment. Humphrey turned away, and took a few uncertain steps, half blinded by the unwonted smart of tears in his eyes. He had come almost to hate this place of terrible associations; and yet it wrung his heart for a moment to leave those nameless graves, and that little lonely spot where so many peaceful and happy hours had been spent. Julian's hand was on his arm, and his voice spoke in his ear. "I know what it feels like; I have been through it. The smart is keen. But it helps us to remember that we are but strangers and pilgrims. It is perhaps those who have no abiding city here who most readily seek that which is theirs above." Humphrey pressed Julian's hand, feeling vaguely comforted by his words, although he could not enter fully into their significance. To Charles Julian said: "'We must remember, even in our righteous wrath, that God has said He is the avenger. We can trust our wrongs in His hands. He will use us as His instruments if He thinks good. But let us beware of private acts of vengeance of our own planning. We must not forget the reverse of the picture--the mercy as well as the anger of God. We must not take things out of His hands into our own, lest we stumble and fall. We have a commandment to love our enemies, and to do good to those that hate us." Charles looked fixedly at him. "I have not forgotten," he said, in his strange, slow way; "I was brought up amongst those who refuse the sword, calling themselves servants of the Prince of Peace. We shall see which the Lord will have--peace or war. Do you think He desires to see a repetition of such scenes as that?" Charles pointed sternly to the ruined homestead--the grave beside it, and his gloomy eyes looked straight into those of Julian; but he did not even wait for an answer, but plunged along the forest track in an easterly direction. * * * * * In a wide street in Philadelphia, not far from the Assembly Rooms where such hot debates were constantly going on, stood an old-fashioned house, quaintly gabled, above the door of which hung out a sign board intimating that travellers might find rest and refreshment within. The whole house was spotlessly clean, and its aspect was prim and sober, as was indeed that of the whole city. Men in wide-brimmed hats and wide-skirted coats of sombre hue walked the streets, and talked earnestly together at the corners; whilst the women, for the most part, passed on their way with lowered eyes, and hoods drawn modestly over their heads, neither speaking nor being spoken to as they pursued their way. To be sure there were exceptions. In some quarters there were plenty of people of a different aspect and bearing; but in this wide and pleasant street, overlooked by the window of the hostelry, there were few gaily-dressed persons to be seen, but nearly all of them wore the dress and adopted the quaint speech of the Quaker community. From this window a bright-faced girl was looking eagerly out into the street. She wore a plain enough dress of grey homespun cloth, and a little prim cap covered her pretty hair. Yet for all that several little rebellious curls peeped forth, surrounding her face with a tiny nimbus; and there was something dainty in the fashion of her white frilled kerchief, arranged across her dress bodice and tied behind. She would dearly have loved to adorn herself with some knots of rose-coloured ribbon, but the rose tints in her cheek gave the touch of colour which brightened her sombre raiment, and her dancing blue eyes would have made sunshine in any place. She had opened the window lattice and craned her head to look down the street; but at the sound of a footstep within doors she quickly drew it in again, for her mother reproved her when she found her hanging out at the window. "What is all the stir about, mother?" she asked; "there be so many folks abroad, and they have been passing in and out of the Assembly Rooms for above an hour. What does it all mean? Are they baiting the Governor again? Are they having another fight about the taxes?" "Nay, child, I know not. I have been in the kitchen, looking to the supper. Thy father came in awhile back, and said we had guests arrived, and that he desired the supper to be extra good. That is all I know." "Something has happened, I am sure of that!" cried the girl again, "and I would father would come and tell us what it is all about. He always hears all the news. Perhaps the travellers he is bringing here will know. I may sit with you at the supper table, may I not, mother?" "Yes, child; so your father said. He came in with a smile upon his face. But he was in a great haste, and has been gone ever since. So what it all means I know not." Susanna--for such was the name of the girl--became at once interested and excited. "O mother, what can it be? Hark at that noise in the street below! People are crying out in a great rage. What can it be? It was so that day a week agone, when news was brought in that some poor settlers had been murdered by Indians, and the Assembly would do nothing but wrangle with the Governor instead of sending out troops to defend our people. Do you think something can have happened again?" The mother's face turned a little pale. "Heaven send it be not so!" she exclaimed. "I am always in fear when I hear of such things--in fear for my old father, and for my brothers. You know they live away there on the border. I pray Heaven no trouble will fall upon them." Susanna's eyes dilated with interest, as they always did when her mother talked to her of these unknown relations, away beyond the region of safety and civilization. To be correct, it should be explained that Susanna was not the real daughter of the woman whom she called mother; for Benjamin Ashley had been twice married, and Susanna had been five years old before Hannah Angell had taken the mother's place. But she never thought of this herself. She remembered no other mother, and the tie between them was strong and tender, despite the fact that there was not more than thirteen years' difference in age between them, and some girls might have rebelled against the rule of one who might almost have been a sister. But Susanna had no desire to rebel. Hannah's rule was a mild and gentle one, although it was exercised with a certain amount of prim decorum. Still the girl was shrewd enough to know that her father's leanings towards the Quaker code had been greatly modified by the influence of his wife, and that she was kept less strictly than he would have kept her had he remained a widower. Hannah bustled away to the kitchen, and Susanna, after one more longing look out of the window towards the crowd assembled in the open space beyond, followed her, and gave active assistance in the setting of the supper table. A young man in Quaker garb, and with a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, entered the outer room, engaged in hot dispute with another youth of different aspect, whose face was deeply flushed as if in anger. "Your Franklin may be a clever man--I have nothing against that!" he exclaimed hotly; "but if he backs up the stubborn Assembly, and stands idle whilst our settlers are being massacred like sheep, then say I that he and they alike deserve hanging in a row from the gables of their own Assembly House; and that if the Indians break in upon us and scalp them all, they will but meet the deserts of their obstinacy and folly!" "Friend," said the other of the sober raiment, "thee speaks as a heathen man and a vain fellow. The Lord hath given us a commandment to love one another, and to live at peace with all men. We may not lightly set aside that commandment; we may not do evil that good may come." "Tush, man! get your Bible and look. I am no scholar, but I know that the Lord calls Himself a man of war--that He rides forth, sword in hand, conquering, and to conquer; that the armies in heaven itself fight under the Archangel against the powers of darkness. And are we men to let our brothers be brutally murdered, whilst we sit with folded hands, or wrangle weeks and months away, as you Quakers are wrangling over some petty question of taxation which a man of sense would settle in five minutes? I am ashamed of Philadelphia! The whole world will be pointing the finger of scorn at us. We are acting like cowards--like fools--not like men! If there were but a man to lead us forth, I and a hundred stout fellows would start forth to the border country tomorrow to wage war with those villainous Indians and their more villainous allies the crafty sons of France." "Have patience, friend," said the Quaker youth, with his solemn air; "I tell thee that the Assembly is in the right. Who are the Penns these proprietaries--that their lands should be exempt from taxation? If the Governor will yield that point, then will the Assembly raise the needful aid for keeping in check the enemy, albeit it goes sorely against their righteous souls. But they will not give everything and gain nothing; it is not right they should." "And while they wrangle and snarl and bicker, like so many dogs over a bone, our countrywomen and their innocent children are to be scalped and burnt and massacred? That is Scripture law, is it? that is your vaunted religion. You will give way--you will yield your principles for a petty victory on a point of law, but not to save the lives of the helpless brothers who are crying aloud on all hands to you to come and save them!" The Quaker youth moved his large feet uneasily; he, in common with the seniors of his party, was beginning to find it a little difficult to maintain a logical position in face of the pressing urgency of the position. He had been brought up in the tenets which largely prevailed in Pennsylvania at that day, and was primed with numerous arguments which up till now had been urged with confidence by the Quaker community. But the peace-loving Quakers were beginning to feel the ground shaking beneath their feet. The day was advancing with rapid strides when they would be forced either to take up arms in defence of their colony, or to sit still and see it pass bodily into the hands of the enemy. Susanna was peeping in at the door of the next room. She knew both the speakers well. Ebenezer Jenkyns had indeed been paying her some attention of late, although she laughed him to scorn. Much more to her liking was bold John Stark, her father's kinsman; and as there was nobody in the room beside these two, she ventured to go a step within the doorway and ask: "What is the matter now, Jack? what are you two fighting about so hotly?" "Faith, 'tis ever the same old tale--more massacres and outrages upon our borders, more women and children slaughtered! Settlers from the western border calling aloud to us to send them help, and these Quaker fellows of the Assembly doing nothing but wrangle, wrangle, wrangle with the Governor, and standing idle whilst their brothers perish. Save me from the faith of the peace makers!" Again the other young man moved uneasily, the more so as he saw the look of disdain and scorn flitting over the pretty face of Susanna. "Thee does us an injustice, friend," he said. "Was it not Benjamin Franklin who a few months back gave such notable help to General Braddock that he called him the only man of honesty and vigour in all the western world? But the Lord showed that He would not have us attack our brother men, and Braddock's army was cut to pieces, and he himself slain. When the Lord shows us His mind, it is not for us to persist in our evil courses; we must be patient beneath His chastenings." "Tush, man! the whole campaign was grossly mismanaged; all the world knows that by now. But why hark back to the past? it is the present, the future that lie before us. Are we to let our province become overrun and despoiled by hordes of savage Indians, or are we to rise like men and sweep them back whence they came? There is the case in a nutshell. And instead of facing it like men, the Assembly talks and squabbles and wrangles like a pack of silly women!" "Oh no, Cousin Jack," quoth Susanna saucily, "say not like women! Women would make up their minds to action in an hour. Say rather like men, like men such as Ebenezer loves--men with the tongues of giants and the spirit of mice; men who speak great swelling words, and boast of their righteousness, but who are put to shame by the brute beasts themselves. Even a timid hen will be brave when her brood is attacked; but a Quaker cannot be anything but a coward, and will sit with folded hands whilst his own kinsmen perish miserably!" This was rather too much even for Ebenezer's phlegmatic spirit. He seized his broad-brimmed hat and clapped it on his head. "Thee will be sorry some day, Susanna, for making game of the Quakers, and of the godly ones of the earth," he spluttered. "Go thee to the poultry yard, friend Ebenezer," called Susanna after him; "the old hen there will give thee a warm welcome. Go and learn from her how to fight. I warrant thee will learn more from her than thee has ever known before--more than thine own people will ever teach thee. Go to the old hen to learn; only I fear thee will soon flee from her with a text in thy mouth to aid thy legs to run!" "Susanna, Susanna!" cried a voice from within, whilst Jack doubled himself up in a paroxysm of delight, "what are you saying so loud and free? Come hither, child. You grow over bold, and I cannot have you in the public room. With whom are you talking there?" "There is only Jack here now," answered Susanna meekly, although the sparkle still gleamed in her eyes; "Ebenezer has just gone out. I was saying farewell to him." "Come back now, and finish setting the table; and if John will stay to supper, he will be welcome." John was only too glad, for he took keen pleasure in the society of Susanna, and was fond of the quaint old house where his kinsman lived. He rose and went into the inner room, where Hannah received him with a smile and a nod. Susanna would have asked him what special news had reached the town that day, but the sound of approaching feet outside warned her of the return of her father with the friends he was bringing to supper. She flew to the kitchen for the first relay of dishes, and Hannah left her to dish them up, whilst she went to meet the guests. Jack and the maidservant assisted Susanna at the stove, and a few minutes passed before they entered the supper room, where the company had assembled. When they did so, the girl was surprised to note that her mother was standing between two tall strangers, one of whom had his arm about her, and that she was weeping silently yet bitterly. Susanna put down her dishes on the table and crept to her father's side. "What is the matter?" she asked timidly. "Matter enough to bring tears to all our eyes--ay, tears of blood!" answered Ashley sternly. "These two men are your mother's brothers, who arrived today--just a short while back--as I hoped with pleasant tidings. Now have we learned a different tale. Their old father and Charles's wife and children have been brutally murdered by Indians, and he himself escaped as by a miracle. We have been telling the tale to the Assembly this very afternoon. Ah, it would have moved hearts of stone to hear Charles's words! I pray Heaven that something may soon be done. It is fearful to think of the sufferings which our inaction is causing to our settlers in the west!" "It is a shame--a disgrace!" exclaimed Jack hotly, and then he turned his glance upon the two other men who were seated at the table, taking in the whole scene in silence. Both wore the look of travellers; both were tanned by exposure, and were clad in stained and curious garments, such as betokened the life of the wilderness. Jack was instantly and keenly interested. He himself would willingly have been a backwoodsman had he been able to adopt that adventurous life. Ashley saw the look he bent upon the travellers, and he made them known to one another. "These friends have travelled far from the lands of the south, and have been friends in need to our kinsmen yonder. Fritz Neville and Julian Dautray are their names. "Susanna, set food before them. Your mother will not be able to think of aught just now. We must let her have her cry out before we trouble her." The rest of the party seated themselves, whilst in the recess by the window Hannah stood between the brothers she had parted from ten years ago, listening to their tale, and weeping as she listened. Ashley turned to his two guests, who were eating with appetite from the well-filled platters placed before them, and he began to speak as though taking up a theme which had lately been dropped. "It is no wonder that you are perplexed by what you hear and see in this city. I will seek to make the point at issue as clear to you as it may be. You have doubtless heard of the Penn family, from whom this colony takes its name. Much we owe to our founder--his wisdom, liberality, and enlightenment; but his sons are hated here. They are absent in England, but they are the proprietaries of vast tracts of land, and it is with regard to these lands that the troubles in the Assembly arise. The proprietaries are regarded as renegades from the faith; for the Assembly here is Quaker almost to a man. They hate the feudalism of the tenure of the proprietaries, and they are resolved to tax these lands, although they will not defend them, and although no income is at present derived from them." "Have they the power to do so?" asked Julian. "Not without the consent of the Governor. That is where the whole trouble lies. And the Governor has no power to grant them leave to tax the proprietary lands. Not only so, but he is expressly forbidden by the terms of his commission to permit this taxation. But the Assembly will not yield the point, nor will they consent to furnish means for the defence of the colony until this point is conceded. That is where the deadlock comes in. The Governor cannot yield; his powers do not permit it. The Assembly will not yield. They hate the thought of war, and seem glad to shelter themselves behind this quibble. For a while many of us, their friends, although not exactly at one with them in all things, stood by them and upheld them; but we are fast losing patience now. When it comes to having our peaceful settlers barbarously murdered, and our western border desolated and encroached upon; when it becomes known that this is the doing of jealous France, not of the Indians themselves, then it is time to take a wider outlook. Let the question of the proprietary lands stand over till another time; the question may then be settled at a less price than is being paid for it now, when every month's delay costs us the lives of helpless women and children, and when humanity herself is crying aloud in our streets." Ashley, although he had long been on most friendly terms with the Quaker population of the town, was not by faith a Quaker, and was growing impatient with the Assembly and its stubborn policy of resistance. He felt that his old friend Franklin should know better, and show a wider spirit. He had acted with promptness and patriotism earlier in the year, when Braddock's luckless expedition had applied to him for help. But in this warfare he was sternly resolved on the victory over the Governor, and at this moment it seemed as though all Philadelphia was much more eager to achieve this than to defend the borders of the colony. Hitherto the danger had not appeared pressing to the eastern part of the colony. They were in no danger from Indian raids, and they had small pity for their brethren on the western frontier. Between them and the encroaching Indians lay a population, mostly German, that acted like a buffer state to them; and notwithstanding that every post brought in urgent appeals for help, they passed the time in wrangling with the Governor, in drawing up bills professing to be framed to meet the emergency, but each one of them containing the clause through which the Governor was forced to draw his pen. Governor Morris had written off to England stating the exceeding difficulty of his position. His appeals to the Assembly to defend the colony were spirited and manly. He was anxious to join with the other colonies for an organized and united resistance, but this was at present extremely difficult. Others before him had tried the same policy, but it had ended in failure. Petty jealousies did more to hold the colonies apart than a common peril to bind them together. Political and religious strife was always arising. There was nothing to bind them together save a common, though rather cold, allegiance to the English King. Now and again, in moments of imminent peril, they had united for a common object; but they fell apart almost at once. Each had its own pet quarrel with its Governor, which was far more interesting to the people at the moment than anything else. Julian and Fritz listened in amaze as Ashley, who was a well-informed man and a shrewd observer, put before them, as well as he was able, the state of affairs reigning in Pennsylvania and the sister states. "I am often ashamed of our policy, of our bickerings, of our tardiness," concluded the good man; "yet for all that there is stuff of the right sort in our people. We have English blood in our veins, and I always maintain that England is bound to be the dominant power in these lands of the west. Let them but send us good leaders and generals from the old country, and I will answer for it that the rising generation of New England will fight and will conquer, and drive the encroaching French back whence they came!" Chapter 4: An Exciting Struggle. It was an exciting scene. Susanna stood at the window, and gazed eagerly along the street, striving hard to obtain a sight of the seething crowd in the open square. She could see the tall, haggard form of her Uncle Charles, as she called him. He was standing upon a little platform that his friends had erected for him in front of the Assembly Rooms, and he was speaking aloud to the surging crowd in accents that rang far through the still air, and even reached the ears of the listeners at the open window. For once Hannah made no protest when the girl thrust out her head. She herself seemed to be striving to catch the echoes of the clear, trumpet-like voice. Her colour came and went in her cheeks; her breast heaved with the emotion which often found vent in those days in a fit of silent weeping. "Mother dear, do not weep; they shall be avenged! Nobody can listen to Uncle Charles and not be moved. Hark how they are shouting now--hark! I can see them raising their arms to heaven. They are shaking their fists in the direction of the windows of the Assembly House. Surely those cowardly men must be roused to action; they cannot hear unmoved a tale such as Uncle Charles has to tell!" "Yet even so the dead will not be restored to life; and war is a cruel, bitter thing." "Yes, but victory is glorious. And we shall surely triumph, for our cause is righteous. I am sure of that. And Julian Dautray says the same. I think he is a very good man, mother; I think he is better than the Quakers, though he does not talk as if he thought himself a saint. "O mother, there is Uncle Humphrey looking up at us! I pray you let me go down to him. I long so greatly to hear what Uncle Charles is saying. And I shall be safe in his care." "I think I will come, too," said Hannah, whose interest and curiosity were keenly aroused; and after signalling as much to Humphrey, they threw on their cloaks and hoods, and were soon out in the streets, where an excited crowd had gathered. "The posts have come in," said Humphrey, as they made their way slowly along, "and there is news of fresh disasters, and nearer. In a few minutes we shall have more news. Men have gone in who promise to come out and read us the letters. But the bearers themselves declare that things are terrible. The Germans have been attacked. A Moravian settlement has been burnt to the ground, and all its inhabitants butchered. Families are flying from the border country, naked and destitute, to get clear of the savages and their tomahawks. Every where the people are calling aloud upon the Assembly to come to their succour." The crowd in the street was surging to and fro. Some were Quakers, with pale, determined countenances, still holding to their stubborn policy of non-resistance to the enemy, but of obstinate resistance to the Governor and the proprietaries. The sight of these men seemed to inflame the rest of the populace, and they were hustled and hooted as they made their way into the Assembly; whilst the Governor was cheered as he went by with a grave and troubled face, and on the steps of his house he turned and addressed the people. "My friends," he said, "I am doing what I can. I have written to the proprietaries and to the government at home. I have told them that the conduct of the Assembly is to me shocking beyond parallel. I am asking for fresh powers to deal with this horrible crisis. But I cannot look for an answer for long; and meantime are all our helpless settlers in the west to be butchered? You men of the city, rise you and make a solemn protest to these obstinate rulers of yours. I have spoken all that one man may, and they will not hear. Try you now if you cannot make your voice heard." "We will, we will!" shouted a hundred voices; and forthwith knots of influential men began to gather together in corners, talking eagerly together, and gesticulating in their excitement. And all this while Charles, wild-eyed and haggard, was keeping his place on the little platform, and telling his story again and again to the shifting groups who came and went. Men and women hung upon his words in a sort of horrible fascination. Others might talk of horrors guessed at, yet unseen; Charles had witnessed the things of which he spoke, and his words sent thrills of horror through the frames of those who heard. Women wept, and wrung their hands, and the faces of men grew white and stern. But upon the opposite side of the square another orator was haranguing the crowd. A young Quaker woman had got up upon some steps, moved in spirit, as she declared, to denounce the wickedness of war, and to urge the townsmen to peaceful methods. Her shrill voice rose high and piercing, and she invoked Heaven to bless the work of those who would endure all things rather than spill human blood. But the people had heard something too much of this peaceful gospel. For long they had upheld the policy of non-resistance. They had their shops, their farms, their merchandise; they were prosperous and phlegmatic, more interested in local than in national issues. They had been content to be preached at by the Quakers, and to give passive adhesion to their policy; but the hour of awakening had come. The agonized cries of those who looked to them for aid had pierced their ears too often to be ignored. Humanity itself must rise in answer to such an appeal. They were beginning to see that their peace policy was costing untold human lives, amid scenes of unspeakable horror. They let the woman speak in peace; they did not try to stop her utterances. But when a brother Quaker took her place and began a similar harangue, the young men round raised a howl, and a voice cried out: "Duck him in the horse pond! Roll him in a barrel! Let him be tarred and feathered like an Indian, since he loves the scalping savages so well. Who's got a tomahawk? Let's see how they use them. Does anybody know how they scalp their prisoners? A Quaker would never miss his scalp; he always has his hat on!" A roar of laughter greeted this sally; and a rush was made for the unlucky orator, who showed a bold front enough to the mob. But at that moment public attention was turned in a different direction by the appearing upon the steps of the Assembly Rooms of a well-known citizen of high repute, who had until latterly been one of the peace party, but who of late had made a resolute stand, insisting that something must be done for the protection of the western settlers, and for the curbing of the ambitious encroachments and preposterous claims of France. This grave-faced citizen came out with some papers in his hand, and the crowd was hushed into silence. Overhead anxious faces could be seen looking out at the window. It was not by the wishes of the Assembly that such letters were made public; but many of them had been addressed to James Freeman himself, and they could not restrain him from doing as he would with his own. "My friends," he said, and his voice rose distinct in the clear air, "we have heavy tidings today. You shall hear what is written from some sufferers not far from Fort Cumberland, where forty white men, women, and children were barbarously murdered a few days back. "'We are in as bad circumstances as ever any poor Christians were ever in; for the cries of the widowers, widows, fatherless and motherless children are enough to pierce the hardest of hearts. Likewise it is a very sorrowful spectacle to see those that escaped with their lives with not a mouthful to eat, or bed to lie on, or clothes to cover their nakedness or keep them warm, but all they had consumed to ashes. These deplorable circumstances cry aloud to your Honour's most wise consideration how steps may speedily be taken to deliver us out of the hand of our persecutors the cruel and murderous savages, and to bring the struggle to an end.'" The reader paused, and a low, deep murmur passed through the crowd, its note of rage and menace being clearly heard. The speaker took up another paper and recommenced. "This comes from John Harris on the east bank of the Susquehanna: "'The Indians are cutting us off every day, and I had a certain account of about fifteen hundred Indians, besides French, being on their march against us and Virginia, and now close on our borders, their scouts scalping our families on our frontier daily.'" Another pause, another murmur like a roar, and a voice from the crowd was raised to ask: "And what says the Assembly to that?" "They say that if the Indians are rising against us, who have been friendly so long, then we must surely have done something to wrong them; and they are about to search for the cause of such a possible wrong, and redress it, rather than impose upon the colony the calamities of a cruel Indian war!" A yell and a groan went up from the crowd. For a moment it seemed almost as though some attack would be made upon the Assembly House. The habits of law and obedience were, however, strong in the citizens of Philadelphia, and in the end they dispersed quietly to their own homes; but a fire had been kindled in their hearts which would not easily be quenched. Days were wasted by the Quakers in an unsuccessful attempt to prove that there had been some fraud on the part of the Governor in a recent land purchase from the Indians. And they again laid before the Governor one of their proposals, still containing the clause which he was unable to entertain, and which inevitably brought matters to a deadlock. The Quakers drew up a declaration affirming that they had now taken every step in their power, "consistent with the just rights of the freemen of Pennsylvania, for the relief of the poor distressed inhabitants," and further declared that "we have reason to believe that they themselves would not wish us to go further. Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary relief and safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." The Governor, in a dignified reply, once more urged upon them the absolute necessity of waiving for the present the vexed question of the proprietary estates, and passing a bill for the relief of the present sufferers; but the Quakers remained deaf and mute, and would not budge one inch from their position. All the city was roused. In houses like that of Benjamin Ashley, where people were coming and going the whole day long, and where travellers from these border lands were to be found who could give information at first hand, the discussion went on every day and all day long. Ashley himself was keenly excited. He had quite broken away from a number of his old friends who supported the Assembly in its blind obstinacy. Nobody could sit by unmoved whilst Charles and Humphrey Angell told their tale of horror and woe; and, moreover, both Julian Dautray and Fritz Neville had much to tell of the aggressive policy of France, and of her resolute determination to stifle and strangle the growing colonies of England, by giving them no room to expand, whilst she herself claimed boundless untrodden regions which she could never hope to populate or hold. Fresh excitements came daily to the city. Early one morning, as the tardy daylight broke, a rumble of wheels in the street below told of the arrival of travellers. The wheels stopped before Ashley's door, and he hastily finished his toilet and went down. In a few moments all the house was in a stir and commotion. A terrible whisper was running from mouth to mouth. That cart standing grimly silent in the street below carried, it was said, a terrible load. Beneath its heavy cover lay the bodies of about twenty victims of Indian ferocity; and the guardians of the load were stern-faced men, bearing recent scars upon their own persons, who ate and drank in stony silence, and only waited till the Assembly had met before completing their grim mission. The thing had got wind in the town by now, and the square space was thronged. The members of the Assembly looked a little uneasy as they passed through the crowd, but not a sound was made till all had gathered in the upper room. Then from out the yard of the inn was dragged the cart. No horses were fastened to it. The young men of the city dragged it out and pushed it along. The silent, grim-faced guardians walked in front. As it reached the square the crowd sent up a groaning cry, and opened right and left for the dreadful load to be set in position before the windows of the great room where the Assembly had met. Then the cover was thrown back, and yells and cries arose from all. Shouts were raised for the Assembly to come and look at their work. There was no resisting the mandate of the crowd. White and trembling, the members of the Assembly were had out upon the steps, and forced to look at the bodies of their victims. The crowd hooted, groaned, yelled with maddened fury. The advocates of peace shrank into themselves, appalled at the evidences of barbarities they had sought to believe exaggerated. It was useless now to attempt to deny the truth of what had been reported. Back they slunk into the Assembly House, white and trembling, and for the moment cowed. The cart was moved on, and stopped in front of house after house where notable Quakers dwelt who were not members of the Assembly. They were called to come to their windows and look, and were greeted with hisses and curses. The very next day a paper, under preparation by a number of the leading citizens at the suggestion of the Governor, was presented to the Assembly under the title of a "Representation." It contained a stern appeal for the organization of measures of defence, and ended by the dignified and significant words: "You will forgive us, gentlemen, if we assume characters somewhat higher than that of humble suitors praying for the defence of our lives and properties as a matter of grace or favour on your side. You will permit us to make a positive and immediate demand of it." The Quakers were frightened, incensed, and perplexed. Their preachers went about the streets urging upon the people the doctrine of non-resistance, and picturing the horrors of warfare. The Assembly debated and debated, but invariably came to the conclusion that they must withstand the Governor to the last upon the question of taxation. All the city was in a tumult and ferment; but when the news came that a settlement only sixty miles away, Tulpehocken by name, had been destroyed and its inhabitants massacred, even the advocates of peace grew white with fear, and the House began to draw up a militia law--the most futile and foolish perhaps that had ever been suggested even by lovers of peace--in the vain hope of appeasing the people. But the people would not be appeased by a mere mockery. They clamoured for the raising of money for a systematic defence of their colony, and the ground was cut from beneath the feet of the Assembly by a letter received from England by the Governor--not indeed in response to his recent urgent appeals, but still written with some knowledge of the unsettled state of the country. In this letter the proprietaries promised a donation of five thousand pounds as a free gift for the defence of the provinces threatened in so formidable a manner, provided it was regarded as a gift and not as any part of a tax upon their estates, which were to remain free according to the old feudal tenure. The Assembly upon hearing this could hold out no longer. They were forced by the clamour of public opinion to strike out the debated and debatable clause from the long-contested bill, and immediately it was passed into law by the Governor. "Ay, they have come to their senses at last--when it is well nigh too late!" spoke John Stark, with a touch of bitterness in his tone. "They will furnish money now; but what can be done with the winter just upon us? For six months we must lie idle, whilst the snow and ice wrap us round. Why was not this thing done before our settlements were destroyed, and when we could have pushed forth an army into the field to drive back the encroaching foe, so that they would never have dared to show their faces upon our border again?" Charles looked up with burning eyes. "What say you? Six months to wait? That will not do for me! My blood is boiling in my veins; I must needs cool it! If these laggard rulers, with their clumsy methods, cannot put an army in the field before the spring, surely there are men enough amongst us to go forth--a hardy band of woodsmen and huntsmen--and hunt and harry, and slay and destroy, even as they have done!" "That is what the Rangers do!" cried Stark, with kindling eyes; "I have heard of them before this. The Rangers of New England have done good work before now. Good thought, good thought! Why not form ourselves into a band of Rangers? Are we not strong and full of courage, seasoned to hardship, expert in our way with gun or axe? Why should we lie idle here all the long winter through? Why not let us forth to the forest--find out where help is needed most, and make here a dash and there a raid, striking terror into the hearts of the foe, and bringing help and comfort to those desolate inhabitants of the wilderness who go in terror of their lives? Why not be a party of bold Rangers, scouring the forests, and doing whatever work comes to hand? Men have banded themselves together for this work before now; why may not we do the like?" "Why not, indeed?" cried Fritz, leaping to his feet. "I pine in the restraint of this town; I long for the forest and the plain once more. My blood, too, is hot within me at the thought of what has been done and will be done again. Let us band ourselves together as brothers in arms. There must be work and to spare for those who desire it." Ashley thoughtfully stroked his chin, looking round the circle before him. He was a shrewd and thoughtful man, and there was nothing of cowardice in his nature, although he was cautious and careful. "It is not a bad thought, Nephew John," he said; "and yet I had been thinking of something different for some of you intrepid and adventurous youths to do. I had thought of sending news of the state of parties here to our friends and kinsmen in England. When all is said and done, it is to England that we must look for help. She must send us generals to command us, and she must help us with her money. There are many families across the water who would open their purses on our behalf right generously were our sad case made known to them. Letters are sent continually, but it is the spoken tale that moves the heart. I had thought to send across myself to such of our friends and families as still regard us as belonging to them. If they made a response such as I look for, we should soon have means at our disposal to augment what the tardy Assembly may do by an auxiliary force, equipped and furnished with all that can be needed. But you cannot be in two places at once. "What think you, my young friends? Will you serve your distressed brethren better as Rangers of the forest, or as emissaries to England?" "Why not divide our forces?" asked John Stark; "there are enough of us for that. I have often heard Humphrey speak of a wish to cross the sea, and to visit the land from which we have all come. Why not let him choose a comrade, and go thither with letters and messages, and tell his tale in the ears of friends? And whilst they are thus absent, why should not the rest of us make up a party of bold spirits, and go forth into the wilderness, and there carry on such work of defence and aggression as we find for us to do?" "Ay. I have no love for the unknown ocean," said Charles; "I have other work to do than to visit new lands. I have a vow upon me, and I cannot rest till it be accomplished." Humphrey and Julian looked at each other. Already they had spoken of a visit to England. Both desired to see the lands of the Eastern Hemisphere from whence their fathers had come. Hitherto they had not seen how this could be accomplished; but Ashley's words opened out an unexpected way. If the citizens of Philadelphia wanted to send messengers to their friends across the water, they would gladly volunteer for the service. "If Julian will go with me, I will gladly go," said Humphrey. "I will go, with all my heart," answered Julian at once; "and we will seek and strive to do the pleasure of those who send us." Ashley's face beamed upon the pair. He knew by this time that no better messenger than Julian Dautray could be found. He had a gift of eloquence and a singularly attractive personality. His nature was gentle and refined--curiously so considering his upbringing--and he had a largeness of heart and a gift of sympathy which was seldom to be met with amongst the more rugged sons of the north. He had made himself something of a power already in the circle into which he had been thrown; and when it was known amongst Ashley's friends and acquaintance that his wife's brother, together with Julian Dautray, would go to England with their representations to friends and to those in authority, a liberal response was made as to their outfit and introductions, and the young men were surprised to find themselves suddenly raised to a place of such importance and distinction. It was an exciting time for Susanna and for all in the house. John Stark came to and fro, bringing news that he had found fresh volunteers to join the band of Rangers, who were already making preparations for departure upon their perilous life of adventure. Some of the older citizens looked doubtful, and spoke of the rigours of the winter; but John laughed, and Charles smiled his strange, mirthless smile, and all declared themselves fearless and ready to face whatever might be in store. Come what might, they would go to the help of the settlers, be the Assembly ever so dilatory in sending help. "But you will not get killed?" Susanna would plead, looking from one face to the other. She was fond of John, who had been like a brother to her all her life; she had a great admiration for handsome Fritz, who often spent whole evenings telling her wonderful stories of the far south whilst she plied her needle over the rough garments the Rangers were to take with them. It seemed to her a splendid thing these men were about to do, but she shrank from the thought that harm might come to them. She sometimes almost wished they had not thought of it, and that they had been content to remain in the city, drilling with the town militia, and thinking of the coming spring campaign. "We must take our chance," answered Fritz, as he bent over her with a smile on one of those occasions. "You would not have us value our lives above the safety of our distressed brethren or the honour of our nation? The things which have happened here of late have tarnished England's fair name and fame. You would not have us hold back, if we can help to bring back the lustre of that name? I know you better than that." "I would have you do heroic deeds," answered Susanna, with quickly-kindled enthusiasm, "only I would not have you lose your lives in doing it." "We must take our chance of that," answered Fritz, with a smile, "as other soldiers take theirs. But we shall be a strong and wary company; and I have passed already unscathed through many perils. You will not forget us when we are gone, Susanna? I shall think of you sitting beside this comfortable hearth, when we are lying out beneath the frosty stars, with the world lying white beneath us, wrapped in its winding sheet!" "Ah, you will suffer such hardships! they all say that." There was a look of distress in the girl's eyes; but Fritz laughed aloud. "Hardship! what is hardship? I know not the name. We can track game in the forest, and fish the rivers for it. We can make ourselves fires of sparkling, crackling pine logs; we can slip along over ice and snow upon our snowshoes and skates, as I have heard them described, albeit I myself shall have to learn the trick of them--for we had none such methods in my country, where the cold could never get a grip of us. Fear not for us, Susanna; we shall fare well, and we shall do the work of men, I trow. I am weary already of the life of the city; I would go forth once more to my forest home." There was a sparkle almost like that of tears in the girl's eyes, and a little unconscious note as of reproach in her voice. "That is always the way with men; they would ever be doing and daring. Would that I too were a man! there is naught in the world for a maid to do." "Say not so," cried Fritz, taking the little hand and holding it tenderly between his own. "Life would be but a sorry thing for us men were it not for the gentle maidens left at home to think of us and pray for us and welcome us back again. Say, Susanna, what sort of a welcome will you have for me, when I come to claim it after my duty is done?" She raised her eyes to his, and the colour flooded her face. "I shall welcome you back with great gladness of heart, Fritz, and I shall pray for you every day whilst you are away." "And not forget me, even if other fine fellows of officers, such as we begin to see in our streets now, come speaking fine words to you, and seeking to win smiles from your bright eyes? You will keep a place in your heart still for the rough Ranger Fritz?" Susanna's eyes lighted with something of mischievous amusement, and then as she proceeded grew more grave and soft. "My good mother will take care that I have small converse with the gay young officers, Fritz. But in truth, even were it not so, I should never care for them, or think of them as I do of you. You are facing perils they would not. You are brave with the bravery of a true hero. It is with the Rangers of the forest that my heart will go. Be sure you break it not, Fritz, by too rashly exposing yourself to peril." "Sweetheart!" was his softly-spoken answer; and Susanna went to her bed that night with a heart that beat high with a strange sweet happiness, although the cloud of coming parting lay heavy upon her soul. A few days later, Humphrey and Julian, fully equipped with instructions, introductions, money and other necessaries, left the city, ready for their homeward voyage; and in another week the small but hardy band of Rangers, with their plain and meagre outfit, but with stout hearts and brave resolves, said adieu to those they left behind, and started westward for that debatable ground upon which a bloody warfare had to be fought to the bitter end. Book 2: Roger's Rangers. Chapter 1: A Day Of Vengeance. To the west! to the west! to the west! Such was the watchword of the band of sturdy Rangers who set forth from Pennsylvania to the defence of the hapless settlers. They were but a handful of bold spirits. It was little they could hope to accomplish in attempting to stem the tide of war; but their presence brought comfort to many an aching heart, and nerved many a lonely settler to intrench and defend his house and family, instead of giving way to utter despair. There was work for the little band to do amongst these scattered holdings. John Stark urged upon such settlers as had the courage to remain to build themselves block houses, to establish some sort of communication with one another, to collect arms and ammunition, and be ready to retire behind their defences and repel an attack. For the moment the Indians seemed glutted with spoil and with blood, and were more quiet, although this tranquillity was not to be reckoned upon for a day. Still, whilst it lasted it gave a breathing space to many harassed and desperate settlers; and Fritz could give them many valuable hints as to the best method of intrenching themselves in block houses. He had seen so many of these upon his long journey, and understood their construction well. Everywhere they found the people in a state of either deep despondency or intense exasperation. It seemed to them that they had been basely deserted and betrayed by their countrymen, who should have been prompt to send to their defence; and although the arrival of the Rangers, and the news they brought of future help, did something to cheer and encourage them, it was easy to see that they were deeply hurt at the manner in which their appeals had been met, and were ready to curse the Quakers and the Assembly who had calmly let them be slaughtered like brute beasts, whilst they wrangled in peaceful security over some disputed point with the Governor. "Are you Rogers' men?" was a question which the Rangers met again and again as they pursued their way. "No," they would answer; "we know of no Rogers. Who is he, and why is his name in all men's mouths?" This question was not always easy to get answered. Some said one thing and some another; but as they pursued their western way, they reached a settlement where more precise information was to be had. "Have you not heard of Robert Rogers, the New Hampshire Ranger? Well, you will hear his name many times before this war is closed. He has gathered about him a band of bold and daring spirits. He has lived in the forest from boyhood. He has been used to dealings with both English and French settlers. He speaks the language of both. But he is stanch to the heart's core. He is vowed to the service of his country. He moves through the forests, over the lakes, across the rivers. None can say where he will next appear. He seems everywhere--he spies upon the foe. He appears beneath the walls of their forts, snatches a sleepy sentry away from his post, and carries him to the English camp, where information is thus gleaned of the doings of the enemy. He and his band are here, there, and everywhere. We had hoped to have seen them here by this. Colonel Armstrong sent a message praying him to come and help him to attack a pestilent nest of savages which is the curse of his life. We had hoped you were the forerunners of his band when you appeared. But in these troublous times who can tell whether the messenger ever reached his destination?" "But if we are not Rogers' men, we are Rangers of the forest," cried Stark, who was leader of the party. "We can fight; we are trained to the exercise of arms. We will push on to this Colonel Armstrong, and what aid so small a band can give him that we will give." "He will welcome any help from bold men willing to fight," was the answer they got. "Pray Heaven you be successful; for we all go in terror of our lives from the cruelty of Captain Jacobs. If he were slain, we might have rest awhile." "Captain Jacobs?" "So they call him. He is a notable Indian chieftain. Most likely the French baptized him by that name. They like to be called by some name and title which sounds like that of a white man. He lives at the Indian town of Kittanning, on the banks of the Allegheny, and he is upheld by the French from Fort Duquesne and Venango. They supply him with the munitions of war, and he makes of our lives a terror. Colonel Armstrong has been sent by the Governor to try to fall upon him unawares, and oust him from his vantage ground. If the town were but destroyed and he slain, we might know a little ease of mind." The eyes of the Rangers lighted with anticipation. This was the first they had heard of real warfare. If they could lend a hand to such an expedition as this, they would feel rewarded for all their pains and toil. "Captain Jacobs, Captain Jacobs!" repeated Charles, with a gleam in his sombre eyes; "tell me what manner of man this Captain Jacobs is." "I have seen him once--a giant in height, painted in vermilion, and carrying always in his hand a mighty spear, which they say none but he can wield. His eyes roll terribly, and upon his brow is a strange scar shaped like a crescent--" "Ay, ay, ay; and in his hair is one white tuft, which he has braided with scarlet thread," interposed Charles, panting and twitching in his excitement. "That is the man--the most bloodthirsty fire eater of all the Indian chiefs. Could the country but be rid of him, we might sleep in our beds in peace once more, instead of lying shivering and shaking at every breath which passes over the forest at night." "Let us be gone!" cried Charles, shaking his knife in a meaning and menacing fashion; "I thirst to be there when that man's record is closed. Let me see his end; let me plunge my knife into his black heart! There is another yet whom my vengeance must overtake; but let me fall upon this one first." "Was he one of the attacking party that desolated your homestead?" asked Stark, as they moved along in the given direction, after a brief pause for rest and refreshment. "Ay, he was," answered Charles grimly. "I could not forget that gigantic form, that mighty spear, that scar and the white tuft! He stood by, and laughed at my frantic struggles, at the screams of the children, at the agony of my gentle wife. A fiend from the pit could not have been more cruel. But the hour is at hand when it shall be done to him as he has done. His hand lighted the wood pile they had set against the door of the house. Let him suffer a like fate at our hands in the day of vengeance!" Spurred on by the hope of striking some well-planted blow at the heart of the enemy, the hardy band of Rangers pushed their way through the forest tracks, scarcely pausing for rest or sleep, till the lights of a little camp and settlement twinkled before them in the dusk, and they were hailed by the voice of a watchful sentinel. "Friends," cried Stark, in clear tones--"Rangers of the forest--come to the aid of Colonel Armstrong, hoping to be in time for the attack on Kittanning." "Now welcome, welcome!" cried the man, running joyfully forward; and the next minute the little band was borne into the camp by a joyful company of raw soldiers, who seemed to feel a great sense of support even from the arrival of a mere handful. "Rogers' Rangers are come! the Rangers are come!" was the word eagerly passed from mouth to mouth; and before the newcomers could make any explanation, they found themselves pushed into a fair-sized building, some thing in the form of a temporary blockhouse, and confronted with the Colonel himself, who received them with great goodwill. "You are from Captain Rogers?" he said; "is one of you that notable man himself?" Stark stepped forward to act as spokesman, and was shaken warmly by the hand. "Rangers we are, but not of Rogers' company," he said. "Indeed, when we started forth from Philadelphia to the succour of the distressed districts, we had not even heard the name of Rogers, though it is now familiar enough. "We heard, however, that you were in need of the help of Rangers, and we have come with all haste to your camp. We wish for nothing better than to stand in the forefront of the battle against the treacherous and hostile Indians. Although not of Rogers' training, you will not find us faint of heart or feeble of limb. There are a dozen of us, as you see, and we will fight with the best that we have." "And right welcome at such a moment," was the cordial answer, "for the men I have with me are little trained to warfare; and though they will follow when bravely led, they are somewhat like sheep, and are easily thrown into confusion or turned aside from the way. Tonight you shall rest and be well fed after your march, and on the morrow we will make a rapid secret march, and seek to fall upon the foe unawares." The Rangers were as hungry as hunters, and glad enough to sit down once more to a well-spread table. The rations were not luxurious as to quality, but there was sufficient quantity, which to hungry men is the great matter. The Colonel sat with them at table, heard all they had to tell of the state of the country from Philadelphia westward, and had many grim tales to tell himself of outrages and losses in this district. "We lost Fort Granville at harvest time, when the men were forced to garner their crops, and we had to send out soldiers to protect them. The French and Indians set upon the Fort, and though it was gallantly defended by the lieutenant in charge, it fell into their hands. Since then their aggressions have been unbearable. Captain Jacobs has been making the lives of the settlers a terror to them. We have sent for help from the colony, with what success you know. We have sent to the Rangers under Rogers, and had hoped to be reinforced by them. "But if he cannot help us, it is much to have stout-hearted friends come unexpectedly to our aid. Have you seen fighting, friends? or are you like the bulk of our men--inured to toil and hardship, full of zeal and courage, ready to wield any and every weapon in defence of property, or against the treacherous Indian?" "Something like that," answered Stark; "but we can all claim to be good marksmen, and to have good weapons with us. Our rifles carry far, and we seldom miss the quarry. I will answer for us that we stand firm, and that we come not behind your soldiers in steadiness, nor in the use of arms at close quarters." "That I can well believe," answered the Colonel, with a smile; "I have but a score of men who have been trained in the school of arms. The rest were but raw recruits a few months ago, and many of them have little love of fighting, though they seek to do their duty. "Well, well, we must not sit up all night talking. We have a hard day's march before us tomorrow, and we must needs make all the speed we can. Indian scouts might discover our camp at any moment, and our only chance is to fall upon the Indian town unawares. They do not look for attack in the winter months--that is our best protection from spies. And so far I think we have escaped notice. But it may not last, and we must be wary. We will sleep till dawn, but with the first of the daylight we must be moving. The way is long, but we have some good guides who know the best tracks. We ought to reach the town soon after nightfall; and when all are sleeping in fancied security, we will fall upon them." The Rangers were glad enough of the few hours of sleep which they were able to obtain, and it was luxury to them to sleep beneath a roof, and to be served the next morning with breakfast which they had not had to kill and cook themselves. The men were in good spirits, too. The arrival of the little body of Rangers had encouraged them; and as the company marched through the forest, generally in single file, the newcomers scattered themselves amongst the larger body, and talked to them of what was going forward in the eastern districts, and how, after long delay, reinforcements were being prepared to come to the aid of the hapless settlers. That was cheering news for all, and it put new heart into the band. They marched along cheerily, although cautiously, for they knew not what black scouts might be lurking in the thickets; and if the Indians once got wind of their coming, there would be little hope of successful attack. On and on they marched all through the keen winter air, which gave them fine appetites for their meals when they paused to rest and refresh themselves, but made walking easier than when the sun beat down pitilessly upon them in the summer. There had been no heavy snow as yet, and the track was not hard to find. But the way was longer than had been anticipated, and night had long closed in before they caught a glimpse of any settlement, although they knew they must be drawing near. The guides became perplexed in the darkness of the forest. The moon was shining, but the light was dim and deceptive within the great glades. Still they pushed on resolutely, and the Rangers gradually drew to the front, goaded on by their own eagerness, and less disposed to feel fatigue than the soldiers, who were in reality less hardy than they. All in a moment a strange sound smote upon their ears. It was the roll of an Indian drum. They paused suddenly, and looked each other in the face. The rolling sound continued, and then rose a sound of whooping and yelling such as some of their number had never heard before. "It is the war dance," whispered one of the guides; and a thrill ran through the whole company. Had they been discovered, and were the Indians coming out in a body against them? For a brief while they were halted just below the top of the ridge, whilst a few of the guides and Rangers crept cautiously forward to inspect the hollow in which they knew the village lay. Colonel Armstrong was one of this party, and he, with Stark and Fritz, cautiously crept up over the ridge and looked down upon the Indian town below. The moon lighted up the whole scene. There was no appearance of tumult or excitement. The sound of the drum and the whooping of the warriors were not accompanied by any demonstration of activity by those within the community. Probably some war party or hunting party had returned with spoil, and they were celebrating the event by a banquet and a dance. The soldiers were bidden to move onward, but very cautiously. It was necessary that they should make the descent of the rugged path before the moon set, and it was abundantly evident that the Indians had at present no idea of the presence of the enemy. Slowly and cautiously the soldiers crept down the steep path, doing everything possible to avoid a noise; but suddenly the sound of a peculiar whistle sounded from somewhere below, and there were a movement and a thrill of dismay through all the ranks; for surely it was a signal of discovery! Only Fritz was undismayed, and gave vent to a silent laugh. "That is not an alarm," he whispered to the Colonel; "it is but a young chief signalling to some squaw. But the place is not asleep yet; if we go much nearer we shall be seen. Those bushes would give us cover till all is quiet. We could crouch there and rest, and when the time has come spring out upon the village unawares." The Colonel approved the plan, and the weary men were glad enough of the rest before the battle should begin. All were full of hope and ardour; but in spite of that, most of them fell asleep crouched in the cover. The surrounding hills kept off the wind, and it was warm beneath the sheltering scrub. But Charles sat up with his hands clasped round his knees, his eyes intently fixed upon the Indian village. Beside him were a few of his chosen comrades amongst the Rangers--men older than the hardy youths who had organized the band--settlers like himself, who had suffered losses like his own, and in whose hearts there burned a steady fire of vengeful hate that could only be quenched in blood. To them crept one of the guides who knew the district and the town of Kittanning. With him were his son and another hardy lad. He looked at Charles and made a sign. The next moment some six or eight men were silently creeping through the sleeping soldiers, unnoticed even by the sharp eyes of the Colonel, who was stationed at some little distance. Like human snakes these men wriggled themselves down the tortuous path, keeping always under cover of the bushes; and even when the open ground below was reached, they slipped so silently along beneath the cover of the hedges that not an eye saw them, not even the sharp ears of the Indians heard their insidious approach. "Which is the house of Captain Jacobs?" asked Charles in a whisper of the guide. "It lies yonder," he answered, "in the centre of the village. It is the strongest building in the place, and has loopholes from which a hot fire can be poured out upon an approaching foe. The Indians here have great stores of gunpowder and arms--given them by the French to keep up the border war. Unless we can take them by surprise, we be all dead men; for they are as ten to one, and are armed to the teeth." Charles's face in the moonlight was set and stern. "Here is a stack of wood," he said. "Let every man take his fagot; but be silent as death." Plainly these men knew what they had come to do. In perfect silence, yet with an exercise of considerable strength, they loaded themselves with the dry brushwood, and split logs which the Indians had cut and piled up ready for use either to burn or for the building of their huts. Then, thus loaded, they crept like ghosts or ghouls through the sleeping street of the Indian town, and piled their burdens against the walls of the centre hut, which belonged to the chief. Twice and thrice was this thing repeated; but Charles remained posted beside the door of the house, working in a strange and mysterious fashion at the entrance. Upon his face was a strange, set smile. Now and again he shook his clinched hand towards the heavens, as though invoking the aid or the wrath of the Deity. The bold little band were in imminent peril. One accidental slip or fall, an unguarded word, an involuntary cough, and the lives of the whole party might pay the forfeit. They were in the heart of an Indian village, enemies and spies. But the good fortune which so often attends upon some rash enterprise was with them tonight. They completed their task, and drew away from the silent place as shadow-like as they had come. But they did not return to their comrades; they posted themselves at a short distance from the place. They looked well to the priming of their rifles, and to their other arms, and sat in silence to await the commencement of the battle. The moon set in golden radiance behind the wooded hills. In the eastern sky the first rose red showed that dawn would shortly break. Looking towards the hill, the little band saw that movement had already begun there. They rose to their feet, and looked from the moving shapes amid the brushwood towards the still sleeping, silent town. "The Lord of hosts is with us," spoke Charles, in a solemn voice; "He will deliver the enemy into our hands. Let us quit ourselves like men and be strong. Let us do unto them even as they have done. Let not the wicked escape us. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if I reward not unto yon cruel chieftain his wickedness and his cruelties. If he leave this place alive, let my life pay the forfeit!" A murmur ran through the little group about him. Each man grasped his weapon and stood still as a statue. This little company had posted themselves upon a knoll which commanded the house of the bloodthirsty chief. It was their business to see that he at least did not escape from the day of vengeance. The moments seemed hours to those men waiting and watching; but they did not wait in vain. A blaze of fire, a simultaneous crack of firearms, and a wild shout that was like one of already earned victory, and the assailants came charging down the hillside, and across the open fields, firing volley after volley upon the sleeping town, from which astonished and bewildered savages came pouring out in a dense mass, only to fall writhing beneath the hail of bullets from the foe who had surprised them thus unawares. But there were in that community men trained in the arts of war, who were not to be scared into non-resistance by a sudden onslaught, however unexpected. These men occupied log houses around that of their chieftain, and instead of rushing forth, they remained behind their walls, and fired steadily back at the enemy with a rapidity and steadiness which evoked the admiration of the Colonel himself. Fiercely rained the bullets from rank to rank. Indians yelled and whooped; the squaws rushed screaming hither and thither; the fight waxed hotter and yet more hot. But all unknown to the Indians, and unseen by them in the confusion and terror, a file of stern, determined men was stealing towards the very centre of their town, creeping along the ground so as to avoid notice, and be safe from the hail of shot, but ever drawing nearer and nearer to that centre, where the defence was so courageously maintained. Charles was the first to reach the log house against which the brushwood had been piled. In the dim light of dawn his face could be seen wearing a look of concentrated purpose. He had lately passed an open hut from whence the inhabitants had fled, and he carried in his hand a smouldering firebrand. Now crouching against the place from which the hottest fire belched forth, he blew upon this brand till a tongue of flame darted forth, and in a moment more the brushwood around the house had begun to crackle with a sound like that made by a hissing snake before it makes the fatal spring. Five minutes later and the ring of flame round the doomed house was complete. The firing suddenly ceased, and there was a sound of blows and cries, turning to howls of fury as the inmates found that the door would not yield--that they were trapped. The Rangers, rushing up, seized burning brands and commenced setting fire to house after house, whilst their comrades stood at a short distance shooting down the Indians as they burst forth. A scene of the wildest terror and confusion was now illumined by the glare of the fire, and at short intervals came the sound of short, sharp explosions, as the flames reached the charged guns of the Indians or the kegs of gunpowder lavishly stored in their houses. But Charles stood like a statue in the midst of the turmoil. His face was white and terrible; his gun was in his hands. He did not attempt to fire it, although Indians were scuttling past him like hunted hares; he stood stern and passive, biding his time. The ring of flame round the centre house rose higher and higher. Cries and screams were heard issuing from within. Some intrepid warrior was chanting his death song, dauntless to the last. A frightened squaw was shrieking aloud; but not even the sound of a woman's voice moved Charles from his fell purpose. Suddenly his, face changed; the light flashed into his eyes. He raised his head, and he laid his gun to his shoulder. Out upon the roof of the cabin, ringed as it was with fire, there sprang a man of gigantic aspect, daubed and tattooed in vermilion, his hair braided in scarlet, and one white tuft conspicuous in the black. He stood upon the roof, glaring wildly round him as if meditating a spring. Doubtless the smoke and fire shielded him in some sort from observation. Had not there been one relentless foe vowed to his destruction, he might in all probability have leaped the ring of flame and escaped with his life. But Charles had covered him with his gun. The chieftain saw the gleaming barrel, and paused irresolute. Charles's voice rose clear above the surrounding din. "Murderer, tyrant, tormentor of helpless women and babes, the white man's God doth war against thee. The hour of thy death has come. As thou hast done unto others, so shall it be done unto thee." Then the sharp report of the rifle sounded, and the chief bounded into the air and fell back helpless. He was not dead--his yells of rage and fear told that--but he was helpless. His thigh was shattered. He lay upon the roof of the blazing cabin unable to move hand or foot, and Charles stood by like a grim sentinel till the frail building collapsed into a burning mass; then with a fierce gesture he stirred the ashes with the butt of his rifle, saying beneath his breath: "That is one of them!" Victory for the white man was complete, notwithstanding that bands of Indians from the other side of the river came rushing to the succour of their allies. They came too late, and were scattered and dispersed by the resolute fire of the English. The whole village was destroyed. Colonel Armstrong took as many arms and as much ammunition as his men could carry, and devoted the rest to destruction. More satisfactory still, they released from captivity eleven prisoners, white men with women and children, who had been carried off at different times when others had been massacred. From these persons they learned that the Indians of Kittanning had often boasted that they had in the place a stock of ammunition sufficient to keep up a ten years' war with the English along the borders. To have taken and destroyed all these stores was no small matter, and the Colonel and his men rejoiced not a little over the blow thus struck at the foe almost in his own land. But there was no chance of following up the victory. Armstrong was not strong enough to carry the war into the enemy's country; moreover, the winter was already upon them, although up till the present the season had been especially mild and open. He must march his men back to quarters, and provide for the safety of his wounded, and for the restoration of the rescued prisoners to their friends. He would gladly have kept Stark and his little valiant band with him, but the Rangers had different aims in view. "We must be up and doing; we must find fighting somewhere. On Lake George we shall surely find work for men to do. Rangers of wood and forest care nothing for winter ice and snow. We will go northward and eastward, asking news of Rogers and his Rangers. It may be that we shall fall in with them, and that we can make common cause with them against the common foe." So said Stark, speaking for all his band, for all were of one heart and one mind. Therefore, after a few days for rest and refreshment, the little army retreated whence it had come; whilst the bold band of Rangers started forth for the other scene of action, away towards the north, along the frozen lakes which formed one of the highways to Canada. Chapter 2: Robert Rogers. They met for the first time, face to face, amid a world of ice and snow, upon the frozen surface of Lake George. Stark and his little band had been through strange experiences, and had met with many adventures as they pursued their course towards the spot where they heard that the French and English were lying encamped and intrenched, awaiting the arrival of spring before commencing the campaign afresh; and they now began to have a clearer notion of the situation between the two nations than they had hitherto had. They had spent a week in the quaint Dutch town of Albany, and there they had heard many things with regard to the state of parties and the affairs between the two nations. England and France were nominally at peace, or had been, even whilst these murderous onslaughts had been going on in the west. But it was evident to all that war must be shortly declared between the countries, if it had not already been proclaimed. The scent of battle seemed in the very air. Nothing was talked of but the great struggle for supremacy in the west, which must shortly be fought out to the bitter end. The aim of France was to connect Canada with Louisiana by a chain of forts, and keep the English penned up in their eastern provinces without room to expand. The northern links of this chain were Fort Ticonderoga, just where the waters of Lake George join those of Champlain; Fort Niagara, which commanded the lakes; and Fort Duquesne, at the head of the Ohio, the key to the great Mississippi. It was a gigantic scheme, and one full of ambition; there was one immense drawback. The French emigrants of the western world numbered only about one hundred and eighty thousand souls, whilst the English colonies had their two millions of inhabitants. The French could only accomplish their ends if the Indians would become and remain their allies. The English, though equally anxious to keep on good terms with the dusky denizens of the woods, who could be such dangerous foes, had less need to use them in fight, as, if they chose to combine and act in concert, they could throw an army into the field which must overpower any the French could mass. But the weakness of the provinces hitherto had been this lack of harmony. They would not act in concert. They were forever disputing, one province with another, and each at home with its governor. The home ministry sent out men unfit for the work of command. Military disasters followed one after the other. Washington and Braddock had both been overthrown in successive attempts upon Fort Duquesne; and now the English Fort of Oswego, their outpost at Lake Ontario, was lost through mismanagement and bad generalship. Canada owned a centralized government. She could send out her men by the various routes to the points of vantage where the struggle lay. England had an enormous border to protect, and no one centre of operations to work from. She was hampered at every turn by internal jealousies, and by incompetent commanders. Braddock had been a good soldier, but he could not understand forest fighting, and had raged against the Virginian men, who were doing excellent work firing at the Indians from behind trees, and meeting their tactics by like ones. Braddock had driven them into rank by beating them with the flat of his sword, only to see them shot down like sheep. Blunders such as this had marked the whole course of the war; and misfortune after misfortune had attended the English arms upon the mainland, although in Acadia they had been more successful. These things Stark and his little band heard from the Dutch of Albany; they also heard that the English were encamped at the southern end of Lake George, at Forts Edward and William Henry, their commander being John Winslow, whose name was becoming known and respected as that of a brave and humane soldier, who had carried through a difficult piece of business in Acadia with as much consideration and kindliness as possible. Now he was in command of the English force watching the movements of the French at Ticonderoga; here also were Rogers and his Rangers to be found. They had marched into Winslow's camp, it was said, some few months earlier, proffering their services; and there they had since remained, scouting up and down the lake upon skates or snowshoes, snatching away prisoners from the Indian allies, or from the very walls of the fort itself, and intercepting provisions sent down Lake Champlain for the use of the French. Details of these escapades on the part of the Rangers were not known in Albany; but rumours of Rogers' intrepidity reached them from time to time, and Stark and his band were fired anew by the desire to join themselves to this bold leader, and to assist him in his task of harassing the enemy, and bringing assistance of all sorts into the English camp. Bidding adieu to the Dutch, who had received them kindly, and now sent them away with a sufficiency of provisions to last them several days, they skimmed away still to the northward on their snowshoes. They had taken directions as to what route to pursue in order to reach Fort Edward, and thence to pass on to Fort William Henry; but the heavy snowfall obliterated landmarks, and they presently came to the conclusion that they had missed the way, and had travelled too far north already. "Then we must keep in a westerly direction," quoth Stark, as they sat in council together over their fire at night; "we cannot fail thus to strike the lake at last, and that, if frozen hard, can be our highway. At the southern end is the fort William Henry; at the northern outlet is the French fort with the name of Ticonderoga." This deflection in direction being agreed to, the party lay down to sleep--Charles Angell offering to act as sentry, as he frequently did. Since the tragedy which had wrecked his life, Charles had seldom been able to sleep quietly at night. He was haunted by horrible dreams, and the thought of sleep was repugnant to him. He would often drop asleep at odd hours over the campfire whilst his comrades were discussing and planning, and they would let him sleep in peace at such times; but at night he was alert and wide awake, and they were glad enough to give him his request, and let him keep watch whilst they rested and slumbered. The silence of the snow-girt forest was profound; yet Charles was restless tonight, and kept pausing to listen with an odd intensity of expression. His faculties, both of sight and hearing, had become preternaturally acute of late. More than once this gift of his had saved the party from falling amongst a nest of hostile Indians; tonight it was to prove of service in another way. In the dead of night the Rangers were awakened by a trumpet-like call. "To arms, friends, to arms! The Indians are abroad; they are attacking our brothers! I hear the shouts of battle. We must to their rescue! Let us not delay! To arms, and follow me; I will lead you thither!" In a second the camp was astir. The men lay down in their clothes, wrapping a buffalo robe about them for warmth. In a few seconds all were aroused, strapping their blankets upon their shoulders and seizing their weapons. "What have you heard, Charles, and where?" asked Stark and Fritz in a breath as they ran up. "Yonder, yonder!" cried Charles, pointing in a northwesterly direction; "it is a fight on the ice. It is not far away. The Indians are attacking white men--English men. I hear their cries and their shoutings. Hark--there is shooting, too! Come, follow me, and I will take you there. There is work for the Rangers tonight!" Yes, it was true. They could all hear the sound of shots. What had gone before had only reached the ears of Charles; but the report of firearms carried far. In three minutes the bold little company had started at a brisk run through the snow-covered forest, getting quickly into the long swing of their snowshoes, and skimming over the ground at an inconceivably rapid pace, considering the nature of the ground traversed. All at once the forest opened before them. They came out upon its farthest fringe; and below them lay, white and bare, and sparkling in the moonlight, the frozen, snow-laden plateau of the lake. It was a weirdly beautiful scene which lay spread like a panorama before them in the winter moonlight; but they had no time to think of that now. All eyes were fixed upon the stirring scene enacted in the middle of the lake, or at least well out upon its frozen surface, where a band of resolute men, sheltering themselves behind a few sledges, which made them a sort of rampart, were firing steadily, volley after volley, at a band of leaping, yelling Indians who had partially surrounded them, and who were slowly but steadily advancing, despite their heavy loss, returning the fire of the defendants, though by no means so steadily and regularly, and whooping and yelling with a fearful ferocity. It was easy to see, even by the moonlight alone, that the men behind the sledges were white men. A sudden enthusiasm and excitement possessed our little band of Rangers as this sight burst upon them, and Stark gave the instant word: "Steady, men, but lose not a moment. Form two lines, and rush them from behind. Reserve your fire till I give the word. Then let them have it hot, and close upon them from behind. When they find themselves between two fires, they will think themselves trapped. They will scatter like hunted hares. See, they have no notion of any foe save the one in front. Keep beneath the shadow of the forest till the last moment, and then rush them and fire!" The men nodded, and unslung their guns. They made no noise gliding down the steep snow bank upon their long shoes, and then out upon the ice of the lake. "Fire!" exclaimed Stark at the right moment; and as one man the Rangers halted, and each picked his man. Crack-crack-crack! Literally each bullet told. Twelve dusky savages bounded into the air, and fell dead upon the blood-stained snow. Crack-crack-crack! The affrighted Indians had faced round only to meet another volley from the intrepid little band behind. That was enough. The prowess of the Rangers was well known from one end of the lake to the other. To be hemmed in between two companies was more than Indian bravery or Indian stoicism could stand. With yells of terror they dropped their arms and fled to the forest, followed by a fierce firing from both parties, which made great havoc in their ranks. The rout was complete and instantaneous. Had it not been for panic, they might have paused to note how few were those new foes in number, and how small even the united body was as compared with their own numbers; but they fled, as Stark had foretold, like hunted hares, and the white men were left upon the lake face to face, with dead and dying Indians around them. An enormously tall man leaped up from behind the rampart of sledges, and came forward with outstretched hand. He was a man of magnificent physique, with a mass of wild, tangled hair and beard, and black eyes which seemed to burn like live coals. His features were rugged and rather handsome, and his nose was of very large proportions. Stark took a step forward and shook the outstretched hand. He knew this man, from descriptions received of him during their months of wandering. "You are Captain Rogers?" "Robert Rogers, of the Rangers, at your service," replied the other, in a deep, sonorous voice, which seemed to match his size; "and this is my brother Richard," as another fine-looking man approached and held out his hand to their deliverers. "And right glad are we to welcome such bold spirits amongst us, though who you are and whence you come we know not. You have saved us from peril of death tonight, and Rogers never forgets a service like that." "We have come from far to seek you," answered Stark; "we ourselves are Rangers of the forest. We fear neither heat nor cold, peril, hardship, nor foe. We long to fight our country's battle against the Indian savages and against the encroaching French. It has been told us again and again that Rogers is the captain for us, and to Rogers we have come." "And right welcome are all such bold spirits in Rogers' camp!" was the quick reply. "That is the spirit of the true Ranger. Nor shall you be disappointed in your desire after peril and adventure. You can see by tonight's experience the sort of adventure into which we are constantly running. We scouts of the lake have to watch ourselves against whole hordes of wily, savage Indian scouts and spies. Some of our number are killed and cut off with each encounter; and yet we live and thrive and prosper. And if you ask honest John Winslow who are those who help him most during this season of weary waiting, I trow he will tell you it is Rogers and his bold Rangers." By this time the whole band of Rangers had gathered round Stark's little company, and the men were all talking together. In those wild lands ceremony is unknown; friendships are quickly made, if quickly sundered by the chances and changes of a life of adventure and change; and soon the band felt as if one common spirit inspired them. There were three wounded men in Rogers' company; they were put upon a sledge and well covered up. Then the party moved along to a position at some distance from that where they had met the attack. "The Indians will come back to find and remove their dead," explained Rogers. "It is better to be gone. We will encamp and bivouac a little farther away. Then we will hold a council as to our next move. They will not be in haste to molest us again." The plan was carried out. The hardy Rangers hollowed out a sheltered nook in the snow, threw up a wall of protection against the wind, lighted a fire, and sat round it discussing the events of the night, and exchanging amenities with their new comrades. The two Rogerses, together with Stark, Fritz, and the silent, watchful Charles, gathered in a knot a little apart, and Rogers laid before them, in a few brief speeches, the situation of affairs upon the lake. Lake Champlain, the more northern and the larger of the twin lakes, was altogether guarded by the French. St. John stood at its head, and Crown Point guarded it lower down--being a great fortified promontory, where the lake narrowed to a very small passage, widening out again below, till it reached the other strong fort and colony of Ticonderoga, where Lake George formed a junction with it, though the lake itself still ran an independent course to the south, parallel with Lake George, being fed by the waters of Wood Creek, a narrow, river-like inlet, which was a second waterway into the larger lake. The position of Ticonderoga was, therefore, very important, as it commanded both these waterways; and even if the English could succeed in avoiding the guns of that fort, there was still Crown Point, further to the north, to keep them from advancing. In addition to these advantages, the French had won the local Indians to their side; and though they did much towards embarrassing their white allies, and were a perfect nuisance both to officers and men, they were too useful to risk offending or to be dispensed with, as they were always ready for a dash upon any English scouting parties, and formed a sort of balance to the tactics of the English Rangers. "They are villainous foes!" said Rogers, with a dark scowl. "It is their great joy to take prisoners; and when the French have extracted from them all the information they can as to the strength and prospects of the English, the Indians will claim them again, to scalp and burn, and the French scarcely raise a protest. It is said that they speak with disgust of the barbarities of these savage allies, but they do little or nothing to check them. That is why my wrath often rises higher against the French than against the Indians themselves. They know no better; but for white man to deliver white man into their hands--that is what makes my blood boil!" The fire leaped up in Charles's eyes, and he had his tale to tell, at hearing of which the Rogerses set their teeth and muttered curses not loud but deep. "Now will I tell you what we started forth to do," said the leader of the band. "We have been busy all winter. Last month we skated down the lake when it was clear of snow, passed Ticonderoga all unseen, intercepted some sledges of provisions, and carried them and their drivers to our fort. Now we are bent upon a longer journey. We want to reach Crown Point, and make a plan of the works for our brave Commander Winslow. We were a part of the way on our route, when we fell in with Indians conveying provisions to the French on these sledges. We took them from them and dispersed the crew; but they must have scattered and got help, and they set upon us, as you have seen. Now that we have three wounded and two somewhat bruised and shaken, I am thinking it would be better to send them back, with a few sound men as escort--for the provisions will be welcome at the fort, which is not too well victualled--whilst the rest of us push on, and see if we can accomplish our errand. Now that we are thus reinforced, we shall be strong enough to do this." The eyes of Stark and Fritz sparkled at the prospect. "We will go with you," they cried. "We long for such work as this; it is what we have come for from our homes and friends." And then Stark added modestly: "And if I am but little trained to arms, I can draw. I have been used to that work in my old life, which was too tame for me. I understand how to make plans and elevations. If I could but get a good view of the fortifications, I will undertake to make a good drawing of them for your general." Rogers slapped him heartily upon the back. "A draughtsman is the very fellow we want," he cried; "and a draughtsman who can wield weapons as you can, John Stark, is the very man for us. You and your band will be right welcome. You can all use snowshoes, I see, and doubtless skates also?" Stark nodded. By that time all were proficient in these arts, even Fritz, to whom they had been new at the commencement of the winter. Charles fingered the knife at his belt, and his cavern-like eyes glowed in their sockets. "Let me fight the French-the French!" he muttered. "I have avenged myself upon the Indian foe. Now let me know the joy of meeting the white foe face to face!" "Is that poor fellow mad?" asked Rogers of Fritz, when next morning, all preparations being speedily made, the party had divided, and the larger contingent was sweeping down the lake towards the distant junction, which was guarded by the guns of Ticonderoga. "I think his brain is touched. He has been like that ever since I have known him; but his brother and friends say that once he was the most gentle and peaceful of men, and never desired to raise hand against his fellow. It is the horror of one awful memory that has made him what he is. I thought perhaps that when he wreaked his vengeance upon the Indian chieftain who had slain his wife and children, he would have been satisfied; but the fire in his heart seems unquenched and unquenchable. Sometimes I have a fancy that when his wrath is satisfied the spring of life will cease within him. He grows more gaunt and thin each week; but he is borne along by the strong spirit within, and in battle his strength is as the strength of ten." "As is ofttimes the way with men whose minds are unhinged," said Rogers. "Truly we have small reason to love our white brothers the French, since at their door lies the sin of these ravages upon the hapless border settlers. We will requite them even as they deserve! We will smite them hip and thigh! though we must not, and will not, become like the savage Indians. We will not suffer outrage; it shall be enough of shame and humiliation for them to see the flag of England flaunting proudly where their banners have been wont to fly." A few days of rather laborious travel--for the snow was soft--and Crown Point lay before them. They had left the lake some time before, skirting round Roger's Rock, and thus making a cut across country, and missing the perils of passing Ticonderoga. "We will take that in returning," said Rogers; "but we will not risk being seen on our way down, else they might be upon the alert for our return. We will arrange a pleasant surprise for them." The way was laborious now, for they had to climb hills which gave them a good view over the fortifications of Crown Point; but this elevation once safely attained, without any further molestation from Indians, they were able to make a complete survey of the fortifications; and Stark made some excellent plans and drawings, which gave a fine idea of the place. So far all had been peaceful; but the Rangers were not wont to come and go and leave no trace. There were outlying farms around the fortifications, and comings and goings between the French soldiers and peasants. "We will stop these supplies," said Rogers, with a sardonic smile; "the French shall learn to be as careful of their flour as we have to be!" And carefully laying an ambush in the early grey of a winter's morning, he sprang suddenly out upon a train of wagons wending their way to the fortifications. The drivers, scared and terrified, jumped from their places, and ran screaming into the defences, whence soldiers came rushing out, sword in hand, but only to find the wagons in flames, the horses driven off to the forest, and the barns and farmsteads behind burning. It was a savage sort of warfare, but it was the work of the Rangers to repay ferocity in kind, and to leave behind them dread tokens of the visits they paid. Whilst the terrified inhabitants and the angry soldiers were striving to extinguish the flames, and vituperating Rogers and his company, these bold Rangers themselves were fleeing down the lake as fast as snowshoes could take them, full of satisfaction at the havoc they had wrought, and intent upon leaving their mark at Ticonderoga before they passed on to Fort William Henry. Guarded as it was by fortifications and surrounded by Indian spies, Rogers and his men approached it cautiously, yet without fear; for they knew every inch of the ground, and they were so expert in all woodcraft and strategic arts that they could lie hidden in brushwood within speaking distance of the foe, yet not betray their presence by so much as the crackle of a twig. It was night when they neared the silent fort. A dying moon gave faint light. The advancing party glided like ghosts along the opposite bank. A sentry here and there tramped steadily. The Rangers could hear the exchange of salute and the rattle of a grounded musket. But no sign did they make of their presence. They kept close in the black shadow, and halted in a cavern-like spot well known to them from intimate acquaintance. Richard Rogers had been sent scouting by his brother, and came in with news. "There will be marching on the morrow. Some soldiers will leave the fort for the nearest camp; I could not gather how many, but there will be some marching through the forest. If we post ourselves near to the road by which they will pass, we may do some havoc ere they know our whereabouts." This was work entirely to the liking of the Rangers. Before dawn they were posted in their ambush, and allowed themselves a few hours of repose, but lighted no fire. They must not draw attention to themselves. They were awake and astir with the first light of the tardy dawn, eagerly listening whilst they looked to the priming of their arms, and exchanged whispered prognostications. Then came the expected sound--the tramp, tramp, tramp of a number of men on the march. "Hist!" whispered Rogers, "lie low, and reserve your fire. These sound too many for us." The men kept watch, and saw the soldiers file by. There were close upon two hundred. It would have been madness to attack them, and the Rangers looked at one another in disappointment. "Cheer up! there may be more to come," suggested Rogers; and before another hour had passed, their listening ears were rewarded by the sound of a bugle call, and in a few minutes more the trampling of feet was heard once again, and this time the sound was less and more irregular. "Some stragglers kept behind for something, seeking to catch up the main body," spoke Rogers in a whisper. "Be ready, men; mark each his foe, and then out upon them, and take prisoners if you can." The taking of prisoners was most important. It was from them that each side learned what was being done by the various commanders. A prisoner was valuable booty to return with to the fort. Rogers seldom went forth upon any important expedition without returning with one or more. The men swung by carelessly, laughing and talking. They had such faith in their Indian scouts that they never thought of an ambushed foe. The ping of the rifles in their rear caused a strange panic amongst them. They faced round to see the redoubtable Rogers spring out at the head of a compact body of men. But the strangest thing in that strange attack was a wild, unearthly yell which suddenly broke from one of the Rangers. It was like nothing human; it was like the fierce roar of some terrible wild beast. Even Rogers himself was startled for the moment, and looked back to see from whence it had come. At that moment Charles Angell dashed forward in a frantic manner. He had flung his gun from him; his eyeballs were fixed and staring; there was foam upon his lips; his hair was streaming in the wind. He bore an aspect so strange and fearful that the French uttered yells of terror, and fled helter-skelter from the onslaught. But if any had had eyes to note it, there was one Frenchman whose face became ashy white as he met the rolling gaze of those terrible, bloodshot eyes. He too flung away his gun, and uttered a frantic yell of terror, plunging headlong into the wood without a thought save flight. "It is he! it is he! it is he!" This was the shout which rang from the lips of Charles as he dashed after the retreating figure. All was confusion now amid French and Rangers alike; that awful yell, and something in the appearance of Charles, had startled friend and foe alike. There were several of the French soldiers left dead in the wood, and one was captured and made prisoner; but the rest had fled like men demented, and the Rangers could not come up with them. As for Charles and his quarry, they had disappeared, and it was long before any trace could be found of them. Stark and Fritz, however, would not give up the search, and at last they came upon the prostrate form of Charles. He lay face downwards on the frozen ground, which was deeply stained with blood. His wrist was fearfully gashed by some knife; yet in his fingers he held still a piece of cloth from the coat of the French fugitive. It had been literally torn out of his grasp before the man could get free, and he had nearly hacked off the left hand of the hapless Charles. Yet the man had made good his escape, leaving Charles well nigh dead from loss of blood. But they carried him tenderly back to their cave, and making a rough sledge for him; then brought him safely with their prisoner into the camp at Fort William Henry. Chapter 3: The Life Of Adventure. "I have seen him once, and he has escaped me. But we shall meet again, and then the hour of vengeance will have come!" This was the burden of Charles's words as he lay in his narrow quarters in the Rangers' huts just without Fort William Henry, tended by his comrades till his wound healed. The fever which so often follows upon loss of blood had him in its grip for awhile, and he would lie and mutter for hours in a state of semi-delirium. The sympathy of his comrades for this strange man with the tragic story was deep and widespread. Charles had become a favourite and an object of interest throughout the ranks of the Rangers, and great excitement prevailed when it was understood that he had really seen the man--the Frenchman--who had stood by to see his wife and family massacred, and had deliberately designed to leave him, cruelly pinioned, to die a lingering death of agony in the heart of the lonely forest. Every day he had visitors to his sickbed, and again and again he told the tale, described his foe, and told how he knew that the man recognized him, first taking him--or so he believed--for a spectre from the tomb, afterwards filled with the most lively terror as he realized that he was pursued by one who had such dire cause for bitter vengeance. "We have met twice!" Charles would say, between his shut teeth. "Once I was at his mercy, and he showed none. The second time he fled before me as a man flees from death and hell. The third time we meet--and meet we shall--it will be that the Lord has delivered him into my hand. I will strike, and spare not. It will be the hour appointed of Heaven!" With the lengthening days and the approach of spring the life of the Rangers became less full of hardship, though not less full of adventure. Snowshoes and skates were laid aside, and the men started to construct boats and canoes in which they soon began to skim the surface of the lake; scouting here, there, and all over, and bringing back news of the enemy's movements and strength even when no capture of prisoners rewarded their efforts. Rogers had taken a great liking to John Stark and his followers. He dubbed Stark his lieutenant, and Fritz and Stark were inseparable companions by this time. Charles attached himself to no person in particular, but was the friend of all; pitied and respected for his misfortunes, allowed to come and go much as he would; regarded rather as one set aside by Heaven for an instrument of vengeance; standing alone, as it were, not quite like any of his comrades; a dreamy, solitary creature, seldom talking much, often passing the whole day in silent brooding; yet when there was fighting to be done, waking up to a sort of Berserker fury, dealing blows with an almost superhuman strength, and invariably filling the hearts of his adversaries with a species of superstitious fear and dread. For the tall, gaunt figure with the haggard face, flaming eyes, and wildly-floating locks bore so weird an aspect that a man might be pardoned for regarding it as an apparition. Not a particle of colour remained in Charles's face. The flesh had shrunk away till the bones stood out almost like skin stretched over a skull. The hair, too, was white as snow, whilst the brows were coal black, enhancing the effect of the luminous, fiery eyes beneath. It was small wonder that Charles was regarded by Rangers and soldiers alike as a thing apart. He came and went as he would, no man interfering or asking him questions. At the same time he seemed to regard Fritz and Stark as his chief friends; and if they started forth with any of the Rangers, it was generally observed that Charles would be of the company. The life of the forest was pleasant enough in the warmer weather; but the garrison at the fort were anxious to know what orders they would receive for the summer campaign, and so far nothing was heard but that they were to remain on the defensive. This might be prudent, seeing that Ticonderoga was< strongly fortified and garrisoned; but it pleased neither soldiers nor officers, and the Rangers went scouting more and more eagerly, hoping to learn news which might tempt those in authority to sanction some more overt movement. One day a strange adventure befell the Rangers. Rogers and his little flotilla of boats were here, there, and everywhere upon the lake. Not only did they move up and down Lake George, which was debatable ground, commanded at the different ends by a French and English fort, but they carried boats across a mountain gorge to the eastward, launched them again in South Bay, and rowed down the narrow prolongation of Lake Champlain, and under cover of dark nights would glide with muffled oars beneath the very guns of Ticonderoga, within hearing of the sentries' challenge to each other, and so on to Crown Point, whence they could watch the movements of the enemy, and see their transports passing to and fro with provisions for Ticonderoga. Many a small boat was seized, many a large one sunk by these hardy Rangers of the forest. They were as wily as Indians, and as sudden and secret in their movements. The French regarded them with a species of awe and fear. They would sometimes find an English boat or canoe in some spot perfectly inexplicable to them. They could not believe that anyone could pass the fortifications of Ticonderoga unseen and unheard, and would start the wildest hypotheses to account for the phenomenon, even to believing that some waterway existed which was unknown alike to them and their Indian scouts. But to return to the adventure to which allusion has been made. Rogers with some thirty of his Rangers was out upon one of those daring adventures. They were encamped within a mile of Ticonderoga. Their boats were lying in a little wooded creek which gave access to the lake. Some of the party, headed by Rogers, had gone on towards Crown Point by night. Stark, with a handful of trusty men, lay in hiding, watching the movements from the fort, and keeping a wary eye upon those who came and went, ready to pounce out upon any straggler who should adventure himself unawares into the forest, and carry him off captive to the English camp. Certain tidings as to the course the campaign was likely to take were urgently wanted by this time. The posts to the English fort brought in no news save that it was thought better for the army on the western frontier to remain upon the defensive, and no talk of sending large reinforcements came to cheer or encourage them. Winslow was impatient and resentful. He thought there were mismanagement and lack of energy. He knew that the provinces had been roused at last out of their lethargy, and had pledged themselves to some active effort to check French aggression; yet weeks were slipping by, one after the other, and no help of any consequence came to the army on the outskirts. No command reached the eager soldiers for a blow to be struck there, as had been confidently expected. Perhaps the French might be better informed as to what was going on in other parts of the great continent, and so prisoners were wanted more urgently than ever. At midday upon a steamy midsummer day, one of the young Rangers who had been wandering about near to the camp in search of game came back with cautious haste to report that he had seen a small party of French leaving the fort by the water gate, cross the narrow waterway, and plunge into the forest. He had observed the direction taken, and thought they could easily surround and cut them off. He did not think there were more than six in the party; probably they were out hunting, unconscious of the proximity of any foe. Stark was on his feet in a second. This was just the chance for the Rangers. Seizing their arms and hastily conferring together, they laid their plans, and then divided themselves into three companies of three, planning to fetch a circuit, keep under cover, and thus surround the little company, who would believe themselves entirely overmatched, and some of whom would surrender at discretion, if they did not all do so. Stark, Fritz, and Charles remained together, taking a certain path as agreed upon. They crept like Indians through the wood. Hardly the breaking of a branch betrayed their movements. In Charles's eyes the slumbering fire leaped into life. He always lived in the hope of again meeting his foe face to face. He knew that he was probably within the walls of Ticonderoga. Any day might bring them face to face once more. Softly and cautiously they crept through the brushwood. Stark had made a sign of extra caution, for some nameless instinct seemed to have told him that they were near the quarry now. He paused a moment, held up his hand as if in warning; and at that instant there suddenly arose from the heart of the wood the unwonted sound of a sweet, fresh girl's voice raised in a little French song! The men looked at one another in amaze. Were their ears deceiving them? But no; the trilling notes came nearer. Involuntarily they pressed forward a few paces, and then came to a dead stop. What was it they saw? A maiden, a young girl of perhaps seventeen summers, her hat suspended by a broad ribbon from her arm, and half filled with flowers, was wandering through the woodland tracks as quietly as though in her sheltered home across the water. As she moved she sang snatches of song in a clear, bird-like voice; and when her eyes suddenly fell upon the three strange figures in the path, there was no fear in their violet depths, only a sort of startled bewilderment, instantly followed by an eagerness that there was no mistaking. "Oh," she exclaimed eagerly, in accents which denoted almost unmixed pleasure, and speaking English with only a very slight intonation denoting her mixed nationality, "I am sure that I have my wish at last! You are Rogers' Rangers!" Stark and Fritz had doffed their hats in a moment. They were more nonplussed a great deal than this fearless maiden, who looked like the goddess of the glade, secure in her right of possession. Her eyes were dancing with glee; her mouth had curved to a delicious smile of triumph. "I have been longing to see the Rangers ever since I arrived at Ticonderoga; but they declared they were terrible fire-eating men, worse than the wild Indians, and that they would kill me if I adventured myself near to them--kill me or carry me away captive. But I said 'No!'" (and the girl threw back her head in a gesture of pride and scorn); "I said that the Rangers were Englishmen--English gentlemen, many of them--and that they did not war with women! I was not afraid; I knew they would not lay a finger upon me. "I am not wrong, am I, sirs? You would not hurt a maiden who trusts your chivalry and honour?" "I would slay the first man who dared so much as to lay a finger upon you, lady," answered Stark impetuously, "even though he were my own comrade or brother! We are Rogers' Rangers, as you have rightly guessed; and we are here scouting round Fort Ticonderoga, ready to intercept its inmates when we may catch them. But you are right: we war not with women; we fight with men who can fight us back. "But tell us, fair lady, how comes it that you are here alone in the forest? It is scarce safe in these troubled times of warfare, with Indians all around, and rude soldiers prowling the woods and lurking in its fastnesses." "Ah, but my escort is close at hand. I did but stray away a little in search of flowers. They said the forest was free from peril today. The Indians have gone off yonder on some enterprise of their own, and the English are lying within their lines far enough away. I begged and prayed, and at last they gave way. My brother and the men are after a fine young deer they sighted. I bid them leave me. I was not afraid. I thought the worst that could happen would be that I came face to face with a party of Rangers, and that was exactly what I have longed to do ever since I arrived." The girl looked up smiling into the faces of the bronzed, stalwart men standing before her; then she seated herself upon a fallen tree and motioned them to be seated likewise. "I want to talk," she said; "let us sit down and be sociable. I daresay they will be some time in killing their quarry. We will enjoy ourselves till they come back. They shall not hurt you; I will ensure that." Stark smiled a little at the girl's assurance. "More likely they may suffer at our hands, lady. There are more of us scattered about the forest. But our aim is not to slay, but to obtain prisoners who shall give us news; so you need not fear that harm will befall your brother--least of all if he speaks the English tongue as you do. If I might make bold to ask you of yourself, how comes it that an English girl is in such a wild spot as this, and amid the soldiers of France?" "I am not English," answered the maiden, with a smile; "I am French upon my father's side, and my mother was a Scotchwoman. I have lived in Scotland, where I learned your tongue; and I always spoke it with my mother so long as she lived. It is as easy to me as my father's French." "And how come you to this wild spot in the heart of these forests, and with warfare all around?" "I will tell you that, too. My father has always been a man of action, who has loved travel and adventure. Since the outbreak of this war in the west he has longed to be in the midst of it. He is something of a soldier, and something of a statesman, and he is the friend of many great ones at Court, and has been entrusted before now with missions requiring skill and tact. He is also the kinsman of the Marquis of Montcalm, whose name no doubt you know by this time." "He is the new military commander sent out by the King of France, to take the lead in the war now commenced in Canada and along the border between France and England," answered Stark promptly. "Yes; and my father and uncle came out with him, and my brother and I also. My uncle is the good Abbe Messonnier; but you will not have heard of him, though he is well known and well beloved in France. My father has certain work to do here the nature of which I do not fully know, nor could I divulge if I did. We arrived at Quebec a short time ago, and thence we moved on to Montreal. But it was needful for my father and uncle to visit some of these outposts, and we begged, Colin and I, not to be left behind. We burned with curiosity to see the strange sights of which we had heard--the Indians in their war paint, the great forests and lakes, the forts and their garrisons, and all the wonders of the west. "So they brought us in their company. My father takes me everywhere with him that he can. Since my mother's death he seems unable to lose sight of me. We have been hard upon a month at the fort now. We are learning all we can of the condition of affairs, to report to the Marquis when we return to Montreal or to Quebec. He himself talks of coming to command here when the time comes for the attack to be made upon your fort; but that will scarcely be yet, for there is so much he has to set in order in Canada. Oh, the way things are managed there--it is a disgrace!" "Is Canada weak then?" asked Stark, burning with curiosity for information on the subject. The girl slowly shook her head. "Perhaps I ought not to talk with you, since you are the enemies of my countrymen. And, in sooth, I know little enough to tell. I hear one say this and one the other, and I cannot know where the truth lies. But of one thing they are very certain and confident--that they will drive out the English from all these western outposts, and will keep them shut in between the mountains and the sea; and that France alone shall rule this mighty continent of giant forests and rivers, undisturbed by any foreign foe. Of that all men are confident." The Rangers exchanged glances, and the girl saw it. "You do not believe me," she said quickly; "but, indeed, I have heard so many strange things that I know not what to believe myself. Strangest of all is that white men should call upon those terrible savage Indians to war with them against their white brethren. That, as my good uncle says, is a disgrace to humanity. Ah! I would you could have heard him speak to the officers at yonder fort since his arrival there. They brought in a few prisoners a few days after we came. They were going to cook and eat them--to treat them--oh, I cannot think of it! My uncle went to the officers, and bid them interfere; but they only shrugged their shoulders, and said they must not anger the Indians, or they would desert, and become even more troublesome than they are already. He got them out of their hands himself, and sent them safely to Montreal; and oh, how he spoke to the French soldiers and officers afterwards! He said that such wicked disregard of the bond betwixt Christian and Christian must inevitably draw down the wrath of Heaven upon those who practised it, and that no cause could prosper where such things were permitted. "I have heard things since I have been here that have filled my heart with sorrow and anger. I have been ashamed of my countrymen! I have felt that our foes are nobler than ourselves, and that God must surely arise and fight for them if these abominations are suffered to continue." The Rangers were silent; they well knew what she meant. The French were culpably weak where the Indians were concerned, permitting them almost without remonstrance to burn their prisoners from the English lines, and even after engagements leaving the English dead and wounded to the Indians and the wolves, though the English always buried the French dead with their own when they had been in like circumstances, and had showed kindness to their wounded. "The Indians are the plague of the lives of men and officers alike," continued the girl, breaking forth in animated fashion. "They eat up a week's rations in three days, and come clamouring for more. They make rules for the English which they will not observe themselves. They are insolent and disgusting and treacherous. Oh, I cannot think how our people bear it! I would sooner lose all than win through using such tools. I hate to think of victory obtained by such means. You Rangers are brave men; though men dread you, yet they respect you, and would fain imitate your prowess. The Indians are devils--I can find no other name for them. They are fiends, and I verily think that evil will befall us if we league ourselves with them. Thus my uncle tries to teach; but they will not listen to his words." "Time will show, lady," answered Fritz; "and there are Indians who are gentle and tamable, and are some of them even sincere believers in our Christian faith. I have seen and lived among such in the lands of the south. But here they have been corrupted by the vices of those who should teach them better. It is a disgrace to England and France alike that this should be so." At this moment the sound of shouting and yelling arose from the forest, and some shots were fired in close succession. The girl started to her feet, looking white and scared; but Fritz and Stark stood close beside her, one on either hand, as if to assure her that no harm should befall her. The next moment a fair-haired youth, with a strong likeness to the girl, came dashing blindly through the forest, calling her name in accents of frantic fear. "Corinne, Corinne, Corinne! Where are you? Hide yourself! Have a care! The Rangers are upon us!" "I am here, Colin. I am safe!" she cried, in her flute-like accents--"I am here all safe. The Rangers are taking care of me. See!" He pulled up short, blinded and breathless. He had come tearing back to his sister's aid, full of remorse at having been tempted to leave her for a moment in the pleasure of the chase. He stood panting, staring at the strange group, unable to get out a word. "Call the men in," said Stark, addressing Charles, who had remained silent all the while; "tell them to hurt no one--to make no captures. This lady's escort is to remain unmolested. Bring them here, and we will deliver them their charge safe and sound." With alacrity Charles disappeared upon his errand. The old tender-heartedness of the man always returned when he saw anything young and helpless. There was no fierceness in his strange face today, and Corinne, looking after him, said wonderingly: "Who is he? he looks like one who has seen a ghost!" In a few terse phrases Fritz told the outline of Charles's story, and how he himself with his companion had found the hapless man and his brother. "Oh, this war is a terrible thing!" cried Corinne, pressing her hands together. "It makes men into devils, I think. Ah, why can we not live at peace and concord with our brothers? Surely out here, in these wild lands, French and English might join hands, and live as brothers instead of foes." "I fear me," said Fritz, looking out before him with wide gaze, "that that time is far enough away--that it will never come until the kingdoms of this world have become the kingdom of our God and of His Christ, when He shall reign for ever and ever." She looked at him in quick surprise. She had not expected to hear such words in the mouth of one of Rogers' Rangers. "I have heard my uncle speak so," she said slowly; "but the soldiers think of nothing but fighting and conquest." "We used to think much of that day down in my southern home. We were taught to look for the day of the Lord and the coming of Christ. But men were even there growing weary and impatient. The strife of parties was spoiling our home. That is why so many of us journeyed forth to see the world. But I do not forget what my forefathers taught and believed." There was a light of quick sympathy in the girl's eyes; but she had no time to reply, for the Rangers were coming back, with the French soldiers in their company. They had surprised the whole band, and had practically made them prisoners when Charles came up with his strange message, and they marched them along to see what it all meant. Great was their astonishment when they saw the golden-haired girl with her fearless bearing, and the handsome lad standing beside her, still breathless and bewildered. "Release these men," said Stark briefly; "they have been told off for the service of this lady. Let them resume their charge, and return in safety to the fort, or continue their chase in the forest at pleasure. We do not war with women. "If you wish to see some pretty hunting, Mistress Corinne, Rogers' Rangers are at your service, and the haunts of bird and beast are well known to us." The girl's eyes sparkled. She was as full of the love of adventure as any boy could be. She looked at her brother, but he shook his head in doubt. "I think our father would not wish it," he said. "I thank these gentlemen most gratefully for their courtesy and chivalry, but I think we must be returning to the fort. It may be that the shots will have been heard, and that soldiers may be coming in search of us already. "We shall not forget your kindness, sir. I trust the day will come when we may be able to requite you in kind;" and he held out his hand, first to Stark and then to Fritz. Corinne had looked a little mutinous at first; but when her brother spoke of a possible sortie across the water from the fort, her face changed. Perhaps she was not quite so confident of the chivalry of the French soldiers as she had been of that of the Rangers. "Perhaps it is best so; yet I should have loved to scour the forest with Rogers' Rangers. "Are you the great Rogers himself?" she asked, turning to Stark, and then letting her glance wander to Fritz's fine face. "No, Mistress Corinne; Rogers himself is away farther afield," answered Stark. "This is Fritz Neville, and I am John Stark, whom he honours with the title of his lieutenant." "Fritz Neville--John Stark," she repeated, looking from one to the other, a smile in her frank, sweet eyes. "I shall not forget those names. I shall say them over every day to myself, and pray that in times of warfare the saints will watch over and protect the brave English Rangers, who had us as prisoners in their power, and let us go away safe and sound." She held out her hand as she spoke, first to one and then to the other of the men, both of whom took it reverently, pressed it, and bowed low with a sort of rude homage. The other Rangers sent up a little cheer for the brave young lady who spoke their tongue so well; and the French soldiers, who looked a little ashamed of the predicament in which they had placed themselves, smiled, and became friendly and at ease, realizing that all was well. "We will escort you to your boat, lady," said Stark; "you will suffer us that privilege." "Ah yes, if it will be safe. But they will not dare fire from the fort when they see that our company is returning. I would I could take you back with me, and introduce you to my father and uncle; but perchance it would not be safe." "Perhaps we shall make their acquaintance some other way!" said Stark, with a touch of grim humour; and Corinne, understanding him, exclaimed: "Ah, do not let us think of that! let us only remember that we have met as friends in the wild forest." "A pleasant memory truly," answered Stark gallantly, "and one so new to a Ranger that he will never be like to forget it;" and as they pursued their way towards the lake, he held the youth and the girl spellbound and breathless by tales of the strange life of adventure which they led, and by detailing some of their hairbreadth escapes from the hands of Indians and Frenchmen as they scoured the forest, lay in ambush, and skulked beneath the very ramparts of the enemy's fortifications, hearing the talk of the sentries overhead. "Nay, but you are brave men in sooth; you deserve success. The fortunes of war must surely be yours at last," cried Corinne, with covert enthusiasm. "Ah! here is the lake, and here is our boat. Nay, come not further. I fear lest hurt should come to you. I thank you again with all my heart. Perhaps the day will come when we shall see each other again. I would fain believe that I shall meet again with Rogers' bold, chivalrous Rangers." "It may be--it may be," answered Stark, with a smile. "Farewell, sweet Mistress Corinne; may you come safely through all perils by land and water. Your brave spirit will carry you well through life's troubled sea, I think." She smiled, and stepped into the boat. Then suddenly turning and waving her hand, she said: "I will tell you one thing which my uncle has said. Whether he will be a true prophet or no I cannot tell. His words are these, and they were spoken to M. de Montcalm: 'You are safe now, for England is governed by an imbecile--the Duke of Newcastle--a minister without parts, understanding, or courage. But there is another man in England of a different calibre. If ever you hear that Pitt is at the head of the administration, then look to your laurels; for, if I be not greatly deceived, that man has brain and energy to turn the whole tide of battle. Three years after he begins to rule England's policy, and France will have begun to lose her empire in the West!'" Chapter 4: Vengeance And Disaster. The episode of Corinne, and the prophecy she had quoted to them, formed one of the bright episodes in a year which brought little success or relief to the army encamped upon the waters of Lake George. There was no campaign that year. The two armies lay inside their respective fortifications, each keeping on the defensive; and the bold Rangers alone did active skirmishing service, as has been related, appearing at all sorts of apparently impossible points, swooping down upon an unwary hunting party or a sleeping sentinel, bringing in spoil to the fort, burning transports bound for Ticonderoga, and doing gallant irregular service which kept the garrison and the Rangers in spirits, but did little or nothing to effect any change in the condition of affairs. Anxiously was news waited for from England. What was the parent country going to do for her Western children in their hour of need and extremity? There were rumours afloat of a massing of Indian tribes to be let loose upon the hapless settlers along the Indian border; and although Sir William Johnson, that able agent of England's with the natives, was hard at work seeking to oppose and counteract French diplomacy amongst the savage tribes, there was yet so much disunion and misunderstanding and jealousy amongst English commanders and governors, that matters were constantly at a deadlock; whilst France, with her centralized authority, moved on towards her goal unimpeded and at ease (as it seemed to the harassed English officials), although not without her internal troubles also. November brought about the usual breaking up of the camps on both sides. The French soldiers were drafted back to Canada in great companies, sorely beset and harassed at times by the action of the Rangers; whilst Winslow drew off the bulk of his men to winter quarters in the larger towns of New England and the adjacent colonies, leaving Major Eyre in charge of the fort, with sufficient men to hold it during the dead winter season. Rogers' Rangers were independent of weather. They pursued their hardy and adventurous calling as well through the ice-bound winter months as during the genial season of summer. But from time to time his followers liked to visit their homes and friends, and Winslow was glad enough to have their company upon his march back upon civilization; for the Rangers were masters of the art of woodcraft, and were the most able allies when difficulties arose through the rising of rivers or the intricacies of the forest paths. Stark and his little band, now reduced from a dozen to nine, accompanied the army back to winter quarters; for John desired to see his friends, and also to raise recruits for next season's campaign, now that he had learned experience, and had inspiring tales to tell of adventure, victory, and quick retributive vengeance upon a treacherous and rapacious enemy. Fritz and Charles both accompanied him, though the latter with some reluctance. He would rather have remained in the neighbourhood of the French lines, behind which lay the foe he was bent on meeting once more face to face; but Stark had represented to him that his sister would wish to see him once more, and Rogers had appointed January as the time when he and his Rangers would be back, when the ice would be firm and hard, and they could renew their wild winter warfare, whilst during the earlier months of the winter there was no certainty of carrying on any successful operations. Heavy rain and soft snow were too much even for the hardy Rangers to grapple with. They were practically useless now till the frost came and fastened its firm grip upon the sleeping world. There was joy in many a city throughout the English colony when the troops marched in; although there was mourning in many homes for the loss of some son or brother killed by the foe, or by the many forms of sickness which prevailed at the fort. There were troubles, too, with the citizens about the billeting of the English contingent, and many were the heart burnings which arose between stubborn townsmen and military rulers before these matters could be adjusted. But all this made little matter in houses like that of Benjamin Ashley, who was a true patriot at heart, and threw open his doors not only to his wife's brother, but to as many war-weary soldiers as he could accommodate, and was never tired of hearing all that they could tell as to their past experiences, or of discussing with them the probable result of the coming struggle. Fritz would sit beside Susanna's spinning wheel in the evening, telling her stories to which she listened in open-eyed amaze, and giving eager heed to the discussion of politics amongst the other men. Charles would sit apart, absent and dreamy--a strange figure amongst the rest--very gentle and tender in his manner towards Hannah and Susanna, but taking little or no interest in the daily round of life, and only counting the days till he could return to the forest and his mission of vengeance. There was great discontent in the hearts of the colonists. They declared that nothing was done for them, and yet they were never prepared to bestir themselves actively. When Fritz asked eagerly about the English statesman Pitt, he was told that he and the Duke of Newcastle were now acting together in the ministry, and that some hoped for better things in consequence. But it was evident to all by this time that the first move made by the new minister would be directed against Louisbourg in Acadia, the only stronghold yet remaining to the French in Cape Breton Island. After driving the enemy from thence, he might, and probably would, turn his attention to the western frontier; but meantime the colonists here would have mainly to hold back the enemy by their own united efforts, and unity of action was just the thing which appeared most difficult to them. It was not encouraging; but the hardy Rangers were not to be disheartened, and true to their promise, they only stayed within winter quarters till after the festive Christmas season; and then gathering together a compact little body of volunteers, Stark set forward once again for the wild forest, where he was to meet Rogers and his band. Fritz was ready to go, despite his parting with pretty Susanna, whose bright eyes sparkled with tears as she said goodbye. It was not a time for making new ties; yet the little maiden knew very well by this time that her life and his were bound together by a strong and tender bond, and that into her own something had entered which could never be taken away. They met in the heart of the forest, a few miles from Fort William Henry--Rogers and his large company, and Stark with his smaller contingent. But Stark was now the leader of a band of five-and-twenty bold spirits; for so inspiring had been his stories of the Ranger's life that volunteers had come crowding in, and he had had some ado to get rid of those who were manifestly unfit for the life. Even Ebenezer Jenkyns, in his wild desire to win the approval of Susanna, had begged to be permitted to join the Ranger band, and Stark had had some difficulty in ridding himself of the youthful Quaker, suddenly possessed of martial ambitions and ardour. Right glad were the garrison at the fort to see the Rangers come marching in. They had been quite quiet, save for a few minor nocturnal raids from Indians, which had not done much harm. Their chief foe was smallpox, which kept breaking out amongst the men, as well as other forms of sickness. They did not understand sanitation, and the fort was dirty and unhealthy. Rogers would not have his men lodged within it; but the Rangers built themselves huts just outside, and when not otherwise occupied, spent their time in the construction of boats and sloops for use on the lake, in which work Major Eyre had kept his men employed during the previous months. But it was not for peaceful toil like this that the Rangers had gathered together; in a little while, accordingly, a scouting party was formed, with Crown Point as its goal. Snowshoes and skates were looked to, and the hardy Rangers started off beneath the grey, leaden winter sky, gliding through the grim, ghost-like forest, silent as death, past ice-bound waterfalls, and forests of fir and larch bent and bowed by the load of snow, ever onwards and northwards, always on the alert, ready for instant action, fearless and undismayed in a white wilderness and in those trackless solitudes which would strike dismay into many a bold heart. They skirted round Ticonderoga, not showing themselves to their foe, and encamped upon the edge of Lake Champlain, lighting fires, and making themselves as comfortable as circumstances permitted. They had travelled hard for many days, and were glad of a little rest. But this rest was not of long duration. Early the next morning, before it was well light, Charles, the sleepless watcher, awoke the camp by his low whistle of warning. "I hear the sound of a sledge on the ice!" he said. In a moment every Ranger was on the alert; every man had seized his weapons, the fires were stamped out, and preparations were made for an instant move. A few minutes more and they heard the sound also--the sharp ring of a sledge upon the ice, and the beat of horse hooves as it drew nearer. Now horses were prizes greatly in demand at the English fort, and Rogers was eager to obtain possession of this prize. He called out to Stark to make a dash along the lake side with a dozen of his men, and try to head it off towards the spot where he and the rest of the Rangers would wait. And hardly had the order left his lips before Stark was off upon his mission. On and on dashed the sledge with its unsuspecting occupants. They had come forth from Ticonderoga, and were heading for Crown Point. Stark and his men flitted like shadows along the snowy banks. The horses paused. There was something amiss with the harness. Stark looked at his men, gave a fine English cheer, and rushed forth upon the ice, with a dozen stout followers at his heels. In a moment the occupants of the sledge saw their peril. A yell arose from the throats of all the three. They turned like lightning, and the horses sprang forward at a gallop; but in a moment they were surrounded by Stark and his men, who called upon them to surrender, and sprang at the horses to stay their headlong flight. But now a new terror was added to the scene. Round the bend of the lake swept other sledges--quite an army of them; and whilst the French sent up shouts for help, Stark looked round to see what Rogers and his company were doing. "Here they come! here they come! Rogers' Rangers! Rogers' Rangers!" yelled his men, as they saw the compact band of veteran woodsmen rushing forth to their aid. That cry was well known to the French. For a moment there was a pause, the sledges pulling up as though in doubt whether to rush forward and seek to fight their way through, or to turn and run back to Ticonderoga. But the energy with which the Rangers came on settled that point. Every sledge wheeled round and fled, whilst Rogers' men dashed helter skelter upon them, flinging themselves upon the horses, firing at the occupants, and in spite of all resistance securing three sledges, six horses, and seven French prisoners. The rest of the sledges escaped, and Rogers and Stark met each other with grave faces. "They will give notice at Ticonderoga that we are here," said the former. "They will come out against us and cut off our retreat. We must examine the prisoners ourselves and learn all we can from them, and then make our way to the fort as fast as possible through the forest. The enemy may be upon us before nightfall." Fritz, who spoke French as easily as English, had already been questioning the prisoners separately. "They all tell the same tale," he said gravely: "they have five hundred regular soldiers at the fort, and Indians coming in daily. They were organizing parties to intercept communication between Fort Edward and Fort William Henry. They are pledged to the extermination of the Rangers wherever they meet them. Directly they know that we are lurking in their vicinity, they will come out in great numbers against us." Rogers' face was set and stern. "We will give them a warm welcome when they do!" he said. "Meantime we will lose no time. Light up the fires and dry the ammunition which has become wet. The horses must be sacrificed and the sledges burned. As for the men, we must keep them till the last minute. When we go, they can go back to their fort. They will have nothing to tell there which is not known already. The Rangers slay men in fair fight, but they do not butcher prisoners." The thing was done. Rogers' commands were carried out, and in cautious single file the band of Rangers crept through the forest by devious tracks known to themselves, keeping eyes and ears ever on the alert. "Have a care!" came the warning cry of Charles at last; "I hear the cocking of guns." The words had hardly passed his lips before a volley blazed out from the bushes, and many a bold Ranger fell as he stood, shot through the heart. "Steady, men--and fire!" cried Rogers, speaking as coolly as though a hail storm and not one of hot lead was raining about them. Blood was running down his cheek from a graze on the temple; and Fritz felt for the first time the stinging sensation in his arm which he had heard described so many times before. In a moment they had spread themselves out in the best possible manner, retreating upon the hill they had just descended, and covering themselves with the trees, from behind which they fired with unerring accuracy. Stark and some of his men were at the top of the hill, having been the rear guard of the company. They poured a steady, deadly fire into the bushes which concealed the foe; whilst their comrades, running from tree to tree, fell back upon them, and forming on the hilltop, repulsed again and again, with stubborn gallantry, the assault of a foe which they knew must outnumber them by four or five to one. But the face of Rogers was still set and stern. "They will try to outflank us next, and get round to the rear," he said between his teeth to Stark. "Stark, you must pick some of our best men, and stop that movement if it occurs. If they get us between two fires, we are all dead men!" "Fritz, you will be my lieutenant," said Stark, as he looked about him and chose his company. Fritz was at his side in a moment. "We are in as evil a chance as ever men were yet," he added, "but I think we shall live to tell the tale by the warm fireside at home. I have been in tight fixes before this, and have won through somehow. I trust our gallant Rogers will not fall. That would carry confusion to our ranks." Shoulder to shoulder stood Fritz and Stark, warily watching the movements of the foe. They saw them creeping round the base of the hill--saw it by the movement of the brushwood rather than by anything else; for their foes were used to bush craft, too. "If anything should go amiss with me today, friend John," said Fritz, as he loaded his piece, looking sternly down into the hollow beneath, "give my love to Susanna, and tell her that her name will be on my lips and my heart in the hour of death." "Talk not of death, man, but of victory!" cried Stark, whose indomitable cheerfulness never forsook him. "Yet I will remember and give the message to my pretty cousin--for I know that women live on words like these--if the blow has to fall. But never think of that!" "I do not," answered Fritz; "I hope to come forth safe and sound. But were it otherwise--" "Fire!" cried Stark, breaking suddenly into the commander; and a sharp, deadly volley blazed forth from the guns of his contingent. It was plain that the enemy had not expected this flank movement to be observed. Cries of dismay and pain rang through the forest. They broke cover and ran back towards the main body, followed by another well-directed volley from the brave Stark and his men. Round the spot where Rogers and the main body of the Rangers stood the fight waxed fierce and hot. But Stark held to his post on the spur of the hill, where he saw how the foe was trying to get round to their rear; and again and again his well-aimed volleys sent them flying back decimated to their companions. But how was it going with the others? The firing was incessant, and shouts and cries told of death and disaster on both sides. Stark bid Fritz make a dash for the main body and bring back word. The brief winter's day was beginning to draw to a close. There was something terrible in the brightness of the fire that was streaming from the thickets as the daylight failed. It seemed as though the very forest was in flames; and the crack of musketry was almost unceasing. "They are calling upon us to surrender," said Fritz, hastening back with his tale. "The French are calling upon Rogers by name, begging him to trust to their honour and clemency, and promising the best of treatment if he and his brave men will surrender. They are calling out that it is a pity so many bold men should perish like brute beasts. But Rogers stands like a rock, and replies by volley after volley. He has been hit through the wrist, and his head is bound about by a cloth; but he looks like a lion at bay, and will not yield one inch." "Let us back to his side, and make one great charge against the foe!" shouted Stark, who saw that no further flank movement was to be anticipated now. His men answered by a cheer. They were ready for any display of gallantry and courage, and swore by Stark, who was beloved of all for his happy temper and cheerful, dauntless bravery. Up the shoulder of the hill and across the ridge they dashed. They shouted their cry of "Rogers' Rangers! Rogers' Rangers!" It was taken up by those upon the top, who gathered together and made a blind rush down towards their foe. The French, taken by surprise at this impetuosity, and afraid of the darkness of the forest, made off in haste for Ticonderoga, having worked sad havoc amongst the bold Rangers, who were left alone with their wounded and dead, the shades of night gathering fast round them, and the camp of the foe within a few miles. It was a situation of grave peril; but Rogers was not to be daunted. He buried his dead; he gathered together the wounded, and afraid to allow even a night for rest, he marched his party all through the night, and by morning they were upon the shores of Lake George. "I will fetch a sledge for the wounded," quoth Stark, full of energy and enterprise as usual. "It will puzzle the enemy to find the route we have taken. Lie you here close and keep watch and ward, and I will fetch succour from the fort before the French have time to seek us out." This was good counsel, and Rogers followed it. Stark, after a quick journey across the ice, brought sledges and soldiers from the fort, and in a few more days the Rangers were brought back in triumph to their huts without Fort William Henry, where they were content to lie idle for a short while, recovering from their wounds and fatigues. Hardly a man had escaped uninjured; and some were very dangerously wounded, and died from the effects of the injuries received. Fritz himself had a slight attack of fever resulting from the wound which he had scarcely noticed in the heat of battle. Stark was almost the only member of the company who had come forth quite unscathed, and he was the life of the party during the next spell of inaction, telling stories, setting the men to useful tasks, making drawings of the French forts for the guidance of the English, and amusing the whole place by his sudden escapades in different directions. The Rangers were further cheered by a letter of thanks from General Abercromby, lately sent out from England, recognizing their gallant service, and promising that it should be made known to the King. But the adventures of the winter were not over, although the days were lengthening out, and the blustering rains and winds of March had come. The snow was greatly lessened; but a spell of frost still held the lake bound, and the rigours of the season were little abated. It was St. Patrick's Day; and as some of the soldiers in Fort William Henry were Irish, they had celebrated the anniversary by a revel which had left a large proportion more or less drunk and incapable. Their English comrades had followed their lead with alacrity, and the Fort was resounding with laughter and song. But the Rangers in the huts outside were on the alert and as Stark remarked with a smile, they must keep watch and ward that night, for nobody else seemed to have any disposition to do so. Major Eyre, in pity for the forlorn condition of his men, had not restrained them from amusing themselves in their own fashion upon this anniversary. It was well, however, that there were some sleepless watchers on the alert that night; for as the grey dawn began to break, a sound was heard over the ice as though of an approaching multitude. The Rangers gave the alarm, and manned the guns. There was nothing to be seen through the murky mists of dawn; but the guns belched forth fire and round shot towards the lake, and the sounds suddenly ceased. An hour later Charles came rushing in; there was blood upon his face, and his eyes were wild, but in his excitement he seemed to know nothing of any hurt. "They are coming! they are coming! I have seen them! There are hundreds upon hundreds of them, well armed, well equipped with everything that men can want. They are bound for the fort. They are going to take it, They have sworn it! And he is in their ranks. I saw him with these eyes. He is there. He is one of them. We shall meet again, and this time he shall not escape me!" In a moment all was excitement and bustle. The men, sobered by the near presence of danger, were at their posts in a moment. All knew that the fort was not strong, and that a resolute assault by a large force would he difficult to repel; but at least they had not been taken by surprise, and that was something. A yell from without told that something was going on there. The Rangers were driving off a party of men who had crept up under cover of the mist wreaths, hoping to fire the huts outside, and so burn the fort. They were sent helter skelter over the ice to rejoin their comrades; and after a pause of some hours an officer was seen advancing from the French lines bearing a flag. He was blindfolded, that he might not see the weak parts of the fort, and was brought to Major Byre and the other officers. His message was to advise them to surrender the fort and obtain for themselves favourable terms, threatening a massacre if this was refused. "I shall defend myself to the last!" said Major Byre calmly. "Englishmen do not give up their forts at the bidding of the foe. We can at least die like men, if we cannot defend ourselves, and that has yet to be proved." The news of this demand and the reply flew like wildfire through the ranks, and inspired the men with courage and ardour. The Rangers were brought within the fort, and all was made ready for the assault. A storm of shot hailed upon the fort. Through the gathering darkness of the night they could only distinguish the foe by the red glare from their guns. The English fort was dark and silent. It reserved its fire till the enemy came closer. The crisis was coming nearer and nearer. There was a tense feeling in the air, as though an electric cloud hovered over all. Charles went about with a strange look upon his face. "He is there--he is coming. We shall meet!" he kept repeating; and all through that night there was no sleep for him--he wandered about like a restless spirit. No service was demanded of him. He was counted as one whose mind wanders. Yet in the hour of battle none could fight with more obstinate bravery than Charles Angell. "Fire! fire! fire!" It was Charles's voice that raised the cry in the dead of the night. No attack had been made upon the fort; but under cover of darkness the enemy had crept nearer and nearer to the outlying buildings, and tongues of flame were shooting up. Instantly the guns were turned in that direction, and a fusillade awoke the silence of the sleeping lake, whilst cries of agony told how the bullets and shots had gone home. "Come, Rangers," shouted Rogers, "follow me out and fall upon them! Drive them back! Save the fort from fire!" Rogers never called upon his men in vain. No service was too full of peril for them. Ignorant as they were of the number or power of their assailants, they dashed in a compact body out of the side gate towards the place where the glare of the fire illumined the darkness of the night. Dark forms were hurrying hither and thither; but the moment the Rangers appeared with their battle cry, there was an instant rout and flight. "After them!" shouted Rogers; and the men dashed over the rough ground, pursuers and pursued, shouting, yelling, firing--and they saw that some bolder spirits amongst the Frenchmen had even set fire to the sloop on the stocks which Rogers had been teaching the soldiers how to construct. But in the forefront of the pursuit might be seen one wild, strange figure with flying hair and fiery eyes. He turned neither to the right hand nor to the left, but ran on and on in a straight line, keeping one flying figure ever in view. The flying figure seemed to know that some deadly pursuit was meant; for he, too, never turned nor swerved, but dashed on and on. He gained the frozen lake; but the treacherous, slippery ice seemed to yield beneath his feet. He had struck the lake at the point where it was broken up to obtain water for the fort. A yell of horror escaped him. He flung up his arms and disappeared. But his pursuer dashed on and on, a wild laugh escaping him as he saw what had happened. The next minute he was bending down over the yawning hole, and had put his long, strong arm through it into the icy water beneath. He touched nothing. The hapless man had sunk to rise no more. Once sucked beneath the deep waters of the frozen lake, exhausted as he was, there was no hope for him. Charles cut and hacked at the ice blocks, regardless of his own personal safety; and after long labour he succeeded in moving some of them, and in dragging out the lifeless corpse, already frozen stiff, of the man he had sworn to slay. The French were flying over the frozen ice, the Rangers in pursuit. They came upon the strange spectacle, and stopped short in amaze. A dead man lay upon the ice of the lake where it was broken and dangerous, his dead face turned up to the moonlight, his hands clinched and stiff and frozen. Beside the corpse sat Charles, his glassy eyes fixed upon the dead face, himself almost as stiff and stark. They came up and spoke to him; but he only pointed to the corpse. "That is he--that is he!" he cried hoarsely. "I saw him, and he saw me. We fought, and he fled. I have been running after him over ice and snow for years and years. He is dead now--dead, dead, dead! The Lord has delivered him into my hand. My work is done!" He stood up suddenly, threw up his arms, and then fell heavily forward face downwards upon the ice. When they lifted him up and carried him within the fort, it was to find that Charles Angell the Ranger was dead. Book 3: Disaster. Chapter 1: A Tale Of Woe. The intrepidity of the officer in command, and the alertness and courage of the Rangers, had saved Fort William Henry from one threatened disaster. When the French had fairly retreated, after having been forced to content themselves with the burning of the boats and the unfinished sloop and certain of the surrounding huts and buildings, the English found out from their prisoners how great their peril had been. For the French force sent against them had been a strong one, well equipped, and hopeful of surprising the place and carrying it by a coup de main. Failing in this, they had made a show of hostility, but had not really attempted anything very serious. The season was against anything like a settled siege, and they had retreated quickly to their own quarters. But this attack was only to be the prelude to one on a very different scale already being organized at headquarters. The English heard disquieting rumours from all quarters, and turned eager eyes towards England and their own colonies from whence help should come to them, for their numbers were terribly thinned by disease, and death in many forms had taken off pretty well a third of their number. Rogers himself had been attacked by smallpox, and upon his recovery he and the large body of the Rangers betook themselves to the woods and elsewhere, preferring the free life of the forest, with its manifold adventures and perils, to the monotonous life in an unhealthy fort. But Fritz remained behind. When Rogers left he was not fit to accompany him, having been suffering from fever, though he had escaped the scourge of smallpox. He had felt the death of Charles a good deal. He had become attached to the strange, half-crazed man who had been his special comrade for so long. It seemed like something wanting in his life when his care was no longer required by any one person. Indeed all the Rangers missed their white-headed, wild-eyed, sharp-eared recruit; and as the saying is, many a better man could better have been spared. Stark went with Rogers, too much the true Ranger now to be left behind. Fritz intended to follow them as soon as he was well enough. Meantime he had formed a warm friendship with two young officers lately come to the fort with the new commander, Colonel Monro--one of them being Captain Pringle, and the other a young lieutenant of the name of Roche. Colonel Monro was a Scotchman, a brave man and a fine soldier. Those under his command spoke of him in terms of warm and loving admiration. Fritz heard of some of his achievements from his new friends, and in his turn told them of his own adventures and of the life he had led during the past two years. "We have heard of the Rangers many a time and oft," cried Roche. "We had thought of offering ourselves to Rogers as volunteers; but men are so sorely wanted for the regular army and the militia that our duty seemed to point that way. But I should like well to follow the fortunes of the hardy Rogers." It was true indeed that men were sorely wanted at Fort William Henry. Colonel Monro looked grave and anxious as he examined its defences. It was an irregular bastioned square, built of gravel and earth, crowned by a rampart of heavy logs, and guarded by ditches on three sides, and by the lake on the north. But it was not strong enough to stand a very heavy assault, although it was provided with seventeen cannons, besides some mortars and swivels. The garrison numbered at this time something over two thousand; but there were many sick amongst these, and sickness was inclined to spread, to the grave anxiety of the commander. Fourteen miles away to the south lay Fort Edward, and General Webb was there with some fifteen hundred men. He had sent on as many men as he felt able to spare some short time before, in response to an appeal from Colonel Monro. Disquieting rumours of an advance from Ticonderoga were every day coming to their ears. Summer was at its height, and if a blow were to be struck, it would certainly be soon. A scouting party was sent out under the command of a certain Colonel Parker, in order to learn the strength of the enemy and what they were about. Three days passed in anxious suspense, and as nothing was heard of the scouting party, Fritz begged leave to go forth with a handful of men to look for them, promising not to expose himself or them to danger. As he knew the forest so well, and was an experienced Ranger, leave was quickly obtained, and Pringle and Roche were permitted to be of the company. They started with the first dawn of the summer's morning; but they had not gone far before they came upon traces of their companions. Fritz's quick eyes saw tracks in the forest which bespoke the near neighbourhood of Indians, and this made them all proceed with great caution. The tracks, however, were some days old, he thought, and led away to the westward. At one spot he pointed out to his companions certain indications which convinced him that a large number of Indians had lately been lying there. "Pray Heaven it has not been an ambush sent to outwit and overpower our men!" he said. "What would those raw lads from New Jersey do if suddenly confronted by a crew of yelling Indians? I trust I am no coward myself, but the sound of that awful war whoop thrills me still with a kind of horror; it has been the forerunner of many a tragedy to the white man out in wildernesses such as this." "I have heard it once," said Pringle, with an expressive gesture, "and I could well wish never to hear it again, did not duty to King and country drive me willingly forth to fight against these dusky savages, who make of these fair lands a veritable hell upon earth. "Hark! what is that?" It was like the sound of a faint cry not so very far away. They listened, and it was presently repeated. Fritz started forward at a run. "That is no Indian voice," he exclaimed; "it is one of our men calling for aid. He has heard our voices." Followed by the rest of the party, Fritz ran forward, and soon came out into a more open glade, commanded by the ridge where he had observed the signs of Indian occupation. As he did so he uttered a startled exclamation, which was repeated in all kinds of keys by those who came after. For in this glade lay the bodies of full fifty of their soldiers, for the most part stripped and scalped; and the place was so trodden and bloodstained as to show plainly that it had been the scene of a bloody conflict. Crawling forth from a little sheltered gorge was a wan, dishevelled figure, bloodstained and ghastly. And Fritz, springing forward, caught the lad in his strong arms, whilst he fell to feeble sobbing in the plenitude of his thankfulness and relief. When he was fed and heartened up he had a terrible tale to tell. It had been as Fritz thought. A party of Indians had been crouching in the forest, and had fallen upon the company unawares. Colonel Parker had not been wise. He had divided his men into two companies. One had gone by boats, and one had skirted through the forest. What had happened to the boats the lad could not tell. He had been one of the very few survivors of the land party, and he owed his escape to his having fallen wounded and breathless into the little cleft in the rocks hidden by the thick undergrowth, so that the Indians did not find him when they made their search after scalps and accoutrements. Crouching amongst the bushes, half fainting from terror, the lad had seen it all. "They scalped them one by one, yelling and shouting and dancing. They cared not whether they were dead or not. Oh, it was horrible, horrible! They lighted a fire to burn some of the prisoners, and danced around it yelling and jeering as their victims died. Oh, I can never forget the sight! Every moment I thought they would find me. I thought of all the things I had heard that savages did to their prisoners. If I had had my sword, I would have run it through my heart. But I had nothing, and presently I suppose I fainted, for I can remember no more; and when I woke they had all gone, and only the bodies lay about beside me. They had taken off their own dead; but I durst not come out, lest they should come back and find me, and I did not know where I was. "There was water in the brook, or I should have died; and I used to crawl out and drink, and go and hide myself again. And last of all I heard English voices, and called out; and that is all I can tell you." They made a litter and carried the lad back to the fort, where he lay tossing in fever for many a long day to come. It was evil news that they had for their comrades; and it was not more cheering when stragglers from the scouting party came back by twos and threes, all with the same tale. The Indians were overrunning all the forests and lakes. They had mustered around the French camp by hundreds and thousands, and were scouring the woods everywhere, under no sort of discipline, excited, rebellious, rapacious, yet too useful as allies not to be humoured by those who had summoned them to their aid. All had horrid tales to tell of cannibal feasts, and of the savage treatment of prisoners. Some declared they had seen French officers and ecclesiastics striving to interfere, but that the Indians paid no manner of heed to them. "There was a young priest who saw them eating human flesh at their fire, and he came up and rebuked them. I was sitting by. I had a cord round my neck. Sweat was pouring from me, for I knew I should be the next victim. They looked at the priest, and one young Indian cried out in French, 'You have French taste, I have Indian; this is good meat for me. Taste it yourself, and see if you cannot learn to like it too!' Whereat all the rest laughed aloud. But the priest rebuked them again, and offered money if they would give me up; and presently they did, though rather against their will. They were sending some prisoners to Montreal, and I was to have gone there, too; but in the night I escaped, and as I knew something of the forest, I have got back safe and sound." Tales like these came pouring in as the survivors struggled back to the fort. All were agreed that the Indians were very numerous and very fierce, and it was said by all that the muster of the French seemed to be very strong. Anxiety and fear reigned throughout the fort. Fritz almost lived upon the lake in his boat, watching for the first signs of the enemy's approach. That a great part of it would come by water he did not doubt. And sometimes he would leave his boat in a creek, and climb some adjacent height, from whence he could scan the surface of the lake, and see what was stirring there. Roche was his companion on those excursions; and the two had climbed together to a commanding height, when upon the dawn of a glorious midsummer morning they saw the long-expected flotilla covering the lake and making headway up it. What a sight it was! The hearts of the onlookers seemed to stand still within them as they looked. And yet it was a magnificent spectacle. Myriads and myriads of Indian canoes like flocks of waterfowl seemed swarming everywhere, whilst from two to three hundred bateaux conveyed the French and Canadian soldiers. Then there were great platforms bearing the heavy guns, and rowed by huge sweeps, as well as being assisted by the bateaux; whilst the blaze of colour formed by the uniforms of the various battalions formed in itself a picture which had seldom been seen in these savage solitudes. "We shall have our work cut out to face such odds!" cried Fritz, as he turned to dash down the hill and regain his canoe. But Roche laid a hand upon his arm, and pointed significantly in another direction. Fritz looked, and a smothered exclamation, almost like a groan, broke from him. Far away through the mazes of the forest, skirting round towards the doomed fort by a road parallel with the lake, was a large body of troops--how large the spectators could not guess, but they saw enough to tell them that it was a very considerable detachment. Such an army as the one now marching upon Fort William Henry had not been seen there before. To those who knew the weakness of the fort and of its garrison it seemed already as though the day were lost. Moreover these men knew that the great Marquis de Montcalm himself was coming this time to take personal command, and his name inspired respect and a certain fear. He was known to be a general of considerable distinction; it was felt that there would be no blundering when he was at the head of the expedition. To fly back to the fort with these ominous tidings was but the work of a few short hours. In a moment all was stir and bustle. The soldiers were not to be disheartened. They were ready and almost eager for the battle, having become weary of inaction and suspense. But the face of Colonel Monro was grave and stern, and he called Fritz aside presently and conferred with him apart. "I must send a messenger to Fort Edward to General Webb, to report to him our sorry plight. He has said that he can spare no more men; but this extremity of ours should be told him. Think you that you can take a letter safely to him? You Rangers are the best of messengers; and you have seen this great armament, and can speak with authority concerning it. Tell him how sore our need is. It may be that he can hurry up the reinforcements, or that they may be already on their way. Even a few hundreds would be better than none. At least he should know our need." Fritz was ready in a moment to take the message, but he had small hope of any result, and he saw that the brave Colonel had little either. General Webb was a man upon whose courage and generalship several aspersions had already been cast. If ever he was to regain confidence and show these aspersions to be untrue, this was the time to show himself in his true colours. But it was with no confidence that Fritz set forth upon his errand. Not long ago General Webb had visited the fort, and had given certain orders and had spoken brave words about coming to command in person should need arise; but he had returned to Fort Edward the following day, and had then sent the reinforcements which were all he was able to spare. It remained to be seen whether he would fulfil his promise when he knew that the attack of the enemy might be expected every hour. Fritz rode in hot haste to the fort and asked for the General. He brought news of urgency, he told them, and was instantly shown to the General's quarters. He stood in silence whilst the letter which Fritz brought was opened and read; then he abruptly asked the tall young Ranger what it was he had seen. Fritz told his tale in simple, graphic words, the General marching up and down the room meantime, evidently in some perturbation of spirit; but all he said at the close was: "Go back and tell Colonel Monro that I have no troops here which I can safely withdraw, but that I have sent, and will send, expresses to the provinces for help." Fritz was too much the soldier to make reply. He bowed and retired, well knowing that no express sent to New England could be of the smallest service now. It was with a bitter sense of failure that he took the fresh horse provided for him and made all speed back to the camp. The road was still clear, but how long it would remain so there was no knowing. Swarms of Indians were drawing around them. If succour did not come quickly, it would arrive too late. Monro received the message in silence, and continued to strengthen his own defences as best he might. The next day brought the enemy full in view, and the numbers of the hostile host astonished though they did not dismay the brave little garrison. Once more Monro sent forth Fritz with a letter to the General. "The French are upon us," he wrote, "both by land and water. They are well supplied with artillery, which will make sad havoc of our defences, for these, you have seen for yourself, are none of the strongest. Nevertheless the garrison are all in good spirits, and eager to do their duty. I make no doubt that you will send us a reinforcement, for we are very certain that a part of the enemy will soon get possession of the road, and in that case our condition would become very serious." Again Fritz was entrusted with this letter; again he made the rapid night journey over the familiar road. This time he was not admitted to the General's presence, and after he had remained at Fort Edward about an hour and had been refreshed, a message came to say that General Webb had received the letter and considered it, but could make no other reply than he had done the previous day. "Then God help us," said the Scotch veteran when this message was brought him, "for vain is the help of man!" And although he went about the fort with as calm and cheerful a mien as before, he was certain in his own heart that Fort William Henry was now doomed. "They are surrounding us on all sides," cried Roche, as soon as Fritz appeared upon the ramparts with his disheartening message, which, however, he kept for the moment to himself. "See, they are working their way through the forest to the rear, just beyond our range. Soon we shall be hemmed in, and they will bring up their guns. We have done what we can for these poor walls; but they will not long stand the cannonade of all those guns we see lying yonder on the platoons upon the lake." "We must hope that the militia from the provinces will come up before their preparations are complete," said Fritz. "They should be on their way by now. But delay and procrastination have ever marked our methods through this war. Nevertheless the men are in good spirits; they are eager for the fight to begin. I marvel at their courage, seeing how great are the odds. But even the sick seemed fired by martial ardour!" It was so. The long inaction of the winter and spring had been wearisome and disheartening. It was impossible for the soldiers to doubt that they would receive help from without now that it was known that the enemy was actually upon them. Moreover, they all knew, and some remembered, how the assault of a few months back had been repulsed; and not realizing the different scale upon which this one was to be conducted, were full of hopeful confidence and emulation. Before hostilities actually commenced, Colonel Monro summoned his officers about him. Great excitement prevailed in the fort, for it was known that a messenger had been admitted under a flag of truce, and that he brought a letter from the Marquis de Montcalm. It was to the reading of this letter that Monro invited his officers. "We have to deal with an honourable foe, gentlemen," said the veteran, looking at those about him, "as you will know when I read to you his words. 'I owe it to humanity,' so writes M. de Montcalm, 'to summon you to surrender. At present I can restrain the savages, and make them observe the terms of a capitulation, as I might not have power to do under other circumstances; and the most obstinate defence on your part can only retard the capture of the place a few days, and endanger an unfortunate garrison which cannot be relieved, in consequence of the dispositions I have made. I demand a decisive answer within an hour.' That, gentlemen, is the message brought to us. What answer shall we return to our high-minded adversary?" There was only one word in the mouths of all. "No surrender! no surrender!" they called aloud, waving their swords in the air; and the cry was taken up by those without, and reached the soldiers upon the ramparts, and the welkin rang with the enthusiastic shout: "No surrender! no surrender!" By this time the Indians were swarming about close outside the ramparts, and hearing this cry and knowing its meaning, they looked up and gesticulated fiercely. "You won't surrender, eh?" bawled in broken French an old Indian chief. "Fire away then and fight your best; for if we catch you after this, you shall get no quarter!" The response to this threat was the heavy boom of the cannon as Fort William Henry discharged its first round of artillery. For a moment it produced immense effect amongst the swarms of painted savages, who scuttled away yelling with fear; for though well used to the sound of musketry, and having considerable skill with firearms themselves, they had never heard the roar of big guns before, and the screaming of the shells as they whistled overhead filled them with terror and amaze. They were intensely eager for the French guns to be got into position, and were a perfect nuisance to the regular soldiers, as they worked with intrepid industry at their trenches and mounds. But before long even the Indians were satisfied with the prolonged roar of artillery, which lasted day after day, day after day; whilst within their walls the brave but diminished garrison looked vainly for succour, and examined with a sinking heart their diminished store of ammunition and their cracked and overheated guns. "It cannot go on long like this," the officers said one to the other. "What is the General doing over yonder? He must hear by the heavy firing what straits we are in. He knows the condition of the fort. He should risk and dare everything to come to our aid. If this fort is lost, then our western frontier has lost its only point of defence against the inroads of Indians and the encroachments of France." A few days later and a cry went up from the walls, "A white flag! a white flag!" and for a moment a wild hope surged up in the hearts of the soldiers that the enemy had grown tired of the game of war, and had some proposal to make. The messenger brought a letter. It was not from the French commander himself, though it was delivered with a courteous message from him. It had been found upon the body of a white man slain by the Indians a few days before, and brought to the French camp. The Marquis de Montcalm had read it, and sent it now to the person for whom it was intended. "Give my thanks," said Monro, "to the Marquis for his courtesy, and tell him that it is a joy to me to have to do with so generous a foe." But the letter thus received was one of evil omen to the hapless garrison. It came from General Webb, and repeated that, until reinforced from the provinces, he could do nothing for the garrison of Fort William Henry; and advised Colonel Monro to make the best terms that he could with the enemy, who were plainly too strong for him to withstand. It was time indeed for the gallant little garrison to think of surrender. Men and officers stood in knots together gloomily surveying the scene. "We have done what men can do," said Captain Pringle to his friends Fritz and Roche; "but where are we now? A third of our men are sick and wounded. Almost all our big guns are burst. The enemy's trenches are being pushed nearer and nearer, and there are still more of their guns to be brought to bear. Our wall is breached; I marvel they have not already made an assault. There is nothing for it but surrender, if we can obtain honourable terms of capitulation." "Nay, rather let us die sword in hand and face to foe!" cried Roche, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm. "Let us make a last desperate sortie, and see if we cannot drive the enemy from their position. Anything is better than dying here like rats in a hole! A forlorn hope is better than none. Why should we not at least cut our way out to the free forest, if we cannot rout the enemy and drive them back whence they came?" "The life of the free forest would mean death to those raw lads who have come out from England or from the provinces," said Fritz gravely. "It would be hardly more than a choice of deaths; and yet I would sooner die sword in hand, hewing my way to freedom, than cooped up between walls where every shot begins to tell, and where the dead can scarce be buried for the peril to the living." And indeed the position of affairs was so deplorable that a council was held by Monro; and it was agreed that if any desired to make this last sortie, either for life and liberty for themselves, or in the last forlorn hope of driving the enemy from their position, it might be attempted; but if it failed, there was nothing for it but capitulation, if honourable terms could be had, or if not to die at their posts, fighting to the very last. A cheer went up from the men when they heard these words. If they had well nigh lost hope, their courage was not quenched, and a large band volunteered for the sortie. Fritz and Roche were amongst these, but Pringle remained behind in the fort. "I will stand by the Colonel and the sinking ship," he said. "It is but a choice of evils. I doubt if any of us will see the light of many more days. I prefer the chances of war to the unknown horrors of the forest filled with savages." He laid a hand upon Roche's arm and looked affectionately into the boyish brave young face. Then he turned to Fritz. "If you should get through, take care of the lad. You are a Ranger; you know the forest well. If any can escape safely thither, it will be you and such as you. But don't forsake the boy--don't let him fall alive into the hands of the Indians; kill him yourself sooner. And now fare well, and God bless you both: for I think that on this earth we shall meet no more." "Nay, why think that?" cried Roche eagerly; "stranger things have happened before now than that we should all live to tell the tale of these days." Pringle shook his head; whilst Fritz wrung his hand and said: "At least remember this: if you should wish to have news of us, ask it of Rogers' Rangers, who are always to be heard of in these parts. If we escape, it is to Rogers we shall find our way. He will be glad enough to welcome us, and from any of his Rangers you will hear news of us if we ever reach his ranks." There was no sleep for the fort that night. Indeed the hot summer nights were all too short for any enterprise to be undertaken then. The glow in the western sky had scarcely paled before there might have been seen creeping forth through the battered gateway file after file of soldiers, as well equipped as their circumstances allowed--silent, stealthy, eager for the signal which should launch them against the intrenched foe so close at hand. But alas for them, they had foes wily, watchful, lynx-eyed, ever on the watch for some such movement. Hardly had they got clear of their protecting walls and ditches, when, with a horrid yell, hundreds and thousands of dusky Indians leaped up from the ground and rushed frantically towards them. The next moment the boom of guns overhead told that the French camp had been alarmed. The regular soldiers would be upon them in a few minutes, driving them back to the fort, killing and wounding, and leaving the Indians to butcher and scalp at their leisure. The fearful war whoop was ringing in their ears. The line wavered--broke; the men made a frantic rush backwards towards their lines. "Don't fly!" cried Roche suddenly to Fritz, at whose side he marched; "let us cut our way through, or die doing it. It is death whichever way we turn. Let us die like men, with our faces and not our backs to the foe!" "Come then!" cried Fritz, upon whom had fallen one of those strange bursts of desperate fury which give a man whilst it lasts the strength of ten. With a wild bound he sprang forward, bursting through the ranks of Indians like the track of a whirlwind, scattering them right and left, hewing, hacking, cutting! Roche was just behind or at his side; the two seemed invulnerable, irresistible, possessed of some supernatural strength. The Indians in amaze gave way right and left, and turned their attention to the flying men, who were easier to deal with than this strange couple. A shout went up that the devil was abroad, and the Indian, ever superstitious, shrank away from these stalwart figures, believing them to be denizens from some other world; whilst the French soldiers, who might have felt very differently, had not yet so far equipped themselves as to be ready to come out from their lines. Fritz had marked his line with care. Only upon one small section between lake and forest was there any possible passage without peril from the French lines, and that was by skirting the head of the lake just where their own intrenched camp, now almost in ruins, gave them shelter. The woodsman's and the Ranger's instinct kept true within him even in the confusion and darkness. He never deflected from his line. "This way! this way!" he called to Roche in smothered tones, as they heard the sound of the fight growing fainter behind them. He took the lad's hand, and plunged into the marshy hollow. He knew that none would follow them there; the ground was too treacherous. But there was a path known to himself which he could find blindfold by day or night. He pulled his comrade along with a fierce, wild haste, till at a certain point he paused. There was a little cavernous shelter in the midst of the morass, and here the pair sank down breathless and exhausted. "We are saved!" gasped Roche, clasping his comrade by the hand. "For the moment--yes," answered Fritz; "but what of afterwards?" Chapter 2: Escape. Young Roche lay face downwards upon the rocky floor of the little cavern, great sobs breaking from him which he was unable to restrain. Fritz, with a stern, set face, sat beside another prostrate figure--that of a man who looked more dead than alive, and whose head and arm were wrapped in linen bandages soaked through and through with blood. It was Captain Pringle, their friend and comrade in Fort William Henry, who had elected to remain with the garrison when the other two took part in a sortie and cut themselves a path to the forest. Had he remained with them, he might have fared better; he would at least have been spared the horrors of a scene which would now be branded forever upon his memory in characters of fire. What had happened to that ill-fated fort Fritz and Roche knew little as yet. They had heard the tremendous firing which had followed whilst they remained in hiding during the day the dawn of which had seen the last desperate sortie. They had at night seen flames which spoke of Indian campfires all round the place, and from the complete cessation of firing after two they concluded that terms of surrender had been made. They had meant to wander deeper and deeper into the forest, out of reach of possible peril from prowling Indians; but they had been unable to tear themselves away without learning more of the fate of the hapless fort and its garrison. At daybreak--or rather with the, first grey of dawn--they had crept through the brushwood as stealthily as Indians themselves, only to be made aware shortly that something horrible and terrible was going on. Yells and war whoops and the screech of Indian voices rose and clamoured through the silence of the forest, mingled with the shrieks of victims brutally massacred, and the shouts and entreaties of the French officers, who ran hither and thither seeking to restrain the brutal and savage treachery of their unworthy allies. Roche had lost his head, and would have rushed madly upon the scene of bloodshed and confusion; and Fritz must needs have followed, for he was not one to let a comrade go to his death alone: but before they had proceeded far, they met their comrade Pringle dashing through the forest, covered with wounds, and pursued by half a dozen screeching Indians, and in a moment they had sprung to his rescue. With a yell as fierce in its way as that of the Indians themselves they sprang upon the painted savages, and taking them unawares, they killed every one before the dusky and drunken sons of the forest had recovered from their surprise at being thus met and opposed. But plainly there was no time to lose. The forest was ringing with the awful war whoop. Their comrade was in no state for further fighting; he was almost too far gone even for flight. They seized him one by each arm; they dashed along through the tangled forest by an unfrequented track known to Fritz, half leading, half carrying him the while. The din and the horrid clamour grew fainter in their ears. No pursuing footsteps gave them cause to pause to defend themselves. The centre of excitement round the fort drew the human wolves, as carrion draws vultures. The forest was dim and silent and deserted as the fugitives pursued their way through it. From time to time the wounded man dropped some words full of horror and despair. Young Roche, new to these fearful border wars, was almost overcome by this broken narrative, realizing the fearful fate which had overtaken so many of his brave comrades of the past weeks. When at last they reached the little cave for which Fritz was heading, and where they felt that for the moment at least they were safe, he could only throw himself along the ground in an agony of grief and physical exhaustion: whilst the hardier Fritz bathed the wounds of their unfortunate comrade, binding them up with no small skill, and refreshing him with draughts of water from the pool hard by, which was all the sick man desired at this moment. All three comrades were exhausted to the uttermost, and for a long while nothing broke the silence of the dim place save the long-drawn, gasping sobs of the lad. Gradually these died away into silence, and Fritz saw that both his companions slept--the fitful sleep of overwrought nature. Yet he was thankful even for that. Moving softly about he lighted a fire, and having captured one of the wild turkeys which were plentiful in the forest at that season, he proceeded to prepare a meal for them when they should awake. Roche slept on and on, as the young will do when nature has been tried to her extreme limits; but Pringle presently opened his eyes, and looked feebly about him. Fritz had a little weak broth to offer him by that time, and after drinking it the Captain looked a little less wan and ghastly. "Where are we?" he asked, in a weak voice; "and how many are there of us?" "We have only Roche with us. We have been in the forest since the sortie when we cut our way out. We met you the next day with half a dozen Indians at your heels. We know nothing save what you have spoken of treachery and massacre. Can it be true that the French permitted such abominations? The forest was ringing with the Indian war whoops and the screams of their wretched victims!" A shudder ran through Pringle's frame. "It is too true," he said; "it is horrible--unspeakably horrible! Yet we must not blame the French too much. They did what they could to prevent it. Indeed, I heard the Marquis de Montcalm himself bidding the Indians kill him, but spare the English garrison, which had surrendered, and had been promised all the honours of war and a safe escort to Fort Edward." "If men will stoop to use fiends to do their work," said Fritz sternly, "they must expect to be disgraced and defied by these fiends, over whom they have no sort of influence. If men will use unworthy instruments, they must take the consequences." "Yes; but the consequences have been the massacre of our hapless sick and wounded, and scenes of horror at thought of which my blood curdles. They have fallen upon us, not upon them." "For the moment, yes," said Fritz, still in the same stern tone; "but, Pringle, there is a God above us who looks down upon these things, and who will not suffer such deeds to pass unavenged. We are His children; we bear His name. We look to Him in the dark moments of despair and overthrow. I am sure that He will hear and answer. He will not suffer these crimes against humanity and civilization to go unpunished. He will provide the instrument for the overthrow of the power which can deal thus treacherously, even though the treachery may be that of their allies, and not their own. It is they who employ such unworthy tools. They must bear the responsibility when these things happen." There was a long silence between the two men then, after which Pringle said: "If they had only sent us reinforcements! I know that we shall hear later on that the reserves were on their way. Why do we do everything a month or more too late? It has been the ruin of our western frontier from first to last. We are never ready!" "No; that has been the mistake so far, but I think it will not always be so. There is an able man in England now whose hands are on the helm; and though full power is not his as yet, he can and will do much, they say. Even the more astute of the French begin to dread the name of Pitt. I think that the tide will turn presently, and we shall see our victorious foes flying before us like chaff before the wind." "You think that?" "I do. I have seen and heard much of the methods of France in the south--her ambition, her presumption, her weakness. Here in the north she has a firmer grip, and Canada is her stronghold. But if once we can shake her power there, all will be gone. They say that Pitt knows this, and that his eyes are upon the Western world. France has her hands full at home. A great war is raging in Europe. A few well-planted blows, ably directed from beyond the sea by England herself, might do untold harm to her western provinces. I hope to live to see the day when those blows will be given." Young Roche began to stir in his sleep, and presently sat up, bewildered and perplexed; but soon recollection swept over him, and he stumbled to his feet, and joined the other two by the fire. "Tell us all," he said, as they began to think of supper; for he and Fritz had scarcely broken their fast all day, and nature was now asserting her needs. "I would learn all, horrible though it is. Tell us--did Fort William Henry surrender?" "Yes; there was nothing else for it. New batteries opened upon us, as well as the old ones. There was a great breach in the wall which could have been carried by assault at any moment, and our guns were all burst, save a few of the smaller ones. They gave us lenient terms. We were to march out with the honours of war, and keep one of our guns; they were to give us safe escort to Fort Edward; we were to take our baggage with us. The Marquis showed himself a generous foe--of him we have reason to think well; but the Indians, and even the Canadians--well. I will come to that in its turn. Thank Heaven, I did not see too much; what I did see will haunt me to my dying day!" The lad's eyes dilated. It was terrible; but he wanted to hear all. "All was arranged. The French soldiers marched in and took possession. We marched out to the intrenched camp to join our comrades there, who, of course, had been included in the capitulation. In the charge of the French we left our sick, who could not march. Hardly had we gone before the Indians swarmed in in search of plunder, and finding little--for, as you know, there was little to find--they instantly began to murder the sick, rushing hither and thither, yelling wildly, waving scalps in their hands!" "And the French allowed it!" exclaimed Roche, setting his teeth hard; for he had friends and comrades lying sick at the fort when he left it. "It was done so quickly they might not have known. One missionary was there, and rushed hither and thither seeking to stay them; but he might as well have spoken to the wild waves of the sea in a storm. But that was not all. In an hour or so they were clamouring and swarming all round the camp, and the French soldiers told off for our protection either could not or would not keep them out. Montcalm, in great anxiety, came over himself seeking to restore order; but the Indians were drunk with blood, and would not listen to him. He begged us to stave in our rum barrels, which was instantly done; but the act provoked the savages, and they pounced upon our baggage, which had been reserved to us by the terms of the treaty. We appealed to the Marquis; but he advised us to give it up. "'I am doing all I can,' he said to Colonel Monro; 'but I shall be only too happy if I can prevent a massacre!'" "Horrible!" ejaculated the young lieutenant. "Oh, better, far better, to have held the fort and perished in open fight than to be set upon in cold blood by those fiends!" "Yes," quoth Pringle sternly; "that is what we felt and said. But it was too late then. The Indians were all amongst us. They were here, there, and everywhere. They got hold of the long hair of the women and the terrified children, and drew their scalping knives and menaced them till they shrieked and cried aloud in abject terror--" Pringle paused; a spasm of horror shook him. After a brief pause he recommenced in more rapid tones: "Why prolong the tale? it has lasted already too long. No proper guard was provided for us. Why I cannot tell, for the Marquis was truly horrified at what was going on. Perhaps he thought the steps he had taken were sufficient, or that the rage of the Indians was appeased; but be that as it might, when we marched out towards Fort Edward, we had no efficient protection, and the Indians were all round us, snatching at caps and coats, and forcing the soldiers to give them rum from their canteens, every drop of which seemed to add fuel to the fire." "And you had no escort?" "None of any efficacy. Monro, our gallant Colonel, went back to the French camp to protest and petition; but while he was gone the spark kindled. "It was the Anenaki chief who first raised the war whoop, and the effect was instantaneous. They sprang upon us like fiends. They seized the shrieking women and children and bore them off to the woods, killing and scalping them as they ran. We had guns, but no ammunition, and were almost exhausted with what we had been through. "In a moment all was a scene of indescribable horror and confusion. I can only speak of what I saw myself. I was set upon by the savages; but I could give blow for blow. They sprang after others less able to defend themselves. I saw a little lad rush screaming through the wood. I at once ran after him, and knocked down his pursuer. He clung about me, begging me to save him. I took his hand, and we dashed into the forest together. "As we did so, I was aware that some French officers, with the Marquis de Montcalm, were rushing up to try to appease the tumult; but I doubt me if their words produced any effect. The boy and I ran on together. Then out dashed a dozen or more warriors upon us, with scalps in their hands--a sight horrible to behold. I set the boy against a tree, and stood before him; but they were all round us. I felt his despairing, clutching hands torn from round my waist whilst I was hacking and hewing down the men in front. I heard the shriek of agony and the gurgling cry as the tomahawk descended upon his head. "I knew that he was dead, and the rage which filled me drove me on and on with the strength of madness. I had lost the sense of direction. I only knew that I had burst through the ring of my assailants, and that I was running my headlong course with the whole pack of them yelling at my heels. Now and again a cry from right or left would divert one or another of my pursuers, but some of them held resolutely on, and I knew that my strength must eventually give out, and that only a horrible death awaited me. "Then it was that I heard shouts in the English tongue, and knew that some person or persons had come to my rescue. But my eyes were full of blood, and my senses were well nigh failing. It was only by degrees I came to know who had saved my life. I shall never forget it, though I cannot say what is in my heart." He held out his hand first to one and then to the other of his comrades, and they grasped it warmly. Roche lifted his right hand and shook it upwards. "May Heaven give me the chance to revenge this day's work upon the foes of England! May the time come when France shall drink deep of that cup of suffering and humiliation which she has caused us to drink withal; and may I be there to see!" And yet, before many months had passed, Roche and his companions had reason to know that their foes could be chivalrous and generous to an enemy in distress. The comrades lay in close hiding for many days, until the work of demolishing the hapless fort had been accomplished, and the French, together with their savage allies, had withdrawn back to their own lines at Ticonderoga. There was no dash made upon Fort Edward, as might well have been the case. Satisfied with what he had accomplished, and under orders to permit the Canadian troops to return home in time to gather in the harvest, the Marquis de Montcalm withdrew his forces when his task was finished. Possibly he felt that victory was too dearly purchased at the cost of such horrors as had followed the capture of Fort William Henry. Pringle recovered from his wounds, which, though numerous, were none of them severe. The spell of rest was welcome to all after the fatigues and privations of the siege. Fritz was an expert huntsman, and kept their larder well stocked; and when they were ready to travel, he was able to lead them safely through the forest, towards the haunts where Rogers and his Rangers were likely to be met with. It was upon a clear September afternoon that they first met white men, or indeed human beings of any kind; for they had sedulously avoided falling in with Indians, and the loneliness of the forest had become a little oppressive to Pringle and Roche, although they were eager to learn the arts of woodcraft, and were proving apt pupils. They were both going to volunteer to join Rogers' bold band of Rangers, for they had grown almost disheartened at the regular army service, where one blunder and disaster was invariably capped by another; and the life of the Rangers did at least give scope for personal daring and adventure, and might enable them to strike a blow now and again at the enemy who had wrought them such woe. They heard themselves hailed one day out of the heart of the forest by a cheery English voice. "What ho! who goes there?" "Friend to Rogers and his Rangers!" called back Fritz, in the formula of the forest, and the next minute a bronzed and bright-faced, handsome man had sprung lightly out of the thicket, and stood before them. He was a stranger to Fritz, but something in his dress and general aspect proclaimed him to be a Ranger, and he grasped Fritz by the hand warmly. "You come in good time to give us news. We have been far afield--almost as far as Niagara itself. We hear rumours of disaster and treachery; but hitherto we have had no certain tidings. Is it true that Fort William Henry has fallen?" The tale was told once again, other Rangers crowding round to hear. Pringle was naturally the spokesman, and Fritz, singling out from the group a man whom he had known before, asked him who the gallant-looking stranger was who seemed like the leader of a band. "That is Lord Howe," was the answer. "He came out from England to fight the French; but the expedition to Louisbourg came to nothing through delay and mismanagement. He landed, and whilst waiting for further orders from home he has joined the Rangers, in order to learn their methods of fighting. Never was hardier or braver man, or one more cheerful and blithe. Even the stern Rogers himself unbends when he is near. He has been the very life of our party since he has joined us." Fritz soon found that this was no exaggeration. Howe was a splendid comrade and Ranger, full of courage, the hardiest of the hardy, never failing in spirits whatever were the hardships of the life, and showing such aptitude for generalship and command that already he had made his mark amongst the hardy Rangers, and was entrusted with enterprises of difficulty and danger. It was not much that could be done against the foe with the inclement winter season approaching. The snow fell early. The Canadians and regulars had gone into winter quarters; but there was still a garrison in Ticonderoga, and to harass and despoil that garrison was the pastime of the Rangers. They stole beneath the walls upon the frozen lake. They carried off cattle, and made banquets off their carcasses. If they could not do with all the meat themselves, they would leave the carcasses at the foot of the walls, sometimes with mocking letters attached to the horns. Thus, after a more than usually successful raid, when they had taken two prisoners and driven off a number of head of cattle, they tied to the horns of one of the slain beasts the following words, written large for all to read. "I am obliged to you, sir, for the rest you have allowed me to take, and for the fresh meat you have supplied me with. I shall take good care of my prisoners. My compliments to the Marquis de Montcalm. "--(Signed) "ROGERS." But in spite of these successful raids, a misfortune was in store for the gallant Rangers in the early spring which broke up and scattered their band for that season, and spread throughout the district the false report of Rogers' death. Captain Hebecourt was commanding the French at Ticonderoga, and in March he received large reinforcements of Canadians and Indians, and the latter instantly detected recent marks of snowshoes in the vicinity betraying the neighbourhood of white men. An attack was therefore organized to try to rid the place of the pestilent Rangers, as the French called them; whilst, as it so happened, the Rangers had no knowledge of the reinforcements which had come in to the fort. Rogers' fault was ever a daring rashness, and when one day he and his little band saw the advance of a party of Indians, he drew his men under cover and greeted them with a hot and fatal fire. But this was only the advance guard. Unknown and unguessed at by Rogers, the large body behind was approaching, and the next moment the whole place was echoing with triumphant yells, as the pursuing Rangers were met by a compact force outnumbering them by four to one, who sprang furiously upon them, trying to hack them to pieces. Rogers, gallantly backed by Lord Howe, who had all the instinct of the true general, recalled them hastily and formed them up on the slope of a hill, where they made a gallant stand, and drove back the enemy again and again. But outnumbered as they were, it was a terrible struggle, and Ranger after Ranger dropped at his post; whilst at last the cry was raised that the foe had surrounded them upon the rear, and nothing was left them but to take to the forest in flight. "To the woods, men, to the woods!" shouted Rogers. "Leave me, and every man for himself!" Indeed it was soon impossible for any party to keep together. It was just one dash from tree to tree for bare life, seeking to evade the wily foe, and seeing brave comrades drop at every turn. Rogers, Howe, and about twenty fine fellows were making a running fight for it along the crest of the ridge. Pringle, Roche, and Fritz were separated from these, but kept together, and by the use of all their strength and sagacity succeeded in eluding the Indians and hiding themselves in the snow-covered forest. All was desolation around them. A heavy snowstorm gathered and burst. They were hopelessly separated from their comrades, and Fritz, who was their guide in woodcraft, was wounded in the head, and in a strangely dazed condition. "I can take you to Rogers' camp, nevertheless," he kept repeating. "We must not lie down, or we shall die. But I can find the road--I can find the road. I know the forest in all its aspects; I shall not lose the way." It was a terrible night. They had no food but a little ginger which Pringle chanced to have in his pocket, and a bit of a sausage that Roche had secreted about him. The snow drifted in their faces. They were wearied to death, yet dared not lie down; and though always hoping to reach the spot where Fritz declared that Rogers was certain to be found, they discovered, when the grey light of morning came, that they had only fetched a circle, and were at the place they had started from, in perilous proximity to the French fort. Yet as they gazed at one another in mute despair a more terrible thing happened. The Indian war whoop sounded loud in their ears, and a band of savages dashed out upon them. Before they could attempt resistance in their numbed state, they were surrounded and carried off captive. "We can die like men; that is all that is left to us!" said Pringle, pressing up to Roche to whisper in his ear. "Heaven grant they kill us quickly; it is the only grace we can hope for now." Dizzy and faint and exhausted, they were hurried along by their captors they knew not whither. They had come out from the forest, and the sun was beginning to shine round them, when they suddenly heard a voice shouting out something the meaning of which they could not catch; and the next moment a body of white men came running up wearing the familiar uniform of French soldiers and officers. "Uncle!" cried a lad's clear voice, speaking in French, a language perfectly intelligible to Fritz, "that tall man there is the one who saved Corinne and me in the forest that day when we were surrounded and nearly taken by the Rangers. Get him away from the Indians; they shall not have him! He saved us from peril once; we must save him now." "Assuredly, my son," came the response, in a full, sonorous voice; and Fritz, rallying his failing powers, shook off for a moment the mists which seemed to enwrap him, and saw that a fine-looking man of benevolent aspect, wearing the habit of an ecclesiastic, was speaking earnestly to the Indians who had them in their hands, whilst several French officers and soldiers had formed up round them. There was some quick and rather excited talk between the Abbe and the dusky savages; but he appeared to prevail with them at length, and Fritz heard the order given: "Take these men into the fort, and give them every care and attention. I shall come later to see how my orders have been carried out." The men saluted. They cut the cords which bound the prisoners. They led them away kindly enough. The lad who had first spoken pressed up to the side of Fritz. "I will take care of you, and my uncle will heal your wound. You remember how Corinne promised some day to return the good favour that you did us. You are our guests; you are not prisoners. My uncle, the Abbe, has said so, and no one will dare to dispute his word. He is the Abbe de Messonnier, whom all the world loves and reveres." Chapter 3: Albany. "You are not our prisoner," said Colin; "you and your friends are our guests, welcome to stay or go as you will. Only we hope and desire that you will not go forth into the forest again until the snow has melted, and you are sound and whole once more." The bright-faced boy was seated beside the bed whereon lay Fritz, who felt like a man awakening from a long, strange, and rather frightful dream. He had become unconscious almost immediately after their rescue three days before, and had only now recovered the use of his faculties and the memory of recent events. "You had a bad wound on the side of your head when we found you," explained Colin. "My uncle, the Abbe, says that had it been left much longer untended you must have died. He is an excellent surgeon himself, having learned much as to the treatment of wounds and bruises and sicknesses of all kinds. He is well pleased with its appearance now, and with your state of health. He says that you Rangers are marvellous tough customers, whether as soldiers or as patients. You take a great deal of killing!" Fritz smiled in response to the boy's bright look, but there was anxiety in his face too. "Can you tell me aught of the Rangers?" he said. "You, doubtless, know how we were set upon and dispersed a few days back." "Yes; and our Captain of the fort is right glad at it," said the boy, "for Rogers led him a dog's life with his raids and robberies. But all is fair in love and war, and it is not for us to complain of what we ourselves have provoked and should do in like circumstances. Nevertheless there is rejoicing at Ticonderoga that the Rangers are dispersed and broken for the present. We were beginning to fear lest they should take away from us all our provision and cut off our supplies." "Do you know how many were slain?" "No; but it must have been a considerable number. I am sorry myself. I delight in all brave deeds of daring, and it is the Rangers who have shown themselves the heroes of this campaign. At first they said Rogers himself had been killed, but that has since been contradicted. For myself I do not believe it. The dead were carefully examined by one who knew Rogers well, and he declares there is no corpse that in any way resembles him; and others declare that he was seen escaping to the forest, fighting every inch of the way, with a resolute little band around him whom none cared to follow." "I myself saw something of that," answered Fritz; "but it all seems like a dream of long ago. Tell me now of those who were with me--Captain Pringle and the lad Roche. Are they here, and unhurt of the Indians?" "They are sound and well, and though sorely exhausted by cold and hunger and fatigue when they were brought in, are fully recovered now. Captain Pringle is quite a hero with us, for he has told us all the story of that disgraceful and dishonourable day of August last when the laurels of France were sorely tarnished by the treacherous villainy of her Indian allies! Believe me, friend Fritz, we men of France deplore that massacre, and cry shame upon ourselves and our countrymen for not taking sterner measures to repress it. For that reason alone, as mine uncle says, we owe to you and to your companions every honour and courtesy which we can show. If we have sometimes to blush for the conduct of our allies, we can show that we are capable of better things ourselves; and if we can make reparation ever so little, you will not find us backward in doing it." This indeed seemed to be the feeling of those within the fort. Although these men were Rangers, part of the band which had harassed them so sorely through the winter months, the garrison received them with open arms, ministered to their wants, and vied with one another in making them at home. The influence of the venerable Abbe might have had something to do with this; but it was greatly due to the chivalry of the French nature, and to the eager desire to show kindness to those who had witnessed and suffered from that awful tragedy which had followed upon the surrender of Fort William Henry, which they felt to be a lasting disgrace to their cause. Those of the officers who had been there averred that they could never forget the horror of those two days; and the French surgeon who had taken over the English sick and wounded, and yet saw them butchered before his eyes ere he could even call for help, had never been the same man since. So when Fritz was able to rise from his bed and join his companions, he found himself in pleasant enough quarters, surrounded by friendly faces, and made much of by all in the fort. He, being able to speak French fluently, made himself a great favorite with the men, and he enjoyed many long conversations with the Abbe, who was a man of much acumen and discernment, and saw more clearly the course which events were likely to take than did those amongst whom he lived. From him Fritz learned that affairs in Canada were looking very grave. There were constant difficulties arising between the various officials there, and the most gross corruption existed in financial affairs, so that there was a rottenness that was eating like a canker into the heart of the colony, despite its outward aspect of prosperity. France was burdened by foreign wars and could do little for her dependencies beyond the sea; whilst England was beginning to awake from her apathy, and she had at her helm now a man who understood as no statesman there had done before him the value to her of these lands beyond the sea. "I have always maintained," the Abbe would say, "that in spite of all her blunders, which blunders and tardinesses are still continuing, there is a spirit in your English colonies which will one day rise triumphant, and make you a foe to be feared and dreaded. You move with the times; we stand still. You teach and learn independence and self government; we depend wholly upon a King who cares little for us and a country that is engrossed in other matters, and has little thought to spend upon our perils and our troubles. You are growing, and, like a young horse or bullock, you do not know yet how to use your strength. You are unbroken to yoke and halter; you waste your energy in plunging and butting when you should be utilizing it to some good end. Yet mark my words, the day is coming when you will learn to answer to the rein; when you will use your strength reasonably and for a great end and then shall we have cause to tremble before you!" Fritz listened and partly understood, and could admire the man who spoke so boldly even when he depreciated the power of his own people. He grew to love and revere the Abbe not a little, and when the day came for them to say farewell, it was with real sorrow he spoke his adieu. "You have been very good to us, my father," he said. "I hope the day may come when we may be able to show our gratitude." "Like enough it will, my son," answered the Abbe gently; "I have little doubt that it will. If not to me, yet to my children and countrymen. For the moment the laurels of victory remain in our hands; but the tide may some day turn. If so, then remember to be merciful and gentle to those who will be in your power. I think that the English have ever shown themselves generous foes; I think they will continue to show themselves such in the hour of victory." It was with hearts much cheered and strengthened that the comrades went forth from Ticonderoga. Colin and a few French soldiers accompanied them for some distance. They did not propose to try to seek Rogers or his scattered Rangers; there was no knowing where they would now be found. Fritz had decided to push back to Fort Edward, and so to Albany, the quaint Dutch settlement which had been the basis of recent operations, being the town nearest to the western frontier at this point. There they would be certain to get news of what was going on in the country, and for a short time it would be pleasant to dwell amid the haunts of men, instead of in these remote fastnesses of the forest. "I hope we shall meet again," said Colin, as he held Fritz's hand in a last clasp. "I am not altogether French. I find that I can love the English well. Quebec will be my home before long. Corinne is there already, and my uncle and I will return there shortly. It is a fine city, such as you have hardly seen in your wanderings so far. I would I could show it you. Some say the English have an eye upon it, as the key to Canada. In sooth I think they would find it a hard nut to crack. We of the city call it impregnable. But come you in peace there, and I will show it you with joy." They parted with a smile and a warm clasp, little guessing how they would meet next. The journey to Albany was uneventful. The travellers met with no misadventures, and upon a sunny April evening drew near to the pleasant little town, smiling in the soft sunshine of a remarkably warm evening. It presented a singularly peaceful appearance. The fort was on the hill behind, and seemed to stand sentinel for the little township it was there to protect. The wide grassy road ran down towards the river, its row of quaint Dutch houses broken by a group of finer and more imposing buildings, including the market, the guard house, the town hall, and two churches. The houses were not built in rows, but each stood in its own garden, possessing its well, its green paddock, and its own overshadowing tree or trees. They were quaintly built, with timbered fronts, and great projecting porches where the inhabitants gathered at the close of the day, to discuss the news and to gossip over local or provincial affairs. As the travellers entered the long, wide street, their eyes looked upon a pleasant, homely scene--the cows straying homeward, making music with their bells, stopping each at her own gate to be milked; the children hanging around, porringer in hand, waiting for the evening meal; matrons and the elder men gathered in groups round the doors and in the porches; young men wrestling or arguing in eager groups; and the girls gathered together chatting and laughing, throwing smiling glances towards their brothers and lovers as they strove for victory in some feat of skill or strength. It was difficult to believe that so peaceful a scene could exist in a country harassed by war, or that these settlers could carry on their lives in so serene and untroubled a fashion with the dread war cloud hovering in the sky above. There was one house which stood a little apart from the others, and wore a rather more imposing aspect, although, like all the rest, it was of a quaint and home-like appearance. It stood a little back from the main streets and its porch was wider and larger, whilst the garden in front was laid out with a taste and care which bespoke both skill and a love for nature's products. The travellers were slowly wending their way past this house, debating within themselves where to stop for the night, and just beginning to attract the attention of the inhabitants, when a voice hailed them eagerly from the wide porch. "Fritz Neville, or I'm a Dutchman myself! And Pringle and Roche as well! Why, man, we thought we had left you dead in the forest. We saw you cut off from us and surrounded. We never had a hope of seeing you alive again. This is a happy meeting, in truth!" Fritz started at the sound of his name, and the next minute had made a quick forward hound, his face shining all over. It was Lord Howe who had hailed him--the bold, joyous young Viscount beloved by all who knew him. The comrades shook hands again and again as they eagerly exchanged greetings. "Oh, we got away to the forest, Rogers and Stark and I, and a score or more. Other stragglers kept dropping in and joining us, and many more, as we found later, had made their way back to Fort Edward. But nowhere could we learn news of you. Come in, come in; you will be welcomed warmly by my kind hostess, Mrs. Schuyler. She has been the friend and mother of all English fugitives in their destitution and need. I have a home with her here for the present, till the army from England and the levies from the provinces arrive. Come in, good comrades, and do not fear; there will be a warm welcome here for you." They followed Howe to the house, and found that he had not deceived them as to the welcome they would receive. Colonel Schuyler was a great man in Albany, and his wife was deservedly respected and beloved. Just now the Colonel was absent on duties connected with the coming campaign, in which Albany was becoming keenly interested. The neighbouring provinces, particularly that of Massachusetts, had awakened at last from lethargy, and the inhabitants were bestirring themselves with zeal, if not always with discretion. The Colonel, who had warmly embraced the English cause, was doing what he could there to raise arms and men, and his wife at home was playing her part in caring for the fugitives who kept passing through on their way from the forest, both after the massacre at Fort William Henry, and after the rout of the Rangers. Rogers himself was too restless a being to remain in the haunts of civilization. He and a few picked men were again off to the forest. But Stark, who had been wounded, and Lord Howe, who was awaiting orders from England as to his position in command during the approaching campaign, remained as guests with Mrs. Schuyler; and she at once begged that Fritz and his companions would do the same, since her house was roomy, and she desired to do all in her power for those who were about to risk their lives in the endeavour to suppress the terrible Indian raids, and to crush the aggressions of those who used these raids as a means of obtaining their own aggrandizement. It was a pleasant house to stay in, and Mrs. Schuyler was like a mother to them all. For Lord Howe she entertained a warm affection, which he requited with a kindred feeling. All was excitement in Albany now. General Abercromby was on the way to take the command of the forces; but Lord Howe was to have a position of considerable importance, and it was whispered by those who knew what went on behind the scenes that it was to his skill and courage and military prowess that Pitt really looked. He received private dispatches by special messengers, and his bright young face was full of purpose and lofty courage. The Massachusetts levies began to assemble, and Howe took the raw lads in hand, and began to drill them with a wonderful success. But it was no play work to be under such a commander. They had come for once rather well provided with clothing and baggage; but Howe laughed aloud at the thought of soldiers encumbering themselves with more impedimenta than was actually needful. The long, heavy-skirted coats which the soldiers wore, both regulars and provincials, excited his ridicule, as did also the long hair plaited into a queue behind and tied with ribbons. His own hair he had long since cut short to his head--a fashion speedily imitated by officers and men alike, who all adored him. He suggested that skirtless coats would be more easy to march in than the heavy ones in vogue, and forthwith all the skirts were cut off, and the coats became short jackets, scarcely reaching the waist. The men laughed at their droll appearance, but felt the freedom and increased marching power; and as Lord Howe wore just such a coat himself, who could complain? He wore leggings of leather, such as were absolutely needful to forest journeys, and soon his men did the same. No women were to be allowed to follow his contingent; and as for washing of clothes, why, Lord Howe was seen going down to the river side to wash his own, and the fashion thus set was followed enthusiastically by his men. If their baggage was cut down to a minimum, they were each ordered to carry thirty pounds of meal in a bag; so that it was soon seen that Lord Rowe's contingent could not only walk further and faster in march than any other, but that it would be independent of the supply trains for pretty nearly a month. They carried their own bread material, and the forest would always supply meat. Fritz was ever forward to carry out the wishes and act as the right hand of the hardy Brigadier; for that was Lord Howe's military rank. Pringle and Roche served under him, too, and there was a warm bond growing up betwixt officers and men, and a feeling of enthusiasm which seemed to them like an augury of victory to come. "Our business is to fight the foe--to do our duty whether we live or die," Howe would say to his men. "We have failed before; we may fail again. Never mind; we shall conquer at last. With results the soldier has nothing to do. Remember that. He does his duty. He sticks to his post. He obeys his commands. Do that, men; and whether we conquer or die, we shall have done our duty, and that is all our country asks of us." And now the long days of June had come, and all were eager for the opening campaign. Ticonderoga was to be attacked. To wrest from the French some of their strong holds on the western English border--to break their power in the sight of the Indians--was a thing that was absolutely necessary to the life of the New England colonies and the other provinces under English rule. Fort Edward still remained to her, though Oswego and William Henry had fallen and were demolished. The capture of Ticonderoga would be a blow to France which would weaken her immensely, and lower her prestige with the Indians, which was now a source of great danger to the English colonists. The story of the massacre after the surrender of Fort William Henry had made a profound impression throughout the English-speaking provinces, and had awakened a longing after vengeance which in itself had seemed almost like an earnest of victory. And now the regular troops began to muster and pour in, and Albany was all excitement and enthusiasm; for the Dutch had by that time come to have a thorough distrust of France, and to desire the victory of the English arms only less ardently than the English themselves. Mrs. Schuyler, as usual, opened her doors wide to receive as many of the officers as she was able whilst the final preparations were being made. And upon a soft midsummer evening Lord Howe appeared in the supper room, bringing with him two fine-looking officers--one grey headed, the other young and ardent--and introducing them to his hostess and those assembled round the table as Major Duncan Campbell, the Laird of Inverawe, in Scotland; with his son Alexander, a Lieutenant of the Highland force. Young Alexander was seated next to Fritz at table, and began an eager conversation with him. Talk surged to and fro that night. Excitement prevailed everywhere. But Fritz observed that Major Campbell sat very grave and silent, and that even Lord Howe's efforts to draw him into conversation proved unavailing. Mrs. Schuyler also tried, but with little success, to make the veteran talk. He answered with grave courtesy all remarks made to him, but immediately lapsed into a sombre abstraction, from which it seemed difficult to rouse him. At the end of the supper Lord Howe rose to his feet, made a dashing little speech to the company, full of fire and enthusiasm, and proposed the toast: "Success to the expedition against Ticonderoga!" Fritz happened to be looking at the grave, still face of Major Campbell, and as these words were spoken he saw a sudden spasm pass across it. The soldier rose suddenly to his feet, took up his glass for a moment, put it down untasted, and with a bow to his hostess pushed aside his chair, and strode from the room in an access of visible emotion. Lord Howe looked after him a moment, and draining his glass, seemed about to go after the guest; but young Alexander, from the other side of the table, made him a sign, and he sat down again. The incident, however, seemed to act like the breaking up of the supper party, and the guests rose and left the table, dispersing quickly to look after bag or baggage or some last duty, till only Mrs. Schuyler, Lord Howe, Fritz, and Lieutenant Campbell were left in the supper room. It was then that young Alexander looked round and said, "It was the name you spoke which affected my father so strangely--the fatal name of Ticonderoga!" "Fatal! how fatal?" asked Lord Howe quickly. "You have not heard the strange story, then?" "No; what story?" "It concerns my father; it is the cause of his melancholy. When you have heard it you will not perhaps wonder, though to you the incident may seem incredible." "I have learned that there are many things in this world which are wonderful and mysterious, yet which it is folly to disbelieve," answered Howe. "Let us hear your story, Campbell. I would not have spoken words to hurt your father could I have known." "I am sure you would not; but hear the tale, and you will know why that name sounds in his ears like a death knell. "Long years ago it must have been when I was but a little child--my father was sitting alone over the fire in our home at Inverawe; a wild, strange place that I love as I love no other spot on earth. He was in the great hall, and, suddenly there came a knocking at the door, loud and imperative. He opened, and there stood a man without, wild and dishevelled, who told how he had slain a man in a fray, and was flying from his pursuers. "'Give me help and shelter!' he implored; and my father drew him in and closed the door, and promised to hide him. 'Swear on your dirk not to give me up!' he implored; and my father swore, though with him his word was ever his bond. He hid the fugitive in a secret place, and hardly had he done so before there was another loud knocking at the door. "This time it was the pursuers, hot on the track of the murderer. 'He has slain your cousin Donald,' they told him. 'He cannot be far away. We are hunting for him. Can you help us?' My father was in a great strait; but he remembered his oath, and though he sent out servants to help in the search, he would not give up to justice the man who had trusted him." "And he was right," said Lord Howe quickly; "I honour and respect him for that." "It may be so, yet it is against the traditions of our house and race," answered Alexander gravely; "and that night my father woke suddenly from a troubled dream to see the ghost of his murdered kinsman standing at his bedside. The spectre spoke to him in urgent tones: "'Inverawe, Inverawe, blood has been shed; shield not the murderer!' "Unable to sleep, my father rose, and went to the fugitive and told him he could not shelter him longer. 'You swore on your dirk!' replied the miserable man; and my father, admitting the oath not to betray him, led him away in the darkness and hid him in a mountain cave known to hardly any save himself. "That night once more the spectre came and spoke the same words, 'Inverawe, Inverawe, blood has been shed; shield not the murderer!' The vision troubled my father greatly. At daybreak he went once more to the cave; but the man was gone--whither he never knew. He went home, and again upon the third night the ghostly figure stood beside him; but this time he was less stern of voice and aspect. "He spoke these words, 'Farewell, Inverawe; farewell, till we meet at Ticonderoga.' Then it vanished, and he has never seen it since." "Ticonderoga!" repeated Lord Howe, and looked steadily at Alexander, who proceeded: "That was the word. My father had never heard it before. The sound of it was so strange that he wrote it down; and when I was a youth of perhaps seventeen summers, and had become a companion to him, he told me the whole story, and we pondered together as to what and where Ticonderoga could be. Years had passed since he saw the vision, and he had never heard the name from that day. I had not heard it either--then." The faces of the listeners were full of grave interest. The strangeness of the coincidence struck them all. "And then?" queried Howe, after a silence. "Then came the news of this war, and some Highland regiments were ordered off. My father and I were amongst those to go. We were long in hearing what our destination was to be. We had landed upon these shores before we heard that the expedition to which we were attached was bound for Ticonderoga." Again there was silence, which Mrs. Schuyler broke by asking gently: "And your father thinks that there is some doom connected with that name?" "He is convinced that be will meet his death there," replied Alexander, "and I confess I fear the same myself." Nobody spoke for a minute, and then Mrs. Schuyler said softly: "It is a strange, weird story; yet it cannot but be true. No man could guess at such a name. Ticonderoga, Ticonderoga. I wonder what will be the end of that day!" "And what matters the end if we do our duty to the last?" spoke Lord Howe, lifting his bright young face and throwing back his head with a gesture that his friends knew well. "A man can but die once. For my part, I only ask to die sword in hand and face to the foe, doing my duty to my country, my heart at peace with God. That is the spirit with which we soldiers must go into battle. We are sent there by our country; we fight for her. If need be we die for her. Can we ask a nobler death? For myself I do not. Let it come to me at Ticonderoga, or wherever Providence wills, I will not shrink or fear. Give me only the power to die doing my duty, and I ask no more." There was a beautiful light in his great hazel eyes, a sweet smile hovered round his lips. Fritz, looking at him, seemed to see something in his face which he had scarcely noted before--a depth, a serenity, a beauty quite apart from the dashing gallantry of look and bearing which was his most salient characteristic. Into the eyes of Mrs. Schuyler there had sprung sudden tears. She went over to the young man and laid a hand upon his head. "Thank God that our soldiers still go into battle in that spirit; that they make their peace with Him before they draw sword upon their fellow men. A soldier's life is a strange paradox; yet God, who is the God of battles as well as Prince of Peace, knows and understands. He will bless the righteous cause, though He may call to rest many a gallant soldier, and still in death many an ardent young heart. But however mysteriously He works, we are instruments in His hands. Let us strive to be worthy of that honour, and then we shall know that we are helping to bring nearer His kingdom upon earth, which, when once set up, shall bring in a reign of peace, where war shall be no more." "Amen, with all my heart!" quoth Lord Howe, and there was a light in his eyes which bespoke that, soldier though he was to his fingertips, he was no stranger to the hope of the eternal peace which the Lord alone can give. Mrs. Schuyler was not a demonstrative woman in daily life; but when her guest rose to say goodnight upon this last evening, she kissed him as a mother might, and he kissed her back with words of tender gratitude and affection. And so the night fell upon the town of Albany--the night before the march to Ticonderoga. Chapter 4: Ticonderoga. A joyous farewell to friends at Albany, with anticipation of a speedy and victorious return thither; a rapid and well-arranged march to Fort Edward and Lake George, where they were gladdened by the sight of the hardy Rogers and the remnant of his gallant band, embarked in whaleboats, and ready to lead the van or perform any daring service asked of them; a cheerful embarking upon the lake in the great multitude of boats and bateaux; bright sunshine overhead, the sound of military music in their ears, flags waving, men cheering and shouting--what expedition could have started under happier and more joyous auspices? There were regulars from England--the foremost being the Fifty-fifth, commanded by Lord Howe. There were American and Highland regiments, and the provincials from numbers of the provinces, each in its own uniform and colours. The lake was alive with above one thousand craft for the transport of this great army with its heavy artillery, and Rogers declared that Ticonderoga was as good as their own: for it had only provision to last eight or nine days; and if not at once battered down by the enemy's guns, it could easily be starved out by a judicious disposition of the troops. One night was spent camped halfway down the lake. Lord Howe, with Stark and Rogers and Fritz for companions, lay upon his bearskin overlooking Fritz's diagrams of the fort, taken in past days, listening to what all the three men had to tell of the fortress, both inside and out, and making many plans for the attack upon the morrow. General Abercromby was with the army; yet it was well known that Lord Howe was the leading spirit, and to him it was that all the men instinctively looked. It was he who upon the morrow, when they had reached and passed the Narrows and were drawing near to the fort, reconnoitred the landing place in whaleboats, drove off a small party of French soldiers who were watching them, but were unable to oppose them, and superintended the landing of the whole army. The lake here had narrowed down to the dimensions of a river, and it made a considerable bend something like a horseshoe. If the bridge had not been broken down, they could have marched to a point much nearer to Ticonderoga upon a well-trodden road; but the bridge being gone, it was necessary to march the army along the west bank of this river-like waterway which connected Lake George with Lake Champlain, for there were too many dangerous rapids for navigation to be possible; and upon the tongue of land jutting out into Lake Champlain, and washed by the waters of this river on its other side, stood the fortress of Ticonderoga, their goal. Rogers was their leader. He knew the forest well; yet even he found it a somewhat difficult matter to pick his way through the dense summer foliage. The columns following found the forest tracks extraordinarily difficult to follow. They were many of them unused to such rough walking, and fell into inevitable confusion. Rogers, together with Lord Howe and some of his hardier soldiers and the Rangers, pushed boldly on. Whilst they walked they talked of what lay before them. Rogers told how Montcalm himself was within the fort, and that his presence there inspired the soldiers with great courage and confidence; because he was a fine soldier, a very gallant gentleman, and had had considerable success in arms ever since he arrived in Canada. As the forest tracks grew more densely overgrown, Lord Howe paused in his rapid walk beside Rogers. "My men are growing puzzled by the forest," he said, "and indeed it is small wonder, seeing that we ourselves scarce know where we are. Go you on with the Rangers, Rogers, and I will return a short distance and get my men into better order. I do not anticipate an ambush; but there may be enemies lurking in the woods. We must not be taken unawares. Push you on, and I will follow with my company at a short distance." "I will take a handful of men with me," answered Rogers, "and push on to reconnoitre. Let the rest remain with you. They will encourage and hearten up the regulars, who are new to this sort of thing; and when I know more clearly our exact position, I will fall back and report." Fritz remained with Howe, whose men came marching up in a rather confused and straggling fashion, but were only perplexed, not in any wise disheartened, by the roughness of the road. When the column had regained something like marching order, the word was given to start, and Lord Howe with a bodyguard of Rangers marched at the head. They had proceeded like this for perhaps a mile or more, when there was a quick stir in the thicket. Next moment the challenge rang out: "Qui vive?" "Francais!" shouted back a Ranger, who had learned Rogers' trick of puzzling his opponents by the use of French words. But this time they were not deceived. A stern word of command was given. A crack of rifles sounded out from the bushes; puffs of smoke and flashes of fire were seen. "Steady, men; load and fire!" The command was given by Lord Howe. It was the last he ever spoke. The wood rang with the crossfire of the foes who could not see each other. Fritz had discharged his piece, and was loading again when he saw Lord Howe suddenly throw up his hands and fall helplessly forward. He sprang to his side with a cry of dismay. He strove to hold him up and support him to some place of safety, but could only lay him down beneath a tree hard by, where a ring of Rangers instantly formed around him, whilst the skirmish in the forest was hotly maintained on both sides. "He is shot through the heart!" cried Stark, in a lamentable voice, as he hastily examined the wound; and indeed the shadow of death had fallen upon the brave, bright, noble face of the young officer. Just once the heavy lids lifted themselves. Lord Howe looked into the faces of the two men bending over him, and a faint smile curved his lips. "Keep them steady," he just managed to whisper, and the next moment his head fell back against Fritz's shoulder. He had passed into the unknown land where the clamour of battle is no more heard. It was a terrible blow, and consternation spread through the ranks as it became known. Indeed, but for the Rangers, a panic and flight would probably have followed. But Rogers, Stark, and Fritz were of sterner stuff than the levies, and more seasoned than the bulk of regular soldiers. Rogers had returned instantly upon hearing the firing, and had discharged a brisk volley upon the French as he dashed through their ranks to regain his companions. Caught between two fires, they were in no small peril, and made a dash for the riverbed; the Rangers standing steady and driving them to their destruction, whilst the ranks had time to recover themselves and maintain their ground. The rout of this body of French soldiers was complete, whilst the English loss was small numerically; but the loss of Howe was irreparable, and all heart and hope seemed taken out of the gallant army which had started forth so full of hope. There was nothing now to be done but to fall back upon the main army, with the sorrowful tidings of their leader's death, and await the order of General Abercromby as to the next move. This was done, and the men were kept under arms all night, waiting for orders which never came. Indecision and procrastination again prevailed, and were again the undoing of the English enterprise. Still there was no question but that the fort must be attacked, and as the Rangers came in with the news that the French had broken up and deserted a camp they had hitherto held at some sawmills on the river, a little way from the fort, a detachment of soldiers was sent to take possession of this place. This having been done, and a bridge thrown over the river by an able officer of the name of Bradstreet, the army was moved up, and encamped at this place prior to the assault of the fort. Rogers and his Rangers had reconnoitred the whole place, and were eager to tell their tale. Fort Ticonderoga occupied a triangular promontory, washed upon two sides by the waters of Lake Champlain and the river-like extremity of Lake George. The landward approach was guarded by a strong rampart of felled trees, which the soldiers had formed into a breastwork and abattis which might almost be called musket-proof. So at least Rogers and his men had judged. They had watched the French at their task, and had good reason to know the solid protection given to the men behind by a rampart of this sort. He was therefore all eagerness for the cannon to be brought up from the lake. "The artillery will make short work of it, General," he said, in his bluff, abrupt fashion. "It will come rattling about their heads, and they must take to the walls behind, and these will soon give way before a steady cannonade. Or if we take the cannon up to yonder heights of Rattlesnake Hill, we can fling our round shot within their breastwork from end to end, and drive the men back like rabbits to their burrow; or we can plant a battery at the narrow mouth of Lake Champlain, and cut off their supplies. With the big guns we can beat them in half a dozen ways; but let our first act be to bring them up, for muskets and rifles are of little use against such a rampart as they have made, bristling with spikes and living twigs and branches, which baffle assault as you might scarce believe without a trial." Rogers spoke with the assurance and freedom of a man used to command and certain of his subject. He and Lord Howe had been on terms of most friendly intimacy, and the young Brigadier had learned much from the veteran Ranger, whose services had been of so much value to the English. He would never have taken umbrage at advice given by a subordinate. But General Abercromby was of a different order, and he little liked Rogers' assured manner and brusque, independent tone. He heard him to the end, but gave an evasive reply, and sent out an engineer on his own account to survey the French position, and bring him word what was his opinion. This worthy made his survey, and came back full of confidence. "The rampart is but a hastily-constructed breastwork of felled trees; it should be easily carried by assault," he reported, full of careless confidence. "A good bayonet charge, resolutely conducted, is all that is needed, and we shall be in the fort before night." The soldiers cheered aloud when they heard the news. They were filled with valour and eagerness, in spite of the death of their beloved leader. It seemed as though his spirit inspired them with ardent desire to show what they could do; although generalship, alas! had perished with the young Brigadier, who had fallen at such an untimely moment. The Rangers looked at one another with grim faces. They would not speak a word to dishearten the troops; but they knew, far better than the raw levies or the English regulars could do, the nature of the obstruction to be encountered. "A bayonet charge by soldiers full of valour is no light thing," said Pringle to the Ranger, as they stood in the evening light talking together. "Resolute men have done wonders before now in such a charge, and why not we tomorrow?" "Have you seen the abattis?" asked Rogers, in his grim and brusque fashion. "No," answered Pringle; "I have only heard it described by those who have." "Come, then, and look at it before it be dark," was Rogers' reply; and he, together with Stark, led Fritz and Pringle and Roche along a narrow forest pathway which the Rangers were engaged in widening and improving, ready for the morrow's march, until he was able to show them, from a knoll of rising ground, the nature of the fortification they were to attack upon the morrow. The French had shown no small skill in the building of this breastwork, which ran along a ridge of high ground behind the fort itself, and commanded the approach towards it from the land side. The whole forest in the immediate vicinity had been felled. It bore the appearance of a tract of ground through which a cyclone has whirled its way. Great numbers of the trees had been dragged up to form the rampart, but there were hundreds of others, as well as innumerable roots and stumps, lugs and heads, lying in confusion all around; and Rogers, pointing towards the encumbered tract just beneath and around the rampart, looked at Pringle and said: "How do you think a bayonet charge is to be rushed over such ground as that? And what good will our musketry fire be against those tough wooden walls, directed upon a foe we cannot see, but who can pick us off in security from behind their breastwork? For let me tell you that there is great skill shown in its construction. On the inside, I doubt not, they can approach close to their loopholes, which you can detect all along, and take easy aim at us; but on this side it is bristling with pointed stakes, twisted boughs, and treetops so arranged as to baffle and hinder any attempt at assault. As I told your General, his cannon could shatter it in a few hours, if he would but bring them to bear. But a rampart like that is practically bayonet and musket proof. It will prove impregnable to assault." Pringle and Roche exchanged glances. They had seen something of fighting before this, but never warfare so strange. "Would that Lord Howe were living!" exclaimed the younger officer. "He would have heard reason; he would have been advised. But the General--" He paused, and a meaning gesture concluded the sentence. It was not for them to speak against their commander; but he inspired no confidence in his men, and it was plainly seen that he was about to take a very ill-judged step. It is the soldier's fate that he must not rebel or remonstrate or argue; his duty is to obey orders and leave the rest. But that night, as the army slept in the camp round the deserted sawmills, there were many whose eyes never closed in slumber. Fritz saw the veteran Campbell sitting in the moonlight, looking straight before him with wide, unseeing eyes; and when the grey light of day broke over the forest, his face was shadowed, as it seemed, by the approach of death. "I shall never see another sunrise," he said to Fritz, as the latter walked up to him; "my span of life will be cut through here at Ticonderoga." Fritz made no reply. It seemed to him that many lives would be cut short upon this fateful day. He wondered whether he should live to see the shades of evening fall. He had no thought of quailing or drawing back. He had cast in his lot with the army, and he meant to fight his very best that day; but he realized the hopelessness of the contest before them, and although, if the General could only be aroused in time to a sense of his own blunder, and would at the eleventh hour order up the cannon, and take those steps which might ensure success, the tide of battle might soon be turned. Yet no man felt any confidence in him as a leader, and it was only the ignorant soldiers, unaware of what lay before them, who rose to greet the coming day with hope and confidence in their hearts. But it was something that they should start forth with so high a courage. Even if they were going to their death, it was better they should believe that they were marching forth to victory. They cheered lustily as they received the order, which was to carry the breastwork by a bayonet charge; and only the Rangers saw the grim smile which crossed the face of Rogers as he heard that word given. Yet he and his gallant band of Rangers were in the van. They did not shrink from the task before them, although they knew better than others the perils and difficulties by which it was beset. They had widened the path; they led the way. There was no more confusion in the line of march. The General remained behind at the sawmills, to direct the operations of the whole army, as there were other slighter enterprises to be undertaken upon the same day, though the assault of the protecting rampart was the chief one. News was to be brought to him at short intervals of the course the fight was taking. It was Rogers' great hope that he would soon be made aware of the impossibility of the task he had set his soldiers, and would send instant and urgent orders for the cannon to be brought up to the aid of his foot soldiers. Full of hope and confidence the columns pressed forward, till shortly after midday they emerged from the shelter of the forest, and saw before them the broken space of open ground, with its encumbering mass of stumps and fallen timber, and behind that the grim rampart, where all looked still as death. They formed into line quickly and without confusion and then, with an enthusiastic cheer, made a dash for the barrier. The Rangers and light infantry in front began to fire as they advanced; but the main body of soldiers held their bayonets in position, and strove after an orderly advance. But over such ground order was impossible. They had to clamber, to scramble, to cut their way as best they could. The twigs and branches blinded them; they fell over the knotted roots; they became disordered and scattered, though their confidence remained unshaken. Then suddenly, when they were half across the open space, came the long crack and blaze from end to end of the rampart; smoke seemed to gush and flash out from one extremity to the other. Sharp cries of agony and dismay, shouts and curses, filled the air. The English fell in dozens amid the fallen trees, and those behind rushed forward over the bodies of their doomed companions. It was in vain to try to carry the rampart by the bayonet. The soldiers drew up and fired all along their line; but of what avail was it to fire upon an enemy they could not see, whilst they themselves were a target for the grapeshot and musketballs which swept in a deadly cross fire through their ranks? But they would not fall back. Headed by the Rangers, who made rapid way over the rough and encumbered ground, they pressed on, undaunted by the hail of iron about them, and inflamed to fury by the fall of their comrades around them. It was an awful scene. It was branded upon the memory of the survivors in characters of fire. Fritz kept in the foremost rank, unable to understand why he was not shot down. He reached the rampart, and was halfway up, when he was clutched by the hands of a man in front, who in his death agony knew not what he did, and the two rolled into the ditch together. For a moment all was suffocation and horror. Unwounded, but buried and battered, with his musket torn from his grasp, Fritz struggled out through the writhing heap of humanity, and saw that the head of the column had fallen back for a breathing space, though with the evident intention of re-forming and dashing again to the charge. The firing from the rampart still continued; but Fritz made a successful dash back to the lines, and reached them in safety. He was known by this time as an experienced Ranger, and was taken aside by Bradstreet, the officer in command of the light infantry that with the Rangers headed the charge. The gallant officer was wounded and breathless, and was seated upon a fallen trunk. "Neville," he said, "I know that you are fleet of foot and stout of heart. I would have you return to the camp on the instant, with a message for the General. Tell him how things are here, and that this rampart is to the utmost as impregnable as Rogers warned us. Our men are falling thick and fast, and although full of courage, cannot do the impossible. Beg him to order the guns to be brought up, for without them we are helpless against the enemy." Fritz knew this right well, and took the message. "We shall make another charge immediately," Bradstreet said in conclusion. "We shall not fail to carry out our orders; but I have little hope of success. We can do almost nothing against the French, whilst they mow us down by hundreds. No men can hold on at such odds for long. Go quickly, and bring us word again, for we are like to be cut to pieces. "You are not wounded yourself?" "No; I have escaped as by a miracle. I will run the whole distance and take the message. Would that the General had listened to counsel before!" Bradstreet made a gesture of assent, but said nothing. Fritz sped through the forest, hot and breathless, yet straining every nerve to reach his goal. It was a blazing day where the shade of the forest was not found, and this made the fighting all the harder. Fritz's heart was heavy within him for the lives thrown away so needlessly. When he reached the tent of the General, and was ushered into his presence, burning words rushed to his lips, and it was only with an effort that he commanded himself to speak calmly of the fight and deliver the message with which he was charged. General Abercromby listened and frowned, and looked about him as though to take counsel with his officers. But the best of these were away at the fight, and those with him were few and insignificant and inexperienced. "Surely a little resolution and vigour would suffice to carry an insignificant breastwork, hastily thrown up only a few days ago," he said, unwilling to confess himself in the wrong. "I will order up the Highland regiments to your aid. With their assistance you can make another charge, and it will be strange if you cannot carry all before you." Fritz compressed his lips, and his heart sank. "I will give you a line to Colonel Bradstreet. Tell him that reinforcements are coming, and that another concerted attack must be made. It will be time enough to talk of sending for the artillery when we see the result of that." A few lines were penned by the General and entrusted to Fritz, who dashed back with burning heart to where the fight still raged so fiercely. He heard the bagpipes of the Highlanders skirling behind as he reached the opening in the forest. He knew that these brave men could fight like tigers; but to what avail, he thought, were so many gallant soldiers to be sent to their death? The fighting in his absence had been hot and furious, but nothing had been done to change the aspect of affairs. Intrepid men had assaulted the rampart, and even leaped upon and over it, only to meet their death upon the other side. Once a white flag had been seen waving over the rampart, and for a moment hope had sprung up that the enemy was about to surrender. The firing for that brief space had been suspended, the English raising their muskets over their heads and crying "Quarter!"--meaning that they would show mercy to the foe; the French thinking that they were coming to give themselves up as prisoners of war. The signal had merely been waved by a young captain in defiance to the foe. He had tied his handkerchief to his musket in his excitement, without any intention to deceive. But the incident aroused a bitter feeling. The English shouted out that the French were seeking to betray them, and the fight was resumed with such fury that for a brief while the rampart was in real danger of being taken, and the French General was in considerable anxiety. But the odds were too great. The gallant assailants were driven back, and when Fritz arrived with his news there was again a slight cessation in the vehemence of the attack. Bradstreet eagerly snatched at the letter and opened it. Fritz's face had told him something; the written words made assurance doubly sure. He tore the paper across, and set his foot upon it. "We can die but once," he said briefly; "but it goes to my heart to see these brave fellows led like sheep to the slaughter. England will want to know the reason why when this story is told at home." The Highlanders were soon upon the scene of action filled to the brim with the stubborn fury with which they were wont to fight. At their head marched their Major, the dark-faced Inverawe, his son only a little behind. The arrival of reinforcements put new heart into the gallant but exhausted regiments which had led the attack; and now the Highlanders were swarming about the foot of the rampart, seeking to scale its bristling sides, often gaining the top, by using the bodies of their slain countrymen as ladders, but only to be cut down upon the other side. The Major cheered on his men. The shadow was gone from his face now. In the heat of the battle he had no thought left for himself. His kinsmen and clansmen were about him. He was ever in the van. One young chieftain with some twenty followers was on the top of the rampart, hacking and hewing at those behind, as if possessed of superhuman strength. The Highlanders, with their strange cries and yells, pressed ever on and on. But the raking fire from behind the abattis swept their ranks, mowed them down, and strewed the ground with dying and dead. Like a rock stood Campbell of Inverawe, his eyes everywhere, directing, encouraging, cheering on his men, who needed not his words to inspire them with unquenchable fury. Suddenly his tall figure swayed forward. Without so much as a cry he fell. There was a rush towards him of his own clansmen. They lifted him, and bore him from the scene of action. It was the end of the assault. The Highlanders who had scaled the rampart had all been bayoneted within. Nearly two thousand men, wounded or dead, lay in that terrible clearing. It was hopeless to fight longer. All that man could do had been done. The recall was sounded, and the brave troops, given over to death and disaster by the incompetence of one man, were led back to the camp exhausted and despairing; the Rangers still doing good service in carrying off the wounded, and keeping up a steady fire whilst this task was being proceeded with. General Abercromby's terror at the result of the day's work was as pitiful as his mismanagement had been. There was no talk now of retrieving past blunders; there was nothing but a general rout--a retreat upon Fort Edward as fast as boats could take them. One blunder was capped by another. Ticonderoga was left to the French, when it might have been an easy prey to the English. The day of disaster was not yet ended, though away in the east the star of hope was rising. It was at Fort Edward that the wounded laird of Inverawe breathed his last. His wound had been mortal, and he was barely living when they landed him on the banks of Lake George. "Donald, you are avenged!" he said once, a few minutes before his death. "We have met at Ticonderoga!" Book 4: Wolfe. Chapter 1: A Soldier At Home. He lay upon a couch beneath the shade of a drooping lime tree, where flickering lights and shadows played upon his tall, slight figure and pale, quaint face. There was nothing martial in the aspect of this young man, invalided home from active service on the Continent, where the war was fiercely raging between the European powers. He had a very white skin, and his hair was fair, with a distinct shade of red in it. It was cut short in front, and lightly powdered when the young man was in full dress, and behind it was tied in the queue so universally worn. He was quite young still, barely thirty years old; yet he had seen years of active service in the army, and had achieved no small distinction for intrepidity and cool daring. He had won the notice already of the man now at the helm of state, whose eyes were anxiously fixed upon any rising soldier of promise, ready to avail himself of the services of such to sustain England's honour and prestige both on land and sea. James Wolfe was the son of a soldier, and had been brought up to the profession of arms almost as a matter of course. Yet he seemed a man little cut out for the life of the camp; for he suffered from almost chronic ill-health, and was often in sore pain of body even though the indomitable spirit was never quenched within him. His face bore the look of resolution and self mastery which is often to be seen in those who have been through keen physical suffering. There were lines there which told of weary days and nights of pain; but there was an unquenchable light in the eyes that invariably struck those who came into contact with the young officer. He had already learned the secret of imparting to his men the enthusiasm which was kindled in his own breast; and there was not a man in his company but would gladly have laid down his life in his service, if he had been called upon to do so. Today, however, there was nothing of the soldier and leader of forlorn hope in his aspect. He lay back upon his couch with a dreamy abstraction in his gaze. The gambols of his canine favourites passed unnoticed by him. He had been reading news that stirred him deeply, and he had fallen into a meditation. The news sheet contained a brief and hasty account of the loss of Fort William Henry, with a hint respecting the massacre which had followed. No particulars were as yet forthcoming. This was but the voice of rumour. But the paragraph, vague as it was, had been sufficient to arouse strange feelings within the young officer. He had let the paper fall now, and was turning things over in his own mind. One of the articles had said how needful it was becoming for England to awake from her lethargy, and send substantial aid to her colonies, unless she desired to see them annihilated by the aggressions of France. National feeling against that proud foe was beginning to rise high. The Continental war had quickened it, and Wolfe, who had served against the armies of France in many a closely-contested battle, felt his pulses tingling at the recital of her successes against England's infant colonies. Men were wanted for the service, the paper had said--men of courage and proved valour. We had had too many bunglers already out there; it was now time that men of a different stamp should be forthcoming. In his ears there seemed beaten the sound of a question and its reply. Where had he heard those words, and when? "Who will go up to battle against this proud foe?" "Here am I; send me." The light leaped into his eyes; his long, thin hands clasped and unclasped themselves as stirring thoughts swept over him. He knew that there was a great struggle impending between England and her French rival upon the other side of the world. Hitherto his battlefields had been in Europe, but a voice from far away seemed to be calling to him in urgent accents. Away in the West, English subjects were being harried and killed, driven like helpless sheep to slaughter. How long was it to continue? Would the mother country be content that her provinces should be first contracted and then slowly strangled by the chains imposed by the boundless ambition of France? Never, never, never! The young officer spoke the words aloud, half raising himself from his couch as he did so. There was a rising man now at the helm of the state; he had not the full powers that many desired to see. He had to work hand in hand with a colleague of known incapacity. Yet the voice of the nation was beginning to make itself heard. England was growing enraged against a minister under whose rule so many grievous blunders had been committed. Newcastle still retained his position of foremost of the King's advisers, but Pitt now stood at his side; and it was understood that the younger statesman was to take the real command of the ship of state, whilst his elder associate confined himself to those matters in which he could not well do harm. "If only it had come three years earlier," breathed Wolfe--"before we had suffered such loss and disgrace!" The young soldier knew that an expedition had been fitted out a few months ago for Louisbourg in Acadia--that French fortress of Cape Breton which alone had been able to resist the English arms. The capture of Louisbourg had been the one thing determined upon by the tardy government for the relief of their colonies in the Western world. It had been surmised that this action on their part would draw away the French troops from the frontier, and thus relieve the colonists from any pressing anxiety; but although there had been little definite news from the fleet so far, it began to be reared that the Admirals had mismanaged matters, and that no blow would be struck this season. September had come--a hot, sunny, summer-like month in England. But Wolfe had heard something of the rock-bound coasts of Cape Breton, and he was well aware that if the furious equinoctial gales should once threaten the English fleet, no Admiral would be able to attempt an action by sea, or even the landing of the troops. Young Wolfe had one friend out With the expedition, and from him he had received a letter only a short time ago, telling him of all the delays and procrastinations which were already beginning to render abortive a well-planned scheme. It made his blood boil in his veins to think how the incapacity of those in command doomed the hopes of so many to such bitter disappointment, and lowered the prestige of England in the eyes of the whole civilized world. "If Pitt could but have a free hand, things would be different!" exclaimed Wolfe again, speaking aloud, as is the fashion of lonely men. "But the King is beginning to value and appreciate him, and the nation is learning confidence. The time will come--yes, the time will come! Heaven send that I live to see the day, and have a hand in the glorious work!" As he spoke these words he observed a certain excitement amongst the dogs playing around him, and guessed that their quick ears had caught sounds of an arrival of some sort. In a few minutes' time his servant approached him, bearing a letter which he handed to his master, who opened it and cast his eyes over its contents. "Are the two gentlemen here?" he asked. "Yes, sir; they asked that the letter might be given to you, and that they might wait until you had read it." "Then show them out to me here, and bring us coffee," said Wolfe, whose face had put on a look of considerable eagerness and animation; and as the servant retired towards the house, the soldier remained looking after him, as though wistful to catch the first glimpse of the expected guests. In a few minutes they appeared in the wake of the servant. Both were quietly dressed in sober riding suits; but there the resemblance ended. One of the pair was a very tall man, with fair hair cut short all round his head, and a pair of large blue-grey eyes that had a trick of seeming to look through and beyond the objects upon which they were bent, and a thoroughly English type of feature; whilst his companion was more slightly built, albeit a man of fine proportions, too, with a darker face, more chiselled features, and hair dressed according to the prevailing mode, lightly powdered in front, and tied in a queue behind. Wolfe rose slowly to his feet, his brow slightly contracting with the effort. Upon his face there was a very attractive smile, and he held out his hand in turn to the two newcomers. "You are very welcome, gentlemen--more welcome than I can say. I am grateful to my friend Sir Charles for giving me this opportunity of making your acquaintance. It has been my great wish to speak face to face with men who have lived in that great land whither all eyes are now turning. Be seated, I pray you, gentlemen, and tell me which of you is Mr. Julia Dautray, and which Mr. Humphrey Angell." "My name is Dautray," answered the dark-eyed man. "We have travelled to England together, my friend and I, but have also been in France, to visit some of those there still bearing my name, although my immediate forefathers have lived and died in the lands of the far West. We have met with much kindness in this country, and have some time since accomplished the mission on which we were dispatched. Our thoughts are turning once more towards the land of our birth. Had we not been in France at the time, we would gladly have accompanied the expedition which set sail for Louisbourg not long since." "I cannot regret that you failed to do so," answered Wolfe, in his winning way, "since it has brought me the pleasure of this visit. I trust, gentlemen, that you will honour me by being my guests for a few days at least. There is very much that I desire to learn about the lands from which you come. My friend Sir Charles speaks as though you were wanderers upon the face of the earth. If that be so, I may hope that you will stay your wanderings meantime, and make my home yours for a while." "You are very kind, Captain Wolfe," said Julian gratefully; "if it be not trespassing too far upon your hospitality, we should be glad and grateful to accept it." "The honour will be mine," said Wolfe; "I have long desired to know more of that world beyond the seas. Hitherto I have seen nothing save my own country, and a few of those which lie nearest to it. But I have the feeling within me that the time is coming when I shall be sent farther afield. Men will be needed for the strife which must soon be waged on the far side of the Atlantic, and it may be that I shall be chosen as one of those who will go thither." "That is what Sir Charles said when he gave us this letter for you," said Julian. "He said that Mr. Pitt had named you once or twice as a rising officer, likely to be chosen for service there. That is why Sir Charles thought that a visit from us would be welcome. I do not know whether we can give you any news which you have not heard already; but we can at least answer such questions as to the country and its life as may be interesting to you, though it is now two years since we sailed from its shores." Into Wolfe's eyes there had leaped a bright light. "Spoke Sir Charles such words of me?" he said eagerly. "Has Mr. Pitt named me as likely for this service?" "So it was told us," answered Julian. "We came to England in the early spring of last year, with letters and urgent appeals to friends in England from their kinfolk beyond the sea. We went from place to place, as our directions were, and saw many men and heard much hot discussion; but it seemed hard to get a hearing in high places, and for a while we thought we had had our journey in vain. Nevertheless they would not let us go. One and another would keep us, hoping to gain introduction to some influential man, in whose ears we could tell our tale. And so matters went on, and we were passed from place to place, always well treated and well cared for. In the spring we went to France, though we were warned of danger, because of the war. But we met with no hurt. Humphrey passed as my servant, and I have French blood in my veins, and can speak the language as one born there. Nor did we go to any large centres, but contented ourselves with the remote spots, where I found kinsfolk of mine own name living still. And we reached England again only two months ago." "And then?" "There was more excitement then. The fleet had sailed for Louisbourg; men's hearts were stirred within them. Tales of fresh atrocities along the border had reached home. Anger against France was stirred up by the war. It was then we were brought before Sir Charles Graham, and told our tale to him. He is the friend of Mr. Pitt, and he came back to us many times to learn more of what we had to tell of the difficulties of the provinces, and of the apathy that prevailed there, even though terrible things Were passing daily close by. "It was he who at last bid us go to you. He said you were his friend, and would make us welcome for his sake and ours. And when he gave us this letter, he told us the words of Mr. Pitt respecting you." "And have you other news besides?" asked Wolfe eagerly. "When left you London? And is it yet known there whether this rumour of fresh disaster is true? See, there is the Western news sheet; it speaks of a disquieting rumour as to the fall of Fort William Henry, our outpost on Lake George. Have fresh tidings been received? for if that place fall, we are in evil case indeed." Julian gravely shook his head. "The rumour is all too true. Had you not heard? A fast-sailing vessel has brought it to Southampton--the evil tidings of disaster and death. The fort held out bravely through a terrible cannonade; but no relief was sent, and the walls were battered down. There was nothing for it but surrender. The garrison obtained honourable terms; but the French either could not or would not restrain their Indian allies. Surrender was followed by a brutal massacre of the hapless soldiers and their wives and children. It is horrible to read the story of the atrocities committed. We have seen Indians at their hideous work. We know, as you in this land never can do, what it is like." Wolfe's eyes flashed fire. "A surrendered garrison massacred! and the French stood by and suffered it!" "The account is confused. Some say they did try without avail; some that they were callous and indifferent; some that they did much to avert the horrors, and saved large numbers of victims out of their clutches. But they did not succeed in stopping an awful loss of life. The pages of history will be stained dark when the story of that day is written!" "Ay, truly!" cried Humphrey, in his deep, resonant voice, speaking for the first time; "the page of history should be written in characters of blood and fire. I have seen the work of those savage fiends. I have seen, and I shall remember to the last day of my life!" "Tell me," said Wolfe, looking straight at the stalwart youth, whose lips had slightly drawn themselves back, showing the firm line of the white teeth beneath. Humphrey had told his tale many times during the past months. He told it to Wolfe that day--told it with a curious graphic power, considering that his words were few, and that his manner was perfectly quiet. A red flush mounted into Wolfe's face, and died away again. He drew his breath through, his teeth with a slightly whistling sound. With him this was a sign of keen emotion. "You saw all that?" "With my own eyes. I am telling no tale of hearsay. And men have tales yet more horrid to tell--tales to which a man may scarce listen for the horror and the shame. This is the way the Indians serve the subjects of the English crown at the bidding of the servants of France!" Wolfe raised his right hand, and let it slowly drop again. "May Heaven give to me the grace," he said, in a voice that vibrated with tense feeling, "to go forth to the succour of my countrymen there--to fight and to avenge!" After that there was silence for a while, and the servant came and brought coffee, and took orders for the entertainment and lodging of the guests. When he had gone Wolfe was calm again, and listened with keen interest to the story they had to tell of their arrival in Pennsylvania, and of the extraordinary apathy of the colonists in the eastern towns, and the difficulty of arousing them to any concerted action with their own countrymen in the neighbouring provinces, even for the common defence. Wolfe knew something of that, and of the causes at work to bring about such a result. He talked with more comprehension and insight as to the state of infant colonies, partially self-governed and self-dependent, struggling out of leading strings, and intent upon growing to man's estate, than anybody had hitherto done. "We shall never have a second Canada out there such as France has won--a country wholly dependent upon the one at home, looking always to her for government, help, care, money. No, no; the spirit of those who went forth from England was utterly different. They are English subjects still, but they want to rule themselves after their own way. They will never be helpless and dependent; they will be more like to shake our yoke from off their necks when they arrive at man's estate. But what matter if they do? We shall be brothers, even though the sea roll between them. The parent country has sent them forth, and must protect them till they are able to protect themselves, even as the birds and the beasts of the fields defend their young. After that we shall see. But for my part I prefer that struggling spirit of independence and desire after self-government. It can be carried too far; but it shows life, energy, youth, and strength. If Canada were not bound hand and foot to the throne of the French tyrant, she would be a more formidable foe to tackle than she can show herself now." "Yet she has done us grievous hurt. We seem able to make no headway against her, in spite of our best efforts." "Let us see what better efforts we can make then," cried Wolfe, with eager eyes. "Best! why, man, we have done nothing but procrastinate and blunder, till my ears tingle with shame as I read the story! But we are awakening at last, and we have a man to look to who is no blunderer. The tide will turn ere long, you will see; and when it does, may I be there to see and to bear my share!" Julian looked at the gaunt, prostrate form of the soldier, and said gravely: "But you are surely in no fit state for military service?" Wolfe threw back his head with a little gesture of impatience, and then smiled brightly. "This carcass of mine has been a source of trouble and pain to me from my boyhood, and there come moments when I must needs give it a little rest. But yet I have found that it can carry me through the necessary fatigues with a vigour I had scarcely expected of it. It is being patched up again after a hard campaign; and now that the summer has closed, nothing can be set afoot till the spring comes. By that time I shall be fit for service once more, you will see. I am taking the waters of Bath with sedulous care. They have done much for me as it is. Soon I trust to be hale and sound once more." "Have you been wounded, sir?" "Many times, but not seriously; only that everything tells when one is afflicted by such a rickety body as this," and the young officer smiled his peculiarly brilliant smile, which made the chief charm of his pale, unusual face. "I got both a wound and a severe strain in my last campaign, which has bothered me ever since, and still keeps me to my couch the greater part of the day. But rheumatism is my chronic foe; it follows me wherever I go, lying in wait to pounce upon me, and hold me a cripple in its red-hot iron hand. That is the trouble of my life on the march. It is so often all but impossible to get through the day's work, and yet it is wonderful how the foe can be held at bay when some task has to be done whether or not. "But a truce to such talk! A soldier has other things to think of than aching joints and weary bones. A man can but once die for his country, and that is all I ask to do. That mine will not he a long life I feel a certain assurance. All I ask is the power to serve my country as long as I am able, and to die for her, sword in hand, when the hour has come." The eyes kindled and the smile flashed forth. Julian and Humphrey looked into the face of the man whom they had heard described as one of the most promising and intrepid young officers of the English army, and felt a thrill of admiration run through them. The frame was so frail and weak and helpless; but the indomitable spirit seemed as though it would be able to bear its master through any and every peril which duty might bid him face. They had consented to be his guests for a few days; but it had not occurred to them that this visit would be prolonged to any great length, and yet thus it came about. Colonel Wolfe and his wife, the mother of whom the young soldier often spoke in tender and loving terms, were detained from rejoining their son, as they had purposed doing before the winter came. Colonel Wolfe had a property of his own in Kent, and his presence was wanted there. The son was compelled to remain in the neighbourhood of Bath for the sake of his shattered health. They had intended all spending the winter there together in the pleasant house they had taken; but this soon became impossible, and it was then that Wolfe said to his new friends, with that quaint look of appeal in his eyes which they had come to know by this time: "Could you two be persuaded to take pity upon a capricious and whimsical sick man, and be his companions through the winter months? Then with the spring, when we know what is to be done for the succour of our comrades in the West, we will make shift to go forth to their assistance. If you will stay with me till then, I will promise you shall not lack fitting equipment to follow the army when it sails hence." There was nothing the two companions desired more by that time than to remain with Wolfe, the charm of whose personality had by that time quite fascinated them. They felt almost like brothers already. It was upon Humphrey's strong arm that Wolfe would take his daily walk into the town for the needful baths or water drinkings. It was Julian who read to him the news of the day, and they all discussed it eagerly together. Moreover, he saw to the drilling and training of these two fine men with the keenest interest and enthusiasm. They had the making in them of excellent soldiers, and showed an aptitude which delighted him for all sorts of exercises and feats of arms. The war fever permeated the whole country by that time, and training and drilling were going on all around. It was easy for the travellers to pick up all that was needful to them of comprehension as to military terms and commands. Hours were spent by themselves and Wolfe over books and maps in the library, whilst he fought over again with them campaign after campaign--those where he had served, and those before his time with which he had close acquaintance; and they entered more and more into the spirit of martial exercise, learning to comprehend military tactics and the art of war as they had never done before. Meantime the news from the Western world was all bad. The attempt upon Louisbourg had been abortive, owing to the tardiness of the English Admiral, of London the Governor out there, and the early storms which had obliged the fleet to retire even when it had mustered for the attack. "It is shameful!" cried Wolfe with flashing eyes, as the news was made known; "England will become the laughingstock of the whole world! Fort Oswego lost, William Henry lost, and its garrison massacred! Louisbourg left to the French, without a blow being struck! Shame upon us! shame upon us! We should blush for our tardy procrastination. But mark my word, this will be the last such blunder! Pitt will take the reins in his own grasp. We shall see a change now." "I trust so," said Humphrey grimly; "it is time indeed. I know what these attacks against Louisbourg will mean for those along the frontier--death, disaster, more Indian raids, less power of protection. The Governor will draw off the levies which might come to their assistance for the work at Louisbourg. The French will hound on the Indians to ravage more and more. We shall hear fresh tales of horror there before the end comes." "Which we will avenge!" spoke Wolfe, between his shut teeth. "It shall not always be said of England that she slept whilst her subjects died!" With the turn of the year active preparations began to be discussed, and Wolfe to receive letters from headquarters. All was now excitement in that household, for there was no doubt that England's great minister was going to take active measures, and that the day of tardy blundering was to be brought to an end. Wolfe was found one day in a state of keen excitement. "I have heard from Mr. Pitt myself!" he cried, waving the paper over his head. "He has taken the great resolve, not only to check the aggressions of France upon the border, but to sweep her out from the Western world, till she can find no place for herself there! That is the spirit I delight in; that is the task I long to aid in; that is the one and only thing to do. Leave her neither root nor branch in the world of the West! If we do, she will be a thorn in our side, a upas tree poisoning the air. Let Canada be ours once for all, and we have no more to fear!" Humphrey and Julian exchanged glances of amaze. Such a scheme as this seemed to smack of madness. "You think it cannot be done, my friends? England has done greater feats before." "But there is Quebec," said Julian gravely; "I have heard that it is a fortress absolutely impregnable. And Quebec is the key of Canada." "I know it," answered Wolfe, with a light in his eyes, "I know it well. I have seen drawings; I have heard descriptions of it. That it will be a nut hard to crack I do not doubt. But yet--but yet--ah, well, we may not boast of what we will do in the future. Let it suffice us first to take Louisbourg from the foe. But that once done, I shall know no rest, day or night, till I stand as victor at the walls of Quebec!" Chapter 2: Louisbourg. "Do not leave Gabarus Bay until I have effected a landing!" So spoke Admiral Boscawen; and when the word was known, a cheer ran through the squadron from end to end. Brigadier Wolfe had struggled up upon deck, looking white and ghostlike, for he had suffered much during the voyage; but when that word reached him, the fire leaped into his eyes, and he turned an exultant look upon his friends, and exclaimed: "That is an excellent good word; that is the spirit which inspires victory!" Yet it was no light thing which was to be attempted, as no one knew better than Wolfe himself; for he had been out in a boat upon the previous day with Major General Amherst and his comrade Brigadier Lawrence, reconnoitring the shore all along the bay, and they had seen how strongly it was commanded by French batteries, and how difficult it would be to land any body of troops there. To their right, as they looked shorewards, stood the town and grim fortress of Louisbourg, boldly and commandingly placed upon the rocky promontory which protects one side of the harbour, running out, as it were, to meet another promontory, the extremity of which is called Lighthouse Point. These two promontories almost enclose the harbour of Louisbourg; and midway between them is Goat Island, upon which, in the days of warfare of which we are telling, a strong battery was placed, so that no enemy's ship could enter the harbour without being subjected to a murderous crossfire, enough to disable and sink it. Within the harbour were a number of French ships, which, in spite of a feeble attempt at blockade earlier in the year by some English and American vessels, had succeeded in making their way thither with an ample supply of provisions for the garrison. To force an entrance into the harbour was manifestly impossible at the present juncture of affairs. The only hope lay in effecting a landing in the larger bay outside, where lay the English fleet; and the shore had been reconnoitred the previous day with a view of ascertaining the chances of this. The report had not been encouraging. The French batteries were well placed, and were well furnished with cannon. It would be difficult enough to land. It would be yet more difficult to approach the citadel itself; but the experienced eyes of Wolfe and others saw that the only hope lay in an attack from the landward side. The dangerous craggy shore was its best protection. On land there were ridges of high ground from which it might be stormed, if only guns could be carried up. That would be a task of no small danger and difficulty; but courage and resolution might win the day; and Amherst was a commander of a different stamp from the hesitating Abercromby, who was at that very time mustering his troops with a view to the attack upon Ticonderoga. "It is a fine fortress," said Wolfe to Julian, as they stood surveying the place from the raised deck of the vessel. "You cannot see much from here; the distance is too great. But they have batteries well posted on every height all along the bay; and as for the fortress and citadel, I have seldom seen such workmanship. Its bastions, ramparts, and glacis are a marvel of engineering. It may well be called the Dunkirk of the Western world. It will be a hard nut to crack; but I never believe there is a fortress which English valour cannot suffice to take!" The resolution to land the troops once made, arrangements were speedily set in order. There were three places along the bay where it might he possible to effect a landing--White Point, Flat Point, and Freshwater Cove--all on the west of the town. To the east there was an inlet where it might be possible to land troops, though perilously near the guns of the citadel. It was resolved to make a feint here, and to send parties to each of the three other points, so as to divide and distract the attention of the enemy. Wolfe was to take command of the landing at Freshwater Cove, which was the spot where Amherst most desired to make his first stand, and here the most determined attempt was to be made. The Commander came and conferred with his Brigadier as to the best method of procedure, and left him full powers of command when the moment should come. Julian and Humphrey were with Wolfe, and had been his companions and best friends upon the voyage out. They had both obtained commissions, partly through the influence of the Brigadier; and were eager to see warfare. Julian had been Wolfe's nurse and attendant during the voyage, and the bond which now united them was a strong and tender one. Wolfe bad suffered both from seasickness and from a renewal of the former strain, and looked even now but little fit for the enterprise upon which he was bound; but no physical weakness had ever yet hindered him in the moment of peril from doing his duty, and his eyes flashed with the old fire, as he spoke of what was about to take place. "Let us but once gain possession of that battery," he cried, pointing to the guns frowning grimly over Freshwater Cove, "and turn the guns against their present masters, and we shall have taken the first step. Once let us get foot upon this shore, and it will take more than the cannonade of the Frenchmen to get us off again." Eagerly did the fleet await the moment of attack; but their patience was rather severely tried. Gale first and then heavy fog, with a tremendous swell at sea, detained them long at their anchorage, and one good ship struck upon a rock, and was in considerable danger for a while. Wolfe suffered much during those days; but his spirit was as unquenchable as ever, and as soon as the stormy sea had gone down a little, was eager for the enterprise. "Let us but set foot ashore, and I shall be a new man!" he cried. "I weary of the everlasting heaving of the sea; but upon shore, with my sword in my hand, there I am at home!" The sea grew calm. There was still a heavy swell, and the waves broke in snowy surf upon the beach; but the attempt had become practicable, and the word was given overnight for a start at daybreak. The men were told off into light boats, such as could be taken close inshore; whilst the frigates were to approach the various points of real or feigned attack, and open a heavy cannonade upon the French batteries. Julian and Humphrey found themselves in boats alongside each other. Humphrey was an Ensign, whilst Julian had been made a Lieutenant. They belonged to the flotilla commanded by Wolfe, and were directing some of the boats which were upon the right extremity of the little fleet. The hearts of the men were beating high with excitement and the anticipation of stern work before them. The guns looked grimly forth from the heights above the shore. All was yet silent as death; still it was impossible to think that the French were ignorant of the concerted movement about to be made against them. A roar from the shore, behind and to their right, told them that already the battle had begun in other quarters. The sailors set their teeth and rowed their hardest. The boats shot through the great green waves. Suddenly the smoke puffed out from the batteries in front. There was a flash of fire, and in a few seconds a dull roar, with strange, screaming noises interspersed. The water became lashed by a storm of shot, and shrieks of human agony mingled with the noise of the battle. It was a deadly fire which fell hot around the devoted little fleet; but Humphrey and Julian, away to the right, were a little out of range, and slightly protected by a craggy ridge. No man of their company had been killed; but they saw that along the line of boats terrible havoc was being wrought. They saw Wolfe's tall, thin figure standing up and making signs. He was waving his hand to them now, and Humphrey exclaimed in his keen excitement: "We are to land behind the crag and rush the guns!" In a moment the half-dozen or more boats of this little detachment were making for the shore as hard as the rowers' arms could take them. It was hard work to land amongst the breakers, which were dashing into snowy surf along the beach; but perhaps the surf hid them from their enemies a little, for they were not hindered by any storm of shot or shell. They landed on the beach, formed into a compact body, and headed by Major Scott and some bold Highland soldiers, they dashed up the slope towards the battery. But now they were in the midst of a hail of bullets. It seemed to Humphrey as though hell's mouth had opened. But there was no thought of fear in his heart. The battle fury had come upon him. He sprang within the battery and flung himself upon the gunners. Others followed his example. There was a tremendous hand-to-hand fight--French, Indians, English, Scotch, all in one struggling melee; and then above the tumult Wolfe's clarion voice ringing out, cheering on his men, uttering concise words of command; and then a sense of release from the suffocating pressure, a consciousness that the enemy was giving way, was flying, was abandoning the position; a loud English cheer, and a yell from the Highlanders, the sound of flying footsteps, pursuers and pursued; and Humphrey found himself leaning against a gun, giddy and blind and bewildered, scarcely knowing whether he were alive or dead, till a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a familiar voice said in his ear: "Well done, Ensign Angell. They tell me that we owe our victorious rush today to your blunder!" "My blunder?" "Yes; you mistook my signal. I was ordering a retreat. It would not have been possible to land the men under that deadly fire. I could not see, from my position, the little shelter of the crag. I had signalled to draw out of the range of the guns. But your mistake has won us the day." Humphrey, half ashamed, half exultant, was too breathless to reply; Julian came hastening up; and Wolfe hurried away to see to the landing of the guns and stores, now that the enemy had made a full retreat upon the fortress. "You are not wounded, Humphrey?" "I think not. I have only had all the breath knocked out of me; and the guns seem to stun one. Have they really left us in possession of the battery? And does not Wolfe say that, when once we get a footing on the shore, we will not leave till Louisbourg is ours?" Triumph filled the hearts alike of soldiers and sailors. All day long they worked waist deep in the surf, getting ashore such things as were most needed, intrenching themselves behind the battery, clearing the ground, making a road up from the beach, and pitching their tents. At. night a cheer went up from their weary throats, for they saw red tongues of flame shooting up, and soon it was known beyond a doubt that the French had fired one of their batteries, which they had felt obliged to abandon; and this showed that they had no intention of attacking the bold storming party which had established itself at the Cove. At sea the guns roared and flashed all day and all night. The air was full of sounds of battle. But the wearied soldiers slept in their tents, and by day worked might and main at the task of making good their position. They extended the line of their camp, they built redoubts and blockhouses, they routed skirmishing parties of Indians and Acadians hiding in the woods and spying upon them, and they strengthened their position day by day, till it became too strong a one for the enemy to dare to approach. Every day the men toiled at their task, cheered by items of news from the shore. The battery on Goat Island was silenced, after many days of hot fire from the English frigates. A French vessel had fired in the harbour, and had been burned to the water's edge. The garrison had sent a frigate with dispatches pressing for aid to their governor in Canada. The frigate and dispatches fell into the hands of the English, and much valuable information was gleaned therefrom. And day by day the camp stretched out in a semicircle behind the town. It was a difficult task to construct it; for a marsh lay before them, and the road could only be made at the cost of tremendous labour, and often the fire of the enemy disturbed the men at their work. Wolfe was the life and soul of the camp all through this piece of arduous work. If he could not handle pick and shovel like some, his quick eye always saw the best course to pursue, and his keen insight was invaluable in the direction of operations. Ill or well, he was with and amongst his men every day and all day long, the friend of each and every one, noticing each man's work, giving praise to industry and skill, cheering, encouraging, inspiring. Not a soldier but felt that the young officer was his personal friend; not a man but would most willingly and gladly have borne for him some of that physical suffering which at times was written all too clearly in his wasted face. "Nay, it is nothing," he would say to his companions, when they strove to make him spare himself; "I am happier amongst you all. I can always get through the day's work somehow. In my tent I brood and rebel against this crazy carcass of mine; but out here, in the stir and the strife, I can go nigh to forget it." But Wolfe was soon to have a task set him quite to his liking. He came to his quarters one day with eager, shining eyes; and so soon as he saw him, Julian knew that he had news to tell. "The batteries upon Lighthouse Point are next to be silenced. We must gain the command of the harbour for our ships. If we can once do that, the day will be ours. I am told off to this task, with twelve hundred men. You and Humphrey are to go with me. We must march right round the town, under cover of night, taking our guns with us. By daybreak we will have them planted behind the French battery; by night, if all goes well, we shall have gained possession of it." The troops were all drawn up in order for the night march, full of hopeful anticipation. They had that kind of confidence in Wolfe which the commander inspires who is not made but born. Humphrey, whose skill in finding his way in the dark, and whose powers as a guide had been tested before now, was sent on in advance with a handful of men, to give warning of any impending peril to be passed or encountered. He had the untiring energy of a son of the forest, and the instinct which told him of the proximity of the foe before he saw him. But the march was uneventful in that way. The French had fallen back upon the town. Their fears now were for the very fortress itself, that fortress which they had so proudly boasted was impregnable alike by land and sea! Before the dawn of the morning Humphrey came back to the main body, seeking speech with Wolfe. "They have abandoned their battery on Lighthouse Point. It is ours without striking a blow. They have spiked their guns and gone! We have only to take possession, mount our guns, and the command of the harbour is ours!" A shout of triumph went up from the men as this fact became known. Gaily did they push on over the broken country, doing what they could in passing to level the way for the transport of the cannon in the rear. By dawn of day, they were full in sight of their destination, and saw indeed that it was deserted, and only awaited their taking possession. With shouts and cheers they dragged up their guns and set them in position. They fired a salute to tell their friends that all was well, and sent a few shots flying amongst the French ships in the harbour, to the no small consternation of the town. But Wolfe could not be idle. The task set him had been accomplished without his having to strike a blow. "We must unite our line, and silence some of those batteries that protect the town on the land side," he said to his men. "The guns and the gunners, with a sufficient force for their protection, will remain here. We have sterner work to do elsewhere; and whilst we are pushing our lines nearer and nearer, I would I knew how they are feeling within the walls of the town." "Let me be the one to find that out and report," said Julian eagerly. "You, man! and how?" "Let me try to make my way within the lines. We have French prisoners; let me borrow the uniform of one. I can speak French as easily as though it were my mother tongue, which, in sooth, perhaps it is; for I might as well call myself French as English, although I have always loved the English and cast in my lot with them. No sentry can know the face of every soldier in the fortress. Let me see if I cannot get within the walls, and bring you word again of what is passing there!" Wolfe stroked his face thoughtfully. "It is a bold scheme, and I have a mind to take you at your word; but I would not have you run into too great peril." "I scarce think that I shall do so. I will have a care. In truth, I should well enough like to see within those solid walls. It is a wonderful fortress this. It might be good for us to know its strength or its weakness, if weakness it has. I would but remain a couple of nights, and then return and bring you word again." "I should like to hear the report right well," answered Wolfe. "I only wish I could accompany you myself." "That would never do. Yours is too valuable a life to risk; mine is worth but little to any man save myself." "I fear rather that I should be but a clog upon your movements," answered Wolfe; "and no man would take me for a Frenchman, even though I can speak the tongue indifferently well. Nor would Amherst suffer me to make the attempt. We are all under obedience to our superiors. But I will suffer you to go, if you think the risk not too great. But have a care of yourself, Julian, have a care. You have become a friend to me that I could ill spare. If aught of harm befell you, the campaign would be clouded to me, even though crowned with victory." Julian pressed the hand he held, and for a moment there was silence between the pair. Wolfe looked out before him, and said musingly: "Does it never seem strange to you, Julian, the thought that our trade is one which makes us look upon the slaughter of our foes as the thing most to be desired, whilst we have that in our hearts which causes us to hate the very thought of suffering and death, either for ourselves or for others; and when we see our foes wounded and left upon the field of battle, we give them the care and tending that we give our own men, and seek in every way to allay their pain and bring them help and comfort?" "Yes, truly; war is full of strange paradoxes," answered Julian thoughtfully. "Sometimes I think that war, like all other ills, comes to us as a part of the curse which sin has brought into the world. We cannot get away from it yet. There be times when it is right to fight--when to sit with folded hands would be a grievous and a cowardly action on the part of a nation. Yet we know that it is God's will that we should love our brethren, and we know that He loves all. So when we see them helpless and suffering, we know that we are right to tend and care for them, and that to do otherwise would be a sin in His sight. And we know, too, that the day will come when wars will cease, when Christ will come and take the power and rule, and when we shall see Him in His glory, and the kingdoms of this world will become the kingdom of our God and of His Christ." Deep silence fell upon them both, and then Wolfe spoke gently. "That would, indeed, be a glorious day! though I, a soldier trained to arms, say it. But I fear me I shall never live to see it." Julian was silent awhile, and then said slowly: "We cannot tell. Of that day and hour knoweth no man. All we know is that it will come, and will come suddenly. I have lived amongst those who looked to see it from day to day. They had been waiting and watching for the Lord's coming through hard upon a century, they and their fathers before them. The hope was beginning to fade and die out. Priests had come amongst them who bid them think of other things, and look no farther than the sacrifice of the Mass, daily offered before their eyes. And yet I used to feel that the other was the fuller, more glorious hope. I think I shall cherish it always." "I would were I you," answered Wolfe in a low voice. "I think it is that which has made you different from other men. I think that if I were to be dying, Julian, I should like to hold your hand in mine and feel that you were near." Then the two friends pressed each other by the hand, and walked back to the camp. As Julian had said, there were many French prisoners there, brought in from time to time after skirmishes. They were treated exactly the same as the English wounded, and Wolfe made a point of visiting them daily, talking to them in their own tongue, and promising them a speedy exchange when any negotiation should be opened with the town. Julian, too, went much amongst them, able to win their confidence very easily, since he seemed to them almost like a brother. It was quite an easy thing for him to disguise himself in the white uniform of a French soldier, and to creep, under cover of the darkness, closer and closer to the wall of the town. It so chanced that he could not have chosen a better night for his enterprise. The booming of guns across the harbour and from the batteries behind had now become constant, and attracted little notice from sentries or soldiers beyond range. But just as darkness began to fall, a shell from Wolfe's newly-planted battery fell upon one of the French ships in the harbour, and set her on fire. The glare rose in the sky, and suddenly there was the sound of an explosion, sparks rose in dense clouds into the air, and the ship plunged like a wild creature in terror, broke from her moorings, and drifted alongside a sister ship. The flames spread to her rigging, and in a few minutes both were ablaze; and before the affrighted and bewildered crews could do anything to prevent it, a third vessel had become involved in the conflagration, and the town was illumined by the pillars of flame which shot up from the still waters of the harbour. All was confusion and dismay, for the French had no ships to spare. Four had been deliberately sunk in the harbour's mouth to prevent the entrance of the English, and here were three all in a blaze. The soldiers and inhabitants rushed madly down to the water's edge to seek to stay the conflagration, and Julian, seizing his opportunity, rushed through the gateway with a small detachment of men from one of the outside batteries, and found himself within the town without having been so much as challenged. Down to the water's edge with the rest he rushed, shouting and gesticulating with the best of them. His uniform prevented his being even so much as looked at. To all appearance he was a French soldier. He did not hesitate to mingle in the crowd, or avoid conversation with any. Very soon he found he was working with the rest in the hopeless endeavour to save the doomed vessels; and he was helpful in getting off some of the half-stifled sailors, dashing upon deck quite a number of times, and bringing back in his strong arms the helpless men who had been overpowered by the flames before they could make their escape. It was work which Julian loved; for saving life was more to his taste than killing. He toiled on, cheering up his comrades, till all that could be saved were placed upon shore; and when he stepped at last upon the quay after the last voyage to the burning ships, he found himself confronted by a fine soldierly man, whose dress and manner bespoke him a personage of some importance. "Well done, my good fellow," he said approvingly; "I shall not forget your gallantry tonight. You doubtless belong to one of the vessels, since I have no knowledge of your face. You had better come up to the citadel, where you shall receive refreshment and a place to rest in. We want all the soldiers we can get for the defence of the town, since we are in evil case between foes on land and foes on the sea." Julian saluted, and spoke a few words of thanks, and the crowd bore him towards the citadel. "Who was it that spoke to me?" he asked of his next neighbour; and the man replied with a laugh: "Why, Governor Drucour to be sure! Are you blind with the smoke, my friend? A very gallant governor and soldier he is, as you should know. And as for Madame, his wife--ah, well, you must see her to understand!" Nor was Julian long in understanding something of what was meant by this unfinished sentence; for he and his companions had not been long seated at table, with a good meal before them, when the door opened, and a tall, elegant lady entered the room, leaning on the arm of the Governor, and instantly the whole company rose, whilst a shout went up: "Long live the Governor! Long live Madame his wife! Long live the King!" The lady came in, and motioned to the company to be seated. She walked up and down amongst them, speaking brave words of thanks and cheer; and halting beside Julian, she made him quite a little special speech, telling him how she had heard that he had been the foremost of all in seeking to save the lives of those who might otherwise have perished in the flames. No questions were asked of him, for the excitement was still strong, and it was taken for granted that he had come off one of the burning ships. The men were all talking together, with the volubility of their race, and Julian took just enough share in the conversation to avoid suspicion. Besides, why should he be suspected? He looked in every respect a Frenchman. And had he not risked his life more than once that night to save those left on board the vessels? The next morning he was able to take an excellent view of the citadel and town. He was amazed at the strength of the place. In one sense of the word it was well nigh impregnable. From the water it could scarcely be touched; but the ridges above, now in the possession of the English, were a source of weakness and peril; and now that the enemy was pushing nearer and nearer, under cover of their own guns, it was plain that the position was becoming one of grave peril. A very little more and the English would be able to shell the whole town and fortress from the land side; and though the soldiers within the citadel were full of hope and confidence, the townsfolk were becoming more and more alarmed, and spoke openly together of the probable fall of the place. They told Julian much that he desired to know, as did also the soldiers within the citadel. He was listening to them, when a sudden cry reached them, and a cheer went up, mingled with cries of "Vive Madame! vive Madame le General!" Julian looked round, and saw that Madame Drucour had come out upon the ramparts, and was preparing with her own hands to fire off one of the great guns. This she did amid the applause of the soldiers, and the man standing beside Julian said with enthusiasm: "Madame comes here every day, no matter the weather or the firing, and walks round the ramparts, and fires off one or more of the guns, to keep us in heart. She is a brave lady. If all soldiers and townsfolk had her spirit, there would be no talk of surrendering Louisbourg." Chapter 3: Victory. "Julian! Is that you I see? Truly I had begun to fear that some misfortune had befallen you. So you have been within the walls of the town, and have returned safe and sound? Your face is a very welcome one, my friend!" Wolfe stretched out his hand, which was eagerly grasped by Julian. It was a still, close evening, and the sullen booming of the guns continued without abatement. So used had the ears of besiegers and besieged grown to that sound of menace, that it was hardly heeded more than the roar of the surf upon the shore. Wolfe was lying in his tent, looking white and worn, as was generally the case after the labours of the day were ended. His indomitable spirit bore him gallantly through the working hours of the long, hot days; but night found him exhausted, and often too suffering to sleep. Julian had been his best companion at such times as these, and he had missed him a good deal these past days. "I have been within the city and citadel, and have returned safe and sound," answered Julian, throwing off the cloak he wore over his white French uniform. "It cannot be long before the place surrenders. Our guns are doing fearful havoc. Fires break out, as you must see, continually. The King's Bastion was almost all consumed yesterday. The hearts of the townspeople are growing faint within them. The officers and soldiers are bold, and show a cheerful front; but they begin to know that sooner or later they will have to throw up the game." Wolfe's eyes kindled with martial joy. "It is the turn of the tide, the turn of the tide!" he exclaimed, his whole face instinct with anticipation of triumph. "The English flag has been trailed in the dust, humiliated, vanquished; but she shall wave aloft over yon proud fortress, which men have called impregnable. And if there, why not over Quebec itself?" Then, whilst he made Julian refresh himself with food and drink, he bid him tell all the story of his visit to Louisbourg: how he had obtained entrance, what he had seen and heard, and what opinion he now held as to the position of the foe and the chances of the siege. Wolfe was much delighted with the anecdotes related of the courage and kindness of Madame Drucour. "The Commander shall hear of that. Brave lady! I would not that she should suffer needless hurt. Tell me, Julian, are they in need of food or wine or any such thing within the walls? I would gladly send to the brave Madame some token of goodwill and appreciation." "They are well victualled; but I heard Madame say that the sick were suffering somewhat from scurvy, and that she wished she had fruit to distribute amongst them. Some of them have come off the ships, where the illness is frequent. Madame Drucour visits the sick constantly, and dresses their wounds with her own hands when the surgeons are busy. And, indeed, they need all the help they can get, for the sick and wounded increase upon their hands daily." "They shall have fruit!" cried Wolfe eagerly. "We had a ship arrive to help the squadron, and she came laden with pines from the West Indies. We will send in a quantity to Madame Drucour under a flag of truce. We may be forced to fight our fellow men, but we need not forget that they are of the same flesh and blood as ourselves. An honourable foe is second only to a friend." "Madame will be grateful for any such act of courtesy, I am sure," replied Julian. "She is a noble lady--gracious, beautiful, and brave. She spoke good words to me, little knowing who I was. It made me feel something treacherous to accept her courtesies, knowing myself for a spy. But yet I have not hurt them by my spying; I can see that the defence cannot long be maintained by those within the walls. Beyond that I have little to say. The fires by day and night tell of the destruction and havoc our guns are making. It needs no spy to report that." General Amherst was keenly interested next day in hearing the story Julian had to tell, and was ready and eager to send a present of fruit and other dainties for the sick to Madame Drucour. Under cover of a flag of truce the convoy was dispatched, and for half a day the guns on both sides ceased firing. In addition to the fruit the General sent a very polite letter to the lady, expressing his regret for the annoyance and anxiety she must be experiencing, and sending a number of small billets and messages from wounded Frenchmen in their hands to their friends in the city. The messengers returned bearing with them a basket and a note. The basket contained some bottles of choice wine for the General's table, and the letter, written by Madame Drucour herself, was couched in terms of courtesy and gratitude. She declared that the fruit for the sick was just the very thing she had been most desiring, and wondered what bird of the air had whispered the message into the ear of the noble English officer. As for the war itself, deplorable as it must always be, the knowledge that they were fighting against a generous and worthy foe could not but be a source of happiness; and, in conclusion, the lady added that they had within the walls of Louisbourg a surgeon of uncommon skill with gunshot wounds, and that his services should always be at the command of any English officer who might desire them. "That is like her!" exclaimed Julian to Wolfe, when the terms of the letter were made known. "She is a very noble and gracious lady, and I trust and hope no hurt will come to her. But she exposes herself to many perils in the hope of cheering and heartening up the men. They all fight better for the knowledge that she is near them; and she goes her daily rounds of the ramparts, be the firing ever so hot!" The cannon were roaring again now from both lines of batteries. The doomed fortress was holding out gallantly, and had as yet given no sign of surrender. Wolfe was hard at work, day after day, drawing his lines closer and closer. His military genius showed itself in every disposition of his lines and batteries. He saw at a glance exactly what should be done, and set to work to do it in the best possible way. "How many ships have they in the harbour?" he asked of Julian, two days after his return from the town. "Only two of any size--the Bienfaisant and the Prudent. The rest have been sunk or destroyed." "I think we had better make an end of those two," said Wolfe thoughtfully. "It might not be a task of great difficulty, if it could be done secretly," said Julian. "The soldiers are mostly on land. They need them more in the citadel than on board; and they think the ships are safe, lying as they do under their own batteries. If we could get a dull or foggy night, we might make a dash at them. We can enter the harbour now that the Island battery is silenced and the frigate Arethuse gone. They say the sailors on board the ships are longing for a task. They would rejoice to accomplish something of that sort." "Get me ready a boat, and you and Humphrey row me out to our fleet yonder," said Wolfe, looking out over the wide expanse of blue beyond the harbour. "I will speak of this with the Admiral, and see what he thinks of the undertaking." They rowed him out from Flat Point to the flagship, and put him on board. It was a fine sight to see the great battleships anchored in the bay, ready to take their part in the struggle at a word of command. But the French fleet had done little or nothing to harass them. They were complete masters of the deep. Even the ships in the harbour had not ventured out, and now only two of them remained. "There will be none tomorrow, if this sea mist comes down," said Wolfe, with a little grim smile, as he entered the boat again. "Row me to the harbour's mouth; I would take a look for myself at the position of the vessels." The sun was shining brilliantly upon land, but over the sea there was a little haze, which seemed disposed to increase. It had been so for two or three days, the fog coming thicker at night. Wolfe looked keenly about him as he reached the mouth of the harbour. He did not attempt to enter it, but sat looking before him with intent, critical gaze. "I see," he remarked, after a pause. "Now row me once more to the flagship, and so back. The thing can be done." Promptitude was one of Wolfe's characteristics; he never let grass grow under his feet. If the thing was to be done, let it be done at once; and the British tar is never a laggard when there is fighting or adventure to be had! Julian and Humphrey volunteered for the service. Humphrey was a favourite with the sailors, having been employed almost constantly in carrying messages to and from the fleet, or in helping to land transports. He was as expert now in the management of a boat as the best of the jack tars, and was eager to take part in the daring enterprise which was to be carried out that night. Six hundred sailors, collected from different vessels, were to be told off for the task. They set to work with hearty goodwill, muffling their oars, and preparing for their noiseless advance into the harbour. The guns would roar ceaselessly overhead. That would do much to drown any sound from the water. Still, care and caution would have to be exercised; for the batteries of the fortress commanded the harbour, and the ships lay beneath their protecting guns. If the little flotilla betrayed its approach by any unguarded sound, it might easily be annihilated before ever it could approach its goal. So that the task set the hardy sailors was not without its distinct element of peril, which was perhaps its chiefest attraction. The shades of night gathered slowly over land and sea. It seemed to Humphrey and some of those waiting in the boats as though night had never fallen so slowly before. But their eyes were gladdened by the sight of the soft fog wreaths which crept over the water as the dusk fell, lying upon it like a soft blanket, and blotting out the distance as much as the darkness could do. It was not a heavy fog. The sailors were in no danger of losing their way as they rowed, first for the harbour mouth, and then for the two French warships at anchor beneath the batteries. But it was thick enough to hide their approach from those on land. It was not probable that even the crews of the vessels would be aware of their close proximity till the word to board was given. Unless some accidental and unguarded sound betrayed their advance, they might in all likelihood carry all before them by a surprise movement. Julian was in the same boat as the officer in command of the expedition. His intimate knowledge of the position of the war vessels would be of use in this murk and darkness. Humphrey took an oar in the same boat; and the little fleet got together, and commenced its silent voyage just as the clocks of the fortress boomed out the midnight hour. It was a strange, ghostly voyage. There was a moon in the sky overhead, and the outlines of the hills and batteries, and even of the fortress itself, could be distinguished wherever the ground rose high enough; but wreaths of white vapour lay lazily along the water, or seemed to curl slowly upwards like smoke from some fire, and the boats rowed along in the encircling mist, only able to gain glimpses from time to time of the moonlit world as a puff of wind drove the vapour away from their path and gave them a transitory outlook upon their surroundings. The dull roar of the guns filled the air. Sometimes the batteries were silent at night; but Wolfe kept things alive on this occasion, in order to cover the approach of the boarding party. Now the mouth of the harbour was reached, and the little fleet gathered itself more compactly together, and the muffling of the oars was carefully looked to. Directions as to the order to be observed had been given before, and the boats fell into their appointed position with quickness and accuracy. Julian took the helm of the leading boat, and steered it across the harbour towards the anchored vessels. He knew exactly where and how they lay. And soon the little flotilla was lying compactly together, its presence all unsuspected, within a cable's length of the two battleships. Now the time for concealment was over. The men seized their arms in readiness. The boats dashed through the water at full speed. The next moment hundreds of hardy British sailors were swarming up the sides of the French vessels, uttering cheers and shouts of triumph the while. Humphrey and Julian were amongst the first to spring upon the deck of the Bienfaisant. The startled crew were just rushing up from below, having been made aware of the peril only a few seconds earlier. Some of them were but half dressed; few of them knew what it was that was happening. They found themselves confronted by English sailors with dirk and musket. Sharp firing, shouts, curses, cries, made the night hideous for a few minutes, and then a ringing voice called out in French: "Surrender the vessels, and your lives shall be spared." It was Julian who cried these words at the command of the officer, and there was no resistance possible for the overpowered crew. The soldiers were on shore within the fort. They were but a handful of men in comparison with their English assailants. It was impossible to dispute possession. "Take to your boats and go ashore, and you shall not be molested," was the next cry; and the men were forced to obey, the fighting having lasted only a very brief space: for it was evident from the first that the English were masters, and needless carnage was not desired by them. Nevertheless the peril to the English sailors was by no means over yet. The guns in the battery now opened fire upon the fleet of boats, and a hailstorm of shot and shell raged round them; so that the French sailors dared not leave the vessel, but crowded below out of the hot fire, preferring to trust to the tender mercies of their captors rather than to the guns of their countrymen. "Tow her away under one of our own batteries," was the order, given as coolly as though this leaden rain were nothing but a summer shower. Humphrey sprang to the side, and cut the cable which anchored her to her moorings. Just at that moment a glow of light through the fog fell across the deck, and looking up he saw a pillar of flame rising from the water close at hand, and casting strange lights and shadows upon the shifting mists which enwrapped them. "They have fired the Prudent!" exclaimed Julian. "Now we shall have light for our task; but we shall be a better target for the enemy's fire. We must lose no time. Cut loose the second cable; we should be moving. See that the boats are all ready to tow us along. What a grand sight that burning ship is! "Ah, I see now. She is aground with the ebb tide. They could not move her, so they have fired her instead. There are her boats rowing for shore with her crew in them!" It was a strange, grand sight, watching the flames enwrap the doomed vessel from stem to stern, till she was one sheet of rosy light. Even the guns from shore had ceased to fire for a brief space, as though the gunners were watching the weird spectacle of the illuminated fog, or were perhaps afraid lest their fire should hurt their own comrades in the boats. But the English sailors took advantage of the lull to set to their task of towing the Bienfaisant with hearty goodwill. "She moves! she moves!" cried Humphrey excitedly, standing at the wheel to direct her course. "Well pulled, comrades--well pulled indeed! Ah, their guns are going to speak again! They will not let us go without a parting salute." The batteries on shore opened their mouths, and belched forth flame and smoke. The ship staggered beneath the leaden hail; but the guns were too high to do mischief to the boats upon the water, and the sailors replied by a lusty cheer. Julian wiped away a few drops of blood that trickled down his face from a slight cut on his temple; but for the most part the shot struck only the spars and rigging, whistling harmlessly over the heads of the men on deck, who laughed and cheered as they encouraged their comrades in the boats to row their hardest and get beyond reach of the enemy's fire. Wolfe had planted a battery himself just lately which commanded a part of the harbour, and beneath this sheltering battery the Bienfaisant was towed, whilst the sailors cheered might and main; and once out of reach of the enemy's fire, rested on their oars and watched the grand illumination of the flame-wrapped Prudent. "If war is a horrible thing," said Julian reflectively to Humphrey, "it has at least its grand sights. Look at the red glare upon the shifting fog banks! Is it not like some wild diabolic carnival? One could fancy one saw the forms of demons flitting to and fro in all that reek and glare." Humphrey's grave young face wore a rather stern look. "I have seen other fires than that, and heard of those I have not seen--fires the memory of which will live in my heart for years and years! If we burn the vessels of the French, is it not because they have hounded on the Indians to burn our homesteads, ay, and with them our defenceless wives and children, mothers and sisters? Shall not deeds like these bring about a stern retaliation? Are we not here to take vengeance upon those who have been treacherous foes, and shamed the Christian profession that they make? Shall we pity or spare when we remember what they have done? The blood of our brothers cries out to us. We do but repay them in their own coin." "Yes," returned Julian thoughtfully; "there is a stern law of reaping and sowing ordained of God Himself. We may well believe that we are instruments in His hands for the carrying out of His purpose. Yet we must seek always to be led of Him, and not to take matters into our own hands. 'Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.'" "I believe He will," said Humphrey, with a flash in his eyes; "but give it to me to be there to see!" "As I think we shall," answered Julian, "for I believe that the key of the war will lie next at Quebec. Whoever holds that, holds the power in Canada, and from Canada can command the western frontier. And the taking of Quebec is the object upon which the mind of Wolfe is firmly set. You know how often he has said to us, 'If I could achieve that, I could say my Nunc Dimittis with joy and thankfulness.' I believe in my heart that he will live to see that glorious victory for England's arms." Wolfe was waiting upon the strand for the boat which brought Julian and Humphrey back with the details of the victorious enterprise. He grasped them both by the hand. "Now I think that surrender cannot much longer be delayed, and, in truth, I hope it will not be. News has reached us from the west of some great disaster at Ticonderoga. It is but the voice of rumour. A light fishing smack brought letters to the General this evening, dated from Albany, and sent by special messenger. Nothing definite is known; but they report a disastrous defeat, attributed to the untimely death of Lord Howe quite early in the expedition. I cannot say what truth there may be in this, but I fear some great disaster has recently taken place. It has made the General and his officers very stern and resolved. England's honour has been sorely tarnished by these many defeats. But I believe her star will rise again. Louisbourg at least must fall ere long." Julian and Humphrey were both filled with sorrow and anxiety at this piece of news. Charles and Fritz were both likely, they thought, if living still, to be there with the army; and one was anxious for news of his brother, and the other of his comrade and friend. "When Louisbourg is taken," said Humphrey, "I shall ask leave of absence to go to seek my brother. My sister in Philadelphia will give me tidings of him. I shall go thither, and come back when the attempt upon proud Quebec is made." "If I had my way, we should sail from Louisbourg straight for Quebec," cried Wolfe, with a flash in his eyes. "I would follow up one blow by another. Yet I know not whether our instructions will carry us thus far. Nevertheless, I hope to live to see the day when the English flag shall wave over the ramparts of that city and fortress which has been called the Impregnable." The news, rumour though it was and unconfirmed, of fresh disaster to the English arms in the interior excited much feeling in the English ranks. Had there been another massacre, such as had disgraced the struggle at Fort William Henry? What would be the next tidings which would reach them of their brethren in arms? There had been so many tales of horror told out in the wild west that strong men often shuddered at the bare thought of what they might have to bear. So the faces of men and officers were alike stern and dark; and when the white flag fluttered at last from the walls of Louisbourg, and the news ran like wildfire through the camp that the fortress was about to surrender, there was a feeling in all hearts that the terms granted should not be too easy. France owed England a deep and mighty debt, which sooner or later she must pay. Wolfe was sent for to be with General Amherst when he received the deputation of the French, and he returned to his quarters looking grave and thoughtful. "We have told them that they must surrender as prisoners of war, and send their reply within an hour. If they refuse, we attack at once both by land and sea. We are all resolved that the siege shall be brought to an end. If we could have been here a month earlier, we might have effected a junction with our friends in the west, and have averted the calamity which has overtaken them there." "Will they accept?" asked Julian eagerly. "They are in a sore strait, but yet they are brave men. They might, perhaps, have looked to be permitted to march out with the honours of war after their bold defence." "Yes; and this would have been granted them had it not been for what happened at Fort William Henry. But the memory of that day cannot be wiped out from the memory of our officers, The General was supported by the bulk of his officers. They will have no conditions. They will treat the sick and the wounded and the towns people with every consideration, but they will be absolute masters. The Admiral was there, and he and the General signed the note. They are resolved to abide by its contents." Excitement reigned everywhere. The firing had ceased, and the stillness of the air was like that which sometimes precedes the bursting of a thunderstorm, What reply would the fort return? and how quickly would it arrive? It was understood that, in the event of delay, a general assault would be made, and some of the soldiers would have eagerly welcomed the order for the advance. Keen excitement prevailed when it became known that a messenger had come, not bringing the expected reply, but one asking for less rigorous terms. "The General would not see him," was the cry. "He was sent back to say that nothing would be changed from the last letter addressed to the Governor. The Admiral and General are alike agreed. There will be no wavering from that." It was plain that there was some variance in the city itself. In the ranks of the besieging force there was intense excitement and stir. Every man was looking to his arms, save when he was asking news and gazing towards the walls of the city. That something decisive must soon be settled was apparent to all. The white flag again! A messenger was coming out towards the camp with the reply. He appeared in no haste, and paused again and again to look back. Suddenly another man appeared running hastily after him. The first messenger paused, consulted with him, and then turned back towards the city. The second man ran on alone, making vehement signs, as though afraid there might yet be some misunderstanding. "We accept! we accept!" he shouted out, waving a paper above his head, beside himself with excitement. Two men followed him; they were taken into the tent of the General, who, with the Admiral, was awaiting the final answer. But the first messenger remained without, panting and exhausted, and Julian instantly recognized him as an officer who had shown him some kindness during his short stay within the fortress. He came up to him now, and the recognition was mutual. "So you were a spy all the while, my friend!" said the Frenchman, with something like a grim laugh. "Had we known that, you would have received a different welcome. Ah well, it matters little now. And it is a pity for brave men to die like dogs. We were in a sad pass before. You could not have told much that was not already known." "The fortress is ready to capitulate?" "Not the fortress, but the town. Bad as our condition is, we would not have surrendered on those terms. We had indeed dispatched a messenger to say as much. But the Provost and the citizens were too many for us. They ran to the citadel, and made such work that the Governor yielded, and I offered, being fleet of foot, to run after the messenger and stop him if it could be done. Luckily his own heart misgave him, and he had not hurried. And close upon my heels were sent others with more definite instructions. And thus Louisbourg passes into the hands of gallant foes. But I trust they will show every courtesy to our brave Madame." "Have no fear on that score," answered Julian; "I have told in the English camp of the bravery and gracious kindness of Madame le General. Our commander will see that she is treated with every consideration; as also the sick and wounded, her special charge. It is well not to drive us to assault the weakened town. Now we shall enter as friends rather than foes." "So said the Provost, remembering that the English have much cause of complaint against us. We cannot deny that ourselves. Ah me! it is the chance of war. We have had our triumphs, and now you have your turn. It is not here but at Quebec that the real trial of strength will be. I think, my friends, you will find that you have a hard nut to crack there." "So they said of Louisbourg, and yet that has been done," answered Julian, with a smile. "But come in, and refresh yourself in my tent here whilst the messengers are conferring with our General. They will have to draw up terms of capitulation. There will be time to get a good meal whilst that is being done." At dawn the following morning the drums beat. The English soldiers got into order, and marched through the Dauphin gate into the town. The French soldiers, drawn up in array, threw down their muskets, and with tears of mortification marched away, leaving the victors in possession. The English flag was run up, amid wild cheering, and floated over the grim and shattered ramparts. The turn of the tide had come at last, and Louisbourg had fallen into the hands of the English. Chapter 4: The Fruits Of Victory. Wolfe lay upon a couch in a comfortable apartment, such as he had not inhabited since he set sail from England months ago. It was in the citadel itself--in the heart of the King's Bastion, where the Governor had his quarters. Wolfe had been the life and soul of the siege. To his genius and indomitable resolution the victory of the English arms had been largely due. He had forced himself to take the lead, and had toiled night and day in the crisis of the struggle and the final triumph; and even after the victors had marched in, his eyes seemed to be everywhere, enforcing discipline, preventing any sort of disorder or licence amongst the soldiers, and sternly repressing the smallest attempt on their part to plunder the townsfolk, or take the slightest advantage of their helpless condition. He had specially seen to the condition of the sick and wounded, insuring them the same care as was given to the English in like case. This had been one of the articles of the capitulation, but it was one which was in like cases too often carelessly carried out, sometimes almost ignored. Wolfe with his own eyes saw that there was no shirking, no mismanagement here. He seemed to be everywhere at once during those busy days which followed the entrance into the town. But outraged nature would have her revenge at last, and for three days he had lain helpless and suffering in the room assigned to him in the Governor's house, watched over and tended by Julian, who had by this time come to have a very adequate idea as to the treatment most needed by him when those attacks came on. The cool of the evening had followed upon the heat of a very sultry day, which had greatly tried the sufferer. Wolfe looked up, and saw his friend beside him, and smiled in recognition of his attentions. "You are always here, Julian; you must surely want rest yourself. You have been here night and day. I know it even though I may not seem to do so. But I shall be on my legs again soon. I can feel that the access of pain is abating. How have things been going in the town since I was laid by the heels?" "Oh well, several vessels with their load of prisoners have already sailed for England; many of the townsfolk and merchants have started, or are starting, for France; some regiments of our men are to be sent at once to reinforce General Abercromby. I fear by all accounts that they will come too late to be of any real use for the campaign this season. It is quite true that he suffered a crushing defeat at Ticonderoga, due, as many of the officers say, to bad generalship. Still he will doubtless be glad of support in the wilderness, wherever he may be. Humphrey is to start with the first detachment; he expects his orders for departure daily." Wolfe raised himself upon his elbow and sat up, despite his weakness, fired by excitement and energy. "But Quebec, Quebec, Quebec!" he exclaimed; "surely we are going forward to Quebec?" Julian shook his head doubtfully. "I fear me not at least this present season. I hear it said that General Amherst was ready, but that the Admiral was against it for the present. They say there is still much to do in subduing the adjacent possessions of France in these lands, and so paving the way for the greater enterprise. Various officers are to be sent hither and thither upon expeditions to small settlements, to uproot or destroy them. When this has been done, perhaps the move to Quebec will be made. But I fear me it will not be before next year." Wolfe made a gesture of irritation and impatience. "Have we not yet had enough of procrastination?" he questioned bitterly. "Will England never learn the lesson which her reverses should have taught her? What boots the victory we have gained here, if it be not the stepping stone to lead us to Quebec?" "Who speaks of Quebec?" asked a clear, musical voice at the half-open door; and Julian sprang to his feet, exclaiming as he did so: "It is Madame Drucour! she has come every day to see and inquire after you." Hearing the sound of her name, the lady pushed open the door and entered--a graceful, stately figure clothed all in black; her beautiful face worn and pale, and trouble lurking in the depths of her hazel eyes; yet calm and serene and noble of aspect as she moved forward and held out a slim white hand to the patient. "You are better, Monsieur?" she asked, in her full, rich tones. "I trust that the suffering is less than it was. The fever, I can see, has abated somewhat." Wolfe carried the hand he held to his lips. In common with all the officers who had made her acquaintance, Wolfe had come to have a very high opinion of Madame Drucour. "I thank you, gracious lady, for your condescension in asking. I trust soon to be restored to such measure of health and strength as I ever enjoy. At best I am but a cranky creature; but with quarters such as these I should be worse than ungrateful if I did not mend. I trust my presence here has caused you no inconvenience; for truly I believe that I am in your house, and that I owe to you the comforts I enjoy." She gave a strange little smile as she seated herself beside him. "In truth, Monsieur, I know not what I may call my own today. This town and fortress are now no longer ours, and we are but here ourselves on sufferance--prisoners of war--" "Nay, nay, not prisoners--not you, Madame," answered Wolfe hastily. "We war not against women--least of all such noble ladies as yourself!" She acknowledged this speech by a little motion of the head, and then continued, in a tone at once sorrowful and dignified: "I cannot separate myself from those amongst whom I have lived for so long. I acknowledge with gratitude the courtesy I have received from all. I know that my personal liberty is assured to me. But my heart will always be where there is need of help by my own countrymen. If not a prisoner to the English, I am held in other bonds." "Ah yes," answered Wolfe, with an answering sparkle in his eye; "that I understand well. We are all bound to our country in bonds that cannot be severed. And yet we are bound to the common cause of humanity, and there we meet on common ground. We need not remember anything else at such a time, Madame. We serve in one army there. Do not our wounded as well as your own bless the sight of your face and the sound of your voice amongst them?" "And have they not cause to bless the name of that brave officer who, in spite of his own weakness and suffering, would not rest until he had seen in person that all were cared for--foes as well as friends? Yes, truly, Monsieur, in one warfare we can stand upon the same side, and fight the same battle against disease and suffering and death. I would that this were the only kind of warfare that is known in the world!" "And I too--sometimes," replied Wolfe, lying back again on his pillows and looking dreamily out before him. "There are moments, it is true, when the battle fever works in a man's blood, and war seems to him then a glorious game. But it has its terrible and hateful side, as every soldier knows well. And yet the day seems far away when wars shall be no more." "Indeed yes," answered Madame Drucour, with a little sigh; "we have a sorrowful prospect before us yet. What was the word which I heard you speak as I entered? Was it not of that projected march upon Quebec?" "It was," answered Wolfe frankly. "I may not deny, Madame, that the longing of my heart at this moment is to try conclusions with your gallant countrymen beneath the walls of Quebec." "You are bold, Monsieur," said Madame Drucour, with a little smile. "You know Quebec, Madame?" "Very well. It is there that I purpose going with my husband when the exchange is completed which gives him his liberty. I have relatives there, and I go to be with them when duty may call my husband elsewhere. If you come to Quebec, Monsieur, we may perchance meet again." "It will be something happy to look forward to." "There is always joy in feeling that the foe we fight is a noble and generous one. I shall tell in Quebec how the English General, though stern in his terms of capitulation, refused to me nothing that I asked when once the town was given up, and how generously he and all his officers showed themselves, and in especial one--Brigadier Wolfe!" The young man bowed at the compliment. "And I, on my side, shall know that if Madame Drucour is within the walls of Quebec, no garrison can fail to be gallant and devoted. Such an example before their eyes would put heart and heroism into the most faint hearted." A very sincere liking grew up between Madame Drucour and her guests before Wolfe was on his legs again, and able to return to his quarters amongst his men. Indeed, his happiest hours were spent in the company of that lady, for there was much to vex and try him when in the camp. There was to be no move upon Quebec that season and Wolfe chafed rather bitterly at the decision, and wrote to General Amherst in stronger terms than most subordinate officers would have ventured to do. He even spoke of throwing up the service, if nothing were to be done at such a critical time; but the General would not hear of losing so valuable an officer, and indeed, in spite of the irritability sometimes engendered by his ill-health, Wolfe was too much the soldier at heart ever to abandon his calling. It was, however, rather hard to one of his ardent and chivalrous temperament, eager for the great blow to be struck against Quebec, to be deputed to harry and destroy a number of little fishing settlements along the Gulf of St. Lawrence--which measure he considered a needless severity, and hated accordingly. It was a relief to him to know that Pitt, having heard of his severe bout of illness after the taking of Louisbourg, had summoned him back to England to recruit his health. "When we have finished our great exploit of robbing fishermen of their nets and burning their huts, we will to England again, Julian; and you will come with me, my trusty comrade and friend. If we are spreading the terror of England's name here, we are not adding to her laurels. Let me remain at home till there be real warfare to accomplish, and then let me come out again. This task is odious and sickening to me. Were it not that another might show more harshness and barbarity over it, I would e'en decline the mission." Humphrey had already left Louisbourg for Philadelphia and the western frontier; but Julian had elected to remain with Wolfe, who had come to depend upon him in no small measure. There was something in the temperaments of the two men which made them congenial one to the other. Wolfe's restless irritability was soothed by Julian's quiet calmness, and there was in both men a strain of ardent patriotism and self devotion which gave them sympathies in common. Together they set sail for England when the soldier's work was done, and after a fairly prosperous voyage they landed in that country, and immediately started for Bath, where Wolfe hoped to find relief from his rheumatic troubles, and gain the strength which he had lost during this hard campaign. "I think my mother will be awaiting me there this time," he said, with a light in his eyes. "You have never seen my mother yet, Julian. Ah, how I long to see her again! she has been such a mother to me! There are times when I think if I have to give up this profession of arms, and take to a quiet life, I could have a very happy life at home with my mother. We suit each other so well, and we are like each other in our foibles and weaknesses. I think I have inherited my cranky health from her, but not her beauty. You will see for yourself how little like her I am in that respect when we get home." To Julian, who had known nothing of the joys of home since he left his valley in the far south of the Western world, and who had no home to call his own now, there was something touching in the eagerness of Wolfe to reach his home and his mother. His father was not likely to be there. He would almost certainly be either in Kent, or else abroad; for he still held a command in the army, and the war on the Continent was still raging furiously. But the mother would be awaiting her son in the house he had written to ask her to secure for him again. It was within easy reach of the town, and yet it was quiet and secluded, and suited his tastes and habits. It was almost dark one murky autumn evening when the lumbering coach, which had conveyed the friends the last stages of their journey, drew up at the door of the house. Lights shone in the windows, and from the open door there streamed out a glowing shaft of yellow light, bespeaking the warm welcome awaiting the tired traveller. Wolfe had been weary to the verge of exhaustion when they had abandoned the attempt to ride the whole distance, and had secured the heavy coach; but now he seemed to revive to new life, and he sprang from it with some of the activity of youth and strength. "Mother--there is my mother!" he exclaimed; and Julian saw him take the steps two at a time, to meet the advancing greeting from the mother who had come to welcome home her son. Mrs. Wolfe was a distinctly beautiful woman, whose beauty had been but little dimmed by time. There was a sweet, matronly repose about her, and the brightness of her red-gold hair was dashed with streaks of soft grey beneath the laces with which it was crowned. But her complexion was clear and fair, and there was a look of soft fragility about her which made the son's protecting air of solicitude a natural and appropriate one. She folded him in her arms in a long, rapturous embrace; and Julian stood silently by the while, reverent of that deep love which for the moment could find no expression save in the whispered words: "Mother! mother! mother!" "My son--my dear boy! my son come back to me!" When the lady turned at length to greet the silent figure who stood silently watching this meeting, Julian could see that the tears were standing upon her cheeks and sparkling in her eyes. "You will pardon me, sir, for this apparent neglect," she said sweetly, putting her thin jewelled fingers into Julian's hand; "but when my boy goes forth to the fight, I never know whether it will be God's will to send him back to me safe and sound. A mother's heart cannot but be full upon a day like this. But second only to my joy in welcoming him back is this of making acquaintance with the trusty friend who has been so much to him during his perils and labours." "Madam, it has been the joy and honour of my life to be able to serve so great a soldier and so noble a man!" The warm clasp upon his fingers gave the mother's answer to this; and then they all moved within the lighted hall, where a glowing fire and a number of candles gave bright illumination, and where quite a hubbub of welcome was going on. The servants were pressing forward to see and greet their young master, who had come home crowned with laurels. It was known by this time in England how much of the success at Louisbourg had been due to Wolfe's unfailing energy and intrepidity. He was a hero at home as well as abroad, though he had hardly realized it yet. Moreover, he was vociferously welcomed by his dogs, all of whom had been brought by his mother to meet their master again; and he had much ado to return the manifold greetings bestowed upon him, and to free himself at last from the demonstrative affection of his canine friends. A plentiful supper was awaiting the wearied travellers; and it was when they had put in order their dress and entered the dining room that they were aware of the presence of another lady, a very handsome, dark-eyed girl, who stood beside the glowing fire regarding their entrance with looks of unaffected interest. "My dear," said Mrs. Wolfe, "let me present to you my son James, of whom you know much, although you have never met; and his friend and companion, Lieutenant Julian Dautray, whose name is equally known to you. "This, James, is Miss Kate Lowther, the daughter of an old friend of ours, who has left her in my charge whilst he takes a last voyage to Barbados, where once he was Governor, to be my daughter and companion till he comes back to claim her." The bright-eyed girl dropped a courtesy to the gentlemen, who bowed low before her; but then holding out her hand frankly to Wolfe, she said in a clear, fresh voice. "I am so glad to see you, Cousin James. I am going to call you that because I call your mother Aunt, and she has given me leave to do so. I know so much about you from your letters. I have copied every one of them to send to your father, for Aunt will not part with the originals even for him! I know all about Louisbourg, and the batteries, and the ships, and the big guns. Oh, I think if I were a man I could become an officer at once, and command a great campaign like that one! We had such rejoicings here when the news came! it was like new life to us. We had heard of that dreadful defeat at Ticonderoga, and it seemed as though England was never to rise from the dust of humiliation. It was openly said that Louisbourg would never fall; that it was as impregnable as Quebec. Oh, there was such lugubrious talk! And then came the news of the victory, and of Brigadier Wolfe's valiant and doughty deeds. You may guess how your mother's eyes shone at that! And all England echoed to the sound of your name!" "A name more formidable in sound than in reality," spoke Wolfe, laughing, but cheered and pleased by the sincere and pretty enthusiasm of the winning girl. "When those who have kindly admired me from the distance come to inspect me in person, what a shock they will receive! We shall have to palm Julian here off as the right man; he will play the part with much more dignity and grace." Kate looked from one to the other laughing. "What do you expect me to say to that? Lieutenant Dautray looks every inch a soldier; but I think, Cousin James, that you have the air of the man born to command." "In spite of my cropped red head and lanky limbs? I am proud of the compliment paid me." Wolfe was certainly rather taken aback to find himself a man of so much mark when he showed himself in Bath. He had quite an ovation when first he appeared at the Pump Room; and although he was in a measure accustomed to lead a public life, and to be the object of attention and even admiration, he shrank from having this carried into his private life, and was happiest at home with his mother and friend, and with bright Kate Lowther, with whom he soon became wonderfully intimate. The girl's sincere affection for his frail and delicate mother would in any case have won his heart; but there was something exceedingly attractive in her whole personality and in her eager interest in his past career and in the fortunes of the war. She would sit for hours beside him whilst he related to his mother the incidents of the campaign, and her questions and comments showed a quick intelligence and ready sympathy that were a never-failing source of interest to him. Her strength and vitality were refreshing to one who was himself almost always weak and suffering. He would watch her at play with the dogs in the garden, or up and down the staircase, and delight in the grace and vigour of her movements. She would come in from her walks and rides with a glow upon her face and a light in her eyes, and sitting down beside him would relate all that had befallen her since her departure an hour or two before--telling everything in so racy and lively a fashion that it became the chiefest pleasure of Wolfe's life to lie and look at her and listen to her conversation. Christmas was close upon them. It would be a bright and happy season for mother and son, spent together after their long separation. Upon the eve of that day Kate came eagerly in with a large official letter in her hand, addressed to the soldier. It was a moment of excitement whilst he opened it, for it was known that he had been corresponding latterly with several ministers respecting the proposed expedition against Quebec, and all knew how dear to his heart was the fulfilment of that daring scheme. As he read the document his cheek flushed. He sat up more erect in his chair, and there came into his face a look which his soldiers well knew. It was always to be seen there when he led them into battle. "Mother," he said very quietly, "Mr. Pitt has chosen me to command the expedition now fitting out against Quebec." Mrs. Wolfe gave a little gasp, the tears springing to her eyes; but over Kate's face there spread a deep, beautiful flush, and she grasped the young man by the hand, exclaiming: "O Cousin James, how glad I am! What a splendid victory it will be!" "If it be won!" he said, looking up at her with kindling eyes. "But there is always an 'if' in the case." "There will be none when you are in command," answered Kate, with a ring of proud assurance in her voice. "Had you been commander of the Louisbourg expedition, Quebec would have been ours by now." Their eyes met. In hers he read unbounded admiration and faith. It thrilled him strangely. It brought a look of new purpose into his face. He held her hand, and she left it lying in his clasp. He was holding it still when he turned to his mother. "Are you not glad, mother mine?" he asked gently. "Oh yes, my son--glad and proud of the honour done you, of the appreciation shown of your worth and service. But how will you be able to undergo all that fatigue, and the perils and sufferings of another voyage? That is what goes to my heart. You are so little fit for it all!" "I have found that a man can always be fit for his duty," said Wolfe gravely. "Is not that so, Kate?" "With you it is," she answered, with another of her wonderful glances; and the mother, watching the faces of the pair, rose from her seat and crept from the room. Her heart was at once glad and sorrowful, proud and heavy; she felt that she must ease it with a little weeping before she could talk of this great thing with the spirit her son would look to find in her. Wolfe and Kate were left alone together. He got possession of her other hand. She was standing before him still, a beautiful bloom upon her face, her eyes shining like stars. "You are pleased with all this, my Kate?" he asked; and he let the last words escape him unconsciously. "Pleased that your country should do you this great honour? Of course I am pleased. You have deserved it at her hands; yet men do not always get their deserts in this world." "No; and you must not think that there are not hundreds of better and braver men than myself in our army, or that I am a very wonderful person. I have got the wish of my heart--it has been granted to me more fully than I ever looked to see it; but how often do we see in the hour of triumph that there is something bitter in the cup, something we had not looked to find there. Three months ago I was burning to sail for Quebec, and now--" He paused for a moment, and she looked full at him. "Surely you have not changed. You want to go; your heart is set upon it!" "Yes," he answered gravely: "my wish and purpose have never wavered; but now my heart is divided. Once it beat only for my country, and the clash of arms was music in my ears; now it has found a rival elsewhere. If I go to Quebec, I must leave you behind, my Kate!" Suddenly into her bright eyes there sprang the smart of tears. She clasped the hands that held hers and pressed them closely. "It will not be for long," she said; "you will return covered with glory and renown!" "It may be so, it may be so; yet who can tell? Think how many gallant soldiers have been left behind upon that great continent: Braddock, Howe--oh, I could name many others less known to fame, perhaps, but gallant soldiers all. We go out with our lives in our hand, and so many never return!" The tears began to fall slowly in sparkling drops. She could not release her hands to wipe them away. "Do not speak so, James; it is not like you! Why do you try to break my heart?" "Would you care so much, so much, were I to find a soldier's grave?" A quick sob was her reply. She turned her head away. "Kate, do you love me?" "I think you know that I do, James." "I have begun to hope, and yet I have scarcely dared. You so full of life and strength and beauty, and I such a broken crock!" "A hero, you mean!" she answered, with flashing eyes--"a soldier and a hero; tenfold more a hero in that you overcome pain and weakness, sickness and suffering, in the discharge of your duty, and do things that others would declare impossible! Oh yes, I have heard of you; Lieutenant Dautray has told me. I know how you have done the impossible again and yet again. James, you will do this once again. You will storm that great fortress which men call impregnable--you will storm it and you will vanquish it; and you will come home crowned with glory and honour! And I shall be here waiting for you; I shall watch and wait till you come. It is written in the book of fate that your name is to go down to posterity as the hero of Quebec. I am sure of it--oh, I am sure! Do not say anything to damp my hope, for I will not believe you!" He looked into her face, and his own kindled strangely. "I will say nothing but that I love you--I love you--I love you! Today that is enough between us, Kate. Let the rest go--the honour and glory of the world, the commission, and all besides. Today we belong to each other; tomorrow we sing of peace on earth, goodwill toward men. Let that suffice us; let us forget the rest. We will be happy together in our love, and in love to all mankind. After that we must think again of these things. Afterwards thoughts of war and strife must have their place; but for once let love be lord of our lives. After that storm and strife--and Quebec!" Book 5: Within Quebec. Chapter 1: The Impregnable City. Within a lofty chamber, with narrow windows and walls of massive thickness, stood a young, bright-haired girl, looking with dreamy eyes across the wide waters of the great St. Lawrence, as it rolled its majestic course some hundreds of feet below. Although that mighty waterway narrowed as it passed the rocky promontory upon which the city of Quebec was built, it was even there a wonderful river; and looking westward, as the girl was doing, it seemed to spread out before her eyes like a veritable sea. It was dotted with ships of various dimensions bringing in supplies, or news of coming help or peril--news of that great armament from distant England, perhaps, whose approach was being awaited by all within the city with a sense of intense expectancy, not entirely unmixed with fear. True, the soldiers laughed to scorn the idea of any attack upon Quebec. It stood upon its rocky tongue of land, frowning and unassailable, as it seemed to them. All along the north bank of the lower river the French were throwing up earthworks and intrenching their army, to hinder any attempt at landing troops there; and the guns of the town batteries would soon sink and destroy any vessel rash enough to try to pass the town, and gain a footing upon the shores above. Indeed, so frowning and precipitous were these that nature herself seemed to be sufficient guard. "Let the English come, and see what welcome we have got for them!" was a favourite exclamation from soldiers and townsfolk; yet all the same there was anxiety in the faces of those who watched daily for the first approach of the English sails. Had not Louisbourg said the same, and yet had fallen before English hardihood and resolution? Those in the highest places in this Canadian capital best knew the rotten condition into which her affairs had fallen. The corruption amongst officials, the jealousy between Governor and General, the crafty self seeking of the Intendant--these and a hundred other things were enough to cause much anxiety at headquarters. The grand schemes of the French for acquiring a whole vast continent were fast dwindling down to the anxious hope of being able to keep what they already possessed. The girl gazing forth from the narrow window was turning over in her mind the things that she had heard. Her fair face was grave, yet it was bright, too, and as she threw out her hand towards the vista of the great river rolling its mighty volume of water towards the sea, she suddenly exclaimed: "And what if they do come? what if they do conquer? Have we not deserved it? have we not brought ruin upon our own heads by the wickedness and cruelty we have made our allies? And if England's flag should one day wave over the fortress of Quebec, as it now does over that of Louisbourg, what is that to me? Have I not English--or Scotch--blood in my veins? Am I not as much English as French? I sometimes think that, had I my choice, England would be the country where I should best love to dwell. It is the land of freedom--all say that, even my good uncle, who knows so well. I love freedom; I love what is noble and great. Sometimes I feel in my heart that England will be the greatest country of the world." Her eyes glowed; she stretched forth her hands in a speaking gesture. The waters of the great river seemed to flash back an answer. Cooped up within frowning walls, amid the buildings of the fortress and upper town, Corinne felt sometimes like a bird in a prison cage; and yet the life fascinated her, with its constant excitements, its military environment, its atmosphere of coming danger. She did not want to leave Quebec till the struggle between the nations had been fought out. And yet she scarcely knew which side she wished to see win. French though her training had been of late years, yet her childhood had been spent in the stormy north, amid an English-speaking people. She had seen much that disgusted and saddened her here amongst the French of Canada. She despised the aged libertine who still sat upon the French throne with all the scorn and disgust of an ardent nature full of noble impulses. "I hate to call myself his subject!" she had been known to say. "I will be free to choose to which nation I will belong. I have the right to call myself English if I choose." Not that Corinne very often gave way to such open demonstrations of her national independence, It was to her aunt, Madame Drucour, with whom she was now making a home, that she indulged these little rhapsodies, secure of a certain amount of indulgence and even sympathy from that lady, who had reason to think and speak well of English gallantry and chivalry. Madame Drucour occupied a small house wedged in amongst the numerous strongly-built houses and ecclesiastical buildings of the upper town of Quebec. The house had been deserted by its original occupants upon the first news of the fall of Louisbourg. Many of the inhabitants of Quebec had taken fright at that, and had sailed for France; and Madame Drucour had been placed here by her husband, who himself was wanted in other quarters to repel English advances. The lady had been glad to summon to her side her niece Corinne, who, since the state of the country had become so disturbed, had been placed by her father and uncle in the Convent of the Ursulines, under the charge of the good nuns there. Corinne had been fond of the nuns; but the life of the cloister was little to her taste. She was glad enough to escape from its monotony, and to make her home with her father's sister. Madame Drucour could tell her the most thrilling and delightful stories of the siege of Louisbourg. Already she felt to know a great deal about war in general and sieges in particular. She often experienced a thrill of pride and delight in the thought that she herself was about to be a witness of a siege of which all the world would be talking. As she stood at the window today, a footstep rang through the quiet house below, and suddenly the door of the little chamber was flung wide open. "Corinne!" cried a ringing voice which she well knew. She turned round with a little cry of joy. "Colin!" she cried, and the next minute brother and sister were locked in a fervent embrace. "O Colin, Colin, when did you come, and whence?" "Just this last hour, and from Montreal," he answered. "Oh, what strange adventures I have seen since last we met! Corinne, there have been times when I thought never to see you again! I have so much to say I know not where to begin. I have seen our triumphs, and I have seen our defeat. Corinne, it is as our uncle said. There is a great man now at the helm in England, and we are feeling his power out here in the West." "Do you think the tide has turned against the French arms?" asked Corinne breathlessly. "What else can I think? Has not Fort Frontenac fallen? Has not Fort Duquesne been abandoned before the advancing foe? Our realm in the west is cut away from Canada in the north. If we cannot reunite them, our power is gone. And they say that Ticonderoga and Crown Point will be the next to fall. The English are massing upon Lake George. They have commanders of a different calibre now. Poor Ticonderoga! I grew to love it well. I spent many a happy month there. But what can we do to save it, threatened as we are now by the English fleet in the great St. Lawrence itself?" "Are they not brave, these English?" cried Corinne, with an enthusiasm of admiration in her face and voice. "Colin, I am glad, oh very glad, that you and I are not all French. We can admire our gallant foes without fear of disloyalty to our blood. We have cause to know how gallant and chivalrous they can be." Colin's eyes lighted with eager pleasure. "You remember that day in the forest, Corinne, and how we were protected by English Rangers from hurt?" "Ah, do I not! And I have heard, too, from our Aunt Drucour, of their kindness and generosity to a conquered army--" But she stopped, and waited for her brother to speak, as she saw that he had more to say. "You remember the big, tall Ranger, whose name was Fritz?" he said eagerly. "Yes, I remember him well." "He is here--in Quebec--in this house at this very minute! He and I have travelled from Montreal with my uncle." Corinne's eyes were bright with eager interest. Ah, Colin! is that truly so? And how came that about? You travelling with an English Ranger!" "Yes, truly, and we owe our lives to his valour and protection. It is strange how Dame Fortune has thrown us across each other's path times and again during these past few short years. First, he saved us from attack in the forest. You need not that I should tell you more of that, Corinne. Afterwards, some few of us from Ticonderoga saved the lives of him and of a few other Rangers who had fallen into the hands of the Indians after that defeat at Fort William Henry, which had scattered them far and wide. We felt such shame at the way our Indian allies had behaved, and at the little protection given to the prisoners of war by our Canadian troops, that we were glad to show kindness and hospitality to the wanderers, Rangers though they were; and when I recognized Fritz, I was the more glad. He was wounded and ill, and we nursed him to health ere we sent him away. After that it was long before we met again, and then he came to our succour when we were in the same peril from Indians as he had been himself the year before." "From Indians? O brother!" and Corinne shuddered, for she had that horror of the red-skinned race which comes to those who have seen and heard of their cruelties and treachery from those who have dwelt amongst them. "Yes, you must know, Corinne, that in the west, where our uncle goes with the word of life and truth, the Indians are already wavering, and are disposed to return to their past friendship with the English. They are wonderfully cunning and far-seeing. They seem to have that same instinct as men say that rats possess, and are eager to leave the sinking ship, or to join themselves to the winning side, whichever way you like to put it. Since we have seen misfortune they have begun to change towards us. We cannot trust them out in the west. They are becoming sullen, if not hostile. A very little and they will turn upon us with savage fury--at least if they are not withheld from it by the English themselves." Corinne's cheek flushed; she flung back her head with an indescribable gesture. "And I believe the English will withhold them. To our shame be it spoken, the French have made use of them. They have stooped to a warfare which makes civilized man shudder with horror. England will not use such methods; I am sure of it, And she will prosper where we have failed; for God in the heavens rules the nations upon earth, and He will not suffer such wickedness to continue forever. If France in the west falls, she falls rather by her own act than by that of her foes." "That is what my uncle says," answered Colin earnestly; "it is what he has striven all along to impress upon our leaders, but without avail. He has been seeking, too, to show to the Indians themselves the evil of their wicked practices. He has never been afraid of them; he has always been their friend. But the day came when they would no longer listen to him; when they drove us forth with hatred and malice; when there came into their faces that which made me more afraid than anything I have ever faced in my life before, Corinne. We dared not stay. The chief dismissed us and bid us be gone quickly, whilst he could still hold his people in check. He did not wish harm to come to us; but savage blood is hard to check. "We got away from the village, and hoped the danger was over. We made our way as well as we could towards Montreal. But our uncle was weak; he had had several attacks of fever. One day he could not travel. That night we were set upon by a score of wandering Indians. They would not listen to our words, We were white men, that was enough. All white men were their enemies, they said. They would roast us alive first and eat us afterwards, they declared," "O Colin!" cried Corinne, with widely-dilated eyes. "Yes; I can see their eyes now, rolling and gleaming. They began collecting light brushwood around the upright stakes they drove into the ground. They laughed and yelled, and sprang about with frightful contortions. They were working themselves up as they do before they set to one of their frightful pieces of work. Our uncle called me to him, and we prayed together. At least he prayed, and I tried to follow his words; but I could do nothing but watch those awful preparations. Then suddenly a shout arose from the forest hard by, and the Indians seized their weapons. We sent up a shout, caring little whether it was answered by English or French. We knew that what we had heard was no Indian whoop; it came from the throats of white men. "Next minute a body of Rangers had dashed amongst us. The Indians fled, scattering right and left like chaff before the wind. Next minute I distinguished the friendly face of Fritz. He was kneeling beside our uncle, and asking him tenderly if he were hurt." "The same Fritz as saved us in the forest! Oh, I am glad it was he!" "So was I; and doubly glad when I found that he knew more about the cure of these forest fevers than even our uncle himself. The Rangers made a hut for us, and for three days Fritz doctored our uncle, till he was almost well again. But they would not leave us in the forest, with the bands of treacherous Indians prowling around. They escorted us to within a short distance of Montreal itself, and Fritz consented to come into the city as our guest; and since he speaks French almost as well as English, he was a welcome guest to all. He became so much attached to my uncle that he consented to come with us to Quebec. For he is anxious to join the English squadron when it reaches these waters, and my uncle gave him his word of honour that no hindrance shall be placed in the way of his doing so. Perhaps it may be even well for one who has seen the extreme strength of the town, and the preparations made for its defence by land and sea, to go to warn the bold invaders that the task they contemplate is one which is well nigh if not quite impossible." "O Colin, it is good indeed to have you again, out of the very jaws of death! Let me go myself and thank this noble Fritz for his good offices. Colin, I fear me I am half a traitor to the cause of France already; for there is that in my heart which bids me regard the English as friends rather than as foes. And when I hear men shake their heads and say that they may one day be the masters of these broad lands of the west, it raises within me no feeling of anger or grief. I cannot be a true daughter of France to feel so!" "And yet I share that feeling, Corinne. I often feel that I am less than half a Frenchman! My good uncle sometimes shakes his head over me; but then he smiles, and says that the mother's blood always runs strong in the firstborn son; and methinks, had our mother lived, she would have been on the side of those who speak her tongue and hail from the grey lands of the north." "Ah, it is good that you feel the same, Colin! I had almost chided myself for being half a traitor. And now take me to our good friend Fritz, that I may thank him myself and see him again with mine own eyes." Brother and sister descended the stone stairway which divided the various floors of that narrow house. As they reached the foot of the staircase, they heard the sound of voices from a half-open door, and Corinne said with a smile: "It is our Aunt Drucour talking with the stranger. She is ever eager for news of the war. A soldier is always a friend to her, so as he brings her tidings." The room into which Corinne and Colin stepped softly, so as not to disturb the conversation of their elders, was a long and narrow apartment, with the same small windows which characterized the rest of the house. A table in the centre of the room took up the chief of the space, and at this table sat a bronzed and stalwart man, whom Corinne instantly recognized as her protector in that forest adventure of long ago. He was seated with a trencher before him, and was doing an justice to the fare set out; but he was also in earnest conversation with Madame Drucour, who was seated opposite, her elbows lightly resting upon the table, and her chin upon her clasped hands. Upon a couch beneath the window lay the Abbe himself, with a cup of wine beside him. He looked like a man who has been through considerable fatigue and hardship, though his brow was serene and his eyes were bright as he followed the rapid conversation which passed be tween the pair at the tables. As the boy and girl entered it was Fritz who was speaking, and he spoke eagerly. "You have seen Julian Dautray, my friend and comrade who sailed away to England several years since on an embassy from the town of Philadelphia? Now this is news indeed. For I have heard no word of him from that day to this; yet once we were like brothers, and we made that long, long journey together from the far south, till our souls were knit together even as the souls of David and Jonathan. Tell me of him! Is he well? Is he still in this new world beyond the dividing sea?" "After the capture of Louisbourg," answered Madame Drucour, with the little touch of shrinking in her tone which such words always occasioned her, "he was to accompany the gallant Brigadier Wolfe (to whose untiring energy and zeal much of England's success was due) upon some mission of destruction on the coasts, little indeed to that soldier's liking. After that, I heard that they were to sail for England, since the brave officer's health stood in great need of recruiting. But it was known to all of us that Monsieur Wolfe would never rest content till he had seen whether he might not repeat at Quebec what he had accomplished at Louisbourg. And if not actually known, it is more than conjectured that the fleet from England which brings our foes into these waters will bring with it that gallant soldier Wolfe; and if so, you may be sure that your good friend (and mine) Monsieur Julian Dautray will be with him." "That is good hearing," cried Fritz, whose face was beaming with satisfaction and pleasure; "it is like a feast to a hungry man to hear news of Julian again!" And he listened with extreme interest whilst the lady told him all she knew of his friend--his daring dash into the fortress disguised as a French soldier, and his many acts of chivalrous generosity at the close of the siege. "We have reason to be grateful to you English," said Madame Drucour, with a gracious smile. "It is a happiness, when we have to fight, to find such generous and noble foes. It is hard to believe that this strong city of Quebec will ever open its gates even to so brave a commander as the gallant Wolfe; and yet, if such a thing were again to be here as was at Louisbourg, I, for one, shall be able to welcome the victor with a smile as well as a sigh; for I have seen how generous he is to sick and wounded, and how gently chivalrous to women and children." "Yet those were stern terms demanded from capitulating Louisbourg," spoke the Abbe thoughtfully. "They were," said the lady, with a sigh; "and yet can we wonder so greatly? England has suffered much from the methods we of France have pursued in our warfare. But let us not think of that tonight; let us remember only that English and French may be friends--individually--even though our nations are at war. Let us entertain Monsieur with the best at our command, and bid him Godspeed when he shall choose to leave us. "Ah! and there I see my nephew Colin. "Welcome, dear child; thou art child no longer. "What a fine youth he has grown with the flight of years! I should scarce have known him!" Whilst aunt and nephew were exchanging amenities in one part of the room, Corinne approached Fritz, who had risen to his feet at sight of her, and putting out a hand said with a shy smile: "I am glad to welcome you again, Monsieur." "And I to see you once again, Mademoiselle," he replied. "I have often wondered whether I should ever have that pleasure. The chance of war has brought me and your brother face to face three times already. But I scarce thought I should see you again. I thought these troubled days would have sent you back to France. These are strange places for tender maidens to abide in--these walled cities, with guns without and within!" "Ah, but I have no home in France," answered the girl, "and I would not be sent away. I have grown to love this strange Western land and the struggle and stress of the life here. I would fain see the end of this mighty struggle. To which scale will victory incline, think you, Monsieur? Will the flag of England displace that of France over the town and fortress of this city of Quebec?" "Time alone can show that," answered Fritz gravely; "and we must not boast of coming victory after all the ignominious defeats that we have suffered. But this I know--the spirit of England is yet unbroken. She has set herself to a task, and will not readily turn back from it. If the spirit of her sons is the same now as it was in the days of which our fathers have told us, I think that she will not quietly accept repulse." Corinne's eyes flashed; she seemed to take a strange sort of pride in anticipations such as these. "I like that spirit," she cried; "it has not been the spirit of France. She has boasted, boasted, boasted of all the wonders she was to perform, and yet she has never made good her hold in the south. Now the tide seems to have turned here in the north; and though men speak brave words of defiance, their hearts are failing them for fear. And have they not reason to fear--they who have done so ignobly?" "Do you remember what you told us when we met in the forest long ago?" asked Fritz. "Do you remember the name you spoke--the name of Pitt--and told us that when that man's hand was on the helm of England's statecraft the turn of the tide would come? And so we waited for news from home, and at last we heard the name of Pitt. And, behold, since then the tide has turned indeed. Those words of yours have upheld our hopes in many a dark hour. And now that the fulfilment seems so near, shall we not feel grateful to those who held out the torch of hope when all was darkness?" Corinne smiled brightly, and held out her little hand again. "We will be friends, come what will," she said; "for I love the English as well as the French, and I have cause to know what generous foes they can make!" So Fritz became the guest of Madame Drucour in the narrow little stone house; the Abbe likewise remained as an inmate whilst he recruited the health that had been so sorely tried and shattered of late. Fritz was in no haste to depart, if his hosts desired his presence there. He would join the English fleet when it appeared; but it mattered little to him how he passed the intervening time. He could pass as well for a Frenchman as an Englishman, and did so for the time he remained in the city; but he kept his eyes open, and took careful note of what he saw, and, in truth, it seemed to him that the English fleet had little or no chance of effecting any landing in or near Quebec. The fortifications of the town were immensely strong; so was its position--so commandingly situated upon the little tongue of land. There was a small camp upon the opposite point of land, which might perhaps be strengthened with advantage; but the whole of the north bank of the river was being fortified and intrenched, and was manned by regulars and Canadian troops, all well armed and munitioned. It was impossible to see how any attacking force could obtain a foothold upon that strand; and if Fritz's hosts took care to let him see all this, it seemed to him a proof that they well understood the impregnable character of their position. But it was no part of Fritz's plan to linger over long in Quebec, although he was wishful to see the city for himself, and to judge of the strength of its position. He knew that the fleet from Louisbourg would be hanging about nearer the mouth of the great estuary, and to a traveller of his experience the journey either by land or water was a mere trifle. Any day the sails of the English vessels might be expected to appear. The seething excitement in the city, and the eager and laborious preparations upon land, showed how public feeling was being aroused. It might not be well for Fritz to linger much longer. If his real connection with the English were discovered, he might find himself in difficulties. "I have arranged with a boatman to take you down the river tonight, Monsieur," said Madame Drucour to him; when he had expressed a determination to leave. "He is scouting for information as to the English fleet, and we have heard that vessels have been seen in the region of the Isle-aux-Coudres. He will land you there, and you will then have no difficulty in rejoining your countrymen. If Monsieur Wolfe has arrived, pray give him my best compliments, and tell him that I hope his health is improved, and that if we should meet once again it will be as friends." "I will not forget to do so, Madame," answered Fritz. "I myself look forward with pleasure to making the acquaintance of that great soldier. I should not have dared to think that I might approach him myself; but since Julian is his friend, I shall not be denied his presence." Corinne was listening to the talk with eager interest; now she broke in with a smile: "And tell Monsieur Julian that if he should repeat his strategy of Louisbourg here at Quebec, and steal into the city in disguise, I hope he will come to see us here. We are very well disposed towards the English, my aunt and I. We should have a welcome for him, and would see that he came to no harm." Madame Drucour laughed, and patted the cheek of her niece. "Make no rash promises, little one. The game of war is a fiercer and more deadly and dangerous one than thou canst realize as yet. It may be our privilege to shelter and succour a hunted foe; but tempt not any man to what might be certain destruction. Spies meet with scant mercy; and there are Indians in this city who know not the meaning of mercy, and have eyes and ears quicker and keener than our own. Monsieur and his friends had better now remain without the city walls, unless the day should come when they can enter them as conquerors and masters of all." She drew herself together and gave a little, quick, shuddering sigh, as though realizing as those never could do who had not seen war what must inevitably be ere such an end could be accomplished. Fritz took her hand and carried it to his lips. "If such a day as that come, Madame," he said, "be very sure that my first duty and privilege will be to protect you and yours from harm. Adieu; and if I can ever repay your kindness to me, be sure the opportunity shall not be neglected." Chapter 2: The Defences Of Quebec. Excitement reigned in the city. There had been a cry of fear earlier in the day. Men had rushed through the streets, crying aloud in every tone of consternation: "The English fleet! the English fleet!" But this had proved a false alarm. The sails seen advancing up the great waterway were those of friendly vessels, laden with provisions for the city, and great rejoicings were held as the supplies were carried into the storehouses by the eager citizens and soldiers. Colin, running hither and thither picking up news, came running back at short intervals with tidings for his sister and aunt. "They all say the English fleet has sailed from England, and may be here any day; but at least we shall not starve yet. We have a fine consignment of provisions brought in today." Next time he came he had another item of information to give. "Our General, Monsieur de Montcalm, met me in the street just now, and bid me say that he purposed to take his supper with us this evening, as there are certain matters he would discuss with my uncle, and with you, dear aunt, who have seen so much of warfare. He asked me if it would be convenient for you to receive him, and I said I was sure that it would." "Quite right, my child," answered Madame Drucour; "I shall deem it an honour to entertain the brave Marquis. I have a great respect for him, both as a man and a soldier." "Yes: they all speak well of him, and they say that the Governor, Vaudreuil, treats him shamefully, or at least traduces him shamefully behind his back to the Government in France. He is jealous because Monsieur de Montcalm is so much better a soldier than he. His jealousy is mean and pitiful. I hear things that make my blood boil!" "Yes: Monsieur de Montcalm has had to exercise great patience and self restraint. We all honour him for it," said the Abbe, looking up from his breviary. "His has been a difficult post from first to last, and he has filled it with marked ability. The Governor seeks to take to himself all the credit of success throughout the colony and the war, and to heap upon Montcalm all the blame wherever there has been discomfiture and defeat; but from what I can learn, the Minister of France is not deceived. The powers of the campaign are vested mainly in the hands of the General of the forces, let the Governor rage as he will." Colin and Corinne stood at the window watching the hubbub down in the lower town and along the quays. They could obtain a fair view from the upper window, where the girl spent so much of her time; and whilst the Abbe and Madame Drucour talked of public matters and the political outlook, Colin poured broadsides of information into the ears of his sister. "They say that the English ships can never navigate the waters of this great river!" he cried. "I was talking with the sailors on the vessels which have come in. They dare not bring their own ships up without a pilot on board. If the English try to sail their great battleships up through the shoals and other perils, they will assuredly, say the men, run them upon the jagged edges of the sunken reefs and wreck them hopelessly. I was telling them that the English are better sailors than ever the French will be; but they only laughed grimly, and bid them come and see what their sailor craft could do without pilots in the mouth of the St. Lawrence. I should grieve if the noble vessels were wrecked and stranded in the Traverse, which they say is the most dangerous part of all. But the sailors are very confident that that is what will happen." "I don't believe it!" cried Corinne, with flashing eyes. "The English have always been masters of the sea; have they not won themselves the name of 'sea dogs' and 'sea rovers' even from their enemies? The walls and guns of Quebec may prove too much for them, but not the navigation of the St. Lawrence." "So I think," answered Colin eagerly; "but that is what the men say. "The French are always something overconfident and boastful, I think," said Corinne gravely. "They like to win their battles before they fight them, and beat back the foe before he appears. But we shall see--we shall see." Colin and Corinne were both much interested in the General of the forces, Monsieur the Marquis of Montcalm. In addition to being a very excellent soldier--brave, capable, merciful, and modest--he was a very delightful and charming companion in any social gathering; and towards Corinne he showed himself especially tender, telling her, with the tears standing in his eyes, how much she reminded him of the little daughter he had left at home, Mirete; whom he feared he should never see again. "For my aide-de-camp, M. de Bougainville, lately returned from France, has brought me sad news. One of my daughters has died--he could not ascertain which; but I feel sure it is my little Mirete, who was always delicate and fragile. I loved her very much; she was such a clinging little thing, and had soft brown eyes like yours, my dear. I did not think, when I left my wife and children in our happy home at Candiac, that I should be detained here so long, or that death would have visited my house ere I returned. We were so happy in that far away home in France; my thoughts are ever turning back thither. Pray Heaven I may soon bring this war to a successful termination, and may then return to end my days in peace in that fair spot, surrounded by those I love so well!" This little speech touched Corinne's heart, and she lifted her face and gave the bereaved father a kiss of sympathy, the tears hanging upon her own long lashes. He squeezed her hand and returned the salute with warmth. Yet the next minute he was the soldier and the general all over, as he seated himself at table and proceeded to discuss the situation of affairs with the Abbe and his hostess. "My policy," he explained to them, "will be one of defence, not of attack. What we must set ourselves to do is to prevent any landing of English troops upon the north bank of this river anywhere near the city. I had thought at first of making the Plains of Abraham, behind the city, the basis of my encampment. But this, as you know, has been given up, and the north bank of the river, through Beauport and right away to the river and falls of the Montmorency, has been selected. "When you are sufficiently recovered, my friend, I should like to take you to see our position. Our right rests upon the St. Charles, our left upon the Montmorency. Quebec is thus secured from any advance by land. Her own guns must protect her from any attempt by sea. No vessel should or ought to pass the rock without being instantly disabled, if not sunk. By disposing our forces in this way, and remaining upon the defensive, we shall have our foes in a vice, so to speak. The risk of disembarking and trying to fight us will be immense. They will lose ten men to our one in every encounter. And if we can play this waiting game long enough, the storms of winter will come down upon us, and the Admirals will have to withdraw their fleet to some safe harbourage, and we shall have saved Quebec!" "Yes," said the Abbe--"that sounds a wise and wary policy; but will the Canadian militia be patient and obedient during the long period of inaction? They are accustomed to a sort of fierce, short forest warfare, quick marches, hand-to-hand fights, and the freedom to return to their homes. How will they like the long imprisonment in the camp, without being brought face to face with the foe? The Canadian soldiers have always given trouble; I fear they will do so again." "If they become troublesome," said Montcalm, with a tightening of the lips, "they will be told that the Indians shall be loosed upon their lands and farms to harry and destroy! Mutineers are accorded scant mercy. Monsieur de Vaudreuil has made up his mind how to deal with them in such case." The Abbe stroked his chin thoughtfully. "If we alienate the Canadians, and have only the regulars to fall back upon, we shall be very short handed." "True; but I do not anticipate such a contingency. The Canadians are no more desirous of seeing England's flag waving over their lands than we are ourselves. They may be rebellious and discontented, but they will hardly go further than that." "It is ill work fighting with discontented soldiers," said Madame Drucour thoughtfully. "Very true, Madame. I often wish we had better material for our army. I abhor the Indians, and distrust the Canadians. But what can we do? France has sore need of all her soldiers for her European wars. What can she do for us here out in the western wilds? She has her hands full at home." "And yet," said the Abbe, "if she loses her hold upon these same western wilds, she will lose that new kingdom upon which her eyes have been greedily fastened for two centuries or more. She has claimed half the world as her own; will she lose all for the sake of some petty quarrel with her neighbours?" Montcalm smiled and slowly shook his head. "Our royal master has his hands something too full at times," he said; "yet we will do our best for him out here." "And if General Amherst with his great army should succeed in capturing Ticonderoga and Crown Point, and should advance upon us by the interior, and steal upon us from behind, what then?" asked the Abbe, who, having come from that part of the world, and knowing the apprehensions of the French along the western border, was not unmindful of this possible danger. Montcalm's face was grave. "That will be our greatest danger," he said. "If that should take place, we shall have to weaken our camp along the river and send reinforcements to the small detachments now placed along the upper river. But the English were routed at Ticonderoga once; let us hope it will happen so a second time." "General Amherst is a very different commander from General Abercromby," said the Abbe gravely; and Madame Drucour added her testimony to the abilities of the General who had commanded at the siege of Louisbourg, although the dash and energy of Wolfe had been one of the main elements of strength to the besiegers. "Yet I have confidence in our good Boulamaque," answered Montcalm. "He will do all that can he done to check the advance of the invaders and hold out fortresses against them. We have had our disasters--far be it from me to deny it--but Ticonderoga is strong, and has long held her own; I think she will do so once again." "And will you remain within the walls of Quebec yourself, my dear Marquis? or is it true what I hear--that your headquarters will be with the camp at Beauport?" "My place is here--there--everywhere!" answered Montcalm, with a smile and a meaning gesture. "Within the city the Chevalier de Ramesay will hold command with sixteen thousand men. For my part, I shall occupy myself chiefly with the army along the river banks. The first peril will certainly lie there. The town is unassailable, but a landing will probably be attempted somewhere along there. The enemy must be driven back with loss and confusion each time such an attempt is made. That will discourage them, and inspire our men with hope and courage. We have also prepared fire ships at no small cost, to be launched and fired at convenient seasons, and sent adrift amongst the enemy's ships. The sight of their burning vessels will do something to discourage the English. They put their trust in their ships. We will show them what a warm welcome we have waiting for them here!" "And our own vessels," asked the Abbe--"what of them? Will any naval battle he attempted?" "No. The Governor has given orders that they shall disembark their men for the defence of the town, and the ships themselves will be sent some distance up the river out of harm's way. We have kept some of the best for fire ships; the rest will remain at a distance, beyond the river Richelieu." "You think, then, that no British ship can pass the guns of the town?" Montcalm's face was a study of calm confidence. "I only wish they might attempt it," he said. "We would sink them one by one, as a child's boats could be sunk by throwing stones upon them. The English have a task before them the magnitude of which they have little idea of. First they have the river itself to navigate; then they have the guns of Quebec to settle with. Let them take their choice between Scylla and Charybdis; for of a certainty they lie betwixt the two." Indeed the guns of Quebec were formidable enough. Next day Montcalm took Madame Drucour and her niece and nephew a tour of inspection about the town, and up to one of the heights which gave them a panoramic view of the city and its defences, both within and without. The batteries of the town bristled with formidable guns; the town itself swarmed with soldiers--regulars, militia, Indians. From the adjacent country men of all ages had come flocking in, eager to bear arms against the foe. The Bishop had issued a mandate to his flock, urging them to rally round their leaders, and never surrender the fair domain of Canada to the heretic usurper. There was plenty of enthusiasm now amongst the Canadians they came flocking into the camp in great numbers. All were hardy fellows, trained to a certain sort of rough fighting from their very childhood. They were invaluable in forest warfare, as had been proved again and again. But they lacked the stamina of the regular soldier. They were invariably unsteady when exposed to fire in the open, and they were impatient of discipline and control. Vaudreuil was always loud in their praise, trying to give them the credit of every successful engagement. But Montcalm reposed much more confidence in his regular soldiers; although he gave these others their due when they had proved of service to him. It was a wonderful sight to see the lines of defence stretching right away from the river St. Charles, close to the promontory on which Quebec was built, to that other invisible gorge where the wonderful cataract of the Montmorency flung its waters into the greater St. Lawrence below. Opposite was the height of Point Levi, with its smaller batteries; and away on the left, in the middle of the vast, sea-like river, could be distinguished the western end of the Isle of Orleans. Earthworks, batteries, redoubts seemed to bristle every where. Squadrons of men, like brilliant-hued ants, moved to and fro upon the plains below. The tents of the camp stretched out in endless white spots; and the river was dotted with small craft of all sorts conveying provisions to the camp, and doing transport duty of all kinds. "He will be a bold man who faces the fire from our batteries, I think," said Montcalm, looking with a calm complacency upon the animated scene; and then he turned and pointed backwards behind him to Cape Diamond, fringed with its palisades and capped by parapet and redoubt. A bold foe indeed to face the perils frowning from every height upon which the eye could rest. Madame Drucour's face slowly brightened as she took in, with eyes that were experienced in such matters, the full strength of the position occupied by the city of Quebec. "In truth, I scarce see how the enemy could effect a landing anywhere--could even attempt it," she said. "And yet we said the same at Louisbourg--till they landed where none of us thought they could do, and took us in the rear!" And her eyes sought the steep, precipitous banks of the river after the town had been passed, as though asking whether any landing could be effected there, if some ships should succeed in the daring attempt to pass the guns of the town, and find anchorage in the upper river. Montcalm followed her glance with his, and seemed to read the thought in her heart. "All these heights will be watched," he said. "Although I have no fear of any vessel being foolhardy enough to attempt the passage, or clever enough to succeed in passing the guns of the fortifications, I shall leave no point unwatched or unguarded. Quebec shall not fall whilst I have life and breath! If the victor marches into the city, it will be across my dead body!" Later upon that very day a fresh excitement occurred. Madame Drucour and her niece and nephew were in the pleasant upper room of their house, talking over the things they had seen and heard that day, when the clamour in the street below roused them to the consciousness that something unwonted was afoot; and Colin ran below, eager to know what the matter could be. In a few minutes he returned, his face full of animation and eager interest. "They have taken three prisoners!" he exclaimed--"English midshipmen all of them. You know our boats are scouting all round the Isle-aux-Coudres, where Durell and his contingent of ships from Louisbourg are lying waiting for the English fleet." "Yes, yes," cried Corinne eagerly; "we know that! But where are the prisoners?" "They are below, in the house. They brought them to the Abbe, our uncle. They profess not to speak French, these lads, but I think they understand it fast enough. "Come down and hear their story, my aunt; and you also, Corinne. They have been left in our care by the order of Monsieur de Montcalm, that we may win from them all that they know, respecting the strength of the English fleet. Let us go and hear what they say." "How came they to be taken?" asked Madame Drucour, as she rose to accompany Colin. "They were taken on shore. They had left their ship, perhaps without leave, and were amusing themselves upon the island. The men in our boat watched them, and presently landed cautiously and surrounded them. They made a gallant struggle, but were captured at length. And now they have been brought to us that we may get from them all the information we can. Our uncle is talking to them even now. I want to hear, and I want Corinne also to hear what they say." "And the poor lads will doubtless be hungry," said Madame Drucour, always thoughtful for the comfort of others; "we will set food before them as they talk. They shall see that we are not harsh captors." It was three bright-faced, bronzed English lads that they found in the lower room with the good Abbe. He had induced the rest of the people to disperse, and was now alone with the captives. The lads seemed quite disposed to be talkative, and when the lady entered bearing food, their eyes brightened; they stood up and made their bows to all, and fell upon the victuals with a hearty goodwill. "Strong! I should think it was strong," cried the eldest of the three, in response to a question from the Abbe respecting the English squadron on the way: "why, there are more than thirty ships of the line, and with frigates, sloops-of-war, and transports they must number over fifty. Then we have ten fine ships under Admiral Durell, waiting to join the main fleet when it comes; and there is another squadron under Admiral Holmes, which has gone to New York to take up the troops mustered in New England for the reduction of Quebec. Oh, it will be a grand sight, a grand sight, when it comes sailing up the waters of the St. Lawrence! Quebec, I dare wager, has never seen such a sight before!" The faces of all the lads were full of animation and pride. They appeared to have no fears for their personal safety. They were enthusiastic in their descriptions of the wonderful feats which the world would soon see, and when once started on the subject were ready to talk on and on. "They have fifteen or sixteen thousand men--picked troops--with the gallant Wolfe in command," cried another. "You have seen something already of what Wolfe can do when he is set upon a task!" Madame Drucour made a little sign of assent; she had learned that lesson herself very fully. The lad made her a courtly bow, for he knew her well, having been at the siege of Louisbourg, and having seen her when he had entered the fortress to view it after the surrender. "Madame Drucour is herself a soldier; she can appreciate the talents of the soldiers," he said. "Well, we have Wolfe coming, and with him three gallant Brigadiers--Moncton and Townshend and Murray. They all say that each one of these is as valiant as the great Wolfe himself, and as full of ardour." "And then our guns!" chimed in the third. "Why, we have guns enough to batter down these old walls as children batter down their card houses! You know what English guns did at Louisbourg, Madame! Well, we have bigger and heavier ones coming from England--such guns as have never been seen in this country before; and such shells--why, you can hear the scream of them for miles. You will hear them soon singing and screaming over Quebec if you try to hold it against Wolfe!" Corinne and Colin exchanged glances. It seemed indeed to bring the thought of war very near when this sort of talk went on. The Abbe was thoughtfully stroking his chin, debating within himself whether all this was a bit of gasconade on the part of these middies, or whether it represented the actual facts of the case. Madame Drucour made quiet answer, saying: "But Quebec has also its guns, my young friends; Quebec can make fitting reply to English guns. And ships are more vulnerable than our thick walls. The game of war is one that both nations can play with skill and success. If you have a Wolfe on your side, we have a Montcalm on ours!" "Oh yes; we have heard of the Marquis of Montcalm. He is a fine old fellow; I wish we could see him." "You have your wish, gentlemen!" spoke a new voice from the shadowy corner by the door, where the twilight was gathering. The company started to their feet and saluted the great man, who advanced smiling, motioning them to be seated. Corinne kindled the lamp, and the General looked about him and sat down at the table opposite to the three youths. "I hear you are from the English squadron," he said; "I have come to ask you as to its strength. Tell me frankly and candidly what you know, and I will undertake that your captivity shall not be a rigorous one." He spoke in French, and the Abbe interpreted, although he suspected that the lads understood a good deal more of that language than they professed to do. They were willing enough to repeat what they had said before as to the overwhelming size and equipment of the fleet on its way from England--of the valour of men and officers, of Wolfe's known intrepidity and military genius, and of the excellent, far-carrying guns and their equally excellent gunners. Montcalm listened with bent brow and thoughtful mien. The lads appeared to speak with confidence and sincerity. They evidently believed that the fall of Quebec was foreordained of Heaven; but it was possible they might be misinformed as to the true strength of the fleet, and had perhaps, consciously or unconsciously, exaggerated that. At any rate they were not reticent: they told everything they knew and perhaps more. They gloried in the thought of the fighting to come, and seemed to take their own captivity very lightly, evidently thinking it only a matter of a few weeks before they could be exchanged or released--before their countrymen would be marching into Quebec. "And as soon as General Amherst has got Ticonderoga, he will march here to help us, if we are not masters here first!" was the final shot of the senior midshipman. "Not that Wolfe will need his help in the taking of Quebec, but he will want a share in the glory of it. And all New England, and all those provinces which have been asleep so long, are waking up, eager to take their share now that the moment of final triumph is near. There are so many fine troops waiting to embark that Admiral Holmes will probably have to leave the half behind. But they will follow somehow, you will see. They are thirsting to avenge themselves upon the Indians, and upon those who set the Indians on to harry and destroy their brothers along the borders!" The Abbe translated this also into French, making a little gesture with his hand the while. "I knew that retribution must sooner or later follow upon that great sin," he said. "Were it not for my feeling on that score, I should have firmer hopes for Quebec. But God will not suffer iniquity to go long unpunished. We have drawn down retribution upon our own heads!" Montcalm made a gesture similar to that of the Abbe. "I have said so myself many a time," he replied. "I hated and abhorred the means we have too often used. It may be that what you say is right and just. And yet I know that I shall not live to see Quebec in the hands of the English. I can die for my country, and I am willing to do so; but I cannot and I will not surrender!" "So they said at Louisbourg," muttered one of the midshipmen to Colin, showing how easily he understood what was passing; "but they sang to a different tune when they had heard the music of our guns long enough!" The Marquis was talking aside with the Abbe and Madame Drucour. When the colloquy was over, the Abbe addressed the midshipmen. "Monsieur de Montcalm is willing to release you on parole, and my sister, Madame Drucour, will permit you to remain in this house during your stay in the city. You must give up your dirks, and pass your word not to try to escape; but after having done this, you will be free to come and go as you will. And if the English should take prisoners of our French subjects, you shall be exchanged upon the first opportunity. These are the terms offered you by Monsieur de Montcalm as the alternative to an imprisonment which would be sorely irksome to youths such as you." The lads looked at one another. It was a promise rather hard to give, since there would be so many excellent opportunities for escape; but the thought of imprisonment in some gloomy subterranean portion of the fortress, even with the faint chance of effecting an escape from thence, was too sombre and repelling. They accepted the lenient terms offered, passed their word with frank sincerity, and handed over their weapons with a stifled sigh. "We will show you the city tomorrow," said Colin, when he took their guests up to the lofty where they were to sleep in company. "My sister and I are half English ourselves. I sometimes think that in her heart of hearts Corinne would like to see the English flag floating over the towers of Quebec." "Hurrah for Mademoiselle Corinne!" cried the lad Peter, throwing his cap into the air. "I thought you two looked little like the dark-skinned Frenchies! We shall be friends then, and when the town falls we will take care that no harm comes to you. But we mean to have Quebec; so you may make up your mind to that!" Chapter 3: Mariners Of The Deep. "I must go! I must go!" shouted Colin, bursting into the house, mad with excitement and impetuosity. "My uncle, you will let me go! I must see this great and mighty fleet for myself. They say it is coming up the mighty river's mouth. Some say it will be wrecked ere it reach the Isle of Orleans! Let me go and see it, I pray, and I will return and tell you all." The whole city was in a ferment. For long weeks had the English fleet been watched and waited for--for so long, indeed, that provisions were already becoming a little scarce within the town, in spite of the convoy which had arrived earlier in the year. So many mouths were there to feed that the question of supply was causing anxiety already. Still with care there was enough to last for a considerable time. Only the delay of the English vessels had upset the calculations of the men in charge of the commissariat department, and the people had to be put upon rations, lest there should be a too quick consumption of the stores. This had caused a little murmuring and discontent, and the long waiting had tried the citizens more than active work would have done. It had given Montcalm time to fortify his camp very strongly, and make his position all that he desired; but it had been a wearisome time to many, and the Canadian troops were already discontented, and wearying to get away from the life of the camp, back to their own homes and fields and farms. But now hot midsummer had come, and with it the. English foe. A fast-sailing sloop had brought word that the junction of the squadrons was taking place just off Cape Tourmente, and Colin was wild to take boat and go to see the great ships. "They are saying that they must all be wrecked in trying to navigate the Traverse," cried the boy; "but Peter and Paul and Arthur laugh to scorn the notion, and say that we do not know what sort of men the English mariners are. Some say that Admiral Durell has already captured the pilots who live there, ready to take the French ships up and down. Let me go and learn what is happening. Let me take a boat, and take Peter and Paul and Arthur with me. They know how to manage one as well as any sailor in the town. Let us go, my uncle, and bring you word again." The boy was set on it; he could not be withheld. Moreover, the Abbe and Madame Drucour were keenly anxious for news. "Be careful, my boy, be cautious," he said; "run not into danger. But I think thou art safe upon the river with those lads. You will take care of one another, and bring us word again what is happening." "Oh, I will come back safe and sound, never fear for me!" answered the boy, in great delight. "We will bring you news, never fear! We will see all that is to be seen. Oh, I am glad the day of waiting is over, and that the day for fighting has come!" "Would that I were a boy like you, Colin!" cried Corinne, with sparkling eyes. "It is hard to be cooped up in the city when there are such stirring things going on outside. But I will up to the heights and watch for the sight of sails; and you will come back soon, Colin, and tell us all the news." Nevertheless it was a hard task for the eager girl to remain behind when her brother and their three merry friends went forth in search of news. By this time the English midshipmen were quite at home in their new home, and the blithest of companions for the brother and sister there. They did much to foster the sympathies of Colin and Corinne for the English cause. The boys told of England and the life there, and were so full of enthusiasm for their country that it was almost impossible not to catch something of the contagion of their mood. Both Colin and his sister had seen much to disgust and displease them amongst the French; whilst round their foes there seemed to be a sort of halo of romance and chivalry which appealed to the imaginative strain in both brother and sister. Their British blood could not fail to be stirred within them. They saw and heard of corruption, chicanery, and petty jealousy all round them here. It was hardly to be wondered at that they inclined to the other side. England and Scotland were uniting together for the conquest of this Western world. Their mother's countrymen were fighting the battle. They had the right to wish them success. Corinne rehearsed all this to herself as she stood upon the lofty heights behind the town that afternoon with her uncle and aunt. They were looking with anxiety and grave misgivings at the clustering sails dimly seen in the distance upon the shining water of that vast estuary. Montcalm himself had come up to see, and stood with his telescope at his eye, watchful and grave. "We have made a mistake," he said to the Abbe in a low voice. "I did speak to the Governor once; but he was against the measure, and we permitted it to drop. But I can see now it was a mistake. We should have planted a battery--a strong one--upon Cape Tourmente, and bombarded the ships as they passed by. We trusted to the dangerous navigation of the Traverse, but we made a mistake: English sailors can go anywhere!" The Abbe made a sign of assent. He remembered now how the General had made this suggestion to the Governor, and pressed it with some ardour, but had been met with opposition at every point. Vaudreuil had declared that it would weaken the town to bring out such a force to a distant point; that they must concentrate all their strength around the city; that they would give the enemy the chance of cutting their army in two. Montcalm had yielded the point. There was so much friction between him and the Governor that he had to give way where he could. Vaudreuil was always full of grand, swelling words, and boasts of his great deeds and devotion; but men were beginning to note that when face to face with real peril he lost his nerve and self confidence, and had to depend upon others. It was thus that he opposed Montcalm (of whose superior genius and popularity he was bitterly jealous) at every turn when danger was still distant, but turned to him in a fluster of dismay when the hour of immediate peril had come, and had been made more perilous by his own lack of perception and forethought whilst things were less imminent. "Yet look at our lines of defence!" he exclaimed, after he had finished all the survey he could make of the distant sails crowded about the Isle of Orleans. "Where could any army hope to land along this northern shore? Let them fire as they like from their ships; that will not hurt us. And we can answer back in a fashion that must soon silence them. The heights are ours; the town is safely guarded. The summer is half spent already. Let us but keep them at bay for two months, and the storms of the equinox will do the rest. When September comes, then come the gales--and indeed they may help us at any time in these treacherous waters. You mariners of England, you are full of confidence and skill--I am the last to deny it--but the elements have proved stronger than you before this, and may do so again." Corinne listened to all this with a beating heart, and asked of her aunt: "What think you that they will first do--the English, I mean?" "Probably land and make a camp upon the Isle of Orleans, which has been evacuated. A camp of some sort they must have, and can make it there without damage to us. It will make a sort of basis of operations for them; but I think they will be sorely puzzled what to do next. They cannot get near the city without exposing themselves to a deadly fire which they cannot return--for guns fired low from ships will not even touch our walls or ramparts--and any attempt along the shore by Beauport will be repulsed with heavy loss." "Yet they will do something, I am sure," spoke the girl, beneath her breath; and she was more sure still of this when upon the morrow Colin returned, all aglow with excitement and admiration, whilst the three midshipmen had much ado to restrain their whoops of joy and triumph. "I never saw such a thing!" cried Colin, his face full of delight and enthusiasm, as he and the midshipmen got Corinne to themselves, and could talk unrestrainedly together; "I feel as though I could never take sides against the English again! If they are all such men as that old sailing master Killick, methinks the French have little chance against them." "Hurrah for old Killick! hurrah for England's sailors!" cried the midshipmen, as wildly excited as Colin himself; and Corinne pressed her hands together, and looked from one to the other, crying: "Oh tell me! what did he do?" "I'll tell you!" cried Colin. "You have heard them speak of the Traverse, and what a difficult place it is to navigate?" "Yes: Monsieur de Montcalm was saying that no vessel ever ventured up or down without a pilot; but he said that a rumour had reached him that some pilots had been taken prisoners, and that the English ships would get up with their help." "With or without!" cried Peter, tossing his cap into the air. "As though English sailors could not move without Frenchmen to help them!" "Some of them took pilots aboard; indeed they were sent to them, and had no choice. But I must not get confused, and confuse you, Corinne. I'll just tell you what we did ourselves. "We heard a great talk going on on board one of the transport boats called the Goodwill, which was almost in the van of the fleet, I suppose because the old sailing master, Killick, was so good a seaman; and so they had sent a pilot out to her, and he was jabbering away at a great rate--" "Just like all the Frenchies!" cut in Paul; "calling out that he would never have acted pilot to an English ship except under compulsion, and declaring that it was a dismal tale the survivors would take to their own country--that Canada should be the grave of the whole army, and the St. Lawrence should bury beneath its waves nine-tenths of the British ships, and that the walls of Quebec should be lined with English scalps!" "The wretch!" cried Corinne. "I wonder the sailors did not throw him overboard to find his own grave!" "I verily believe they would have done so, had it not been for strict orders from the Admiral that the pilots were to be well treated," answered Arthur. "Our English Admirals and officers are all like that: they will never have any advantage taken of helpless prisoners." "I know, I know!" answered Corinne quickly; "that is where they teach the French such a lesson. But go on--tell me more. What about old Killick? and where were you all the while?" "Holding on to the side of the transport, where we could see and hear everything, and telling the sailors who were near about Quebec and what was going on there. But soon we were too much interested in what was going on aboard to think of anything else. "Old Killick roared out after a bit, 'Has that confounded French pilot done bragging yet?' And when somebody said he was ready to show them the passage of the Traverse, he bawled out: "'What! d'ye think I'm going to take orders from a dog of a Frenchman, and aboard my own vessel, too? Get you to the helm, Jim, and mind you take no orders from anybody but me. If that Frenchman tries to speak, just rap him on the head with a rope's end to keep him quiet!' "And with that he rolled to the forecastle with his trumpet in his hand, and got the ship under way, bawling out his instructions to his mate at the wheel, just as though he had been through the place all his life!" "Had he ever been there before?" asked Corinne breathlessly. "No, never. I heard the commanding officer and some of the gentlemen on board asking him, and remonstrating; but it was no use. "'Been through before! no, never,' he cried; 'but I'm going through now.' "Then they told him that not even a French vessel with an experienced sailing master ever dared take the passage without a pilot, even though he might know it well. Whereupon old Killick patted the officer upon the back, and said, 'Ay, ay, my dear, that's right enough for them; but hang me if I don't show you all that an Englishman shall go at ease where a Frenchman daren't show his nose! Come along with me, my dear, and I'll show you this dangerous passage.' "And he led him forward to the best place, giving his orders as cool and unconcerned as though he had been in the Thames itself. The vessel that followed, hearing what was going on, and being afraid of falling into some peril herself, called out to know who the rash sailing master was. 'I am old Killick!" roared back the bold old fellow himself, hearing the question, 'and that should be enough for you!' "And he turned his back, and went on laughing and joking with the officer, and bawling out his orders with all the confidence of an experienced pilot." "O Colin! And did he make no mistake? And what did the pilot say?" "Oh, he rolled up his eyes, and kept asking if they were sure the old fellow had never been there before; and when we had got through the great zigzag with never so much as the ghost of a misadventure, and the signalling boats pointed to the deeper water beyond, the old fellow only laughed, and said, 'Ay, ay, my dear, a terrible dangerous navigation! Chalk it down, a terrible dangerous navigation! If you don't make a sputter about it, you'll get no credit in England!' "Then lounging away to his mate at the helm, he bid him give it to somebody else; and walking off with him, he said, 'Hang me if there are not a thousand places in the Thames fifty times worse than that. I'm ashamed that Englishmen should make such a rout about it!' And when his words were translated to the pilot, he raised his hands to heaven in mute protest, and evidently regarded old Killick as something not quite human." "Hurrah for the old sea dog! That's the kind of mariner we have, Mademoiselle Corinne; that's the way we rule the waves! Hurrah for brave old Killick! We'll make as little of getting into Quebec as he did of navigating the Traverse!" The story of the old captain's prowess ran through Quebec like lightning, and produced there a sensation of wonder not unmixed with awe. If this was the spirit which animated the English fleet, what might not be the next move? It was quickly known that the redoubtable Wolfe had landed upon the Isle of Orleans, and was marching in a westerly direction towards the point three or four miles distant from the city where he would be able to obtain a better view than heretofore of the nature of the task to which he was pledged. "Let him come," said the Marquis of Montcalm grimly; "let him have from thence a good view of our brave town and its defences! Perchance it will be a lesson to him, in his youthful pride. He thinks he is a second Hannibal. It will cool his hot blood, perchance, to see the welcome we are prepared to accord to the invaders of our soil." In effect there was another sort of welcome awaiting the English fleet; for upon the next day one of those violent squalls for which these northern waters are famous swept over the great river St. Lawrence, and in the town of Quebec there were rejoicing and triumph. "Now let the British mariners look to themselves!" cried the people, shaking fists in the direction of the invisible fleet, which they knew was anchored off the south shore of the great island. "We shall soon see what they can do against one of our Canadian tempests! Pray Heaven and all the saints that it may sink every one of them to the bottom, or grind them to pieces upon the rocks!" "Pooh! not a bit of it," cried the midshipmen in contempt, though they watched the storm with secret anxiety. "As though English-built vessels could not ride out a capful of wind like this! See, it is clearing off already! in an hour's time it will have subsided. As though our anchors would not hold and our sailors keep their heads in such a little mock tempest as this!" Luckily for the English fleet, the squall was as brief as it was violent; nevertheless it did do considerable damage to the ships at their anchorage, and flying rumours were brought in as to the amount of harm inflicted. Certainly some considerable damage had been done, but nothing beyond repair. It had not daunted one whit the hearts of the invading foe. Montcalm came into the city that evening, and supped with the Abbe and Madame Drucour. He was not without anxiety, and yet was calm and hopeful. "The tempest did not last long enough to serve our turn as we hoped. The Governor trusted it would have destroyed the whole fleet; but from what I can learn, nothing was really lost except a few of the flat-bottomed landing boats used in the disembarkation of the troops. The English are certainly notable sailors; but it is with her soldiers that we shall have more directly to deal. Still, I wish we could have sunk her ships; it would have placed her on the horns of a dilemma." "I have heard," said the Abbe, "that the Governor talks of destroying the fleet by fire. He has made considerable preparation for such an attempt." Montcalm smiled slightly. "True; he has been busy with his fire ships for some while. For my own part, I have but limited faith in them. They have cost us a million, and I doubt whether they will prove of any service; yet Vaudreuil is very confident." "The Governor is wont to be confident--till the moment of actual peril arrives," said the Abbe thoughtfully. "Well, we shall see--we shall see. When are these notable fire ships to be sent forth?" "I think tomorrow night," answered Montcalm, "but that is a matter which rests with the Governor. I have no concern in it; and when such is the case, I offer no advice and take no part in the arrangements. Doubtless I shall see what is going on from some vantage point; but Monsieur de Vaudreuil will not take counsel with me in the matter." "Fire ships!" cried the midshipmen, when Colin told them what he had heard; "do they think to frighten English mariners with fireworks and bonfires? Good! let them try and see. And O Colin, good Colin, if they are going to send down fire ships upon the fleet, let us be there to see!" Colin desired nothing better himself. He was all agog to see the thing through. And why should they not? It was not difficult to obtain a boat, and in the darkness and confusion the four lads would easily be able to follow the fire ships and see the whole thing through. The midshipmen could navigate a boat with anyone, and Colin had learned much of their skill. All day they were often to be seen skimming about the basin of the St. Lawrence, prospecting about for news, and watching the movements of the English soldiers on shore, or of the fleet anchored a few miles farther off. They had only to steal away unnoticed, and take to their boat before the excitement began, and they could follow the phantom ships upon their mysterious way, and watch the whole attempt against the English fleet. "Ah, but take me," cried Corinne, when she heard the discussion--"do take me! It is so hard to be a girl, and see nothing! I will not be in your way. I will not scream and cry, or do anything like that. I only want to watch and see. I shall not be afraid. And I want so much to see something! I know I could slip away without anyone's knowing or missing me. Only say you will take me!" "Of course we will take you, Mademoiselle Corinne," cried Paul, with boyish gallantry; "why should you not see as well as we? I have a sister Margery at home who would be as wild to go as you can be. She is as good as a boy any day. Wrap yourself well up in a great cloak, so that you may keep warm, and so that nobody can guess we have a lady on board, and we will take care of you, never fear!" Corinne clapped her hands gaily; although growing to maidenhood, she had the heart of a child, and was full of delight at the thought of anything that promised adventure and excitement. "How good you are! And pray call me not 'Mademoiselle' any more; call me Corinne--all of you. Let me be an English girl, and your sister; for, in sooth, I feel more and more English every day of my life. Sometimes I fear that I shall be hanged for a traitor to the cause; for I find myself on the side of our English rivals more and more every day!" The compact thus sealed was easily carried out. The Abbe and his sister, Madame Drucour, were keenly interested in the attempt of the fire ships against the English fleet, and were to watch proceedings from the steeple of the Recollet Friars. The daylight lasted long now, and supper was over before the shadows began to fall; and the excited lads were able to wait till the seniors had started forth before they made their own escape down to the harbour. Corinne wrapped herself in a long black cloak, drawing the hood over her head, and thus disguising herself and her sex completely from any prying eyes; but indeed they scarcely met anyone as they hurried along through the narrow streets to the unfrequented wharf, where the boys had brought up the boat earlier in the day. Quickly they were all aboard, and were gliding through the darkening water, whilst the crowd gathered at quite a different part of the harbour showed where the launch of the fire ships was going on. Colin described them as well as he could. "There are three or four big ones, and Monsieur Delouche is in command; and then there is a great fire raft, as they call it--a lot of schooners, shallops, and such like, all chained together--a formidable-looking thing, for I got one of the sailors to show it me. I suppose they are all pretty much alike, crammed with explosives and combustibles; old swivels and guns loaded up to the muzzle, grenades, and all sorts of things like that, some of them invented for the occasion. We must give these fellows a wide berth when once they are set alight; for they will burn mightily, and shower lead and fire upon everything within reach. I only trust they may not do fearful damage to the English ships!" "Not they!" cried Peter, with a fine contempt in his voice. "The Frenchies are safe to make a muddle of it somewhere; and our bold jack tars won't be scared by noise and flame. You'll soon see the sort of welcome they will give these fiery messengers." The night darkened. There was no moon, and the faint wreaths of vapour lay lightly upon the wide waste of waters. Corinne gazed about her with a sense of fascination. She had never before been so far out upon the river; and how strange and ghostlike it appeared in the silence of the night! Ten o'clock struck from the clocks in the town behind them, and Colin turned back to look towards the harbour. "They were to start at ten," he remarked. "Let us lie to now and watch for them. We must give them a wide berth, but not be too far distant to see what they do." Corinne gazed, breathless with excitement, along the darkening water. The silence and increasing darkness seemed to weigh upon them like a tangible oppression. They could hear their own excited breathing; and all started violently when Arthur's voice suddenly broke the silence by exclaiming: "I see them! I see them--over yonder!" The boat in which the eager lads and equally eager girl were afloat was drifting about not very far distant from the Point of Orleans, where were an English outpost and some English shipping, although the main part of the fleet was some distance further on. The watchers expected that the ghostly ships, gliding upon their silent way, would pass this first shipping in silence and under cover of the darkness, and only begin to glow and fire when close to the larger part of the hostile fleet. Yet as they watched the oncoming vessels through the murk of the night, they saw small tongues of flame beginning to flicker through the gloom, and run up the masts and sails like live things; and all in a moment came a smothered roar and a bright flashing flame which, for the few seconds it lasted, showed the whole fire fleet stealing onwards, and the boats by which the crews of them were making good their escape. "They have fired them too soon!" cried Colin, in great excitement. "I know they were not to have done it till they had passed the Point and got well into the south channel, where all the shipping lies." "Hurrah!" cried Peter, waving his cap; "did we not say that the Frenchies would make a mess of it? They may be good for something on land; but at sea--" There was no hearing the end of the sentence; for with a roar like that of a volcano in eruption one of the ships burst into a mass of flames, whilst the rest became lighted up by the glare, and were soon adding to the conflagration--the fire racing up their masts and rigging, and showing them against the black waters like vessels of lambent flame. "How beautiful, yet how terrible!" cried Corinne, as she gazed with fascinated eyes. "But look--look--look--look how the water is torn up with the shower of lead that falls from them! Are they not like fiery dragons spouting out sheets of fire? Oh, and listen how they hiss and roar! Are they not like live things? Oh, it is the most terrible thing I have ever seen. How glad I am that they are not running amongst the English ships! They are beautiful, terrible creatures; but I think they are doing no hurt to anything." "And look yonder!" cried Peter, pointing landwards in great excitement; "see those long red lines drawn up on shore! Those are our English soldiers, all ready to receive the foe should they seek to land under cover of this noise and smoke and confusion. As though our British grenadiers would be scared by false fire like yon fireworks!" "And see, see again!" yelled Paul, still more excited--"see our sailors getting to their boats! They are going to row out and grapple those flaming monsters. See if it be not so. They are drifting down a little too near our few ships. You will see now for yourself, Corinne, the stuff of which our mariners are made!" "Oh surely, surely they will not go near those terrible vessels!" cried Corinne. "Yes, but they will," cried Arthur, watching their movements keenly; "oh, would I were with them to help! See, see! they are getting their grappling irons into the boats. That means they are going to grapple these blazing ships, and tow them somewhere out of harm's way. Hurrah for England and England's sailors! Now you will see what our answer will be to these fiery messengers." Corinne clasped her hands in mute wonder and amaze as the boats shot off from shore, bearing straight down upon the great fire raft--the most formidable of all the fleet--which was spouting flame and lead, and blazing like a live volcano, roaring the while like a veritable wild beast, as though animated by a demon of fury. "They never can go near it; they will be burned alive!" cried the girl, in affright. But the midshipmen watched the tactics of the boats with eyes full of eager comprehension. "They will tackle it somehow, you will see," cried Peter. "See, they are getting round to the leeward of it, and they will lie off till it has finished its most deadly spouting. But it is drifting down upon the ships at anchor. They will never let it get amongst them. You will see--you will see! O brave jack tars, show the mettle you are made of in the eyes of all Quebec this night!" Corinne could scarcely bear to look, and yet she could not turn her eyes away. The English sailors, laughing and joking the while, swarmed round the fiery monster in their boats, singing out to one another, and at favourable moments flinging their grappling irons and sheering off again. "All's well! all's well!" they kept calling out, as one after another they fixed their hold; then with united and manful effort, and with a sing-song sound which came rolling over the water with strange effect, they commenced towing their blazing prize away from the ships she was nearing rather too threateningly, whilst great shouts and rounds of cheering went up from those afloat and ashore. "Oh, well done, well done, brave men!" cried Corinne, roused to a keen enthusiasm; and in one of the pauses of the cheering, when silence had fallen upon the spectators owing to a sudden vicious outrush of flame, which seemed for a moment as though it must overwhelm the gallant English tars, a voice came from one of the tow boats, calling out to a companion in another: "I say, Jack, didst thou ever take hell in tow afore?" The monster raft, flaming and sputtering, together with the other fire ships beyond, was coolly towed ashore by the intrepid sailors, and all were left to burn away harmlessly upon the strand, where they could hurt nothing; whilst peals of laughter and cheering went up from the English camp. "Poor Monsieur de Vaudreuil!" exclaimed Colin, as he prepared to sail back to the dark city, "I wonder if he has seen the fate of his vaunted fire ships?" Chapter 4: Hostilities. "Alas! alas!" wailed the townsfolk, when the news of the fiasco of the fire ships was made known, "those dogs of English are too much for us upon the water; but let them attempt to meet us on land, and we will show them what we can do!" "Do they think French soldiers are the only ones who can fight?" asked Arthur, with a note of wondering scorn in his voice, as the sense of these words came to him. "Well, they will have their wish fast enough, I doubt not! Wolfe is here; and if he cannot fight, write me down an ass! They have seen what the sailors can do; now we will show them what our soldiers are good for!" "Don't boast, Arthur," quoth Peter, the eldest of the trio; "we can do without great swelling words. The French boast themselves into the belief that they hold this whole vast continent in possession. We must not be like them, and seek to boast ourselves into Quebec! We will wait till our flag is flying from yon battlement, and then it will be time enough to talk." "All right," answered Arthur gaily; "I'll wager it will not be long before we see it there!" "Only don't let our townsfolk hear you saying that," said Corinne, laughing, "else they may be disposed to set you hanging there instead!" And at that retort a laugh was raised against Arthur, who was a little disposed to gasconade, and to an unmerited scorn of the valour of their French rivals. "Nor will Quebec be taken in a day, nor a week, nor a month," added Corinne, "if all we hear be true. Monsieur de Montcalm has no intention, it is said, of meeting your Wolfe in battle. He means to lie behind these strong walls, and yonder formidable earthworks which protect his camp, and wear out the patience of the foe till the autumn storms force them to leave these coasts for a safer harbourage. There will be no fighting in the open, they say; all will be done by the guns cannonading us, and by ours returning the fire. It may be grand and terrible to watch, but it will not bring things quickly to an issue." "Yet Wolfe will contrive something to keep the foe busy, or I am much mistaken," cried Peter. "Doubtless a pitched battle is what he would most desire; but if that is not to be, he will find a way of harassing his foes. Never fear, Corinne; you will see enough of war before long--trust my word for that!" "Enough, and too much, perchance," said the girl, with a little, quick sigh; "my aunt tells me that war is a fearful game to behold. Sometimes my heart sinks within me at what is about to befall. And yet I am glad to be here; I would not be elsewhere. I long to see this great struggle and watch it through. All say that Quebec is the key of Canada. Whichever nation holds Quebec will be master of the whole vast province." "Ay, and Wolfe knows that as well as the French themselves. His cry has always been, 'To Quebec!' "And yonder he is, within a few miles of his goal! Now we shall see what he can do." In truth they were very soon to see and feel for themselves in the city what Wolfe could and would do. A day or two later sounds of excitement and alarm in the street proclaimed that something fresh was afoot, and Colin with his comrades darted out to learn the news. The citizens were gathering together and running for places which commanded a view over the river, and those who had telescopes or spyglasses were adjusting them with trembling hands, pointing them all in one direction--namely, towards the heights of Point Levi opposite, where the river narrowed itself till it was less than a mile wide. "What is it?" cried Colin to a man with a glass at his eye. "The English soldiers are there!" he answered; "I can see their red coats swarming up the heights. Holy Virgin protect us! They are making fascines and gabions. They are going to bring up their guns. They will be able to lay the houses of the Lower Town in ruins, even if they cannot touch the fortifications. Why did not the Governor leave a stronger force over yonder to protect us?" That question was being passed from mouth to mouth by the anxious and frightened townspeople. They had been full of confidence and courage up till now; but the news that Wolfe had taken Point Levi, and was bringing up guns and intrenching himself upon the heights, filled them with apprehension. "What are our guns doing that they do not open fire and dislodge them?" cried one voice after the other. "Where is the Marquis of Montcalm? Why does he not take steps for our defence?" Montcalm was indeed coming post haste to the city, seeing clearly the menace in this action of the English General. He bitterly regretted having left the defence of Point Levi to the Canadian contingent there; for the Canadians were very uncertain soldiers, and were easily discouraged, though if well led and generalled they could be of great service in certain kinds of warfare. But it was known that the Canadians were already beginning to look upon the English as their possible new rulers; and some of them were disposed to regard a change of masters almost with indifference, so long as they were not interfered with in their own possessions. It was quite likely they had only made a very half-hearted resistance to the English foe; at least one thing was certain--Wolfe had gained possession of these heights with singularly little difficulty. But Montcalm was not going to let him remain there if he could by any means dislodge him. Hardly had the General entered the fortress before Corinne heard, almost for the first time, the strange screaming noise of a shell hurtling through the air, and the next moment there were gushes of smoke from a dozen places along the fortifications, as the great guns were pointed and fired and the balls and bombs went flying across the great river, to fall amongst the busy toilers on the opposite height, carrying death and destruction with them. Eagerly was the result of the fire watched and waited for. The citizens cried out to those with glasses to tell them the result. "They take no notice," cried one man who was commandingly posted; "they toil on without so much as a pause. The fire has not touched them yet; the guns are pointed too low. They are bringing up their own guns now; they have one battery almost complete. In a few hours they will be ready to return our fire. Can nothing be done to stop that? Our houses and churches will be knocked to pieces, and our town destroyed! The General says that this will do them no good--they cannot touch the citadel and fortifications; but are we to have our homes destroyed about our ears? We men of Quebec will not stand that!" Fear and indignation were filling all hearts. Why had Point Levi been so poorly defended? Why had it been left such an easy prey to the foe? Who was to blame? Governor or General--Vaudreuil or Montcalm? The balance of opinion was in favour of the General, whose known ability and personal charm had rendered him popular with the citizens, whilst Vaudreuil commanded but little respect or confidence. Still, whoever was to blame, the fact remained. The town was in terrible danger of a ruinous bombardment, and the efforts now made to beat back and dislodge the enemy met with no sort of success. On and on they toiled. The shot and shell certainly fell amongst them after a while, but seemed in no whit to disconcert them. The Canadian soldiers regarded with amaze this cool intrepidity. They themselves could be bold in forest warfare, with shelter all around them; but they were never steady in the open under fire, and could hardly credit how any soldiers could pursue their tasks unmoved by the leaden rain descending upon and about them. "The devil and his angels must be protecting them!" cried the women, crossing themselves in fear; but the English midshipmen laughed aloud. "What do they think soldiers are for, if not to do their duty in the teeth of danger and difficulty? They are a strange people, these Canadians. Surely the French troops would face peril as steadily if they were put to it?" "Oh yes," answered Colin; "the French regulars fight exceedingly well. Has not that been proved a thousand times on European soil? But the plaint of our General is that France sends him so few men, and that the Indians and Canadians are not of the same value, save in certain classes of warfare and in their native forests. The Governor is, however, so jealous for the honour of his Canadians, that he seeks in his dispatches to give all the credit of victory to them. So it is natural that the French minister should be chary of sending out regulars, which are so urgently needed over there for the war. Monsieur de Montcalm has told my uncle many things on this very point. He is always urging the Government to send us more men, but he can only get the half of what he needs. Perhaps, in days to come, France may regret that she did not listen better to his representations. We shall have need of good men if this city is to be held for her against the English." When the lads reached their home, they found the Abbe and his sister deep in talk. Corinne had been listening with attention, but now she turned eagerly to the lads, to ask what news they brought. Their tale was soon told, and all faces were grave. "It will be a disastrous thing for the city to be bombarded," said the Abbe. "It may not bring the capitulation any nearer, but it will harass and dishearten the citizens. I am truly sorry for them; they will certainly suffer. It should have been better managed than that those opposite heights should fall so easy a prey to the foe. Again that is the mismanagement of the Governor." "Several boats have come over from the opposite shore," whispered Corinne to her brother, "bringing news of what happened there. There has been little enough resistance to the English soldiers. A party landed at Beaumont, sending in front a band of Rangers, who had a little scuffle with some Canadians in the woods, and drove them off. The soldiers landed, and a placard was posted upon the door of the church. It was signed by Wolfe. It told the Canadians that if they would stand neutral in the coming struggle, they should have full protection both of their persons and property, and undisturbed liberty of religion; but warned them that if they presumed to take up arms against the English, their houses and goods should be destroyed and their churches despoiled. This placard the Canadians removed when the soldiers had gone, and have brought it to Quebec for the Governor to see." "And what says he?" "Nay, we know not, but it has caused a great commotion in the town. If the Canadians do not stand by the French in this struggle, the English must needs be victors." "Ay," spoke the Abbe, whose face was very grave, "and the case is but an evil one for them, as they begin to see. Already they are weary of the war. They love not the life of the camp or the waiting which is now imposed upon them. They are longing already to get back to their homes and their farms, and see after their crops and harvests. Yet if they refuse service under their masters the French, they are threatened with Indian raids; and if they fight the English, they are now threatened with their fury and vengeance. It is small wonder that they are perplexed and half-hearted. We shall have trouble with them, I fear me, ere the battle has been fought and won." Trouble was certainly menacing the town. There was no immediate danger of its falling into the enemy's hands; but he was putting himself in a position from which he could inflict irritating and harassing injury to the town, and was making evident and active preparations to do so. The military authorities, who looked at the larger issues of affairs, regarded with perhaps a little too much coolness the prospect of the destruction of some churches and a large number of houses and other buildings, consoling themselves with the knowledge that the fortifications would not suffer greatly, and that Wolfe would be no nearer taking Quebec after he had laid in ruins the homes of the citizens. But the exasperation of these individuals was great, and their fear rose with every hour which passed. They saw that batteries were being erected, intrenchments thrown up; that their fire was no check to the activity of the foe; and that before very long the storm of shot and shell would be returned with interest, and would fall upon their city, making terrible havoc there. Something must be done! That was the word on all lips. In warlike days even peaceful citizens are not altogether ignorant of the arts of war, and the burghers in the streets were mustering strong together, every man of them armed, their faces stern and full of determination as they moved all together to one of the open squares in the city, and the place soon presented a most animated appearance. Not citizens alone, but pupils from the seminaries, Canadians from the other shore, and a sprinkling of soldiers had joined the muster. Every man carried arms, and when they had assembled to the number of between one and two thousand, a loud call was made for the Governor. When Vaudreuil appeared, looking harassed and anxious, it was explained to him that the burghers of the city demanded leave to make a determined effort to save their houses and property from destruction. Would the Governor grant them an experienced officer to lead them? They would then cross the river at night, make a compass round the English camp, and set upon them from behind at dawn, whilst the guns from the town opened fire in front. Caught thus between two fires, and attacked front and rear, they must quickly be dislodged and annihilated; and the citizens would make themselves masters of these hostile batteries, which they would take good care should never fall into English hands again. Their request was granted. An officer of considerable experience, Dumas by name, was told off to head the expedition, and a good many regular soldiers, who volunteered for the service, were permitted to accompany them. Dearly would the three midshipmen have loved to be of the party, to see all that went on, but they knew they must not make such a suggestion. They were known in the town as prisoners on parole. It would appear to all that they meditated escape. But they urged upon Colin to try to see it all, and bring word again what had befallen. Colin was nothing loth. He longed to be in the thick of the struggle. Moreover, he was well known to the citizens, and was loved for his own sake as well as for that of his uncle the Abbe, who went daily to and fro amongst the agitated people, seeking to calm their fears and to inspire them with courage and hope. "I will go!" he cried. "Watch you from this side, and mark how the gunners do their work at dawn. If all goes well, our signal for attack will be the sound of the guns opening fire upon yonder batteries. And yet I shall scarcely wish to see the English dislodged. I do not want our town laid in ruins; yet I truly believe the English rule would be a benefit to this distracted realm. Their own colonies, if report speaks truth, are far more flourishing and strong than any France has ever planted. You have the knack of it, you Britons. Sometimes I doubt whether we shall ever learn it." "Don't say 'we,'" cried Arthur. "You are more than half an Englishman already, and we will teach you to be one of us before we have done. You neither look nor speak nor act like a Frenchie. Of course here in Quebec, amongst your own acquaintances and friends, you will feel to belong in some sort to them; but once we get you into English ranks, you will soon forget that you ever were anything but an Englishman at heart." Colin was almost ready to believe this himself, though he scarcely liked to put it so broadly, lest it should seem like treachery to his own family and friends. He was possessed of a very keen admiration for British pluck and boldness and audacity. The things he had heard and seen had fired his enthusiasm, and he was quite of the opinion that were the free choice to be one day his, he would choose to throw in his lot with the English invaders of Canadian soil. To watch how this game of skill and address was to be played out between the two powers was now his great aim and object, and he was eager to be a spectator in the next scene of the drama. His way was made quite easy; for the Abbe himself resolved to accompany the expedition, and watch from a distance the effect of the combined attack upon the English batteries. He would have been better satisfied had Montcalm been consulted; but he was away at Beauport, and if the citizens were to achieve anything, it would be better for them to strike whilst the iron was hot. Another day and the leaden storm might have opened upon the city, and the heart might be taken out of them. All was now hurry and confusion--too much confusion for the approval of the Abbe, who, with the officer in command and the regular troops, sought to allay it, and to infuse more of discipline and organization into the arrangements. Colin ran back to say farewell to Corinne and Madame Drucour; and they bid him be careful of himself, and come back amongst the first to bring them news. After promising this Colin departed, and the night fell upon the town--a restless night for those within its walls; for there was scarce a house but had contributed its one or more members for the expedition, and all knew that the salvation of their homes depended upon the success of the attack. It was a hot, dark night, and there was little sleep in the city. It would be impossible to hear at that distance, even if some hand-to-hand fighting were to take place on the opposite bank. The wind set the wrong way, and only if the big guns boomed out would they be likely to know that the English had been aroused. Eagerly was the dawn waited for, when the city guns would give the expected signal; but the dawn came so wrapped in fog, and it was not quite as early as was expected that the boom and roar from the fortifications told that the gunners could sight the opposing batteries. The blanket of fog seemed then to roll up and away, leaving the glistening river lying like a sheet of silver at their feet. But what was the meaning of that crowd of boats all making for the city as fast as oars and sails could bring them? It was hardly six o'clock in the morning, and the attack could not well have been commenced before five. What, then, were they doing, hurrying back in their boats like hunted hares? Those with telescopes, watching from the heights above, declared that the English were pursuing their occupations with the most perfect unconcern, that they were bringing up more guns, and that the batteries were now so well planted and defended that the city guns did no harm. Shell away as they might from Quebec, no effect was produced upon their solid earthworks; and it was abundantly evident that very soon they would he in a position to open fire upon the hapless city. Down to the river level rushed the excited people, to meet the returning boats. Such a clamour of inquiry, response, anger, and disappointment arose that at first nothing could be made out. The midshipmen cleared a path for the Abbe and Colin through the gathering crowd; and as soon as they were fairly within the walls of their home, they began to tell the dismal tale. "It was just a fiasco from first to last!" cried Colin. "It was as our uncle said: there was no order or discipline or preparation. One might as well have sent out a pack of children to do the work!" "What happened?" cried Corinne breathlessly. "Why, nothing but a series of gross blunders. We got across all safe, and landed unopposed. The Seminary scholars were over first, and marched off up the hill before the rest came. We got separated in that way, and almost at once one felt that a sort of panic had got hold of the people. The burghers who were so anxious to come now got frightened, and were most difficult to get into order. Dumas and the regulars did their utmost; but it was plain that the people were scared out of their lives lest the English should suddenly appear and attack them. After a long time we got into a sort of order, and began the march, when all of a sudden there were a crash and a blaze, and everything was thrown into confusion. They yelled out that the English were upon them, and headed for the boats." "O Colin--the men who were so keen to fight!" cried Corinne; whilst the midshipmen doubled themselves up with laughter, exclaiming beneath their breath: "O gallant burghers of Quebec!" "It was disgraceful!" cried Colin hotly; "and more disgraceful still was it that the fire came from our own side--from the Seminary scholars, who had gone in advance; a thing they had no business to do. But this was not the worst--at least it was not the end of the bungling; for if you will believe me, the same thing happened three distinct times. Twice more after we had got the men formed up again, and were leading them up the hill behind the English guns, did those wretched Seminary scholars mistake them for the enemy and fire into their ranks. The last time they killed a score or more, and wounded quite a large number of others. That was too much. The men turned tail and fled helter-skelter back to the boats, and there was no getting them back after that. The scholars, too, when they heard what they had done, were seized with panic, and joined the rout. "I never saw such a scene in my life as the opposite shore presented just as the dawn was breaking and the first gun boomed out, and we knew that we ought to have been marching in compact order along the crest of the hill to fall upon the gunners from behind. Well, if this is how Quebec manages her affairs, she deserves to have her houses battered in. We shall soon have the answer from the English batteries, and we shall deserve it, too!" Colin was right. The iron storm began all too soon, and proved to the full as destructive as had been feared. Churches and houses were laid in ruins, and disastrous fires broke out, consuming others. The unhappy occupants of the Lower Town fled from the smoking ruins, some to take refuge with friends in the Upper Town, which was considerably less exposed; others to fly into the open country beyond, where they trusted to be safe from the English invader. As the military authorities had proclaimed, this destruction did not materially affect the position of the belligerents--the English could not get much nearer their object by shelling the town--but it did much to dishearten the citizens, and produced a strong moral effect of depression, and murmurs even arose in isolated quarters that it would be better to surrender than to be destroyed. Moreover, disquieting reports came from other places. The camp of Montcalm extended, as has been said, from the river St. Charles to the Falls of Montmorency. That great gorge was considered protection enough, and it was believed that no enemy would be rash enough to try to cross the river higher up; indeed, it was popularly supposed that there was no ford. Nevertheless it soon became known that Wolfe had effected a landing upon the farther shore of the Montmorency; that he was fortifying a camp there, and had found and was now holding a ford in the river above, whence, if he chose, he could cross and fall upon the camp at Beauport. There had been some argument at first as to the advisability of dislodging him before he had made himself strong enough to resist attack. The Intendant had given his voice in favour of the attack; but for once the Governor and the General had been of one mind, and had decided against it. "Let him stay where he is," said Montcalm, after he had surveyed the position; "he can do us little harm there. If we dislodge him, he may find a footing elsewhere, and prove much more dangerous and troublesome. If he tries to get across to us, we shall have a welcome ready!" So, though parties of Canadians and Indians harassed the English in their camp, and were met and routed by the gallant Rangers, who always accompanied the English forces, the soldiers remained in their intrenchments, and took little notice of the rival camp. Sometimes under flags of truce messages passed between the hostile camps. "You will no doubt batter and demolish a great part of the town," wrote Montcalm on one occasion, "but you will never get inside it!" "I will have Quebec," wrote back Wolfe, "if I stay here till the winter. I have come from England to win it. I do not go back till my task is done." Some smiled at that message; but Madame Drucour received it with a little shivering sigh. "Ah," she exclaimed, "I have seen Monsieur Wolfe; I can hear him speak the words! Somehow it seems to me that he is a man who will never go back from his resolve. If he has made up his mind to take Quebec, Quebec will be taken!" Book 6: Without Quebec. Chapter 1: In Sight Of His Goal. Wolfe stood rapt in thought beside the batteries upon Point Levi. From his own camp at the Montmorency falls he had come over in a boat to visit Brigadier Moncton's camp, opposite the city of Quebec; and now he stood surveying the town--and the havoc wrought upon its buildings by his cannon--with a glass at his eye, a look of great thoughtfulness and care stamped upon his thin face. Near at hand, ready to answer if addressed, was Brigadier Moncton, a brave and capable officer; and a little farther off, also watching the General and the scene spread out before him, stood a little group of three, who had come across with Wolfe in the boat, and who were, in fact, none other than our old friends, Fritz Neville, Julian Dautray, and Humphrey Angell. It had been an immense joy to these three men to meet together in the camp of Wolfe round about Quebec. Julian had accompanied the expedition from England, Fritz had joined Admiral Durell's contingent whilst it was waiting for junction with the fleet from England, and Humphrey had come to join them in the transport ships from New York, bringing news of friends in Philadelphia, where he had passed a portion of the time of waiting. Now these three comrades, so long parted, and now brought together by the chances of war, were almost inseparable. Wolfe had appointed them posts about his own person, having taken for Fritz almost the same warm liking that he had from the first felt towards Julian and Humphrey, and which, in the case of Julian, had ripened into a deep and ardent friendship. Whilst the young General was making his survey, rapt in thoughts which as yet he kept to himself, the three comrades spoke together of the war and the outlook. "It will be a hard nut to crack, this city of Quebec," said Humphrey; "they were all saying that in Philadelphia as I left. Yet all men say that Quebec is the key of Canada. If that falls into our hands, we shall be masters of the country." "And if our General has set his mind upon it, he will accomplish it," said Julian briefly. "He is a wonderful man," said Fritz, with a look of admiration directed towards the tall, slim figure of the soldier; "would that his body were as strong as his spirit! Sometimes when I look at him I fear that the blade is too keen for the scabbard. That ardent spirit will wear out the frail body." "That is the danger," said Julian gravely; "but it is wonderful what he can compel that frail body to go through. He will rise from an almost sleepless night of pain and exhaustion, and do the work of a man in sound health, infusing life and energy and enthusiasm into everyone with whom he comes in contact! Truly the King's words about him contained a great truth." "What words?" asked Fritz. "Why, you know that this Wolfe of ours is but a young man, gallant enough, but far younger and less known than many another of half his capacity. You know, too, that the Duke of Newcastle, to whose blundering we owe half our misfortunes in the west, was never known to make a wise selection of men for posts of command, and was shocked and alarmed when he heard that Pitt had appointed a comparatively young and untried man for the command of such an expedition as this. He once said testily to the King that Pitt's new general was mad. "'Mad is he?' quoth His Majesty, with a laugh; 'then I hope he will bite some more of my generals!'" Fritz laughed at the sally. "In truth we could have done with some more of that sort of madness amongst the leaders of those border wars which have ended so disastrously for us. But in very truth the tide did turn, as the Abbe Messonnier had foretold, when Pitt's hand was placed upon the helm of England's government. So much has been accomplished already that I myself do not believe we shall turn our backs upon these scenes before Quebec is ours." "That is what they say in Philadelphia," cried Humphrey--"that Quebec must and shall fall. If General Amherst can but capture Ticonderoga and Crown Point, he will march to our assistance by land. Then the French will be caught between two armies, and the nut will be cracked indeed! Did I tell you that our kinsman Benjamin Ashley has declared that, directly Quebec falls, he will come and visit the great city of which so much has been spoken, to see for himself the great work? If he does this, he will bring his wife and Susanna with him. You cannot think how keenly alive the Philadelphians are becoming to the glory it will be to rid Canada of French rule, and found an English-speaking colony there. The Quakers still stand aloof, and talk gloomily of the sin of warfare; but the rest of the people heed them no whit. They have furnished and equipped a gallant band to join General Amherst, and they are kindling with a great enthusiasm in the cause. Even our old friend Ebenezer Jenkyns has been talking great swelling words of warlike import. He would have joined the militia, he says, had not his father forbidden him." "It is well they have awoke at last," said Fritz, a little grimly; "but it would have been better had they done so before their border was harried, and their brothers and countrymen done to death by the bands of Indian marauders." At which saying Humphrey's face grew dark; for there was stamped upon his brain one scene the memory of which would never be effaced, though it should be a thousandfold avenged. "I would that Charles could have lived to see the day when the English should enter the city of Quebec!" He spoke beneath his breath; but Fritz heard him, and answered with thoughtful gravity: "Perhaps it were not true kindness to wish him back. His death blow was struck when his wife and children perished. The days which remained to him were days of sorrow and pain. The light of his life, the desire of his eyes, had been taken away. He lived but for an act of vengeance, and when that was accomplished, I believe he would have faded out of life had it not been that his own life was extinguished at the same time as that of his foe." Humphrey made a silent sign of assent. He could not speak much even yet of the tragic fate of his brother, or of the events which had led to it. Fritz turned the subject by speaking of John Stark and the Rangers, asking Humphrey what had been known of them since the breaking-up of the band after the disaster of Ticonderoga. "I saw Stark," answered Humphrey eagerly. "Have I not told you before? Ah well, we have not much time for talking these busy days. Yes, I saw Stark; he came to visit his kinsfolk of the inn when I was in Philadelphia. He has gone now with Amherst's party. He will join Rogers, I suppose; and, doubtless, the Rangers will again do good service, as they do everywhere. He was in half a mind to come north with the expedition for Quebec, but decided that he would be of more use in country every foot of which was familiar to him. But he declared that, if once Ticonderoga were to fall, he would bring us the news faster than any other messenger. How he will come, and by what route, I know not; but this I know, that if there is a victory for English arms yonder in the west, and if John Stark be not killed, the sight of his face amongst us here will be the sign to us that the victory has been won." "And right welcome will be the sight of his face," cried Fritz, "be his news what it may. John Stark is one of the best and bravest men I know. I have told our General many a tale of him and his prowess. Wolfe will have a welcome for him if he ever appears here." Wolfe seemed to have finished his survey. He took the glass from his eye and looked round him. Moncton was at his side in a moment. He, in common with all who fought with and under him, had a great admiration for the gallant young General. "Moncton," said Wolfe, in a voice loud enough for the other three to hear plainly, "I want to get some ships past the city into the upper reach of the river. The French General will not fight. I give him chance after chance against me, but he does not take it. He thinks a waiting game will serve his turn best, and perhaps he is right. But we must leave no stone unturned to harass and perplex him. I want a footing in the upper reach of the river. I want to get some vessels past the town." Moncton drew his lips together in a silent whistle. "Will not the town batteries sink them like logs as they pass?" he asked. "They will, if they see them. They have left the river free of vessels; they trust entirely to their guns. But our sailors have done bolder deeds before this than the passing of some batteries upon a dark night. If you were to cover their advance by a furious cannonade upon the town, do you not think we could slip a few past those frowning batteries, and make a new basis of operations for ourselves in the upper reach of the river, above the town?" Moncton's eyes glistened. It was a daring project, but it was not without promise of success. Such things might be done, and yet there was serious risk. "It will weaken us in one way," pursued Wolfe, speaking in his quiet, meditative fashion. "As it is, we are divided into three camps--one here, one at Montmorency, and one on the Isle of Orleans. If we carry out this plan, we shall be divided into four; and should any pressing danger menace any one of those four camps, it might be some while before assistance could be sent. And yet I am more than half disposed to try. Montcalm does not appear to have any intention of attacking us. And if we weaken ourselves, we shall also weaken him by this movement. At present he is concentrating his whole strength in and below the city. If we get a footing on the upper river, he will have to send a contingent there to watch us. Whether we have any reasonable hope of getting at the city in that way, I cannot yet tell; I know too little of the character of the ground. But at least we shall have won a strategic victory in getting our ships past the guns of Quebec; and we shall cause consternation and alarm there, even if nothing else." "I will cover the movement with all the power of my guns," cried Moncton eagerly; "and if the thing can be done, our sailors will do it; they are in no whit afraid of the enemy's guns. And look--if the ships get through, why not let our red-coats and blue-jackets drag a fleet of boats across the base of this Point Levi, along the low ground yonder, and launch them in the river above, where they can join the ships and bring them reinforcements of men? Then we shall have means of transporting men and provisions to these vessels, and the sight of them upon their upper river will further dishearten the citizens of Quebec, who have been very well punished already by our guns." "Yes," answered Wolfe. "I would sooner have shattered the citadel than the houses and convents; but we must e'en do what we can in this game of war. But your idea is excellent, Moncton. If the ships succeed in making the passage, the boats shall certainly be brought across, as you suggest. It will be a strategic triumph for us, even though we do not reap immediate fruit from it. And if once Amherst can march to join us, it will be everything to have shipping in the upper river." "And you are hopeful that he will?" "If he can make good his position upon the lakes and in the west. I have information that things are going well for us there; but so far no definite news of the capture of Ticonderoga has reached us. It is rumoured that Niagara is attacked, and is likely to pass into our hands. There is no doubt that the French all along the western boundary are in extremity. If Quebec goes, all will go; they will have no heart to hold out. But, on the other hand, if we are beaten here, and are forced to retreat unsuccessfully, it will have a great moral effect throughout Canada." "Canada is becoming very half-hearted towards its French masters," said Moncton. "We hear a good deal from prisoners brought to the camp by our scouts. We had one brought in the other day--a cunning old rascal, but by no means reticent when we had plied him with port wine. He said that they were sick to death of the struggle, and only wished it over one way or the other. They would be glad enough to stand neutral, and serve either French or English according as the victory went; but their priests threaten them with spiritual terrors if they do not fight for the cause of Holy Church, as they term it, whilst the military authorities threaten them with the Indians, and we, on the other side, with the destruction of their farms and houses if they interfere in any way with us. Their case is certainly a hard one." "It is," answered Wolfe; "but, all the same, I am not going to permit any infringement of the orders I have laid down. If the people will stand neutral or help us, they shall have protection and all reasonable help if the Indians attack them; but if they prefer to obey their French masters or their priestly tyrants, and harry and worry us, I keep my word, and I send out harrying parties to drive off their cattle and bring themselves prisoners to our camps. No violence shall be done them; no church shall be violated; not a finger shall be laid upon any woman or child. If outrages are committed by my soldiers, the men shall instantly be hanged or shot. But I will have no infringement of my commands. What I say I mean. I have posted up my intentions. The people know what they have to expect. The free choice is theirs. If they will not take the offered protection, they must abide by the consequences." Inflexible firmness was written upon the thin face of the young General. Cruelty was abhorrent to him whatever form it took; but he could be stern and rigorous in the prosecution of any plan which had been adopted after careful consideration. He knew that the greatest blessing to the Canadians would be the termination of this long and wearing war. From his heart he believed that transference from French to English rule would be the happiest possible change of fortune for them. Therefore he did not shrink from any measures which should tend to bring about this consummation; and whilst giving them every opportunity to save themselves and their property by aiding or at least not interfering with or opposing his measures, he made it abundantly plain that, if they persisted in inimical courses, they would be treated as enemies. The idea of effecting a passage of the city and forming a camp, or at least a flotilla, above the town was a matter which afforded much discussion and excitement throughout the English ranks. The daring of it appealed to all hearts, and the sailors when they heard it were keen for the enterprise, confident of success were only a dark night to be chosen for the attempt. Old Killick, with his hands in his pockets, rolled up and down his deck, chewing a quid of tobacco, and giving his opinions on the subject. "Pass Quebec! bless you, my dears, I'll undertake to pass the town guns any hour of the day or night you like to send me. What a rout they did make, to be sure, about their old river! They make just such a rout about their precious guns! What English ship ever feared to pass a French battery yet? Give me a capful of wind, and I'll undertake to get my boat past whilst the Frenchies are trying to get their guns pointed low enough to sink me! The soldiers have been having their turn for a bit; it's time we had one now. We've had nothing to amuse us since those pretty fireworks the Frenchies were kind enough to get up for us the other week! Oh that they should think to scare us with such toys as that! Oh my, what fools some men can be!" With Wolfe resolution was speedily followed by action. No sooner had he made up his mind what he meant to do than preparations were instantly set on foot. He came down in person to inspect the fleet, and discuss with the Admirals what ships should be chosen for the service. Finally, the Sutherland was selected as the ship to run the gauntlet, on account of her sailing capacities and the excellence of her sailing master and crew. A frigate was to accompany her, and several smaller vessels, one of which, to his great satisfaction, was Killick's; and he was permitted to lead the way, as his shrewdness and skill in nautical matters were well known throughout the fleet. Colonel Carleton, a promising and experienced officer, was in charge of the troops. But Wolfe himself could not be far away. He was to watch everything from Point Levi, and in the event of success to superintend the passage overland of the flotilla of boats; and in one of these he purposed himself to join the expedition in the upper river, and make a careful survey of the defences there. Dearly would he have liked to make one of the daring party who were to run the gauntlet of the French batteries, but he knew his responsibilities as General of the forces too well to expose himself rashly where he could not take the lead. He must trust to the sailors for this thing; his turn would come later. All was in readiness. The selected vessels were lying at anchor, ready to loose from their moorings when the sun had sunk. Wolfe in his light boat, managed by Humphrey and Fritz, had made a tour of inspection, and was now speeding across the water towards Point Levi, up the heights of which several additional powerful guns had been carried earlier in the day to assist in the cannonade planned for the night. Little was spoken by the General or his subordinates. Wolfe had been suffering much during the past days from acute rheumatism, and from the inward malady which gave him little rest night or day. His face looked very thin and drawn, but the fire in his eyes was unquenchable, and it was plain that his mind was not with himself, but with the enterprise, carefully thought out and courageously planned, which was to be attempted that night. "Take me as near to the town batteries as is safe," he said; and the boat's head was directed towards the northern shore. "I believe it will be done," he said, after a keen inspection of the batteries through his glass. "The guns are almost all pointed towards Point Levi. If the ships make good way with wind and tide, as they should, they will glide so fast along that, even if sighted, they will almost have passed before the guns can be depressed sufficiently to be dangerous." Then they made for Point Levi, and Wolfe stepped ashore, to be received by Moncton, who escorted him to the batteries to see their preparations. The three friends, released from attendance upon him, took up a position from which they could command a view of what passed, in so far as the darkness of night should permit them any view. A pall of cloud hung in the sky, and the shades of evening fell early. Yet it seemed long to the anxious watchers before the darkness blotted out the view of the distant city, and of the panorama of dancing water beneath. Generally the guns from Point Levi boomed all day, but were silent at night, leaving the camp to repose. But though they had ceased to fire at sundown, darkness had no sooner fallen than the iron mouths opened in a prolonged and terrific roar, a blaze of yellow light glowed along the batteries, and the watchers from the strand heard the huge shells screaming overhead as they hurtled through the air, carrying with them their terrible messages of death and destruction. The noise was terrific; the sight was terrible in its fierce grandeur. The three companions had seen many strange and fearful things during the past years, but perhaps they had never before been quite so near to a battery spouting out its leaden rain in great broad flashes of lambent flame. Julian and Fritz could not turn their eyes from the magnificent sight; but Humphrey, after one glance, turned his upon the dark waterway, and it was his voice that spoke at last in accents of keen emotion. "Here come the ships." The others could not see for a while--their eyes were dazzled; and in the roar and rattle of artillery overhead nothing could be heard of the silent advance of those darkened hulls as they slipped like ghosts through the water. They were as close to the south bank as it was safe to keep, and followed Killick's sloop with as much precision as possible. The strong tide beneath them, and the light, favouring wind, bore them past at a rate that the spectators had scarcely expected. They could just descry the dark, looming objects gliding swiftly and silently along. But would the gunners in Quebec see them? The onlookers held their breath as the phantom ships sailed upon their way. They were passing the blazing batteries now, and the cannonade was more furious than ever. The guns of Quebec were blazing back. But was the fire directed only at the opposite heights? or had the flitting sails been seen, and would the iron rain pour upon the gallant vessels making the daring passage? Fritz felt such an oppression upon his heart that he could scarce draw his breath; but moments came and moments went, and the ships glided unharmed upon their way. They had all passed the batteries now. They were in the very narrowest part of the channel, just where the town batteries commanded the passage. Humphrey could stand it no longer. "To the boat," he cried, "to the boat! yonder she lies! Let us follow and make sure, and bring the General word!" In a moment the three had rushed down, and were running their boat into the water. Next minute the sail was up, and the light little craft was cutting through the black river at a gallant pace. Now she had caught up the last of the silent string of daring cruisers; now she was gliding by the large warship. All was safe, all was silent on the water; only overhead the hurtling bombs and balls roared and boomed. The gunners of Quebec had not sighted the stealthy ships. The town knew nothing of what was being done under cover of that furious cannonade. And now the batteries had been safely passed; the lights of the town upon the right were beginning to fade in the distance. A sudden rift in the clouds let through a glancing beam of moonlight, which fell full upon the figure of old Killick as he stood upon the forecastle of his vessel, preparing to let down the anchor as arranged when a safe place had been found. The old sea-dog had convoyed the party as cleverly as he had navigated the dangerous channel of the Traverse. He pulled out his battered sou'wester and waved it in the direction of Quebec. "Bless you, my dears! how well you do sleep! You ought to be sound and hearty, I'm sure. Good luck to you, every man of you at the guns! Bless my soul! if I were the Markiss of Montcalm, when I awoke in the morning to see the English ships in the basin above the town, I'd hang every mother's son of them each to his own gun! But poor fellows, it would be hard to blame them. They can't help being born Frenchmen and fools after all!" A laugh and a cheer from those who heard greeted old Killick's sally; and Humphrey, quickly turning round the prow of the boat, sent her speeding back to Point Levi, to bring certain tidings of the success to Wolfe. Chapter 2: Days Of Waiting. "I am sorry that you should have to be disturbed, dear ladies, but it is no longer safe for you to remain where you were. My soldiers require the ground. But tomorrow you shall be sent in safety to Quebec, under a flag of truce. You will be safer there than at Pointe-aux-Trembles, now that my ships are in the upper river." Wolfe spoke thus at the conclusion of a supper party, which he had hastily got up for the benefit of the prisoners brought to Point Levi by his fleet of boats. The soldiers had landed along the upper river, and in spite of a faint resistance from Indians and Canadians, had effected a landing. Though they had not found much in the way of stores or cattle, they had taken what they could, and had brought a number of prisoners to Wolfe's camp. These were mostly French--a great number being women and children and old men who had left Quebec during the bombardment, and sought refuge in the outlying village. The idea of being sent back to town was not exactly palatable, but it was plain that there was now no safety along the upper river; the English troops seemed to be everywhere at once. "You are such dreadful people, you English!" sighed one lady, looking, not without admiration, towards the youthful General, who was entertaining them at his own table, and who had given the strictest orders that the humbler of the prisoners should be equally well treated elsewhere: "you seem to fly from point to point, to divide your army as you will, and conquer wherever you appear. It is wonderful, but it is terrible, too! And yet with all this, how are you to get into Quebec? For it seems to me you are no nearer that than you were a month ago." Wolfe smiled his slight, peculiar smile. "Madame," he answered, "we have a proverb in En gland which says that 'where there's a will there's a way.' I have been sent out by the government of my country to take Quebec, and here I stay till I have carried out that order. How and when it will be accomplished I do not yet know; what I say is that I am here to do it, and that I mean to do it. When you return to the city, present my respects to the Marquis of Montcalm, and tell him what I say." The ladies looked at one another, and lifted eyes and hands. In the aspect of the young General, despite his physical feebleness, there was an air of such calm, confident power that they were deeply impressed; and one of them, looking earnestly at him, cried: "You make us admire you as much as we fear you, Monsieur Wolfe. But if you are to have Quebec, pray take it quickly; for this long, cruel war wears us out." "Madame," he answered, "I would that I could; but Monsieur de Montcalm gives me no chance of fighting. If he were not so cautious, I should greatly rejoice. I give him all sorts of chances to attack me, but he will not avail himself of them. If caution could save Quebec, assuredly it would never fall!" "If he take not care, his caution will be his undoing," said a Canadian dame of sprightly turn. "As for us of the country, we are weary to death of uncertainty. They tell me that the Canadian militia will not long remain loyal if kept in such inactivity. We Canadians do not understand this sort of warfare. Quick raids, sharp fighting, quick return home is what our men are used to. They can be brave enough in their native forests; but this sitting down in camps for weeks and months together, whilst their harvests are lying uncut in the fields, or left a prey to Indian marauders--no, that they do not understand or appreciate. They are almost ready to welcome English rule sooner than go on like this. I doubt not you have heard as much from your prisoners before." "Something like it," answered Wolfe, with a slight curl of the lip. "I confess I have no great opinion of the militia of Monsieur de Montcalm. His regular troops are fine soldiers; but for the rest, they would give us little trouble, I take it. Perhaps the Marquis knows that, and therefore will not fight." "In the woods one Canadian soldier is worth three regulars," remarked the lady, with a shrewd glance at Wolfe, and a smile upon her face; "but in the open one regular is worth half a dozen Canadians. We do not understand standing firm under fire. Give us a tree to run behind, and we will be as valiant as you wish, and shoot down our foes with unerring aim; but we must have cover. We have been used to it, and we do not understand being without it. I am sure I well understand the feeling. I should make a good enough Canadian militiaman, but I should never have the nerve to be a regular soldier." Wolfe smiled and made a little bow to his guests. "I believe, Mesdames, that ladies have a higher courage than men when the hour of peril really comes. I had the honour to become acquainted with Madame Drucour at the siege of Louisbourg. I was told, and can well believe, that it was in great part her heroic example which inspired the men there to that courage which they showed, and which gave us such hard work. Courage is by no means the prerogative of the soldier or of man. The women of the world have again and again set the loftiest examples of it to those who come after." The ladies returned his bow, and drank to his health before they retired to their tents for the night. "If we see you within Quebec, Monsieur Wolfe, we shall know how generous a victor we have to deal with. Madame Drucour has told us the same; but now we have seen it with our own eyes." "Pray give my best compliments to Madame Drucour," said Wolfe earnestly, "and tell her that not the least pleasant element in the anticipation of getting into Quebec is the thought that in so doing I shall have the honour and pleasure of renewing acquaintance with her." Wolfe was on the strand upon the following morning to see his captives safely off to Quebec, whilst a flag of truce was hoisted, and the batteries ceased to fire. "Farewell, my dear ladies; I hope soon to meet you all again," said the young General, with playful geniality, as he handed them to their seats. "If Monsieur de Montcalm will but give me the chance of coming to conclusions with him, I will do my utmost to bring this uncomfortable state of affairs to a close." "Ah, Monsieur, you are very complaisant! but the only way that you want to take is the capture of our poor city." "Very true, dear ladies; that is the only end I am willing to contemplate. And yet, believe me, in desiring this I desire nothing that shall be for your final discomfiture. I know what the rule of France is in these parts, and what that of England is also. Believe me that beneath English government peace and prosperity such as she has never known before will come to Canada. I believe that the day will speedily come when you will see this for yourselves." "I should not wonder," answered the Canadian dame, with a light laugh; "I am half disposed to think the same myself. His Majesty of France has not endeared himself to us these many years past. I should not be broken hearted to see a change of monarch." The boats pushed off, and Wolfe stood watching them on their way across the river. His face was grave and thoughtful, and he turned presently to Fritz with a sigh. "Poor ladies! I am sorry to send them back to the horrors of the siege; but it is the only safe place for them. "And now we must think seriously of our next step. The time is flying, and we must not let the grass grow under our feet. It is true what they said last night: we are no nearer taking Quebec than when we sailed from England months ago. We have frightened and harassed the foe, but we are not one step nearer the goal." "And yet we have one ship and several smaller vessels in the upper river," said Julian; "and where one ship has passed others may do so." "Yes; I shall try to bring up other vessels. One never knows what the chances of war will be. It is well to have the command of the river both above and below; and if Amherst should form a junction with us, we may find the fleet above the town of great use. But we are now at the end of July, and Ticonderoga, though threatened, has not yet fallen, so far as we know; and even were it to do so quickly, there will be much for Amherst to do there and at Crown Point, and a long, long march before he could reach us. We must face the possibility of having to accomplish this matter with the forces now at command; and we are in the position now that our camp is split up into four, and we have no great muster of troops at any one point. If Montcalm were to make a determined dash at any one of our camps, he could destroy it before the rest of the army could be mustered for its defence. Why he does not avail himself of the chances given him I do not know. But his policy of inaction has its drawbacks too for us, since I would sooner face him in a pitched battle than be kept here inactive, waiting upon chances that never offer." The army was certainly getting rather weary of this inaction. It was not idle, for Wolfe's manifesto to the Canadians was now being enforced. Supplies were wanted for the troops, and the inimical Canadians were forced to supply them. Indeed, great numbers of these harassed and undecided inhabitants of the disputed territory were glad enough to be made prisoners by the English and sent on board their transports for safety. Their cattle, of course, fell a prey to the invaders; but they were in so much peril of robbery from the Indians that this was a small matter. When once within Wolfe's camp their lives were safe, and no ill treatment was permitted; and to some of the wretched Canadians this had become a boon. It was small wonder they were growing sick and weary of the war, and would have welcomed either nation as conqueror, so that they could only know again the blessings of peace and safety. Yet something more definite must be attempted; Wolfe was more and more determined upon that. It was difficult to know how best to attack an enemy so strongly intrenched and so well able to repulse attack; yet his men were burning with ardour, and his own spirit was hot within him. He sometimes felt as though his feeble body would not much longer be able to endure the strain put upon it. The cracked pitcher may go once too often to the well. To die in the service of his country was what Wolfe desired and expected for himself; but he wished that death might come to him in the din and excitement of the battle, and in the hour of victory; not by the hand of disease, whilst his aim and object was yet unaccomplished. "We must fight!" he said to Julian, as he took his way back to his camp at the Montmorency; "we must seek to bring the enemy to close quarters. We shall fight at terrible disadvantage, I well know; we shall suffer heavy loss. But I would back a hundred of our brave fellows against a battalion of Canadian militia. We must try conclusions with them somehow, and by a concerted attack, both from Montmorency and from the strand, seek to effect something, even if it be only to affright and dishearten them." The soldiers were ready and eager to be allowed a fling at the foe. They were full of ardour and enthusiasm, for so far every attempt made had been vigorously and successfully carried out, and they began to have an idea that Wolfe could not be frustrated in any scheme of his. To attack the city itself was obviously impossible under present conditions, They could never get a footing near those solid walls and ramparts. But the camp along the Beauport shore was more vulnerable. If they could effect a landing there, they might rush one or more of the batteries, and bring about a general engagement. It was impossible, as it happened, for Wolfe to estimate the full strength of the French position; but he knew that the task would be no light one, even though he could not see that there were batteries upon the heights above. It was near to the Montmorency that he designed to make the attack. The shores of the river were, for the most part, very steep here; but at one place there was at low water a strand of muddy ground about half a mile wide, protected at the edge by a French redoubt. From there the ground rose steep and slippery to the higher land above. If the men could land and take the redoubt, Wolfe had hopes of bringing men over by the Montmorency ford--the one above the cataract--and effecting a junction there, and by combining the actions of these two detachments, succeed in dislodging a portion of the French army, and effecting a firm foothold upon the north bank of the St. Lawrence. It was a rather desperate scheme; but it was received with enthusiasm by the soldiers and sailors, both of whom would be needed for the attempt. The vessels and boats for the transport of the men were quickly made ready, whilst others were told off to hover about the basin in order to perplex the French, and keep them ignorant of the real point of attack. Wolfe himself took up his position in the battleship Centurion, which anchored near to the Montmorency, and opened fire upon the redoubts just beyond the strand. Julian was with him, watching intently, and noting every movement made by enemy or friend. But Fritz and< Humphrey could not be denied their share in the fight. They were upon an armed transport that was standing in shore to further harass and batter the redoubt, and to be left stranded by the ebb tide, as near to her as might be. It was at low water that the attack must be made. Boats from Point Levi were hovering around the strand all the afternoon, sometimes making for one point, sometimes for another, keeping the French always on the alert, uncertain and wondering. But Montcalm was too acute a general to be long deceived. He saw where the real attack must be made, and there he concentrated his chief force. Had Wolfe been able to see how his batteries could sweep with a crossfire the whole of the steep ascent from the redoubt to the heights above, where the men from the Montmorency camp might be able to join with them, he might have withheld his men from the bold attack. And yet English soldiers have won the victory even against such odds as these! He stood in a commanding place upon the ship, and his eyes anxiously scanned the scene. The hot sun had gone in now beneath banks of heavy cloud. A few splashes of rain seemed to herald an approaching storm; there was a rumble as of thunder away to the right. The tide was out; the bank of mud lay bare. Wolfe gave a long look round him and waved his hand. It was the signal waited for. The moment after, the Centurion's guns opened their iron mouths, and a storm of shot rattled around the redoubt. The batteries from the Montmorency blazed forth, and so did the more distant ones from Point Levi. The fire of all three was concentrated upon the redoubts and batteries and forces at this portion of the Beauport camp; and the French gave answer back from their well-placed batteries. Under cover of this heavy fire the boats rowed to shore, and the men in waiting upon the stranded transports leaped out and joined their comrades. The grenadiers were the first to land; and though Moncton's brigade and Fraser's Highlanders were close behind, the eagerness of the men could not be restrained. They did not wait for their companions; they did not even wait to form up in very orderly fashion themselves. They made a gallant dash upon the redoubt, and so strong was the onrush that the French, after a very brief resistance, fled; and with a shout and cheer of triumph the English gained their prize. Julian, standing beside Wolfe on the vessel, could not refrain from a shout of triumph; but the face of the General was grave and stern. "They are wrong--they are wrong!" he said; "they are too impetuous. Their rash gallantry will cost them dear. See, they are not even waiting now for their companions to join them; they are trying to rush the heights alone! Folly--madness! They will lose everything by such rashness! There! did I not say so?" At that moment the batteries on the brink of the height opened their murderous crossfire. The men were mown down like grass before the scythe; but so full were they of fury and desire of victory that they heeded nothing, and pressed onward and upward, as though resolved to carry everything before them. Had they been able to see the heights above, they would have noted that across the ford above the Montmorency a compact body of men was passing in perfect order, to fall upon the French from behind, and effect a junction with them. But at that moment, whilst the fortunes of the day seemed hanging in the balance, the very floodgates of heaven seemed to open, and a deluge of rain descended, whilst the blackness of a terrific thunderstorm fell upon the combatants. The slippery grass no longer gave foothold, and the men rolled down the steep heights--dead, wounded, and unhurt in one medley. The ammunition grew soaked, and the guns refused their task. The glare of the lightning lit up a scene of utter confusion. Wolfe saw all, standing with grave face and stern, watchful eyes. At last he spoke. "Sound the retreat," he said, and then bit his lip; and Julian, by a glance into his face, knew what it had cost him to speak those words. The retreat was made in good order, and was distinguished by a few acts of personal gallantry; for the Indians swooped down, as they always did when they saw their chance, to scalp the wounded and the dead. Soldiers risked their lives to save their fallen comrades from this fate, dragging the wounded with them, at risk of their own lives. The guns of the captured redoubt did some service in beating off the savages; and the boats were launched once more, though their load was a far lighter one than when they had brought up their eager crews an hour before. The strand and the height above were covered with the dead who had paid for their rash gallantry with their lives. It was a scene upon which Wolfe's eyes dwelt with sadness and pain, as he ordered a boat to be got ready for him, that he might address the men on their return to quarters. It was with stern words that Wolfe met his soldiers. He was not a man to condone a lack of discipline because it had been coupled with personal bravery. "Do you grenadiers suppose that you can beat the French single-handed?" he asked, eying the thinned ranks with stern displeasure in his eyes. "Such impetuous, irregular, and unsoldierlike proceedings as those witnessed today destroy all order, and make it impossible for a commander to form any disposition for an attack, and put it out of the General's power to execute his plans. The death of those five hundred brave men who lie on the strand yonder is due, in the main, to your rashness and insubordination." The men were shamefaced and contrite. They recognized their error, and were the more grieved inasmuch as they saw how the check had affected their brave young General. They heard, too, that the French were full of triumphant rejoicings; that they declared this repulse to be the end of the English attempt upon Quebec. They looked upon the game as already in their hands; and although the English were fond of declaring that but for the storm they would yet have won the heights, and with the aid of their other contingent have routed the French gunners and got a footing there, they knew that, as facts were now, they had rather suffered than benefited by the action, for it had put fresh hope into the hearts of their foes; and it was possible that the disappointment had something to do with the access of violent illness and suffering which at this juncture prostrated their General. Wolfe was indeed dangerously ill. He had long been putting the strongest pressure upon himself, and Julian had been struck upon the day of the assault with the look of suffering upon his worn face. He kept up during the next few days, but looked so ghastly that his friends were deeply concerned; and Julian, together with Fritz and Humphrey, scoured the neighbourhood in order to find a place of greater comfort where their commander could lie. Presently they came upon a little farmhouse near to the camp at Montmorency, sheltered from the wind, and pleasantly situated. It had been deserted by its occupants, who had, however, left behind furniture enough to enable them to get one room at least fit for the habitation of the sufferer. And none too soon. That very day Wolfe, after trying to make a survey of the lines, was found in his tent half fainting with pain. He looked up at Julian with heavy eyes, and stretching out his hand to him, he said: "I fear me I shall never live to enter Quebec. I have fought till I can fight no more. Take me somewhere that I can rest. I can do no more--yet." They took him to the little farmhouse, and laid him upon the bed they had prepared. The doctors came, and looked grave; for the fever was high, the suffering keen, and the wasted frame seemed little able to withstand the ravages of disease. Yet never a murmur passed his lips; and when there came intervals of comparative ease, he would ask of those about him how affairs without were proceeding, giving orders from time to time with all his old acumen and force, and never forgetting to inquire for the wounded who had been brought off from the ill-starred assault, and had been given the best quarters which the camp afforded. He had never any pity for himself, but always plenty to spare for others. Great gloom hung over the camp. Not only were the soldiers depressed by their repulse, and by the apparent impossibility of getting into the city, but they were in fear and trembling lest they should also lose their brave General. "If Wolfe goes, hope goes," was a common saying in the camp. They seemed to know by intuition that with him would expire all hope of achieving an almost impossible victory. Fritz and Julian nursed the sick man; and never were nurses more skilful and tender. Humphrey constituted himself messenger and forager, bringing everything he could get that the invalid was likely to need, and keeping them informed of everything that went on at the different camps. Other vessels had passed the guns of Quebec. Scouts from the interior reported disaffection toward the French cause all through Canada. English soldiers were carrying the terror of the British arms through large tracts of country. The French were becoming anxious and dispirited. So much they learned during those days of waiting; but they could rejoice but little whilst Wolfe lay low, racked with pain which no medicine could alleviate, and in danger of sinking through the wearing exhaustion which followed. "How will it end? how will it end?" spoke Fritz to himself one day late in August, as he stepped outside the house to obtain a breath of air. The next moment he gave a great start, and held out his hands in a gesture of amazement, "What--who--how--is it a ghost I see?" A hearty laugh was the answer, and his hands were gripped in a clasp that was very certainly one of flesh and blood, to say nothing of bone and muscle. "Ghost indeed! Nay, Fritz, you know better than that! It is John Stark himself, come to fulfil his promise, and to bring to General Wolfe the news that Ticonderoga has fallen!" Chapter 3: A Daring Design. Ticonderoga fallen! The news was like new wine in the veins of Wolfe. Ill as he was, he insisted that Stark should be brought to his bedside, and he eagerly entreated the bold Ranger to tell him the whole story. "There is not so much to tell as there might be," said Stark, "for the French made no fight, either at Ticonderoga or at Crown Point. We came with a gallant array against their fortresses, only to find that the enemy had evacuated them. They tried to blow up Ticonderoga before they left; but only one bastion was destroyed. Crown Point was deserted without a blow being struck. I waited for that, and then made good my word. I said I would be the first to take the news of the fall of Ticonderoga to General Wolfe at Quebec." Wolfe's eyes were shining with excitement. "Then is General Amherst on his way here with his army?" he asked eagerly. Stark shook his head. "Alas, no! there is still much work to be done. If the French have abandoned these two forts, it is only that they may concentrate all their strength at Isle-aux-Noix, where the General must now attack them. And to do this he must build a brigantine and other vessels; and though there is a sawmill at Ticonderoga, the work will still take somewhat long to accomplish. I fear that many weeks will elapse before he can advance; and meantime--" He paused, for he scarce knew how to conclude the sentence. He had heard as he passed through the camp towards Wolfe's quarters that the outlook was not altogether a bright one, despite the fact that success had crowned many of the enterprises hitherto undertaken. Wolfe took up the unfinished sentence and spoke. "Meantime the winter gales will be threatening us, and if the walls of Quebec still shut us out, we may be forced to sail to England with our task yet uncompleted, or to take up our winter quarters in one of the islands, and wait for better things next spring. Was that the thought in your mind, John Stark?" "In truth, sir, as I came along and surveyed the position of the notable city of Quebec, it seemed to me that it would be a hard task to bring it to surrender; but then we all know that General Wolfe can accomplish the impossible if any man can." A slight smile crossed Wolfe's worn face. "I look like a man to perform the impossible, don't I, good Stark?" he said; and the Ranger's eyes filled with pitiful sympathy as he made answer: "Indeed, sir, I grieve to find you so; and yet men say that Wolfe sick is better than half a dozen other generals in full health and strength. Believe me, we have faith in you, and believe that you will win the day even single handed, though all the world should look on in scornful amaze, and say that you had set yourself the impossible." Wolfe's eyes flashed. A flush rose for a moment in his pale cheek. Julian saw that such words as these moved him and braced his spirit like a tonic. He was half afraid lest it should be too much excitement, and he signed to Fritz to take Stark away. "But I will see him again anon," said Wolfe; "I must hear more of these things. Let him be fed and well looked to, and presently I will ask him to come to me again." And when the two had left him, Wolfe turned to Julian and said: "I see now that I have nothing to hope for in a junction with Amherst. He will have his hands full till the close of the season. If Quebec is to be taken, we must take it ourselves, unaided from without. I think I would rather die out here, and leave this carcass of mine in a Canadian grave, than return to England with the news that Quebec still holds out against the English flag!" "Nay, say not so," answered Julian earnestly, "for the greatest general may be baffled at some point. And think of your mother--and--Miss Lowther!" A softer look came into Wolfe's eyes. Upon his lips there hovered a slight, strange smile. Instinctively his hand sought for something beneath his pillow. Julian well knew what it was: a case containing miniature portraits of the two beings he loved best in the world--his mother, and the fair girl who had promised to become his wife. He did not open it, but he held it in his hand, and spoke with a dreamy softness of intonation. "There be times when I think that men of war should have no mothers or sisters or lovers," he said. "We leave so sad a heritage behind for them so oft. And we are not worth the sacred tears that they shed over us when we fall." "And yet I think they would scarce be without those sacred memories to cherish," answered Julian, thinking of Mrs. Wolfe's idolization of her son, and of Kate Lowther's bright eyes, overflowing with loving admiration. "But why speak you so, as though you would see them no more? Your health is slowly mending now, and you have been through perils and dangers before now, and have come safe out of them." "That is true," answered Wolfe thoughtfully; "and yet a voice in my heart seems to tell me that I shall see those loved faces no more. It may be but the fantasy of a troubled and fevered brain; but in dreams I have seen them, tears in their eyes, weeping for one unworthy of such grief, who lies in a far-off grave beneath the frowning battlements of yon great city. I wonder ofttimes whether we are given to know something of that which is about to befall; for in my heart a voice has spoken, and that voice has said that Quebec shall be ours, but that these eyes shall never see what lies within the ramparts, for they will be sealed in death before that hour shall arrive." Julian had no reply ready; he knew not what to say. It did indeed seem little likely that that frail form could survive the perils and hardships of this great siege, should it be prosecuted to the end, and should some daring assault be successfully made against the impregnable city. From the day upon which Stark arrived in the camp at Montmorency with the news from Ticonderoga Wolfe began to mend. It seemed as though the certainty that the English arms were prevailing in the west, though no help could be looked for this season from Amherst, combined to put a sort of new vigour and resolution into the heart of the dauntless young General. If anything were to be accomplished, he must now do it by his own unaided efforts; and since August was well nigh past, if he were to act at all it must be soon, or the winter storms might come sweeping down, and render his position untenable. He had had plenty of time whilst lying helpless in bed to think out various plans of attack upon the city. Each one seemed desperate and hopeless, whether, as before, the assault were made by means of boats along the Beauport shore, or by crossing the upper ford above Montmorency and fetching a compass behind the French position, or by storming the lower town, now almost in ruins, for it was commanded by the batteries in the citadel and upper town. In fact, the French position was so strong everywhere that it was difficult to see how any enterprise could possibly prove successful. In his hours of comparative ease Wolfe had thought out, and Julian had written out at his dictation, a sketch of one or two alternative plans for attack, which he sent in the form of a letter to the Brigadiers commanding the various detachments of the army, asking them to take counsel together over them, and to meet at the farmhouse as soon as he was well enough to see them, and let them discuss the matter together. All Wolfe's projects were for attack from the lower river; for lying ill and helpless as he was, he had hardly realized what had been going steadily on ever since that first successful attempt to get shipping past the town guns and into the upper reach of the St. Lawrence. Every time there was a suitable night, with a favouring wind, vessels had run the gauntlet of the batteries, always covered by a heavy fire from Point Levi; and now quite a fleet of warships, frigates, and transports lay in the reach above the town, whilst Montcalm had had to weaken his camp at Beauport to watch the heights there. For though these were steep and rugged and inaccessible, it would not do to leave them unguarded. When the Brigadiers met in the old farmhouse, Wolfe was up and dressed for almost the first time, looking gaunt and haggard, his face lined with pain and care, but full of calm and steadfast purpose, and with a mind as clear as ever. He was touched by the warm greetings of his officers, and by their tales as to the enthusiastic delight in the ranks at the news that their General was better. The army was animated by a spirit of great courage and confidence. The news from Ticonderoga had done good. This had been followed by tidings of the capture of the Niagara fort. Even though Amherst could not coalesce with them, they were feeling that English arms were everywhere invincible, and that even Quebec would not long stand against them. It would be the greater glory to vanquish it single-handed; and had they not Wolfe to lead them? Wolfe could not but smile as he heard this, and then the discussion began. The Brigadiers had read his alternative proposals; but they had another to lay before him which they thought more likely of success. This was to make the real attack above the town, transporting men and munitions by means of their ships now lying in the upper reach, and seeking to obtain a footing upon the heights, from whence they might bombard the upper city, or even carry it by an impetuous assault. "We can make a feint of attacking at Beauport, to keep the Marquis upon the alert there, and his troops from being detached to the defence of the heights. But let our real assault be on that side," advised Moncton, whose position at Point Levi gave him considerable knowledge of affairs upon the upper river. "It is true that the heights are watched and guarded, but the force there is not large. They trust to the nature of the ground, which is inhospitable to the last degree, to hinder any attempt at landing. And our vessels in the river below are leading poor Bougainville a fine dance up and down the banks. He has some twenty miles to protect with less than two thousand men--so far as we can learn--and Admiral Holmes, who commands the fleet, takes care that he shall have no rest night or day. The men begin to know the ground; they are full of desire for the attack. It sounds desperate, we are well aware; but then so do all the plans. Yet if we are to make one great dash upon Quebec before we give up the hope of taking it this season, we must attempt the apparently impossible!" Into Wolfe's eyes had sprung the battle light. Desperate it might be to scale almost perpendicular cliffs and plant batteries on the top whilst exposed to the fire of a sleepless enemy there, who could send for reinforcements by thousands when once aware of the threatened peril. And yet now that he knew his strength in the upper river, and the wishes of his officers, he hesitated not one instant. "It shall be tried," he said, "and it shall be tried quickly. The issues of life and death, of battle and victory, are in higher hands than ours. It is for us to do our utmost to brave all. We can do no more, but we can do that!" The meeting broke up. The Brigadiers went back to their respective stations to announce the decision and to make preparation. Eager enthusiasm prevailed throughout the ranks of the army, and the question in all mouths was, would the General be fit to lead them in person. This was Wolfe's own great anxiety. His physician shook his head, but received this characteristic admonition: "I know perfectly well you cannot cure me; but pray make me up so that I may be free from unbearable pain for a few days, able to do my duty by my brave soldiers, That is all I ask or want." As soon as ever he was able, Wolfe visited the Admirals on their ships and discussed his plan with them. They were all becoming rather anxious at the lateness of the season, and were thinking of moving away. But they consented to remain till this attempt should be made; Wolfe, on his part, agreeing that if it failed he must abandon the hope of reducing Quebec this season, and not expose his soldiers to the needless hardships of a winter in these inclement latitudes, As it was, there was a good deal of sickness amongst the men, and the number of able-bodied soldiers was considerably reduced. Wolfe visited those in hospital, and spoke kind and cheering words to them. He knew what it was to be laid aside from active service, and how hard inactivity was when there was work to be done. The camp on the Montmorency was broken up first. Wolfe wanted his soldiers elsewhere, and he thought it no bad move to take this step, as the French would probably think it the first move in the evacuation of the whole position. Montcalm, indeed, would have fallen upon them in the rear and inflicted heavy damage, if Moncton at Point Levi had not seen the danger, and sent a number of men in boats to make a feint of attacking Beauport; upon which the troops were hastily recalled. All was activity and secret industry in the English lines, A whole fleet of baggage boats was laden and smuggled past the town guns into the upper river; more craft followed, till quite an armament lay in that wider reach above; and yet the French were not permitted to have any exact notion as to what was to be done, nor that any serious attack was meditated in that direction. Wolfe himself was taken up the river in one of the vessels. He was still weak and suffering, but he could no longer give any thought to his own condition. "I can rest when the battle is fought," he said to Julian, who would fain have bidden him spare himself more; and it seemed to his friend as though there were more in those words than met the ear. News was daily brought in of the strength of the French position. Montcalm, very uneasy at the action of the English fleet, sent as many reinforcements as he could spare to man the heights and gorges of the upper river. Batteries were planted, and every step taken to guard against the danger of attack. Rain and wind hindered the English from putting their plan into immediate execution, and the men suffered a good deal from close crowding on the transports, and from various brushes with the enemy which enlivened the monotony of those days of waiting. Wolfe's eyes were everywhere. He was in the Admiral's vessel, and although sometimes hardly able to drag himself upon deck, he would note with all his old keenness every nook and cranny in the precipitous shores, every movement of the enemy, every natural advantage which could possibly be made use of in his attempt. All this time the ships were drifting to and fro with the tide from the basin of the upper river, just above Quebec itself, right away to Cap Rouge, where the French had their headquarters, and were always ready for an assault. This action on the part of the ships was a very politic one, for it kept the French troops ceaselessly upon the march and the watch, wearing them out with fatigue; whilst the English soldiers on board their vessels were at their ease, save that they were rather uncomfortably crowded. The long delay was over at last. The weather had improved; Wolfe had made up his mind as to every detail of the attack; the troops at Point Levi and on the Isle of Orleans had been instructed as to the parts they were to play in drawing off the enemy's attention from the real point of attack. "I should like to address the men once more," said Wolfe to Julian, upon a still September morning. "I should like them to take one last charge from my own lips; perhaps it may be the last I shall ever give them!" For Wolfe seemed to have upon his spirit the presentiment of coming doom. He looked round upon the eager, expectant faces, and his own kindled with a loving enthusiasm. He had loved these men, and they loved him. The sight of his tall, gaunt form and thin, white face evoked cheer after cheer from soldiers and sailors alike. He had to wait till the tumult subsided before he could speak, and then his voice rang out clear and trumpet-like as he briefly described to the listening host the position of affairs and what was expected of them. "The enemy's force is now divided, great scarcity prevails in their camp, and universal discontent among the Canadians. Our troops below are in readiness to join us, all the light artillery and tools are embarked at Point Levi, and the troops will land where the French seem least to expect it. The first body that gets on shore is to march directly to the enemy and drive them from any little post they may occupy; the officers must be careful that the succeeding bodies do not by any mistake fire on those who go before them. The battalions must form on the upper ground with expedition, and be ready to charge whatever presents itself. When the artillery and troops are landed, a corps will be left to secure the landing place while the rest march on and endeavour to bring the Canadians and French to a battle. The officers and men will remember what their country expects of them, and what a determined body of soldiers, inured to war, is capable of doing against five weak French battalions mingled with a disorderly peasantry." Cheer after cheer rent the air as these words were heard. The enthusiasm of the men had suffered no diminution during the days of waiting. They loved their General; they respected and admired their officers. They were full of eagerness to find themselves at last face to face with the foe. They knew that upon the issue of this enterprise hung the whole fate of the long campaign. If they failed in their design, they must return to England with a story of failure so far as Quebec was concerned; and no one would understand the full difficulties of the situation, or appreciate all the solid work that had already been accomplished towards the attainment of that object. Everything that could be done had been done. Admiral Saunders, in the Basin of Quebec, was deceiving Montcalm by preparations which convinced that General that the real point of attack was to be along the Beauport shore, where he therefore massed his troops in readiness; whilst Admiral Holmes, with his bateaux and flat-bottomed troop boats, was deluding Bougainville with the notion that his camp at Cap Rouge was to be the immediate object of the English assault. But all the while Wolfe and a few of his officers--only a few--were in the secret of the real basis of action; though the men knew that all was decided upon, and that they would be led with consummate skill and address. In the grey of the morning, Julian, too excited to sleep, heard the soft plash of oars alongside the Sutherland, and raising his head to look over the bulwarks, he heard his name pronounced in a familiar voice. "Humphrey, is that you?" "Yes," he answered. "I have gleaned some news. I want to impart it to the General." Wolfe was lying on deck looking up at the quiet stars overhead, worn out with the long strain, yet free from acute pain, and thankful for the boon. He heard the words, and sat up. "Bring him to me," he ordered; "I will hear his report." The next minute Humphrey was on deck and beside him. Humphrey was often employed to carry messages from ship to ship. He had built himself a light, strong canoe; and could shoot through the water almost like an Indian. He stood beside Wolfe's couch and told his tale. "I went up to the French camp as close as possible. I heard there that some boatloads of provisions were to be sent down tonight upon the ebb to Montcalm's camp. They have done this before, and will do it again. Later on I came upon two Canadians, seeking to escape from the French camp. I took them across to our vessels for safety. They confirmed what I had overheard. Boats laden with provision will be passing the French sentries along the coast tonight. If our boats go down in advance of these, they may do so almost unchallenged." Wolfe's eyes brightened before he had heard the last word. He instantly perceived the advantage which might accrue to them from this piece of information luckily hit upon. He grasped Humphrey's hand in a warm clasp, and said: "You bring good news, comrade. I think the star of England is about to rise upon this land. Go now and rest yourself; but be near to me in the time of struggle. You are a swift and trusty messenger. It is such as you"--and his eyes sought Julian and Fritz, who were both alert and awake--"that I desire to have about me in the hour of final struggle." Then, when Humphrey had gone below with Fritz, Wolfe turned to Julian and said, speaking slowly and dreamily: "There is something I would say to you, my friend. I have a strange feeling that the close of my life is at hand--that I shall not live to see the fruit of my toil; though to die in battle--in the hour, if it may be, of victory--has been ever the summit of my hopes and ambition. Something tells me that I shall gain the object of my hope tomorrow, or today perchance. I have one charge to give you, Julian, if that thing should come to pass." Julian bit his lip; he could not speak. He was aware of the presentiment which hung upon Wolfe's spirit, but he had fought against it might and main. The, soldier placed his hand within the breast of his coat, and detached and drew out that miniature case containing the likeness of his mother and his betrothed. He opened it once, looked long in the dim light at both loved faces, and pressed his lips to each in turn. "If I should fall," he said, "give it to Kate; I think she will like to have it. Tell her I wore it upon my heart till the last. I would not have it shattered by shot and shell. Give it her with my dying blessing and love, and tell her that my last prayer will be for her happiness. She must not grieve too much for me, or let her life be shadowed. I am happy in having known her love. I desire that happiness shall be her portion in life. Tell her that when you give her that case." He closed it and placed it in Julian's hands, and spoke no more; though throughout that day of preparation and thought a gentle quietude of manner possessed him, and struck all with whom he came in contact. Even when at last all was in readiness and the General in one of the foremost boats was drifting silently down the dark river, with the solemn stars overhead, it was not of battles or deeds of daring that he spoke with those about him. After the silence of deep tension his melodious voice was heard speaking words that fell strangely on the ears of the officers clustered about him. "The curlew tolls the knell of parting day" spoke that voice; and in the deep hush of night the whole of that "Elegy" was softly rehearsed in a strangely impressive manner, a thrill running through many at the words: "The paths of glory lead but to the grave." When the recitation was over there was a long, deep silence, broken at last by Wolfe himself, who said: "Gentlemen, I would rather have written that poem than take Quebec!" Chapter 4: In The Hour Of Victory. "Qui vive?" It was the French sentry upon the shore, as the boats glided slowly by in the darkness. Julian was waiting for the challenge, and was ready with the answer. "France!" "A quel regiment?" came the voice again. "De la Reine," answered Julian, who had not spoken in vain with the deserting Canadians, and knew a good deal about Bougainville's camp. Then afraid of being asked the password, he hastily added, still speaking French, "Have a care; the English will hear us! The provision boats from the camp!" That hint was enough. The sentry knew that provision boats were expected, and that English vessels were anchored not far off. He let the fleet of English boats pass by in the darkness. The strong current swept them along. Now they had reached the appointed place--passed it, indeed before they could get out of the current; but there was a narrow strand, wide enough for disembarkation, and the band of picked men who had volunteered for the task were already out, preparing to scale the lofty heights and see what lay beyond. Up they went in the close darkness of the autumn night, the four-and-twenty selected men leading the way, closely followed by a larger band of comrades. No word was spoken, no cry was raised. The tense excitement of the moment seemed to preclude any such demonstration. It was believed that at this point there would be little resistance. There was no sentry on the shore, and no appearance of any camp along the top. It was believed that the French officer Vergor, with a small detachment of troops, was somewhere in the vicinity; but the renown of that worthy was not such as to check the ardour of the English troops. Wolfe remained below, silent and motionless. His hands were locked together, and his pale face upturned towards the towering heights above. The gurgle and plash of the river was in his ears, mingled with those other sounds--the sounds of scrambling as his soldiers made their way up the rugged heights in the uncertain light of the waning stars. It was a moment never to be forgotten in his life. The presentiment of coming death was forgotten--everything was forgotten but the wild, strong hope of victory; and when from the top of the gorge there came at last the ring of a British cheer, the sound of brisk musket firing, and then another ringing shout as of triumph, the blood rushed into his white face, and he sprang from the boat on to the strand, exclaiming: "They have won the foothold. Form up, men, and follow. We have England's honour in our keeping this day. Never let her say we failed her at the moment of greatest need." It was a precipitous gorge up the sides of which the men had to climb. Julian looked anxiously up it and then at Wolfe, and said: "It is too steep; do not try it. Let me find an easier path for you if I can." He smiled as he scanned the sides of the gorge. "I doubt if I shall get up," he answered; "but I mean to try." And so strong was the resolution which inspired him that he found strength to drag himself up the steep declivity, with only a little assistance from Julian; and found himself, with the first breaking of the dawn, breathless, giddy, exhausted, upon the summit of those Heights of Abraham which today he was to make famous. Instantly he took the command of the situation. Cannon were heard opening fire close on the left. It was the battery of Samos firing upon the English boats in the rear, now just visible in the broadening daylight. "Silence that battery!" said Wolfe to an officer whose men were just forming up. Their response was a cheer, as they moved away in orderly array; and when the distant battery of Sillary opened its mouth and uttered its menacing roar, there was another battalion ready to start off to capture and silence it. Soon the great guns uttered their voices no more. The English were masters of the coveted heights, and still their troops continued to land and clamber up to join their comrades upon the top. The hearts of the soldiers beat high with pride and joy; but the face of Wolfe was inscrutable as he stood surveying the plain which formed a sort of tableland on the western side of the city of Quebec. The town itself he could not see, though he knew where it lay, and how beyond it extended the camp of Beauport, from which Montcalm could march battalion after battalion to meet him in battle. He knew, too, that behind him lay Bougainville and his thousands, who, by joining in a concentrated action with Montcalm, could hem him in between two fires, and cut his gallant little army to pieces. He realized all this right well, if others did not, and knew that victory or death--even annihilation--lay before them. And knowing this, he made his survey of the place with a concentrated attention, and issued his orders without hesitation or delay. The grassy plain was pretty level. Quebec bounded it on the east, the precipices on the St. Lawrence on the south, the declivities to the basin of the St. Charles on the north. In one place the plain--called the Plains of Abraham, from the old settler who once made a home there--was little more than a mile wide. When Wolfe reached it, he halted, and after a careful survey said: "This will be the place to make our stand. Here we will meet our foe in battle. Fight they must now; and if heaven will grant us the victory, let the praise and glory of the day be to God above. If He think well to withhold His countenance from us, let us sell our lives as dearly as may be, and die sword in hand, with our face to the foe!" Then the orders were issued. The brigades and battalions were marshalled into position. The Brigadiers received their orders from their young General, and took up the positions allotted to them. Each of them grasped him by the hand before quitting his side. To each one he spoke a word of praise for his gallantry during the tedious campaign, and of thanks for the personal friendship shown to one who felt so unworthy of it, having been so often a care and a trouble instead of a source of strength to those about him. Julian stood near, a strange mistiness before his eyes; and as Fritz turned away to take up his position at the head of his men, he said in a husky voice to his friend: "You will stay beside him and guard him from ill. I know not why, but my heart is full of misgiving. Quebec will be dearly won if it lose us the gallant Wolfe!" "He will not think so," said Julian. "And his life has been so full of trouble and pain. I think few know how he has suffered. Perhaps there is some truth in the old heathen saying, 'Those whom the gods love die young.' Perhaps it has a better fulfilment and significance now that the Light has come into the world, and that there is no sting now in death." They pressed each other by the hand, and Fritz swung away. It was a moment of deep though suppressed emotion. Both men knew that they might have looked their last upon the face of the other, and after many years of close and brother-like companionship such partings cannot be without their thrill of pain and wonder. "Why must these things be?" spoke Julian, beneath his breath. "Why must men stand up to kill and be killed? How long will it be before the reign of the Prince of Peace, when all these things shall be done away?" Light showers were scudding over the landscape, sometimes blotting out the view, sometimes illumined by shafts of golden sunlight, which gave a curious glory to the scene. The battle was set in array. Every disposition which military genius could suggest had been made to avoid surprise or outflanking or any other peril. Puffs of smoke from over the plains denoted the presence of ambushed Indians or Canadians, and skirmishers were scouring hither and thither to dislodge any parties who approached unpleasantly near. The soldiers were bidden to lie down, to be safer from accident, and to rest themselves in preparation for what was coming. The main body of the army was quiet, but to the left, where some woods and houses gave cover to the enemy, the fire be came galling, and some light infantry were sent out to make an end of the foes there, to take and burn the houses and scatter the marksmen. This was successfully done, and again there was quiet. Wolfe, who seemed to be everywhere at once, went round the field once again, cheered lustily wherever he appeared; grave, watchful, with the air of a man who knows that the crisis of his life is at hand, and that upon the issue of the day hang results greater than he can reckon or comprehend. It was about ten in the morning before his quick eye saw signs that the enemy was at last advancing to take up the gage of battle so gallantly thrown down. Hitherto the French had succeeded in avoiding a pitched encounter with their foe; now they must fight, or have their city hopelessly cut off from the basis of their supplies. Wolfe knew that at last the hour had come, and his pale face flushed with a strange exultation as he saw the first white lines advancing towards him. "At last!" he exclaimed--"at last! We have waited many months for this moment; now that it has come, pray Heaven we may strike a blow for England's honour which France shall never forget!" Julian's attention was distracted by the sight of a little knot of men coming slowly towards the rear, where the surgeons were stationed to care for the wounded, who were to be carried there when possible. "It is Fritz!" he exclaimed; "he has been wounded!" Wolfe uttered an expression of concern, and stepped forward to inquire. It had been the regiment in command of Fritz which had been sent to silence the sharpshooters in the farms and copses. John Stark had gone with him, their former life as Rangers having well qualified them for this species of warfare. Fritz was now being led back, white and bloody, one ball having lodged in his shoulder, and another in his foot. He walked with difficulty, supported by two of his men. "I am grieved to see you so!" cried Wolfe, with the ready concern he showed in any sufferings not his own. "It is naught," answered Fritz, faintly but cheerfully; "I would care no whit but that it will keep me from the fight. "I have left John Stark in command, sir," he added to the General; "the men are perfectly steady when he directs their movements." Wolfe nodded. He knew the intrepidity and cool courage of the Ranger. There would be no blundering where Stark held the command. "Care for your patient well," said the young General to a surgeon who came hurrying up at the moment; "Captain Neville is too good a soldier and officer for us to lose." Then turning to Humphrey, who was acting in the capacity of aide-de-camp, he said in a quick undertone: "If anything should happen to me in the battle, let Brigadier Moncton know that I recommend Captain Neville for promotion." Then he turned his attention towards the oncoming tide of battle, knowing that the great crisis for which he had been waiting all these long months was now upon him. The French were forming up along the opposite ridge, which hid the city from view. Wolfe took in their disposition at a glance, and a grim smile formed itself upon his lips. He saw that though the centre of the three bodies forming up into order was composed entirely of regular troops, both flanks were regulars intermixed with Canadians; and for the Canadian militia in the open he had an unbounded contempt. Moreover, he noted that instead of waiting until they were in good and compact order, they began almost immediately to advance, and that without any of the method and precision so necessary in an attack upon a well-posted and stationary foe. He passed along the word of command to his own officers, instructing them how to act, and stood watching with the breathless intensity of a man who knows that the crisis of a mighty destiny is at hand. The moment the French soldiers got within range they commenced to fire; not as one man, in a crashing volley, but wildly, irregularly, excitedly, uttering cries and shouts the while--a trick caught from their Indian allies, who used noise as one of their most effective weapons. "Bah!" cried Wolfe, with a sudden exclamation of mingled contempt and amusement; "look there! Saw you ever such soldiers as these?" Those about him looked, and a hoarse laugh broke from them, and seemed to run along the ranks of immovable red-coats drawn up like a wall, and coolly reserving their fire. The gust of laughter was called forth by the action of the Canadian recruits, who, immediately upon discharging their pieces, flung themselves down upon the ground to reload, throwing their companions into the utmost confusion, as it was almost impossible to continue marching without trampling upon their prostrate figures. "I would sooner trust my whole fate to one company of regulars," exclaimed Wolfe, "than attempt to fight with such soldiers as these! They are fit only for their native forests; and were I in command, back they should go there, quick march." Yet still the oncoming mass of French approached, the dropping fire never ceasing. Nearer and nearer they came, and now were not fifty paces distant from the English lines. "Crash!" It was not like a volley of musketry; it was like a cannon shot. The absolute precision with which it was delivered showed the perfect steadiness and nerve of the men. Upon Wolfe's face might be seen a smile of approbation and pride. This was the way English soldiers met the foe; this was the spirit in which victory was won. Another crash, almost as accurate as the first, and a few minutes of deafening clattering fire; a pause, in which nothing could be seen but rolling clouds of smoke; and then? The smoke rolled slowly away, and as the pall lifted, a wild, ringing cheer broke from the English ranks, mingled with the yell of the Highlanders beyond. The ground was covered with dead and wounded; the ranks of the oncoming foe were shattered and broken. The Canadians had turned, and were flying hither and thither, only caring to escape the terrible fire, which in open country they could never stand. In a few more seconds, as soon as the regulars saw that the red-coats were preparing to charge, they too flung down their muskets and joined the rout. "Charge them, men, charge them!" Wolfe's voice rang like a clarion note over the field. He placed himself at the head of one of the columns. Julian and Humphrey were on either side of him. The yell of the Highlanders was in their ears, and the huzzah of the English soldiers, as they dashed upon the retreating foe. Their line had been a little broken here by the fire of the foe, and still from ambushed sharpshooters hidden upon the plain a more or less deadly fire was kept up. Wolfe led where the danger was greatest and the firing most galling and persistent. "Dislodge those men!" was the order which had just passed his lips, when Julian noticed that he seemed to pause and stagger for a moment. "You are hurt!" he exclaimed anxiously, springing to his side; but Wolfe kept steadily on his way, wrapping his handkerchief round his wrist the while. The blood was welling from it. Julian insisted upon tying the bandage, finding that the wrist was shattered. "You are wounded--you will surely go back!" he said anxiously; but Wolfe seemed scarcely to hear. The next moment he was off again with his men, directing their movements with all his accustomed skill and acumen. Once again he staggered. Julian dashed to his side; but he spoke no word. If he would but think of himself! But no; his soul was in the battle. He had no care save for the issue of the day. A sudden volley seemed to open upon them from a little unseen dip in the ground, masked by thick underwood. Julian felt a bullet whiz so near to his ear that the skin was grazed and the hair singed. For a moment he was dizzy with the deafening sound. Then a low cry from Humphrey reached him. "The General! the General!" he said. Julian dashed his hand across his eyes and looked. Wolfe was sitting upon the ground. He was still gazing earnestly at the battle rushing onward, but there had come into his eyes a strange dimness. "He is struck--he is wounded!" said Humphrey in a low voice, bending over him. "Help, Julian; we must carry him to the rear." Julian half expected resistance on the part of Wolfe; but no word passed his lips. They were growing ashy white. With a groan of anguish--for he felt as though he knew what was coming--Julian bent to the task, and the pair conveyed the light, frail form through the melee of the battlefield towards the place where the wounded had been carried, and where Fritz still lay. A surgeon came hastily forward, and seeing who it was, uttered an exclamation of dismay. Wolfe opened his dim eyes. He saw Julian's face, but all the rest was blotted out in a haze. "Lay me down," he said faintly; "I want nothing." "The surgeons are here," said Julian anxiously as they put him out of the hot rays of the sun, which was now shining over heights and plains. "They can do nothing for me," said Wolfe, in the same faint, dreamy way; "let them look to those whom they can help." A death-like faintness was creeping over him. The surgeon put a stimulating draught to his lips; and when a part had been swallowed, proceeded to make a partial examination of the injuries sustained. But when he had opened the breast of his coat and saw two orifices in the neighbourhood of the heart, he shook his head, and laid the wounded man down to rest. Julian felt a spasm of pain shoot through his heart, like a thrust from a bayonet. "Can you do nothing?" he asked in a whisper. "Nothing," was the reply. "He has not an hour to live." "To be cut off in the very hour of victory!" exclaimed Humphrey, with a burst of sorrow. "It is too hard--too hard!" "Yet it is what he desired for himself," said Julian, in a low voice. I think it is what he himself would have chosen." "He has suffered more than any of us can well imagine," said the surgeon gravely. "We can scarcely grudge to him the rest and peace of the long, last sleep." Humphrey turned away to dash the tears from his eyes. In his silent, dog-like fashion, he had loved their young General with a great and ardent love, and it cut him to the heart to see him lying there white and pulseless, his life ebbing slowly away, without hope of a rally. A sign from somebody at a little distance attracted his attention. He crossed the open space of ground, and bent over Fritz, who lay bandaged and partially helpless amongst the wounded, but with all his faculties clear. "What is it they are saying all around?" he asked anxiously. "How goes the battle? how is it with our General?" "The battle truly is won--or so I believe," answered Humphrey, in a husky voice. "God grant that the gallant Wolfe may live to know that success has crowned his efforts--that the laurel wreath will be his, even though it be only laid upon his tomb!" "Is he then wounded?" "Mortally, they say." A spasm of pain contracted Fritz's face. "Then Quebec will be dearly purchased," he said. "Humphrey, help me to move; I would look upon his face once again!" Humphrey gave the desired assistance. They were bringing in the wounded, French and English both, to this place of shelter; but the spot where Wolfe lay was regarded as sacred ground. It was still and quiet there, though in the distance the din of battle sounded, and the sharp rattle of musketry or the booming of artillery could be heard at this side and that. Fritz limped slowly across the open space, and halted a dozen paces from where Wolfe lay; half supported in the arms of Julian, whose face was stern with repressed grief. The ashen shadow had deepened upon the face of the dying man. He seemed to be sinking away out of life. The long lashes lay upon the waxen cheek; the deep repose of the long, last sleep seemed to be falling upon the wasted features. Fritz felt an unaccustomed mist rising before his eyes. He thought he had never before seen a nobler countenance. The few standing about the wounded General looked from him to the distant plain, where the battle tide was rolling farther away, and from which, from time to time, arose outbursts of sudden sound--the wild screech of the Highlanders, the answering cheer of the English, the spattering, diminishing shots, and now and again a sharp volley that told of some more determined struggle in one place or another. "Look how they run! look, look--they run like sheep!" cried Humphrey, breaking into sudden excitement, as his trained sight, without the aid of glasses, took in the meaning of that confused mass of men. Julian felt a thrill run through the prostrate form he was holding. The eyes he had never thought to look upon again opened wide. Wolfe raised his head, and asked, with something of the old ring in his voice: "Who run?" "The enemy, sir," eagerly replied those who stood by. "They are melting away like smoke. They give way everywhere. The day is ours!" The young General half raised himself, as though he would fain have seen the sight; but his dim eyes took in nothing. "Tell Colonel Burton," he said, speaking with his old decision, "to march Webb's regiment down to the St. Charles, and cut off their retreat from the bridge." Humphrey was off almost before the words had left his lips. He would be the one to carry the General's last message. Wolfe heard him go, and smiled. He knew that Humphrey was the trustiest of messengers. He looked up into Julian's face. "Now lay me down again," he said faintly. "Farewell, my trusty friend and comrade. Take my love to those at home; remember my last messages. God be thanked; He has given us the victory. I can die in peace." He drew a long sigh, and his eyes closed. A little thrill ran through the worn frame. Julian laid it down, and reverently covered the peaceful face; whilst a stifled sob went up from those who saw the action. James Wolfe had gone to his rest--had died the death of a hero upon the victorious battlefield. Book 7: English Victors. Chapter 1: A Panic-Stricken City. It had come at last! The long delay and suspense were over. The English had stormed the Heights of Abraham. Their long red lines had been seen by terrified citizens, who came rushing into the town at dawn of day. The supposed attack at Beauport had been nothing but a blind. Whilst Montcalm and Vaudreuil were massing the troops to repel the enemy here, the real assault had been made behind the city, and the English foe was almost upon them. Colin had dashed out when the first grey of the dawn had stolen in at their windows. There had been no sleep for Quebec that night. The whole city was in a state of tense excitement. Confidently had the Generals declared that the enemy were bent upon their own destruction; that they were about to tempt fate, and would be driven back with ignominy and loss. "Let them come! Let them taste of the welcome we have to offer them! Let them see what Quebec has to give them when they reach her strand!" These words, and many similar to them, were passed from mouth to mouth by the garrison and townsfolk of Quebec. None would admit that disaster was possible to "the impregnable city;" and yet its shattered walls and ruined houses, the crowded hospital and the deserted buildings, all told a terrible tale. The upper town had suffered lately almost as severely as the lower had done at the commencement of the bombardment. It was a problem now where to find safe shelter for the citizens. Great numbers of them had fled to the country beyond, or to other Canadian settlements; for not only was this terrible bombardment destroying their homes, and inflicting fearful hurt upon those exposed to it, but provisions were becoming very scarce; and if the English once got foothold on the west side of the town, they would be able to cut off Quebec from her source of supply. Colin dashed out for tidings so soon as the dawn crept into the sky; and Madame Drucour and Corinne sat very close together, so absorbed in listening that they could scarce find words in which to reassure each other. They were no longer in the little narrow house where once they had dwelt. That had been shattered at last by some of the heavier guns which the enemy had brought to Point Levi, and they had been forced to abandon it. They were in a house which so far had not been touched, sheltered as it was behind some of the fortifications. It belonged to Surgeon Arnoux, a clever and competent man, who was at present with the army of Bourlemaque; but his younger brother, Victor, also a surgeon, was still in the city, and he had generously opened his house to several of the unfortunate citizens who had been rendered homeless by the bombardment. At present the house contained as its residents Madame Drucour, with her brother the Abbe, and Colin and Corinne. The Bishop, Pontbriand, who was dying himself of a mortal disease, but was still able to go about amongst the sick and wounded, was another inmate, beloved of all. The party was waited on sedulously by an old servant of the Ursulines, Bonnehomme Michel, as she was called, who was the most faithful, hard-working, and devoted of creatures, and displayed the greatest ingenuity in contriving, out of the scantiest of materials, such dishes as should tempt the appetite of the sick Bishop, and make the rest forget that they were in a beleaguered city. Corinne had learned by this time what the horrors of war were like. Her fair face was both thinner and graver than it had been in past days. She had known the terrible experience that leaves its mark upon the witnesses: she had been one of more than one company when a bursting shell in their midst had brought death to some amongst those with whom she was sitting. She had seen men--yes, and women too--struck down in the streets by shot or splinters. She had worked side by side with Madame Drucour amid the sick and wounded, and had seen sights of horror and suffering which had branded themselves deeply into her soul. She could never again be the careless, laughing Corinne of old; and yet the soldier spirit in her burned stronger and ever more strong. If war was a fearful and terrible thing, it had its glorious side too. She heard, with a strange thrill of mingled pain and pride, of the gallant doings of the English troops. She regarded the cautious policy of the French with something like contempt. She and Colin would sometimes steal down to the margin of the water, and look at the English vessels which had braved the guns of the town, and were riding safely at anchor in the upper basin; and would feel a thrill of admiration at the dauntless bravery of the British sailors and soldiers. After all, if Quebec were to fall to such gallant foes, would she suffer much after the first shock was over? They had lost their three merry midshipmen. When General Wolfe had sent over several boatloads of prisoners taken in the unguarded villages of the upper river, it had been agreed that any English prisoners in the town should be given in exchange; and the lads, cheering lustily the while, had been rowed away by the returning boats. Colin and Corinne had missed their companionship, but had been assured of a meeting before so very long. They knew what that had meant, yet they could not resent the suggestion. Constant companionship with the English middies had intensified their interest in the English cause. They did not speak of it much except to one another, but in secret they had no fear of the unknown foe. They felt a certain exultation and triumph in the stories they were always hearing of English prowess and valour. And now it was known to all that the crucial moment had come. The English had made a great coup. They had landed; they had stormed the heights; they were said to be intrenching themselves and bringing up their guns; and although this was not true at the moment, the very thought struck terror into the hearts of the citizens and soldiers. Unless they could be dislodged from their present commanding position, the town was lost. That was the word in the mouths of all. A mounted messenger, followed by others, had been sent flying to Montcalm and Vaudreuil. It was certain that the General would be quickly on the spot, and surely he and his army together would suffice to drive back or annihilate this audacious intruder! So said the people; yet none dared to make light of the peril. Madame Drucour's face was very grave as she sat looking out into the street, her arm about Corinne. It was not even safe for them to try to go out to the hospital that morning--the hospital which had been moved out of the town and erected upon the plain of the St. Charles, out of reach of the enemy's guns. Hitherto the Heights of Abraham had been like a rampart of defence; now they were alive with the battalions of the foe. The plain might at any time become the scene of a battle or a rout. "Here is Colin back!" cried Corinne, suddenly starting to her feet. "Now he will tell us!" "It is all true!" cried the lad, bursting into the room. "It is wonderful to see them; it is marvellous what they have done. They must have scaled the cliffs at almost impossible places; and now they are forming up in a splendid way! The whole plateau is alive with them!" "The first rays of the sun striking across it were dyed red with the scarlet uniforms. It was magnificent to see them. I cannot tell whether they have any guns there. I saw none. But it is not easy to get a good view of the plain; the ridge above the town hides it." "But what is our General doing?" asked Madame Drucour, with clasped hands. "They say he is coming; they say he is on his way from the Beauport camp with the whole army at his back. If he has also sent a message directing Bougainville to advance at the same time from Cap Rouge and fall upon the English rear, it might well be that the invaders would be cut to pieces. But no one here knows what is ordered. Some say one thing and some another. One thing alone is certain--the Marquis is on his way." The Abbe, who had been out to gather news, came back now with much the same tale that Colin had to tell. There was no manner of doubt about it. The English army had, as by magic, appeared upon the Heights of Abraham, and had set themselves in battle array upon the best piece of ground for their purpose. The sight of the compact red lines filled the French with dismay and fear. If an enemy could do this in a single night, what might they not have the power of achieving? "We are in God's hands," said the Abbe to his sister, as they hastily, and without much appetite, partook of the meal which Bonnehomme Michel spread for them; "but truly I fear me that disaster is in store for the arms of France. There seems no reason why we should lack power to drive back the English to their ships; yet I have that within me which speaks of calamity and disaster. Canada has become helpless and corrupt. When that has befallen a country or a community, it has always fallen. I fear me that the days of French rule are numbered. I only pray that if the English reign here in our stead, they may prove themselves merciful masters, and keep their promise not to interfere with the exercise of the true faith in which the people have been brought up." "If the English have pledged their word to that, they will keep it," answered Madame Drucour; "and if Canada must fall, we may rejoice that it should fall into hands as merciful as those of our English rivals." "That is true," said her brother: "they have set us many a noble example of clemency and honour. Yet their hands are not altogether free from blood guiltiness. There have been acts of violence and cruelty committed even during these past weeks along the shores of the river." "Yes," answered Madame Drucour: "houses have been burned and families turned adrift, and much suffering has resulted therefrom. War is ever cruel, and the track of it is marked with fire and blood. Yet we must remember that the persons thus molested had fair warning given them. They might have remained in safety had they submitted to the conditions imposed by General Wolfe. Perhaps they showed more spirit by resistance; but they drew down their fate upon themselves. And no woman or child has been hurt; no cruelties have been inflicted upon prisoners. No Indians have been suffered to molest them. Would we have been as forbearing--as stern in the maintenance of order and discipline? The only acts of cruelty committed on the English side have been by Rangers not belonging to the regular army, and those only upon Indians or those degraded Canadians who go about with them, painted and disguised to resemble their dusky allies. For my part, I think that men who thus degrade themselves deserve all that they get." "It is well to seek to find consolation in time of extremity," said the Abbe, "and I do rejoice very heartily in the knowledge that we have a merciful foe to deal with. If this city is forced to open her gates to the English, I verily believe that no scenes of outrage will disgrace the page of history upon which this day's doings shall be recorded. There is help in that thought at least." But it was impossible for either Colin or his uncle to remain within doors upon such a day. He insisted that Madame Drucour and Corinne should not adventure themselves beyond the city walls, though he did not condemn them to remain within doors. But he, for his own part, must go forth and see what was befalling without; for the Abbe, in spite of his vows, was half a soldier at heart, and had done some fighting in his young life, and knew the sound of the clash of arms. He was not going to adventure himself into the battle, or to suffer Colin to do so either; that would be useless. Indeed the boy had no desire to enter the lists against the English, being more than half on their side as it was, although the infection of the feelings of the townspeople rendered it difficult for him exactly to know his own mind. He and Corinne were alike consumed with an overpowering sense of excitement. It was the thought of the battle about to be waged that filled the minds of both--the imminence of the coming struggle. As for the result, that was less a matter of concern to them. The crisis was the overwhelming consideration in their minds. The Abbe and Colin had gone. The streets were beginning to fill with excited people. The storm of shot and shell was not falling upon Quebec today. The guns had been directed upon the Beauport camp, to cover the real enterprise being carried on above. Also the river had to be watched and guarded. Everything spoke of a change in tactics. There was a tense feeling in the air as though an electric cloud hung low over the city. Then came a burst of cheering. Montcalm had been seen spurring on with only a small band of followers over the bridge of the St. Charles towards the scene of danger; and now the army itself was in sight, making its way after him across the bridge and towards the city, through whose streets they must pass to gain unmolested those heights where the English were awaiting them, drawn up in close array. Montcalm's face was full of anxiety, and yet full of courage, as he returned the plaudits of the citizens. He knew that affairs were serious, but he hoped and believed that he should find but a small detachment of the enemy waiting to receive him. He could not believe that very much had been accomplished in one night. A little resolution and courage and military address, and the foe would be dislodged and driven ignominiously down those precipitous heights which they had scaled with such boldness a few hours before. It was a fine sight to see the troops pouring in by the Palace Gate, and out again by the gates of St. Louis and St. John--the white uniforms and gleaming bayonets of the battalions of old France, the Canadian militia, and the troops of painted Indians following, cheered by the citizens, reinforced by the garrison, their hearts animated by lust of conquest and an assurance of victory, which assurance was not altogether shared by the citizens themselves, whose scouts had brought in alarming tidings concerning the strength of the English position. And now the soldiers had all marched through; the last of the bands had disappeared from the streets; the garrison had taken themselves to their own quarters; the men of the town had flocked out of the city in the hope of seeing something of the fight; and the streets were chiefly thronged by anxious women and wondering, wide-eyed children--all crowding together in groups, their faces turned towards those heights above where they knew the struggle was to be fought out. "Hark to the firing!" A deep silence fell upon the crowds in the streets--the hush of a breathless expectancy. The rattle of musketry fell upon their ears, and then a sound almost like a cannon shot. It was the volley of the English, delivered with such admirable precision. An involuntary scream arose from many as that sound was heard. Had the English got their artillery up to those inaccessible heights? But no; there was no further sound of cannonading, only a fierce and continuous fusillade, which told of the battle raging so fiercely up yonder on the heights. Some women crowded into the churches to offer prayers at the shrines of saint or Virgin; but the majority could not tear themselves away from the streets, nor from the open space near to the gate of St. Louis, by which gate news would most likely enter. And it did. How the time went none could say, but it seemed only a short time after the firing had commenced before white-faced scouts from the town, who had gone forth to see the battle, came running back with gestures of terror and despair. "The English are shooting us down like sheep. The French give way on every side. Their terrible fire mows down our ranks like grass before the scythe! They are charging upon us now! We are scattered and fleeing every way! Alas, alas! the day is lost. Quebec will fall!" "Lost! it cannot be lost in this time," cried pale-faced women, unable and unwilling to believe. "Where is the Governor? he will come up with the reserves. Where is Bougainville? surely he will fall upon the English rear! Have we not twice the force of the English? We cannot be conquered in this time! it would be a shame to France forever." So cried the people--one calling one thing, and another another, whilst every fresh scout brought in fresh tidings of disaster. There could be no doubt about it. The French army had been routed at the first onset. Where the fault lay none could tell, but they were flying like chaff before the wind. Corinne stood close beside her aunt, silent, with dilated eyes, her heart beating almost to suffocation as she sought to hear what was said, and to make out the truth of the thousand wild rumours flying about. Colin came dashing through the gate. His face was flushed; he had lost his hat; he was too breathless to speak. But he saw Corinne's signal, and came dashing up to them. He flung himself down upon the ground, and struggled for breath. "O Colin, what have you seen?" In a few moments more he was able to speak. "I have seen the battle!" he gasped; "I have seen it all. I could not have believed it would have been fought so soon. I have seen something that these people would rejoice to know, but I shall not tell them. I have seen the fall of General Wolfe!" Madame Drucour uttered a short exclamation of dismay. "General Wolfe killed! Colin, art thou sure?" "Not sure that he is dead, only that he fell, and was carried away by his men. He was heading the charge, as a brave General should. Oh, had you seen how that battle was directed, you could not but have admired him, whether friend or foe! It teaches one what war can be to see such generalship as that." "He is a great man," said Madame Drucour softly; "I have always maintained that. Pray Heaven his life be spared, for he will be a merciful and gallant victor; and if he fall, we may not meet such generous, chivalrous kindness from others." "Here come the soldiers!" cried Corinne, who from a little vantage ground could see over the battlements. "Ah, how they run! as though the enemy were at their heels. "Are you men? are you soldiers? For shame! for shame! To run like sheep when none pursues! Now indeed will I call myself French no longer; I will be a British subject like my mother. It is not willingly that I desert a losing cause; but I cannot bear such poltroonery. When have the English ever fled like this before us? Oh, it is a shame! it is a disgrace!" "Ah, if you could have seen the English soldiers!" cried Colin, with eager enthusiasm; "I never heard a volley delivered as theirs was! They never wasted a shot. They stood like a rock whilst the French charged across to them, firing all the time. And when they did fire, it was like a cannon shot; and after that, our men seemed to have no spirit left in them. When the smoke of the second volley cleared off, I could scarce believe my eyes. The dead seemed to outnumber the living; and these were flying helter-skelter this way and that!" "But did not the General strive to rally them?" "Doubtless he did. Our Marquis is a brave soldier and an able General; but what can one man do? Panic had seized the troops; and if you had heard the sound of cheering from the ranks of the English, and that strange yell from those wild Highlanders as they dashed in pursuit, you would have understood better what the soldiers felt like. They ran like sheep--they are running still. I saw that if I were to have a chance of bringing you the news, I must use all my powers, or I should be jammed in the mass of flying humanity making for the city; and since the English are not very far behind, I had need to make good my retreat." It was plain that Colin was only a little in advance of a portion of the defeated army, whose soldiers were now flocking back to the city, spreading panic everywhere. Suddenly there ran through the assembled crowd a murmur which gathered in volume and intensity, and changed to a strange sound as of wailing. Corinne, who had the best view, leaned eagerly forward to see, and her face blanched instantly. A horseman was coming through the gate, supported on either side by a soldier; his face was deadly white, and blood was streaming from a wound in his breast. Madame Drucour looked also and uttered a cry: "Monsieur le Marquis est tue!" It was indeed Montcalm, shot right through the body, but not absolutely unconscious, though dazed and helpless. Instantly Madame Drucour had forced a passage through the crowd, and was at his side. "Bring him this way," she said to those who supported him and led the horse; "he will have the best attention here." Montcalm seemed to hear the words, and the wail of sorrow which went up from the bystanders. He roused himself, and spoke a few words, faintly and with difficulty. "It is nothing. You must not be troubled for me, my good friends. It is as it should be--as I would have it." Then his head drooped forward, and Madame Drucour hurried the soldiers onward to the house where she now lived; Colin running on in advance to give notice of their approach, and if possible to find Victor Arnoux, that the wounded man might receive immediate attention. The surgeon was luckily on the spot almost at once, and directed the carrying of the Marquis into one of the lower rooms, where they laid him on a couch and brought some stimulant for him to swallow. He was now quite unconscious; and the young surgeon, after looking at the wound, bit his lip and stood in silent thought whilst the necessary things were brought to him. "Is it dangerous?" asked Madame Drucour, in an anxious whisper, as she looked down at the well-known face. "It is mortal!" answered Victor, in the same low tone. "He has not twelve hours of life left in him." Chapter 2: Surrender. "Is the General yet living?" asked the Abbe an hour or two later, entering the house to which he knew his friend had been carried, a look of concentrated anxiety upon his face. Madame Drucour had heard his step even before she heard his voice. She was already beside him, her face pale and her eyes red with weeping. "Ah, my brother," she cried, "thou art come to tell us that all is lost!" "All would not be lost if the army had a head!" answered the Abbe, with subdued energy. "We could outnumber the enemy yet if we had a soldier fit to take command. But the Marquis--how goes it with him?" "He lives yet, but he is sinking fast. He will never see the light of another day!" and the tears which had gathered in Madame Drucour's eyes fell over her cheeks. "My poor friend!" sighed the Abbe; and after a pause of musing he added, "Is he conscious?" "Yes; he came to himself a short while ago, and insisted upon knowing how it was with him." "He knows, then?" "Yes--Victor Arnoux told him the truth: but I think he knew it before." "And what said he?" "That it was well; that he should not live to see the surrender of Quebec; that his work was done on earth, and he ready to depart." "Then he thinks the cause is lost?" "Those are the words he used. Perchance he knows that there is no one now to lead or direct them. You know, my brother, that the brave Senezergues lies mortally wounded. He might have taken the command; but now we have none fit for it. You have seen what is passing without the city; tell me of it! What does the Governor? They say that when the battle was fought he had not yet appeared upon the scene of action." "No," answered the Abbe bitterly, "he had not. Yet he had had notice four hours before the fighting commenced, and was nearer than the Marquis, who brought the army up. He came too late to do anything. He is always late. He comes up at the end of everything--to claim credit if the day is won, to throw the blame upon others if fortune frowns. He is saying now that it was a deplorable mistake on Montcalm's part to attack before he had joined issues with him; as though his raw Canadians had ever done any good in the open field!" "You have seen him, then?" "Yes; he and a part of the routed army have taken possession of the redoubt at the head of the bridge of boats across the St. Charles, and so completely are they cowed and terrified that it was all that a few of the cooler-headed ones of us could do to prevent the men from cutting in pieces the bridge itself, and thus cutting off the retreat of half the army, who are still pouring back over it, pursued by the English." "Then the fight is not yet over?" "The battle is, but not the rout. And yet there is a sort of fighting going on. The Canadians, who in the open field show themselves so useless, are redeeming their character now. They have spread themselves over the low-lying lands by the river, hiding in bushes and coverts, and shooting down the English in a fashion which they little relish. Those fierce Highlanders suffer the most from this sort of warfare, for they always throw away their muskets before they charge, and so they have no weapon that is of any service against a hidden marksman in the bushes. But all this, though it may harass the English, does not affect the issue of the day. We have suffered a crushing defeat, although the number of the slain is not excessive. It remains now to be settled whether we accept this defeat as final, or whether we yet try to make a stand for the honour of our country and the salvation of Canada." "Ah, my brother, if Quebec goes, Canada goes!" "That is so; but there are many of us who say that Quebec is not yet lost. It is not lost; it might well be saved. And yet what think you of this? They say that within the hornwork the Governor and the Intendant were closeted together drafting the terms of capitulation of the whole colony, ready to submit to the English General!" "So soon?" "So they say. I know not if it be altogether true, but all is confusion worse confounded yonder. The soldiers are pouring back to their camp at Beauport in a perfect fever of panic. I heard that Bigot would have tried to muster and lead them against the enemy once more, and that the Governor gave his sanction, but that the officers would not second the suggestion. I think all feel that with only Vaudreuil to lead fighting is hopeless. He knows not his own mind two minutes together; he agrees always with the last speaker. He is always terrified in the moment of real crisis and peril. His bluster and gasconade desert him, and leave him in pitiful case." "What, then, is to be done?" "That I cannot tell. I have come with a message from the Governor to the Marquis. He sent me to ascertain his condition, and if possible to ask counsel of him. His word would still carry weight. If he is sufficiently himself to listen for a few minutes to what I have to say, I would then put the case and ask his opinion upon it." Madame Drucour drew the Abbe softly into the room where the dying man lay. Montcalm's eyes opened as he heard them approach. At the sight of the Abbe he seemed to try to rouse himself. "You have brought news! Tell me, how goes it?" The Abbe repeated in some detail the after events of the battle and rout, Montcalm listening to every word with the keenest interest and attention. "Where is the Governor?" he asked at the conclusion of the narrative. "He was still at the hornwork when I left," answered the Abbe; "but many were clamouring around him, declaring that the place would be carried by assault almost immediately, and all of them cut to pieces without quarter; and that they had better surrender the city and colony at once than lose all their lives in an unavailing struggle." Montcalm's face, upon which death had already set its seal, remained immovably calm and tranquil. "What said the Governor?" he asked. "He appeared to agree with this view of the case. He is much alarmed and disturbed. He is preparing to return to his own quarters upon the Beauport road, and will there hold a council as to the next step to be taken. It was he who asked me to go back to the city and see you, my General, and ask what advice you have for us. We are in a sore strait, and there seems none to advise us; but any word that comes from you will have its weight with the army." Montcalm lay silent a long while. Physical weakness made speaking difficult, and his mind no longer worked with the lightning quickness of old days. He seemed to find some slight difficulty in bringing it down to the affairs of earthly battles and struggles. "Tell the Governor," he said at last, speaking faint and low, "that there is a threefold choice before him; and that though were I at the head of the army, I should say, Fight, I do not offer him counsel to do so; I only tell him the alternatives. The first of these is to fight--to join forces with Ramesay's garrison and the sailors from the batteries here, and to gather in all the outlying Canadians and Indians of the neighbourhood. With such an army as could be quickly gathered, and by acting in concert with Bougainville from Cap Rouge, there is at least a very fair chance of vanquishing the foe in open fight. The next alternative is for him to retire upon Jacques Cartier, leaving Quebec with an efficient garrison, and from there to harass the enemy, cut off supplies, and otherwise prolong the siege till the approach of winter forces them to take to their ships and go. The third is to give up the colony to English rule. Let the Governor and his council take their choice of these three plans, for there is no other." "I will take the message myself," said the Abbe, pressing the hand of his friend, and stooping to imprint a kiss on the pale brow. "God be with you, my friend, in the hour of trial; and may He receive your soul when He shall have called it! I shall pray for the repose of your gallant spirit. Peace be with you. Farewell." Montcalm was too much exhausted for further speech, but he made a slight gesture with his hand, and the Abbe left him, Madame Drucour stealing after him for a last word. "You will not run into peril yourself, my brother?" "Nay," he answered, with a touch of bitterness in his tone; "I shall be safe enough, since my errand is to the Governor. Monsieur de Vaudreuil is never known to put himself into danger. Oh that we had a Governor who thought first of the honour of France and second of his own safety!" "But surely they will fight! they will not give up Quebec without a struggle? Look at the walls and ramparts, untouched and impregnable as ever! Our town is shattered, it is true, but that has long been done. Why should we give up the city because a few hundred soldiers have been slain upon the Plains of Abraham? We have still a great army to fight with." "We have; but where is the General to lead us? Nevertheless, we may still show ourselves men. "Colin, my boy, is that thou? What, dost thou want to come with me? So be it, then. Thou shalt do so, and take back word to thy aunt here as to what the council decides. "I may find work over yonder with the sick and wounded. I may not return tonight. But Colin shall come back with news, and you will know that all is well with me." They went together, and Madame Drucour returned to her watch beside the sick and dying man. The surgeon stole in and out as his other duties permitted him, and Corinne shared the watch beside the couch where Montcalm lay. The Bishop, who in spite of his feebleness had been abroad in the city, seeking to console the dying and to cheer up the garrison, depressed by rumours of the flight of the army, came in at dusk, exhausted and depressed himself, to find another dying soldier in need of the last rites of the Church. It was a solemn scene which that dim room witnessed as the night waned and the approach of dawn came on. Without all was confusion, hurry, anxiety, and distress, none seeking sleep in their beds, all eagerly awaiting tidings from the army--the news which should tell them whether they were to be gallantly supported or left to their fate. Within there was the deep hush which the approach of death seems ever to bring. The short, gasping confession had been made; the Bishop stood over the dying man, making the sign and speaking the words of absolution. A young priest from the Seminary and an acolyte had been found to assist at the solemn rite; and Madame Drucour, with Corinne and the faithful old servant, knelt at the farther end of the room, striving to keep back their tears. It was over at last. The words of commendation had been spoken; the last labouring breath had been drawn. Corinne, half choking with her emotion, and feeling as though she would be stifled if she were to remain longer in that chamber of death, silently glided away out of the room into the open air; and once there, she broke into wild weeping, the result of the long tension of her pent-up emotion. "Mademoiselle, mademoiselle! Corinne!" cried a familiar voice in a subdued tone from some place not far distant. "Is it indeed you? Nay, do not weep; there is not need. We shall not harm you; you and yours shall be safe whatever comes to pass in Quebec." Corinne gazed about her in astonishment. Who was speaking to her? The next house to theirs was deserted, because the roof had been blown off, and a shell had fallen through, breaking almost every floor. Yet the voice seemed to come from a window within that house, and in the dim and uncertain moonlight she saw a head--two heads--protruding from a first-floor window. Next minute she was further astonished by the rapid descent of three figures, who seemed to clamber like monkeys down the shattered wall; and behold the three merry midshipmen were grouped around her, holding her hands and seeking to cheer her. "Peter--Paul--Arthur! How came you here? Surely Quebec is not taken yet!" "No, but so nearly taken that we thought to steal a march. We have been working since evening in dragging up cannon upon the plain yonder, where the army is intrenching itself; and when our task was done, we felt a great wish to see what was passing in the city where we had many friends, and which we knew so well. In the confusion it was not difficult to get in under cover of the dusk; but we found we could not get out again--at least not when we tried. But we cared little for that. There are plenty of empty houses to hide in, and we had bread in our pockets. We heard of you and Madame Drucour, and have been watching and waiting in hopes of seeing you. But, Corinne, are you weeping because the English are about to take Quebec? We looked upon you as an ally and a compatriot." "I am weeping because our good General, the Marquis of Montcalm, is just dead," answered Corinne, wiping her eyes. "He lies within those walls, sleeping the last sleep. He will never see his wife and his mother and his mill at Candiac again. And he has talked so much to us of all those things, and of the children he loved so well. Oh, war is a cruel thing! Pray Heaven it may come to a speedy end!" The sound of flying footsteps up the street caused the midshipmen to look at one another, and meditate a return to their hiding place; but Corinne said: "That is Colin's step; he comes back with news." And, in truth, the next moment Colin stood amongst them, so full of excitement himself that the sudden appearance of the midshipmen, whom he instantly recognized, did not at once strike him with astonishment. "I will never call myself a Frenchman again!" he panted, his eyes gleaming with wrath. "What think you, Corinne? They are flying from the camp at Beauport as sheep fly before wolves. It is no retreat, it is a rout--a disgraceful, abominable, causeless rout. There is no enemy near. The English are up on the heights, intrenching themselves no doubt, and resting after their gallant enterprise. Our uncle has exhausted his powers of persuasion. He has shown them again and again how strong is their position still, how little it would even now take of courage and resolution to save Quebec and the colony. They will not listen--they will not hear. They are flying like chaff before the wind. They are leaving everything behind in their mad haste to be gone! And the Indians will swoop down directly the camp is empty, and take everything. Oh, it is a disgrace, a disgrace! Not even to take a night to think it over. If the English did but know, and sent out a few hundred soldiers upon them, they might cut the whole army to pieces in a few hours!" Colin, Colin! oh, is it so?" "It is indeed; and all that the men say when one speaks to them is that Wolfe and his soldiers are too much for them. They will not stay to be hacked to pieces." "Alas!" said Paul gravely, "the gallant Wolfe is no more. If you have lost your General, so have we. Wolfe fell early in the battle, and Moncton is dangerously wounded. We are robbed of our two first officers; but for all that we will have Quebec and Canada." "And you deserve it!" answered Colin, fired with generous enthusiasm. "If our French soldiers and officers fling away their courage and their honour, let us welcome those who have both, and who are masters worthy to be served and loved." It was a strange, sad day. The confusion and despair in the town were pitiful to behold. With the first light of day it was seen that the camp at Beauport was still standing, and hope sprang up in the hearts of the townsfolk. But when, shortly after, it was known that though standing it had been abandoned, and that the night had seen the indiscriminate flight of the whole army, the deepest despondency fell upon the town. This feeling was not lessened when it began to be whispered that the Chevalier Ramesay had received instructions from the Governor not to attempt to hold the town in face of a threatened assault, but to wait till the scanty provisions had been exhausted, and then raise the white flag and obtain the best terms he could. The Abbe had stayed to bring this last letter from the flying Governor. His own soul was stirred to the depths by indignation and sorrow. It seemed to him the crowning disgrace in a disgraceful flight. Ramesay had sought speech with the Marquis a few hours before his death, but could obtain no advice from him. He had done with worldly things, and could only wish well to those who were left behind. It was a desperate state of affairs, and all the town knew it. So great was the confusion that no workman could be found to make a coffin for the body of the dead General. The old servant of the Ursulines, faithful to the last, went hither and thither and collected a few planks and nails, and the midshipmen and Colin assisted her to nail together a rude coffin in which the body was presently laid. It must be buried that same evening, for none knew from hour to hour what was in store for the city. But no pomp or circumstance could attend the funeral; and indeed no one could be found to dig a grave. Yet a fitting grave was found in the chapel of the Ursuline convent, now little more than a ruin. An exploding shell had made a deep cavity in the floor not far from the altar, and this hollow was soon shaped into the similitude of a grave. No bells tolled or cannon fired as the mournful procession filed through the streets; yet it did not lack a certain sombre dignity. The Bishop and the Abbe headed it, with a few priests from the Cathedral in attendance. Ramesay was there with his officers, and Madame Drucour, with Colin and Corinne, the three midshipmen (who no longer feared to show themselves), and the old servant, brought up the rear. As the cortege passed through the streets, numbers of citizens fell in behind, together with women and children, weeping for one whose name was dear, and who they all averred would have saved their city had he lived. Torches were lit before the procession filed into the ruined church, and sobs mingled with the chants that were rehearsed over the grave. "Alas, alas!" sobbed the women; "we have buried our hopes in that grave. We have lost our General; we shall lose our city, and all Canada will follow." "It is no wonder they feel so," said the Abbe to his sister that night; "we are abandoned by the army that might have saved us. We have scarce provision to last a week, even on half rations--so I heard today--and all the merchants and townspeople are for immediate capitulation. It is possible that when our army finds itself at Jacques Cartier, thirty miles from the scene of danger, and in an impregnable position, they may rally their courage and reconsider the situation; but unless I am greatly mistaken, that resolution will come too late--Quebec will have already surrendered." Things had come to a desperate pass. Only one out of all the officers was in favour of resistance; the rest declared it impossible. The English on the heights were intrenched, and were pushing their trenches nearer and nearer. Though Wolfe was dead and Moncton disabled, Townshend, the third in command, was acting with the energy and resolve which had characterized the expedition all along. Three days after Montcalm's death matters reached a crisis. Troops were seen approaching the Palace Gate from the St. Charles meadows, and the ships of war were slowly nearing the town with evident intention of opening fire. All the city was in a state of uncontrollable fright and agitation. The officers crowded round Ramesay's quarters declaring that they could do nothing with their men; that the men said they knew that orders had been given to avoid assault, and that they were threatening to carry their guns back to the arsenal, and desert bodily to the English. So disgusted and disheartened were they by the action of the Governor and his army that they had no fight left in them. "Raise the white flag then!" said the Commander, in brief, stern tones. Was it a cheer or a groan which arose from the town as the symbol of surrender was seen floating above the battlements? Once it was torn down by some more ardent spirit; but again it floated high, and the people gazing up at it gesticulated and wept, though whether for sorrow or joy they could scarce have told themselves. It was known that a messenger had gone forth to confer with the English commander, and the negotiations were drawn out hour after hour, in the hope of some succour from without; till a stern message came back that if they were not signed within an hour, the assault would be ordered. Then Ramesay signed, having secured more favourable terms than he had dared to hope for. The capitulation of Quebec was an accomplished fact! Yet even whilst the people were still thronging the streets and open places by the gateway, a band of weary horsemen were seen spurring towards the city. As the foremost entered he cried: "Courage, good friends, courage! Help is at hand! The army is marching to your defence! Quebec shall yet be saved!" Alas! Quebec had fallen. Sobs and groans went up from the women, and curses from the men. There was a rush for Ramesay's quarters to tell the news and ask what could be done; but the Chevalier's face was stern and hard. "Nothing can be done," he said. "You have had your own will. You have signed away your city. Honour will not permit me to break my word. Besides, how can we trust an army which has basely deserted us once? If they would not attack the foe before he had had time to intrench and fortify himself, how can we hope that they will have courage to brave the assault of a formidable intrenched camp defended by artillery? "Go back whence you came, sirs, and tell the Governor, if you will, that his cowardice and desertion have done their work. Quebec is lost to France for ever, and Canada will follow. He could have saved it four days ago had he had the heart of a soldier or the head of a statesman; now it is lost irrevocably!" Chapter 3: Friendly Foes. Quebec was taken; it had surrendered without a blow when once the battle upon the heights above had ended in the overthrow of the French army. Julian and Fritz exchanged glances of wonder when it was known beyond all doubt that the capitulation had been signed. It was marvellous to them, who knew the full peril of their own position, that the French should be so blind. A concerted attack from the two armies of the immediate locality could scarcely have failed to drive them from their vantage ground back to their ships; and once there, the Admirals would have had no choice but to put to sea once more; for already the season was closing, and it would then have been madness to think of any further operations for that season. And yet sadness rather than joy was the main feeling in the hearts of these comrades as they prepared themselves to be of the number to march into the city. Fritz was still somewhat lame from the effect of his wound; but his splendid physique had made light of the injury, and in other respects he was sound and strong. Humphrey walked beside him, giving him a little assistance over rough ground, and Julian was on his other side. They were full of curiosity to behold the city which it had cost them so much to take, and Fritz was anxious to find again those friends who had shown him kindness in past days. Julian, too, was very desirous to meet Madame Drucour once more, and renew with her those pleasant relations which had commenced within the fortress of Louisbourg. Townshend, the Brigadier now in command, had granted easy terms to the place. He knew too well the peril of his position not to be thankful for having Quebec almost at any price. The garrison and the sailors, who formed a considerable portion of the force in the city, were to march out with the honours of war, and were to be shipped to France with what speed they might. The promised protection offered by Wolfe to all peaceable inhabitants was to be assured to all, together with the free exercise of their own religion. To Townshend had been carried upon the very day of the capitulation a letter written by Montcalm only a few hours before his death, the feeble penmanship of which showed well how difficult it had been to him to indite it. In effect it was the last thing he ever wrote, and the signature was nothing but a faint initial, as though the failing fingers refused the task before them. "Monsieur," ran the missive, "the well-known humanity of the English sets my mind at peace concerning the fate of the French prisoners and the Canadians. Feel towards them as they have caused me to feel. Do not let them perceive that they have changed masters. Be their protector as I have been their father," It was probable that Montcalm believed himself addressing Wolfe when he wrote this last charge. It was not known with any certainty in Quebec that the English General had fallen, Some had heard he was wounded, but no certainty prevailed. Indeed it was with no exultation that Quebec heard of the death of the dreaded Wolfe. If he were redoubtable in the field of battle, he was known to be a merciful and generous foe in the hour of victory. Madame Drucour had shed tears when told for certain of the hero's fall; the Abbe had sorrowfully shaken his bead, and had told the citizens that they had nothing to rejoice over in that. So the garrison marched out with as much bravery and martial show as they could under the circumstances, and the citizens crowded the streets and ramparts to cheer them as they went, and watch with mingled feelings the entrance of the English troops into the town and the hoisting of the English flag. Sobs broke from many, and a deep groan rose shudderingly upon the air; and yet there were very many in the city who cared little for the change of masters, if only they might be rid of the horrors of war. Life had long been very difficult under the French rule. So much official corruption existed, especially in the matter of supplies of food and other necessaries, that the unhappy people were forced to pay double and treble value for almost everything, and were being slowly bled to death, that a few functionaries like Bigot and Cadet might fatten and grow enormously rich. They had begun to know that the English colonies were very differently governed; that they grew in strength and independence, and were encouraged, and not thwarted and hindered, in their internal development. Although much smaller in extent than Canada, their population was double that of the French colony. It was indeed the growing strength and prosperity of the English provinces which had excited the jealous animosity of the French, and had quickened their resolve to pen them in between mountain and sea, and hinder their development. And this resolve had been followed by the commencement of that border warfare to which this was the sequel. England knew better than let herself be penned within narrow limits. She had broken through the bonds which held her back. Now she was mistress of the key and capital of Canada. It could only be a matter of time before the whole colony fell to her. "It may be better for them in the end," said Madame Drucour, heaving a long sigh as she watched the departure of the garrison, and saw the scarlet uniforms of the English flooding the streets of Quebec, "And yet it is hard to see it. I knew it must come, but my heart is heavy within me. If only we had made a more gallant fight, I should have felt it less." "There he is! there he is!" shouted Colin suddenly; "there is Fritz Neville!" "Ah," cried Madame Drucour, with a quick look of pleasure, "and there is Monsieur Julian Dautray too! Get speech with them if you can, Colin, and bring them to supper at our house. There is much I should like to ask them; and if some of the officers are to be billeted amongst us townsfolk, I would gladly have those two to care for." "I'll go and see about it," cried Colin. "Take us with you," cried the midshipmen, who had viewed the procession with swelling hearts, uttering now and then a British cheer, which mingled oddly with the sighs of the people. However, since they had cheered the retiring troops as lustily as their own countrymen, no one took this amiss. Indeed the young middies had made themselves popular in the town by this time, and had done something to promote a feeling of confidence in the goodwill and clemency of the victors. Corinne and her aunt returned homeward. The girl was in a state of great excitement, sorrow for the regret of others mingling with her own secret triumph and joy in the victory of the English. It was no use trying to disguise from herself that she was glad the English had prevailed. She had come to have a contempt and distrust of the French and their ways and their rule. She admired the English, and believed in them. They had shown courage and resolution and heroism--had accomplished a feat which had hitherto been deemed impossible. She was proud of the British blood running in her veins, and was ready to welcome the victors with all her heart. So she decked the supper table with green leaves and grasses, and a few flowers culled from the convent garden, where it had not been torn to pieces by shot and shell. The viands were not very plentiful, it is true, since scarcity still prevailed in the city; but that would come to an end now, for the English were already making arrangements for throwing in ample supplies. Then she ran upstairs to don her best holiday gown, feeling a wonderful rebound of spirit after the depression and anxiety and horror of the past days. She sang a little to herself as she flitted about her room, and was only just ready when she heard Colin's voice from below summoning her to come. She ran down the staircase and glided into the supper room, to find it (as it seemed) quite full of company. It was too dusk to distinguish faces by that time, but Bonnehomme Michel appeared at the moment, bringing in two lamps, and the faces of the guests were instantly revealed to her. Her face lighted as she met the friendly glance of Fritz Neville, and she extended her hand with a pretty welcoming grace. The next minute she found herself exchanging greetings with an officer in British uniform, a dark-eyed, dark-haired man, with a very clear-cut, handsome face. Nor did it surprise her to hear that this was Captain Dautray, who had played a romantic part in the siege of Louisbourg. "My aunt, Madame Drucour, has often spoken of you, sir," she said, "and told us how you disguised yourself and adventured yourself into the heart of the enemy's fortress. In sooth, I wonder you could ever dare such a deed. Suppose you had been found out?" "Then I should have been shot as a spy, I do not doubt," answered Julian, "and should never have known the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the brave Madame Drucour--'Madame le General,' as she was called in Louisbourg--nor of being presented in Quebec to Mademoiselle her niece." And as he spoke he bowed over Corinne's hand and raised it to his lips. The girl blushed and smiled. Such a salute was not uncommon in those days, and there was nothing free in Julian's manner; indeed there was a grave dignity about him which distinguished him in whatever company he found himself, and his recent military training had done much to increase the natural advantages which had always been his. The remaining guest, who was a stranger to her, was presented as Humphrey Angell, and she looked with quick interest at him, recollecting how Fritz had told her the tale of that terrible Indian raid, and how he had found the two brothers, almost distracted by anguish and despair, amid the blackened ruins of their once prosperous settlement. This was the brother of the strange, wild-looking man whom she and Colin had seen in the forest long, long ago, and who had perished in the hour of vengeance. How interesting it was, she thought, to see all these men of whom she had heard and thought so much! She let her glance wander from one face to the other, and she was not ashamed of the feeling of keen admiration which awoke within her. The three midshipmen were also of the company. Discipline had been somewhat relaxed in the hour of battle and victory, and they had obtained leave of absence from their ship for a while. Colin had brought them back for a farewell repast. They seemed almost like sons of the house by this time; and they had brought with them, from one of the provision transports, a supply of good victuals which had made Bonnehomme Michel's eyes shine and her wrinkled visage beam. The scent of coffee pervaded the house, and soon a savoury mess such as had not been seen for long upon that table was set down, and the guests, in excellent spirits, took their places. Corinne found herself seated next to Julian, with Arthur on her other side. The Abbe took the foot of the table, and Madame Drucour the head. She looked pale and grave, but showed a gentle dignity and courtesy of bearing which was very impressive; and everyone showed her all possible deference. Corinne spoke to Julian in a low voice. "I want to ask of your General, the great Wolfe. Were you with him when he died?" "Yes, Mademoiselle; he died in my arms. I have had the honour of calling myself his friend for above a year." At that word Madame Drucour looked up and said: "Ah, let me hear of Monsieur Wolfe! I had hoped to see him again myself. Such a hero, such a sweet and courteous gentleman! Frenchwoman though I be, I could have welcomed him as the victor of Quebec!" All listened with deep attention as Julian related in considerable detail the story of the last hours of Wolfe, and Madame Drucour wiped her eyes many times during the recital. "Ah! if he had but lived to see the city of his hopes, I would myself have been his nurse, and would have brought him back to health and strength. "You smile, sir; but yet I have seen much of sickness. You will hear that the doctors themselves give me the credit for saving many lives." "I can believe it, Madame; indeed I have seen something of that skill with mine own eyes. But, alas! I fear that the case of our friend was beyond human skill. I think that, had he had the choice, he would have chosen to die as he did in the hour of victory. To wear out a life of suffering in uncongenial inactivity would have been sorely irksome to his unquenchable spirit; and yet, after the hardships through which he had passed, I misdoubt me if he could ever have taken the field again. He would have endured the peril and pain of another long voyage only to die upon shipboard, or at his home if he lived to reach it. The hand of death was surely upon him." "And to die in the hour of a glorious victory is surely a fitting close to a hero's life," said Corinne softly to Julian, when the tide of talk had recommenced to flow in other quarters. "But tell me, does he leave behind many to mourn him? Has he parents living, or sisters and brothers, or one nearer and dearer still? Has he a wife in England?" "Not a wife, Mademoiselle, but one who was to have been his wife had he lived to return, and a mother who loves him as the apple of the eye. I shall have a sad task before me when I return to tell them of him whom they have loved and lost." "Are you then going back to England?" asked Corinne; "are you not born in these lands of the West?" "Yes; and I think that my home will be here when my duties to my friend are done. But first I must return to his home and his mother, and give to them there his last loving messages, and those things he wished them to possess of his. Indeed, his body is to be taken back, embalmed; the officers have decided upon that. I must see his mother and Miss Lowther again; then I think I shall return to these Western shores once again, and make my home upon Canadian soil." "Tell me more about Mrs. Wolfe and Miss Lowther," said Corinne, with keen interest in her eyes and voice. So Julian told her much of the events of those months which he spent in England by the side of Wolfe, and at last he drew forth the double miniature containing the likeness of the two who loved the hero so well, and gave it to Corinne to look at. The tears came into her eyes as she gazed at the two faces. He saw the sparkle on her long lashes as she returned him the case, and he loved her for them. "It is a beautiful face; both are beautiful faces," she said. "How sad for them--how very sad--that he should return to them no more! Do you think Miss Lowther will ever love again? Or will she go mourning all the days of her life for him whom she has lost?" Julian shook his head doubtfully. "I cannot tell; yet time is a great healer, and Wolfe himself sent her a message bidding her not mourn too long and deeply for him. She is still young, and the time they spent together was not very long. I trust and hope that comfort will come to her when her grief has abated and the wound has healed. Life would become too sorrowful a thing if death were able to make such lasting havoc of its hopes and happiness." Corinne drew a long sigh. She had seen much of death and disaster those last months of her young life. It would indeed be too cruel if the hand of time held no healing balm in its clasp. The next days were full of interest for Corinne. Julian took her and Colin under his special protection and care. Fritz was kept to the house and its vicinity by his lameness, which the march into the city had rather increased; and Humphrey was busy in a thousand ways. But Julian, though he had sundry duties to perform, had plenty of leisure on his hands, too; and he gave up a great portion of this leisure to taking Corinne and her brother a regular tour of the various ships, and of the camps where the English had settled themselves whilst attacking Quebec--showing them exactly how the Heights of Abraham had been scaled, how the plain had been reached and the battle set in array there; and the spot where Wolfe had fallen, and that where he had died. The bright-faced girl, with her French name and English sympathies, was feted and welcomed everywhere. Brigadier Townshend gave a dinner to some of the residents, and the Abbe and Madame Drucour, with their nephew and niece, were invited. Corinne's health was proposed and drunk amid acclamation, greatly to her own astonishment; and wherever she went she met with nothing but kindness and respect. She was given a number of trophies of the recent war--a small dagger that had belonged to Wolfe being the most prized of them all. She daily visited the hospital with her aunt, and cheered by her bright presence both the English and French who lay there. All was busy in and about the city. The garrison was being shipped off to France, according to the terms of the capitulation; and a number of residents whose homes had been destroyed, and who had no mind to remain in the place now that the English were the masters, were eager likewise to be gone. The French ships in the upper reaches of the river were permitted to come down, take up their crews again, and transport the fugitives to France. But the Abbe and his sister remained on, uncertain of their future, Madame Drucour waited for news of her husband, and the Abbe lingered to know if he could serve his countrymen any longer. They had friends in France, but were not much disposed to return to that land. Colin and Corinne were burning with desire to see England at least, even if they did not remain there; and Madame Drucour was disposed to wish the same thing for herself. One day Humphrey brought them news. He had had news of the ex-governor of Louisbourg. He had fallen into the hands of the Indians, but had been rescued by the English, and had been sent, with a number of other prisoners, to England in one of their returning ships. The news had been brought by a sloop from New York. Vessels were beginning to arrive in the harbour now from the enthusiastic English provinces. Those in Quebec heard how joy bells were ringing and bonfires blazing throughout New England and the provinces. Far-seeing men saw in the fall of Quebec an augury of a new and splendid empire in the west, over which England should rule. So far, at least, there was no thought of anything else, although the spirit of independence had taken deep root which another day would bring forth a different sort of fruit. "Madame, your husband is safe," said Humphrey when brought to her to tell his tale; "I have heard it from one who saw him. He has not suffered any severe hurt at the hands of the Indians. They were of those who were wavering betwixt loyalty to France and loyalty to England, and who made captives of white men wherever they could, hoping to get a ransom for them. He was rescued by the English and brought to New York, put safely on board a home-sailing vessel, and doubtless he is safe on shore there by this time. He will be well treated; have no fears as to that. The brave Governor of Louisbourg will find many friends in England." "Where I will join him!" cried Madame Drucour, clasping her hands. "Yes, that settles my hesitation. If my husband is in England, I will go thither and join him; and these children shall go with us, and make acquaintance with their mother's kindred in Scotland. "Captain Dautray, can you help us in this matter? Can you secure for us a passage in one of your many noble ships so soon to return? You have been so true a friend to us that we appeal to you with confidence and courage." "It rejoices me that you should do so, Madame. I will see to it at once. If possible, you shall sail in the same ship as I do myself. I think there will be little difficulty. Each vessel will transport a certain number of those who desire to return to France or to be carried to English shores." Corinne clapped her hands; her whole face lighted up. "Oh, I shall see England! I shall realize the dream of my life! "Colin, do you hear--do you understand? We are going to England--and in Captain Dautray's ship!" "Hurrah!" cried the boy; "hurrah for old England! And if we go in Captain Dautray's ship, we shall have our middies for our companions, for they are to belong to the Royal William, too. Ah, that will be something to live for indeed! When do we sail? and where shall we go when we get there?" "The Admirals want to leave as soon as possible," answered Julian; "they have already stayed far beyond the time they intended. But there is much to arrange, and they will not go till they have sufficiently victualled the town, and settled the new garrison as comfortably and securely as may be. "Still it will not be long now, And as for the rest, I can only beg of you to come first, upon landing, to the house of Mrs. Wolfe, where I myself am bound. Madame Drucour's name is known to her. "Her son spoke much of you, Madame, and of your kindness to him at Louisbourg. And they know too how kindly others were treated--your humble servant being one. Believe me, it will be the greatest pleasure to Mrs. Wolfe to welcome anyone who has known and loved her son, I have to visit her immediately; come at least with me so far. After that we will learn where Monsieur Drucour is to be found, and I will seek him out and bring him to you." So the matter was settled, and the Abbe gave his approval. He himself would remain in Quebec, the friend and counsellor of the victorious English, whom he could not but regard with affection and respect. Of the Brigadiers in command, Moncton was too much shattered to do aught but go home to recover of his wounds; Townshend was resolved to sail back, to receive the compliments and honours of the victory (since Wolfe had passed beyond these things); and Murray was left in command of Quebec. There had been some talk of destroying it rather than facing the perils of keeping it in its shattered condition, and with a French army so near. But English pluck had scorned this policy, and already the men were hard at work repairing its defences, and storing away a sufficient supply of provisions for the long, inclement winter that lay before them. "We may have to fight for it yet," spoke some as they cheerfully worked at their fascines; "but we have got Quebec, and we mean to keep it, let the French storm and rage as they will. If we could take it from them almost without a blow, surely we can keep it now we have it!" Chapter 4: The Last. "Fritz, Fritz! what do you think? Who do you think has come to Quebec? Why, my brother-in-law, good Benjamin Ashley, together with his wife and daughter. They have come in charge of a trim little vessel, laden with provisions, sent as a gift from the citizens of Philadelphia to the victors of Quebec. He has charge of the cargo, I mean, not of the sloop; and he says he has come to stop, but I had no time to hear all his story. Others were flocking about him, and he had letters for the commanding officer. I hastened away to find you and tell the news. Let us go back together and learn more of this thing." Into Fritz's face there had leaped a look of quick and keen interest. "Benjamin Ashley," he repeated, "with his wife and daughter! Is little Susanna actually here in Quebec?" "Yes, and my sister," cried Humphrey eagerly, "looking but little changed from the day I left her in Philadelphia months ago. And their first inquiry after kissing me was for you, Fritz. Had you escaped the perils of the war? how were you? and were you here in the town also?" "Let us go and see them," cried Fritz, seizing his stick; "I would be one of the first to welcome them. It is true that you said Benjamin Ashley spoke of coming to Quebec if it should fall to us, but I never thought to see him here so soon. He must have a stout heart, for the perils of the place are not ended yet, I fear." "He has a stout heart, in truth," answered Humphrey; "and right glad am I to see him. Quebec will be more of a home to us if Benjamin Ashley and his wife and daughter are dwelling within its walls." "Indeed it will," answered Fritz eagerly; and forthwith the pair started off together in search of their kinsfolk and friends. On the way they encountered John Stark, who was the head of the band of Rangers to be quartered in Quebec during the winter as part of the garrison, and he was greatly excited by the news. "Hurrah for brave Benjamin Ashley! It is like the stout-hearted fellow he always was to join his countrymen in times of peril rather than wait till all was smooth sailing. We shall want stout-hearted citizens of English blood within the city walls, to people the empty houses, and save us from being too much surrounded with half-hearted Canadian residents. If we are beleaguered by a French army, as is likely enough, we shall want citizens as well as soldiers if we are to hold our prize against them." This was, indeed, very true, and therefore it was that any settlers from New England were warmly welcomed by the officers in charge of the fortress and city. They could depend upon their soldiers in the garrison well enough; but every commander knows how much harm can be done to a cause by discontent and half-heartedness in the city. At Louisbourg it was the voice of the citizens that had turned the scale and forced the capitulation, and the same thing had, to a great extent, happened at Quebec, The citizens had been discouraged and rendered desperate by the way in which the town had suffered, and this feeling had reacted upon the garrison, and had rendered them far less willing to try to hold out than they might otherwise have been. It was some little time before Humphrey and his comrades could find Ashley. He had been taken to the commander of the fortress to deliver up his papers and have a personal interview with him; and it was said that he was being entertained by him at table, and his wife and daughter also. Presently the news came that Mr. Ashley from Philadelphia was inspecting the premises of the Fleur de Lye, which was the most commodious and important inn in the lower town. It had been a good deal shattered by the bombardment, and the proprietor had been killed by a bursting shell. His family had been amongst the first of the inhabitants to take ship for France and now the place stood empty, its sign swinging mournfully from the door, waiting for some enterprising citizen to come and open business there again. "Doubtless the Commander has given him the offer of the house and business," said Fritz when he heard. "Ashley is just the man to restore prosperity to the old inn. Let us go and seek him there, Humphrey. A stout-hearted English-speaking host will be right welcome at the inn, and our fellows will bring him plenty of custom." The comrades hurried along the now familiar streets, and reached their destination in due course. The inn stood at no great distance from the harbour, and was in its palmy days a great resort both for the soldiers of the fortress and the sailors who navigated the great river. It was a solid building, and though its roof had been much damaged, and there was an ugly crack all down the front, its foundations were solid, and a little care and skill would soon repair the damage. Fritz followed Humphrey into the big public room close to the entrance, and there he came face to face with Benjamin Ashley, who was just saying farewell to Brigadier Murray, and whose honest face lighted with pleasure at the sight of the stalwart soldier. "It shall be seen to at once, Mr. Ashley," the Commander was saying. "I will set the men to work tomorrow, and in a few days the place will be habitable. You shall have immediate possession, and the sooner you can start business the better for all. We want Quebec to be a town again, and not a ruin. We want to make friends of the inhabitants, and show them that the conditions of life are not altogether altered. We want them to trust us and to think of us as friends. I am sure you will help us in this. Nothing like good wine and a jovial host to set men's tongues wagging in a friendly fashion, and lighten their hearts of any load of fear and despondency." Murray strode out, returning the salutes of his subordinates, and the next minute Fritz and Ashley were exchanging a warm greeting. "Welcome to Quebec, my friend; it does the heart good to see you here. Humphrey declared you had promised to come soon; but I had not dared to think it would be this side of the winter season." "Why, yes; I have been ready and waiting this long while. To tell the truth, I have had enough of Philadelphia and its Quaker-ridden Assembly. Why, when once the war had broken out and was raging in good earnest, I longed for nothing so much as my own youth back again, that I might fight with the best of them. And the peace palaver of the Quakers sickened me. I came near to quarrelling with some of my old friends, and I grew eager to see fresh places, fresh faces. I turned it over in my mind, and I thought that if Quebec fell into our hands, English-speaking citizens would surely be wanted to leaven the French and Canadians who would remain. And if so, why should not I be one to take up my abode?" "Why not, indeed?" cried Fritz, whose eyes were eagerly straying round the room in search of somebody he had not seen as yet. "It was a happy thought, as our Commander has just told you, I doubt not." "He has been a capital friend--he has put me in possession of this place; and I can see that there will be the making of a fine business here. And I have not come empty-handed. I sold the old tavern over yonder, and I have a fine store of wine and ale and salted provisions stored away on board, enough to set me up for the winter. "I must have that old sign down," added Ashley, stepping into the street and looking up at the battered board crazily hanging from the beam above; "we must have another one up instead. I'll set up a wolf's head in its place, in memory of the gallant soldier who fell on the Plains of Abraham. And I will call my inn the Wolfe of Quebec." Fritz laughed, still looking round him with quick glances. "And what said your wife and daughter to such a move?" "Oh, the wife is a good wife, and follows her husband; though I won't say she did not feel the wrench of parting a good bit. As for the maid, she was wild to come! She has done nothing but think of the war ever since it began. She is half a soldier already, I tell her, and is making herself only fit to be a soldier's wife. She might have had the pick of all the young Quakers in Philadelphia; but you should have seen her turn up her pretty nose at them. "'A Quaker indeed!' quoth the little puss; 'I'd as lief marry a broomstick with a turnip for a head! Give me a man who is a man, not a puling woman in breeches!' "The sauciness of the little puss!" But Ashley's jolly laugh showed that he encouraged the maid in her "sauciness," and Fritz and Humphrey laughed in sympathy. "Where are Mrs. Ashley and Susanna to be found?" asked Fritz when the laugh had subsided. K "Oh, somewhere in the house, poking and prying, and settling the things in woman's fashion. Anything in the house is to be ours, and we may buy cheap a quantity of the furniture which is being taken out of the houses which are too much shattered to be rebuilt. We have brought things of our own, too. Oh, we shall do well, we shall do well. It was a capital thought to come here. Canada in English hands will have a great future before it." But Fritz was off already, leaving Humphrey to discuss the situation with his brother-in-law. He was off in search of Susanna, and presently came upon her sitting upon a wide window ledge which commanded a view of the quay and harbour, and of the heights of Point Levi opposite. Hannah was taking housewifely notes on the upper floor; but the view from this window had fascinated the girl, and she sat gazing out, lost in thought, a thousand pictures flitting through her imaginative brain. "Susanna!" spoke a voice behind her. She started to her feet, quivering in every limb; and facing round, found herself confronted by him whose face and form had been the centre of each of her mental pictures, whose name had been on her lips and in her heart each time she had bent her knees in prayer for two long years, and who she knew had come at last to ask the fulfilment of that promise she had given him when last they had parted. Her hands were in his; his face was bent over hers. He disengaged one hand, and put it round her shoulders, drawing her towards him gently. She did not resist; she gave a happy little sigh, and stood with her fair head close to his shoulder. "Susanna, I have done what I hoped. I am a captain in the English King's army. I have won some small reputation as a soldier. I have a position sufficiently assured. You have come to live at Quebec. I am quartered there for the winter. Many of our officers and soldiers have wives who follow them wherever they go. I would not ask you to come to me to share hardship and privation; but I ask you to be my wife, here in this city, where your father's house will give you shelter if I should be forced by the chances of war to leave you for a while. "Susanna, will you be brave enough for this? Can you make up your mind to be a soldier's wife, even before the war has closed? I had not thought to ask you so soon; but year after year passes by, and though nearer and ever nearer to the goal of peace, the clouds still hang in the sky, and there is still stern work for the soldier to do. But we seem now to see the end of the long, long war, and that a happy end; and so I ask if you can marry me, even with the chances of one of those separations which wring the heart and entail so much anxiety and sorrow upon the wife left at home." She was clinging to him even before he had done, shedding tears, and yet half laughing as she looked with dewy eyes into his face. "O Fritz, Fritz, don't you understand yet what a woman's love is like? As though I would not rather a hundred thousand times be your wife, come what may in the future, than live the safest and most sheltered life without you! As though I should not glory and delight to share the perils and hardships you are called upon to endure! As though being together would not make up a hundredfold for everything else!" When Benjamin Ashley, together with Humphrey and John Stark, came in search of the others, they all saw at a glance what had taken place. Susanna's blushing face and Fritz's expression of proud, glad happiness told the tale all too plainly. But all had been prepared for it; and Ashley laughed as he took his daughter's face between his hands and kissed it, though he heaved a quick sigh, too. "Ah me! so all the birds leave the nest at last. And nothing but a red-coat would serve your turn, my maid! That I have known for long enough. Well, well, I cannot blame you. We owe a debt of gratitude to our brave soldiers which we must all be willing to pay. "Take her, Fritz my boy; take her, and her father's blessing with her. She will not come to you empty handed; she has a snug little fortune from her mother ready for her dowry. But you have wooed her and won her like a man; and her love will be, if I mistake not, the crown of your manhood and of your life." "Indeed it will, sir," answered Fritz fervently, and possessed himself of Susanna's hand once more. Barely a week later, and the party stood upon the quay to say farewell to their friends and comrades who were sailing away for England. October was waning. The departure of the ships could no longer be delayed. Many had already gone; but today the mortal remains of the gallant Wolfe had been conveyed on board the Royal William, and all the town had come forth to pay its last tribute of respect to one who was mourned by friends and foes alike. Flags hung half-mast high, the guns had boomed a salute, and the bells of the city had tolled in solemn cadence as the coffin was borne to the quay and reverently carried to the place prepared for it upon the ship. Now all was bustle and animated farewell as the sailors began to make preparations for unfurling the sails and hoisting up the anchor. Julian and Fritz stood together a little apart from the crowd; their hands were locked in a close clasp. The tie which bound them together was a very strong and tender one. "You will come back, Julian? you will not forsake these Western lands, which must always seem to me more like home than any country beyond the seas--even England, which we call our home. You will come back?" "Yes, I shall come back; the lands of the great West ever seem to be calling me. I do but go to make good my promise to him that is gone; then I shall return, and cast in my lot with the English subjects of Canada." "They say you are to receive promotion, Julian. You will rise to be a man of place in this colony. I am certain of it. You have talents, address, courage; and you are always beloved of French and English alike. I have heard men talk of you, and point you out as a rising man. They will want such over here when Canada has passed into English keeping." "They will find me ready to do my best if ever they should desire to use me. I want nothing better than to serve my country, and to heal the wound between the two nations who have struggled so long for supremacy in the West." "You will come back--I am sure of it--a man of place and importance. But you will be the same Julian still, my brother and friend. And, Julian (am I wrong in thinking it?), you will not come back alone?" A slight flush rose in Julian's face; but he answered quietly: "I hope not; I believe not." "Mademoiselle Corinne--" began Fritz, but paused there; for the girl was close beside them, having come up with her aunt, Madame Drucour, to say goodbye to the group of friends gathered to see them off. Fritz saw the quick glance which flashed between her and Julian as their eyes met, and he felt that he had got his answer. When Julian came back to Canada, he would not come alone. The last farewells were said; the deck was crowded by those who were to sail away; the musical call of the seamen rose and fell as the sails unfurled to the breeze, and the gallant vessel began to slip through the water. "A safe voyage and a joyous return. God be with you all!" cried those upon the quay. The Abbe lifted his hands, and seemed to pronounce a benediction upon the departing ship, and those who saw the action bared their heads and bent the knee. Then the sails swelled out, the pace increased; a salute boomed forth from the fortress behind, and was answered from the vessel now gliding so fast away; and the Royal William moved with stately grace through the wide waters of the St. Lawrence, and slowly disappeared in the hazy distance. THE END. 
55779	----	TO HERAT AND CABUL [Illustration: ANGUS AND POTTINGER WATCHING THE FIGHT FROM THE WALLS OF HERAT. _Frontispiece._] TO HERAT AND CABUL A STORY OF THE FIRST AFGHAN WAR BY G.A. HENTY Author of "With Buller in Natal" "At the Point of the Bayonet" "The Bravest of the Brave" "Won by the Sword" &c. _WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES M. SHELDON_ NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1901 Copyright, 1901, by CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS _Published September, 1901_ THE CAXTON PRESS NEW YORK. PREFACE In the military history of this country there is no darker page than the destruction of a considerable British force in the terrible defiles between Cabul and Jellalabad in January, 1842. Of all the wars in which our troops have taken part never was one entered upon so recklessly or so unjustifiably. The ruler of Afghanistan, Dost Mahomed, was sincerely anxious for our friendship. He was alarmed at the menacing attitude of Russia, which, in conjunction with Persia, was threatening his dominions and intriguing with the princes at Candahar. Our commissioner at Cabul, Mr. Burnes, was convinced of the Ameer's honesty of intention, and protested most strongly against the course taken by the Indian government, who determined upon setting up a discredited prince, who had for many years been a fugitive in India, in place of Dost Mahomed. In spite of his remonstrances, the war was undertaken. Nothing could have been worse than the arrangements for it, and the troops suffered terribly from thirst and want of transport. However, they reached Cabul with comparatively little fighting. Dost Mahomed fled, and the puppet Shah Soojah was set up in his place; but he was only kept there by British bayonets, and for two years he was so protected. Gradually, however, the British force was withdrawn, until only some five thousand troops remained to support him. Well led, they would have been amply sufficient for the purpose, for though the Afghan tribesmen were dangerous among their mountains, they could not for a moment have stood against them in the open field. Unhappily the general was old and infirm, incapable of decision of any kind, and in his imbecile hands the troops, who in October could have met the whole forces of Afghanistan in fight, were kept inactive, while the Afghans pillaged the stores with the provisions for the winter, and insulted and bearded them in every way. Thus a fine body of fighting men were reduced to such depths of discontent and shame that when the unworthy order for retreat before their exulting enemy was given they had lost all confidence in themselves or their officers, and, weakened by hunger and hampered by an enormous train of camp followers, they went as sheep to the slaughter in the trap the Afghans had prepared for them. It would almost seem that their fate was a punishment for the injustice of the war. Misfortunes have befallen our arms, but never one so dark and disgraceful as this. The shame of the disaster was redeemed only by the heroic garrison of Jellalabad, which, although but one-fourth of the strength of that at Cabul, sallied out after a noble defence and routed the army which Dost Mahomed's son Akbar had assembled for their destruction. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. Alone in the World 1 II. An Unexpected Meeting 19 III. The Siege of Herat 36 IV. A Sturdy Defence 54 V. In Candahar 72 VI. An Escape 89 VII. In the Service 108 VIII. The Advance 126 IX. Just in Time 144 X. A Mission 161 XI. A Dangerous Journey 180 XII. Troubles Thicken 198 XIII. The Murder of Sir A. Burnes 216 XIV. A Series of Blunders 232 XV. A Doomed Army 249 XVI. Annihilation of the Army 267 XVII. Jellalabad 286 XVIII. The Advance on Cabul 301 XIX. The British Captives 321 ILLUSTRATIONS Angus and Pottinger watching the fight from the walls of Herat _Frontispiece_ PAGE "A man walking just in front of him ... was knocked down" 26 Azim surprises the spy 96 "He took down the prop, and thrust it suddenly with all his force through the hole" 150 "There, lying close under a rock, was a young Afghan" 166 "As they passed the corner ... some men sprang on them" 218 "Angus was half-mad with grief and with fury that he was not in his place among the troops" 272 Angus shows his goods to the prisoners 330 * * * * * Map of Afghanistan and North-west Frontier of India 50 TO HERAT AND CABUL CHAPTER I ALONE IN THE WORLD On the 20th of September, 1837, a lad was standing before Mr. M'Neill, the British minister at the Persian court. Both looked grave, for the interview was an important one. The former felt that it was the turning-point of his life, the opening of a fresh career, the introduction to a service in which he might gain honourable distinction and credit. To the British minister it was of scarcely less importance, for the interests of Great Britain were gravely involved in the success of the mission that he was now entrusting to this young clerk in the employment of the embassy. It was nothing less than thwarting the designs of Persia, aided and instigated by Russia, to capture Herat and to conquer at least the western portion of Afghanistan, the alliance of the princes of Candahar having already been secured. Angus Campbell was now about sixteen years old. His father was a trader, who had for twelve years been settled in Tabriz, carrying on business on his own account in some branches of trade, and as agent for a Scotch firm in others. The boy had been left with some relations in Scotland until he was twelve years old, when his parents had paid a short visit to their friends in Scotland, and had brought him back with them. The change of life was not an agreeable one to him. In the eight years that had elapsed since he had last seen his parents, he had, of course, almost forgotten them, and it would be some time before any real affection for them would spring up. It was the companionship of his school-fellows that he missed rather than that of his aunt, a strict woman, who made no allowance whatever for a boy's restlessness and love of fun, and who was continually shocked by the complaints made by members of her chapel as to the conduct of the boys at Dr. Murray's. It was the principal school in the little town. The teaching was good, the application of the rod frequent, but neither teaching nor thrashing availed to soften the manners of the healthy and somewhat riotous lads, who once out of school threw themselves with all their hearts into their favourite diversions, among which the most conspicuous were fishing in forbidden parts of the river, bird-nesting in woods which were kept strictly private and guarded by keepers, playing hare-and-hounds across the fields of the crustiest of farmers, and above all engaging in desperate battles with the boys of other schools. In all these pastimes Angus Campbell took as large a share as his age entitled him to, and the state of his clothes and his face when he returned home was a source of continual amazement and irritation to his aunt. She had even endeavoured to arrange for a deputation to wait upon Dr. Murray with a list of grievances suffered by the townspeople, such as broken windows, the yells and shouts of conflict, and the destruction of the boys' garments caused by the various fights, and to propose that the hours of play should be shortened, and that some sort of supervision should be exercised at all times over the boys. However, although there were many who agreed with her that the present state of things was disgraceful, nothing came of the movement; for the fathers, remembering their own boyhood, were to a man against the idea. "We did just the same in our young days," they said, "and are none the worse for it now. Lads cannot be like lassies, and we don't want them to be even if they could; if you were to speak to the doctor, he would just laugh in your faces, and would tell you that he kept a school for boys and not for girls. If you have complaints to make against any of his scholars, make them, and he will punish the lads as they deserve. His boys are no worse than others, and he does not wish to see them better. If they do some mischief occasionally, it is because they are in good health and in good spirits, and a lad of that kind is far more likely to turn out well than one who spends all his spare time in poring over his books." As the doctor's opinions on these subjects were known to all the town, Miss Campbell's proposal came to nothing. She would herself have gone to him to complain of the doings of her nephew, but there was a strong feeling in the town that while all things connected with the school were under the doctor's charge, parents should take other matters into their own hands, and maintain discipline by the use of the tawse in their own dwellings, and that they had no right to trouble Dr. Murray about private delinquencies. He had, indeed, sufficient on his hands, for although no actual supervision was maintained when the lads were once dismissed from school, there were bounds set beyond which they were not allowed to go, and when they were caught upon any of their frequent forays beyond these limits, he had to adjudicate and punish the offenders. But it was not often that this happened; for while the boys considered it not only justifiable but meritorious to break bounds, they looked upon anyone caught in the act of showing a want of craft and of judgment, and so, having good legs and lungs, they were generally able to outdistance their pursuers. Thus, then, when his parents returned to Scotland they found Angus a healthy, active, and high-spirited boy, somewhat rough in manners, but straightforward and honourable, for it was a tradition in the school that no boy should ever try to screen himself by a lie. When questioned by his father, he acknowledged that he would like to stay at school for a few years longer. "And I should like you to do so too, Angus; but it is a long, long journey, and a difficult one, from Tabriz to Scotland, and it may be many years before I return home again. It is a journey that it is impossible for a boy to make alone. But this is not the only reason why I wish to take you back. I want to train you to help me in my business, and until you speak Persian fluently you will be of no use whatever to me. At your age you will pick it up rapidly, far more rapidly than you could if you did not begin till you were seventeen or eighteen. We will generally speak to you in Persian, and you will have many opportunities for practising it. In two years you ought to speak it like a native. Arabic will also be very useful to you. I have constant communications with India, with Turkey, and with Herat. I buy goods from all these countries; and sell Persian products to them. In Afghanistan, indeed, Persian is spoken generally by the trading and upper classes; but Arabic is essential to trade with Constantinople and Smyrna, with Bokhara and the Turkomans; and it is our chief medium of communication with India traders, who, although speaking several distinct languages, all have more or less knowledge of Arabic. It has been a great privation to your mother and myself to be so many years without you. We have no other children, and it would be a great joy and comfort to our lives, as well as a great assistance to me in my business, to have you with me." "I understand, Father," the boy said; "I did not think of these things before. I am sure I should be very glad to be able to help you, and I won't say another word about being sorry to leave all my friends." "It is quite natural that you should be sorry, Angus; it would be strange indeed if you were not. However, I don't think you will dislike the life out there when you get accustomed to it. We will certainly do our best to make you happy." So Angus had returned with them, and soon settled down to his new life. Devoting himself earnestly to acquiring the language, at the end of six months he came to speak it fairly, and before he had been out a year could have passed as a Persian lad; at the same time he had made considerable progress in Arabic. His father had then dressed him in Persian fashion. There was a good deal of ill-feeling among the lower class against foreigners, and the pugnacity that had been fostered in Angus at school had frequent opportunities of displaying itself; for, in spite of good resolutions to the contrary, he was often goaded into fury by the taunts and abuse with which the boys assailed him when he went out alone, and had thrown himself upon them, and used his fists with such effect that he had sometimes put to flight half a dozen lads of his own age. But in Persian costume he could move about the streets unnoticed; and although he did not like the change at first, he acknowledged that it was useful, for his father pointed out to him that it was essential that nothing should take place that could add to the dislike with which foreigners were regarded. Already several angry complaints had been made by neighbours of the state in which their sons had come home after an encounter with him. Nearly four years after Angus arrived at Tabriz the plague made its appearance in Persia. It spread rapidly, and Tabriz was one of the cities which suffered most severely. One evening Mr. Campbell returned home from a visit to a customer and complained of feeling unwell. The next morning it was too evident that he had caught the infection. Before nightfall his wife also sickened. Twenty-four hours later both were dead. Mr. Campbell had a long talk with his son as soon as the disease manifested itself in the case of his wife. "Angus," he said, "you must prepare for the worst. The cases of recovery are few indeed. The servants have already fled, and even did I wish you to leave us, I know that it would be too late now. God's will be done, my boy, and I can only hope that you may be spared. However that is in His hands. You have been my assistant now for the past three years, and know how matters stand. I have no debts. The books will show you how much is due to me from the house at home and how much by my agent at Bombay. The stock of goods in the warehouse is worth a considerable sum. I am unable to think very clearly now, or to advise you what to do should you be left alone; but it is clear to me that you are too young yet to manage the business, and it is not likely that the firm would entrust their affairs to a lad of your age. I should say, therefore, that you had best dispose of all the goods; the books will show you their prices. As for yourself, I will give you no advice. It will be open to you to return to England or to go to Bombay, and I have no doubt my agent there will obtain employment for you, especially as you will have money to embark in any business you may go into. But do not invest a penny until you become of age; you will by that time be able to judge wisely whether the business you are in is that in which you can best employ your mind. "Whatever you do, do not remain in Tabriz. As is always the case in times of plague or famine, there is sedition and trouble, and foreigners become the object of hatred, for the poor people have some sort of superstitious idea that they are responsible for the scourge. The best thing you can do is to consult our Armenian friend, who is also our vice-consul; he will view matters more clearly than I can do at present. Put your trust always in God, my boy. My own opinion is that you had better remain in the East. Your knowledge of languages would be absolutely useless to you at home, and you could only hope to obtain a place in a counting-house." "I will do as you tell me, father," Angus said, trying to speak steadily. "I will try always to be what you would wish me." His grief was terrible when his mother expired two or three hours after his father. He roused himself, however, to see to the simple preparations for their funeral, and late that evening buried them in the garden behind the house. The next day as he was sitting alone he heard a tumult in the street. Looking out, he saw that several houses, which he knew belonged to foreign traders, were in flames, and a mob of maddened men were rushing down the street towards his house. Resistance would have been madness. He ran to the safe, seized the bag containing the cash, and had just time to run out at the back of the house and escape by the gate in the garden when the rioters burst in. For a few minutes they were engaged in the work of pillage. Shawls from Cashmere, native embroidered silks, costly goods from India, Turkish, Persian, Turkoman, and Heratee carpets, and British goods of all kinds were scrambled and fought for. When the house was sacked from top to bottom it was set on fire, and as a volume of smoke rose from it, Angus turned away from the spot where from a distance he had been watching the scene, and made his way to the house of the Armenian merchant. The loss of the house and the contents of the warehouse affected him little--although he knew that it had cost him more than half his inheritance--but this was as nothing to what he had so recently suffered. The vice-consul had been an intimate friend of the family. On approaching his house Angus stood some distance from the door and called. A servant looked out. "Will you tell Izaac effendi that I desire greatly to speak to him?" The Armenian quickly came to the door. "My poor lad," he said, "I grieve deeply for you. I heard of your losses, and the news has just been brought in of the burning of the house and magazine. But why do you stand so far away?" "Because I would not bring contagion near you, effendi. I came to tell you what had happened, and to say that I shall buy some food and go out into the country, and there remain until I die of the plague or can be sure that I have escaped contagion." "You will come in here at once," the Armenian said. "Does not one in the street run against persons who may be affected. Many of my compatriots have come here to ask my advice, and some of them have stricken friends in their houses. Since I came to reside here I have four times seen the plague raging, and each time it has passed me over. Whether it is the will of God that I should thus be spared I know not, but I am in His hands. Come in, lad, I will take no denial. Shall I desert my friends when they most need comfort and aid? What is my friendship worth if I should, now in your hour of need, turn my back upon you? Come in, I pray you." Seeing that the old man was thoroughly in earnest, Angus, too greatly touched by his kindness even to speak, silently entered the house. "I will take you through at once to the pavilion in the garden," the merchant said. "Although I have no fear myself, there are my servants and clerks. 'Tis like enough that some of them may be stricken, for they, like all of us, are liable to be smitten when they go into the streets, and should this be so they might blame me for your presence here; therefore 'tis best that you should for three or four days live in the pavilion; I will bring you out cushions and pillows. But I do not think that you will be attacked; had you taken the plague you would probably have shown symptoms of it ere now. Keep your thoughts from dwelling on it. I will bring you out some books; try to fix your mind on them and abstain as much as possible from dwelling on the past. I will bring your food out to you, and we will talk together to-morrow, there is much that you will have to consider." "What are you thinking of doing?" his host asked him when he came in to see him on the morning after his arrival. "I have been trying to think, but I cannot decide on anything. I do not wish to go back to Scotland. I have an aunt living there, but she would not welcome me warmly. Besides, if I were to do so, I do not see how I could earn my living; for my knowledge of Persian and Arabic would be of no use to me. If I had been ten years older the firm for whom my father was agent might have appointed me in his place, but of course I am a great deal too young for that. They acted as his agents also, and bought for him the goods in which he dealt outside their business; and he told me when he was taken suddenly ill that they had about a thousand pounds of his money in their hands. That would be of no use to me now, and I should very much prefer not to touch it until I am old enough to set up in trade." "The position is certainly a grave one, Angus. I agree with you that it would be better for you on all accounts to remain out here, at any rate for a time. Your father had correspondents also in Bombay, had he not?" "Yes, he made purchases of Persian goods for a house there; but he did not do much for them, as the trade is principally in the hands of the Parsees." "There is one thing that you might do," the Armenian said, after thinking for some time. "I have heard that Mr. M'Neill is on his way to Teheran as British minister there. You might be able to obtain a post in his Embassy. You can write both Persian and Arabic, and might be useful in many ways. It would not be necessary for you to ask a large salary, but, however small, it might lead the way to better things. At present there is much political disturbance. The Shah is meditating an attack upon Herat, and has already given orders for an army to be collected. Certainly the British government will feel jealous of any movement that would extend the power of Persia farther towards Afghanistan, especially as they are, I hear, about to take steps to interfere in that country by placing a rival of Dost Mahomed on the throne. Then, too, it is no secret that Russia is encouraging the Shah, and it is probable that Russian influence will become predominant in Persia. The conquest of Herat would matter little to England were it by Persia alone, for Persia is powerless to damage India; but with Persia acting as the tool of Russia, which some day or other will assuredly swallow her up, the matter is very much more serious. This being so, there can be little doubt that the new British minister will be charged with a mission to counteract the designs of Russia as much as possible, and might be glad to take into his employment one who knows the language well and could gather news for him in the guise of a native--for there are so many dialects spoken in different parts of the country that any imperfection of speech would pass unnoticed." "I think that would be an excellent plan, sir, if it could be carried out." "I will give you a letter stating the circumstances, speaking of the esteem in which your father was held, and vouching for your character. If you decide to take this course, think it would be well for you to leave at once, for from what I hear of the new minister's course you would then arrive at Teheran within two or three days of his getting there, and might have a better chance, therefore, of obtaining a post in his office. As to the money you speak of, it seems to me that, as your country is a long way off, it would be better if it could be sent to the house with which you father had dealings at Bombay, since there are constantly vessels sailing thither from ports in the Persian Gulf; and whether you saw an opportunity for doing a trade with India, or thought of going there yourself, it would be an advantage to have your money ready to your hand. You must already know a good deal of trade matters, having, as I know, worked as your father's assistant for the past two years. At any rate a year or two at Teheran in the service of the British minister would be an advantage to you in many respects. There is a caravan starting to-morrow, that is why I suggested that you should leave at once. A merchant who travels with it is a friend of mine, and I can recommend you to his care, but it would certainly be best for you to travel as a native." "I thank you, sir, very heartily, and shall certainly do as you advise me, for as an English lad going alone with a caravan I could scarcely hope to escape trouble with camel-drivers and others. If I fail to obtain employment at the Embassy, I shall probably travel down with a caravan to Bushire, and take ship to Bombay. I have plenty of money to do that, for the expense of travelling with a caravan is very small--nothing is needed except for food--and the passage in a native craft would not be more than a pound or two. I have nearly two hundred, so that I could live for a long time in Bombay if I failed to obtain employment there. When it is gone, I could at least enlist in one of the British regiments." "It is a poor trade soldiering, lad, though in your case it might not do you harm for a few years, especially if you turned your attention to learning some of the Indian languages. With such knowledge you should certainly have no difficulty in making your way with the little capital you will receive from home." And so it was settled, and Angus travelled to Teheran. The journey did him good. He had bought a donkey, and trotting along by the side of the merchant to whom his friend had introduced him, the novelty of the life, the strangeness of passing as a native among the travellers, and the conversation of the Persian merchant kept him from brooding over his sorrows. He felt that, suddenly thrown as he was upon his own resources, and compelled to think and act for himself, when but a fortnight before he had others to think and care for him, he must bear himself like a man. It was only at night, when rolled in a blanket he prepared to sleep, that he gave way and lay for hours weeping over his loss. The merchant, who had been much pleased with his conversation, and had made many enquiries as to the ways of his countrymen, and to whom he had told his plans, invited Angus to take up his abode with him at a khan until he found whether he could obtain employment at the British minister's. Issuing into the town, after having seen his animals attended to and his goods stowed away, the merchant went to see some friends, and on his return told Angus that the new British minister had arrived two days before. The next morning Angus went to the envoy's, and sent in the letter with which the Armenian had furnished him, together with the translation which he had made and the vice-consul had signed and stamped. He had not waited many minutes when one of the attendants came to him and led him in to the minister's room. "You are Mr. Campbell, the young gentleman of whom our vice-consul at Tabriz writes to me?" "Yes, sir." "It is a sad story that he has told me, and I would willingly do anything in my power for a young countryman thus left so sadly and suddenly on his own resources in a foreign land. He tells me that you speak Arabic as well as Persian, and have some acquaintance with Armenian colloquially, though you cannot write it as you can the two former languages. Do you know any other language at all?" "I know some Kurdish. One of my father's porters was a Kurd, and I was able to get on fairly with him." "He tells me that it is your wish to obtain employment of some sort with me, as at present you are not old enough to enter upon trade for yourself, and that you do not wish to return to Scotland." "No, sir. I have been away for four years, and were I to go back I should lose the advantage that I have gained in learning these Eastern languages." "Quite right; very sensibly decided," the minister said. "And I suppose that you know something of trade?" "Yes, sir, my father took much pains in instructing me, and for the past two years I have acted as his assistant, and have learned the value of most articles of trade." The minister nodded. "Very good; it will doubtless be of value to you hereafter. However, I can at present utilize your services here. I have with me my secretary, and I have the dragoman employed by my predecessor, who speaks half a dozen languages; but in many ways a sharp young fellow like yourself, able if necessary to mix with the people as one of themselves, and to gather me information as to popular opinion, and who can read and write Persian fluently, would be a welcome addition to my staff. Of course I cannot offer you high pay, as I have an allowance for the expenses of my office upon the same scale as that of my predecessor." "The pay is quite a secondary matter with me, sir. Even if there were no pay, I should be glad to accept a temporary post under you, as it would be a great advantage to me afterwards to have been employed by you, and I should at least have time to decide what to do next." "I will think the matter over," the minister said; "at any rate there will be a room assigned to you in the house, and for the present thirty shillings a week for your living. You had better continue to wear your Persian attire. Have you European clothes with you?" "No, sir, everything was burnt." The next day Angus was installed in a small room next to that of the secretary, and set to work translating Persian proclamations, edicts, and other matters. A fortnight later the minister decided that he should be dressed as a European when in the house, and a tailor was sent for and ordered to make him clothes of the same style as a suit of the secretary's, which was given him to use as a pattern. The minister nodded approvingly when he entered the little office on the day when Angus first wore his new suit. His work was now changed, and while visitors of distinction were ushered in directly to the minister, and others of less importance were first interviewed by the secretary, people coming in with complaints or petitions were shown in to Angus, who took down what they had to say, and then dismissed them to call the next day for an answer. He was amused at the general impression prevailing among these people that if the British minister could be induced to take up their cases he could obtain justice and redress for them, and how evidently they disbelieved his assurances that a foreign official could not interfere in such matters. Six months passed, the Shah had started with his army towards Herat, and the evidences that Russia was at the bottom of the movement, and that he was acting in accordance with her advice, became stronger and stronger. Angus stood high in the minister's good opinion, from the steadiness with which he worked, the tact and good temper that he showed with the natives he interviewed, and the willingness with which he would, after the office was closed, work until late at night at his translations. Sometimes he changed his attire again, and slightly darkening his face, and tucking away his light hair, would go out into the streets, mingle with the crowd in busy quarters, and listen to the talk. From the fact that the expedition against Herat was seldom spoken of, he gathered that the war was not popular except among the trading class, who thought that the possession of Herat would lead to a large increase of trade with Afghanistan, and even through Candahar to Northern India. It was, however, but seldom that he went on these expeditions, for it was certain that any private arrangement that had been made between the Shah and Russia would be known only to two of the former's principal officers. One evening Mr. M'Neill summoned him to his own apartment, and said: "I have obtained information from a source I can rely upon that Russia is encouraging the Shah, and that there are other Russian officers besides their accredited envoy in the Shah's camp. Mr. Corbould started half an hour ago, and will carry the news himself to London; it is too important to be trusted to other hands. I have no doubt whatever that orders will be sent to me at once to mediate between the parties, and to put a certain amount of pressure upon the Shah. Herat is considered the key of Afghanistan, and although we could do nothing to assist its defenders, even were a force to start at once from Bombay, I fancy that I should be authorized to say to the Shah that England would greatly resent the town being permanently occupied; and that she might even go so far as to blockade the ports on the Persian Gulf, and so put a stop to the whole trade of Persia with India. The great question, of course, is how long Herat can hold out against the Persians. The place has the reputation of being strong, but I hear that the fortifications are much dilapidated. The Afghans are likely to fight well up to a certain point, but they might, and probably would, get disheartened after a time. I am anxious to assure them that if they will but hold out, England will do all in her power to induce the Persians to give up the siege. The messenger I send must at once be altogether trustworthy, must be able to make his way through the country as a native, and must have a sufficient knowledge of Arabic to make himself understood there, although this is less important, as there must be many traders in the town who understand Persian." "If you would entrust me with the message, sir, I would gladly undertake to carry it to Herat." "That was my purpose in sending for you, Mr. Campbell. I have the greatest confidence in you, and as your Persian is good enough to pass in Teheran, it is certainly good enough for the country districts. But it is not only because I should trust you thoroughly, and have every faith in your being able to carry out the mission, but also because I thought that it would be of great utility to you to be engaged in the performance of such a mission. If Herat defends itself successfully until relieved either by Afghan troops, or as a result of our diplomacy, it will undoubtedly be a feather in the cap of the gentleman I select to undertake the commission of encouraging the Heratees to hold out; and, with my report of the valuable services that you have rendered here, might obtain for you a better position in the diplomatic service than I can offer you, or some post in India where your knowledge of Persian and Arabic would be valuable." "I thank you very much indeed, sir. The change to an active life would not only be very pleasant to me, but I can quite understand that if good comes of it I might benefit greatly. Would you wish me to return as soon as I have delivered your message?" "No, I think it would be better for you to remain there. I myself will shortly join the Shah in his camp; the office here will be closed." On the following day Angus started. The back of his head having been shaved, his hair was completely covered by his turban. He wore wide Turkish trousers, a loosely fitting blue embroidered vest, and a long kaftan thickly padded and falling below his knees, a coloured sash, with two long-barrelled pistols, and a curved sword. His attire was that of a Persian trader. He rode on a camel, which, although not a handsome animal to look at, was of good blood and fast. Slung over his shoulder was a long matchlock; he carried behind him a great bale of goods. Accompanying him was a Persian boy, whose father was a door-keeper at the mission; the boy himself was a hanger-on there. He was a bright-faced lad of some fifteen years old, who ran messages, and made himself generally useful. Between him and Angus a sort of friendship had sprung up, and of an evening when the latter went out he often took the boy with him, his shrewdness and chatter being a relief after a long day's work in the office. Azim had accepted with delight Angus's proposal that he should accompany him, as his attendant, on a journey that he was about to make. The matter was settled in a few minutes, a donkey purchased for him, suitable clothes for travel, and a couple of Kurd blankets. Angus himself had a large fur-lined coat reaching to his feet, and four blankets, two of which were of very large size and capable of being made into a tent, for he knew that the khans and the houses in the villages swarmed with insects, and was determined that, unless circumstances prevented it, he would always encamp in the open air. Azim's camel carried, in addition to a bale of goods, two water-skins, a sufficient supply of flour for the journey, a bag of ground coffee, and another of sugar; meat would always be procurable. It was a long journey, but Angus enjoyed it. The road was a frequented one, for a considerable trade was carried on between Herat and Persia, and traders frequently passed along. Azim turned out a bright and intelligent companion, and no suspicion was anywhere entertained that Angus was aught but what he seemed. Some little surprise, however, was occasionally expressed that he should be making the journey at a time when the Persian army was marching against Herat. To such remarks he always replied that he should probably stay there but a few days, and hoped to be well on the road to Candahar before the army arrived at Herat. He was certain that he should arrive in time, for the army with its huge baggage train had already taken nearly six months in accomplishing a journey that he had performed in little over as many weeks. CHAPTER II AN UNEXPECTED MEETING When near the frontier Angus sold the camels. He had already parted with all the goods that he had carried, and he now bought peasant dresses, such as those worn by the Afghan cultivators, for himself and Azim. It was but some seventy miles on to Herat, but the Persian army was on the direct road, having just laid siege to Ghorian, and it was necessary to make a detour to avoid both the plundering parties of the Persians and the Afghan horsemen who would be hovering round the enemy's camp. Before crossing the frontier he purchased sufficient food to last for four days, as it would be dangerous to enter any place where they might be accosted, as their ignorance of the language would seem to prove that they were Persian spies. Both carried swords and long knives, as a protection rather from the attacks of village dogs than from trouble with men. As it was now November and the weather was becoming cold at night, they were glad of the long coats lined with sheep-skin. The country through which they were passing was fertile, and when on the afternoon of the third day they came in sight of Herat, even Azim was struck with the richness and fertility of the country. It was well watered by several small streams; fortified villages were scattered here and there over the plain. Round these were gardens, orchards, and vineyards, the intervening spaces being in summer covered by wide expanses of corn. As they neared the city they saw that numbers of people from the villages were making their way towards it, many with bullock waggons carrying stores of grain and household goods, while women and men were alike loaded. They entered the gate of the city unquestioned and unnoticed in the crowd of horse and footmen, cattle, bullock-carts, sheep, and goats. Striking as was the appearance of the town without, inside everything showed signs of neglect and poverty. Herat contained some forty-five thousand inhabitants; the majority of these were Persian Sheeahs. Once the capital of the great empire of Tamerlane, it had greatly fallen from its former splendour, its decline having been rapid since its capture from the Persians by the Afghans in 1715. It had been retaken by the Persians, and recaptured by the Afghans, under whose savage rule its prosperity had greatly diminished. It was still an important trading centre, being situated on the one great thoroughfare between India and Russia, and being celebrated for the beauty of its carpets and for the temper of its sword-blades. Its trade was principally in the hands of Hindoos, who numbered no fewer than a thousand, some of whom were traders, while others were occupied in the various branches of work to which they had been accustomed in India. There were several families of Armenians and a few Jews. The city had for years suffered under the horrible tyranny of Shah Kamran, now an old and feeble man, and of his wuzeer or minister, Yar Mahomed Khan, who held the post of governor of the city. Under these men neither life nor property was respected; men and women were seized and sold into slavery under the smallest pretext, often without any attempt whatever to justify the action. Armed bands of ruffians broke into the houses and plundered at their will, and the peaceful portion of the population were in a state of utter misery and despair. On entering the gate, Angus proceeded along the bazaar, an arched street about a mile long, which extended from one side of the city to the other. This was crossed at right angles by another bazaar of equal length, and the city, which was built in the form of a square, was thus divided into four quarters. Round the wall was a wide ditch, which was at all times kept full of water from springs rising in the town. When he had proceeded some distance, Angus heard two traders in one of the shops speaking in Armenian. He at once entered. "Effendi," he said in that language, "I am a stranger here and but newly arrived. Can you tell me where I can procure a lodging?" The two men looked in surprise at this Afghan peasant who addressed them in their own tongue, and one of them, after a moment's hesitation, bade him come into his private apartment behind the shop. "Who are you?" he said; "and how come you to speak our language?" "I learned it in conversation with some of your people in Tabriz, and especially from one who was the British vice-consul there. I also speak Persian and Arabic." The trader's surprise increased as Angus spoke. "But who are you, then, who have travelled so far, and how is it that having learned so many languages you are now here as a peasant?" "It is a disguise," Angus said. "My father was a British merchant at Tabriz, and I myself am in the service of the British minister at Teheran, and am the bearer of a letter from him to Shah Kamran." "You are young indeed, my son, to be engaged on so difficult and dangerous a mission. Surely I can find you a lodging. All trade is at a stand-still now, and we Armenians suffer like the rest. My brother, whom you saw in the shop, is a weaver of carpets; but none will buy carpets now. He has a house larger than his needs, and would, I am sure, gladly take you in." He called his brother in from the front, and explained to him who this strange visitor was and what he wanted. "I have money," Angus said, "and am prepared to pay well for my accommodation. I have a servant with me, he is the son of a door-keeper at the embassy, and is altogether faithful and trustworthy. Unfortunately, I do not speak the Afghan tongue." "That will matter little in the town; the majority of the people still speak Persian, although they may know Pushtoo. It is the same with many of the fugitives who have come in from the plain. You will have difficulty in seeing the prince. He is old and feeble, and for the greater part of his time he is drunk. Everything is therefore in the hands of the wuzeer, who is one of the worst of men--cruel, avaricious, and unscrupulous. We have had many tyrants, but he is the worst; and I can assure you that the success of the Persians would fill all but the Afghan portion of the population with the deepest joy. It will be necessary for you to see him first before you see Shah Kamran. The hour is getting late, and I shall close my shop shortly. If you will go round with my brother to his house I will join you there presently. We all love and respect the English. They have always been our good friends, and glad indeed should we be were they masters here as they are in India; for I have been there, and know how just is their rule--how they oppress no one, and will not suffer others to do so. This would be a happy city indeed if your people were our masters." A short walk brought Angus and Azim to the house of the carpet-weaver. It was of some size, but bore a neglected and poverty-stricken aspect, which was not belied by its appearance when they entered. The doors stood open, and it could be seen that looms stood idle now in all the rooms. The man led the way upstairs, and unlocking a door there entered the family apartments. The contrast between these and the floor below was great indeed. Afghan carpets covered the passages and floors, well-stuffed divans ran round the rooms, and although there were no signs of wealth, everything pointed to comfort. The Armenian led them into a room, where his wife and two daughters were seated. They rose in some surprise at seeing him enter accompanied by an Afghan peasant. Azim had remained in the passage without. "Do not be surprised," the trader said; "this person is not what he looks, but is an English effendi, the bearer of a letter from his minister at Teheran to Shah Kamran. He is going to do us the honour to lodge here for a time. He speaks our language as well as Persian." "He is welcome," his wife said courteously; "and indeed his presence here will afford us a protection which we shall need more than ever when the passions of the people are excited by the siege." "As you are accustomed to our ways," the husband said, "you will not be surprised at my bringing you in here or at seeing the women unveiled. As a rule, everywhere in the East we adopt the customs of the country so far that our women veil when they go out, and my wife and daughters would do the same here if they were to walk through the streets. But my daughters have not left the house since they were children; my wife has not done so since we took up our abode here twenty-three years ago." Angus uttered an exclamation of surprise. "You would not be astonished if you knew the lawlessness that prevails here. No young woman can venture safely into the streets, for as soon as a report that she was good-looking reached Kamran she would be seized and carried off to his harem even in broad daylight. No respectable woman would think of going out save with an armed escort." "That is indeed a terrible state of things." "We are accustomed to it now, effendi, and at any rate we are not molested here. I make a present now and then to Yar Mahomed Khan and also to his principal officer, and I am let alone by them. My brother does the same. They know that I am a carpet-weaver employing eight or ten men, and as they believe I could not be squeezed to any large amount, they are satisfied to let us go on. So as long as we keep quietly at home we are not molested, and we both intend ere long to move from here to Teheran or Tabriz. We have only been waiting until we can manage to get away with our belongings without attracting notice. We have done very well since we came here, for trade has been good. My brother buys up the products of many other looms, and we have both made good profits, but we take care that we do not keep more money than is necessary here. Now I will show you the room that will be at your disposal. You will, I hope, join us at our family meals, so that we shall not have to cook for you separately." "Certainly, it would be very much more pleasant for me." The terms were arranged without difficulty, for the Armenian felt that it might be a great protection for them to have an Englishman in the house. The merchant then arranged to obtain a dress for Angus similar to that worn by himself and his brother. This was brought in on the following morning. Having put it on, Angus went out accompanied by Azim. He decided to wait for a day or two before seeing the wuzeer, so as to ascertain the state of things in the town and the preparations for defence. He was going through one of the narrow streets when a loaded camel came along behind him, its paniers nearly touching the houses on each side. Its rider did not give the usual shout of warning, and Angus had but just time to jump into a doorway when it brushed past him, the Afghan driver grinning maliciously at so nearly upsetting one whom he regarded as a Sheeah trader. A man walking just in front of him, who was not quick enough to get out of the camel's way, was knocked down. As he got up Angus to his astonishment heard him mutter angrily, "Confound you! I wish I had you outside this town, I would give you a lesson you would not forget!" Astonished to find another Englishman here in Afghan costume, Angus stepped up to him and said, "I did not expect to find an Englishman here, sir." The other turned sharply round. "I am as surprised as you can be, sir! But we had better not be speaking English here. I am lodging within fifty yards of this, if you will follow me I will take you there, and we can then introduce ourselves properly." In three minutes they were in the room occupied by the stranger. "As host I will introduce myself first," he said with a smile. "My name is Eldred Pottinger; I have been travelling through Afghanistan on an unofficial mission to explore and report on the country to my uncle, Colonel Pottinger, Resident in Scinde. Happening to arrive here at the present crisis, and thinking that I might be useful if the city is besieged, I have declared myself to the wuzeer, and although I still retain my disguise there are many who know that I am an Englishman." "My name is Angus Campbell, Mr. Pottinger. I am in the employment of the British minister at Teheran, and am the bearer of a letter from him to Shah Kamran encouraging him to maintain the defence of the city as long as possible, and holding out hopes that the British government, which would view the attack upon Herat with grave dissatisfaction, will endeavour to mediate between him and the Shah, and may even take measures to put pressure upon the latter to withdraw his forces." "That is very satisfactory. Of course I have had no shadow of authority to speak in that way, and could only assure him generally that he would have the good will of the English, and that as an English officer I would on my own part put any military skill that I possess at his service, and, being myself an artillery officer, might be of considerable assistance to him in the management and working of the guns. But your letter will place me in a more favourable position. What are your instructions? Are you going to return to the embassy or remain here?" "Mr. M'Neill left it to myself. He will join the Shah's army, as the Russian ambassador is also with it. As he takes the dragoman of the legation down with him, he has no absolute occasion for my services. From what I have seen of the place so far, though I only arrived yesterday, it does not seem to me possible that these mud walls can withstand a battering fire. The place will therefore very likely be taken in a few days; and as I should not care about being in a town sacked by Persian troops, I had intended to leave it as soon as I delivered my letter." "There is no doubt about the weakness of the place; a European army would carry it in three days. But the Persians have never been remarkable for their courage, while the Afghans are undoubtedly a fighting people. I think it is quite possible that the siege may last for months. You know the dilatory way in which these Eastern people go to work. Of course I can give no opinion whatever as to what would be your best course. It would depend upon so many things--your position at the embassy, your chances of promotion there, and other matters of which I am altogether ignorant. I suppose you speak Persian well?" [Illustration: A MAN WALKING JUST IN FRONT OF HIM ... WAS KNOCKED DOWN.] "Yes, and also Arabic, and I can get on in Armenian and Kurdish. As to my position, it is scarcely an official one. I am the son of a Scottish trader who for twelve years carried on business at Tabriz. He and my mother were carried off eight months ago by an outbreak of plague, and his house and store were burned in some street riots. I consulted the British vice-consul there, an Armenian who was a friend of my father, and we agreed that from my knowledge of languages I ought to be able to get on better in the East than at home, where it would be of no use to me. I had acted as my father's assistant for the last two years of his life, and had therefore acquired a knowledge of trading; and I have a small capital with which, when I get older, I can either enter into business myself or join someone already established. I was very glad to obtain this place in the embassy as a temporary employment until I could see my way, for although Mr. M'Neill kindly took me on as an extra assistant, of course his successor, whoever he may be, may not want me." "I think you have done very wisely. How old are you now?" "I am a few months over sixteen." "You are young indeed," Pottinger laughed, "to be engaged in political affairs. Well, I should say that if the Afghans really mean to fight, as I believe they will, they can hold the town for some time, and you will therefore be able to learn their language, which would be invaluable to you if you go in for commerce, or in fact whatever you do out here. Things are in a disturbed state in Afghanistan, and I should be surprised if the Indian Government does not interfere there before long; and in that case anyone acquainted with Pushtoo and with Arabic and Persian will have no difficulty in finding employment with the army, and through my uncle I might be able to put you in the way of it. And now about your mission. "The wuzeer for some reason or other--I own I don't see why--has been exceedingly civil to me. On my arrival I sent to say that I was a stranger and a traveller, and that, should it be pleasing to him, I would wait upon him. He sent down at once to say that he would see me the next day. Of course on occasions of this sort it is usual to make a present. The only thing that I could give him was a brace of detonating pistols. He had never seen any but flint-locks before, and accepted them graciously. Finding that I was a British artillery officer, he at once asked my opinion on a variety of matters, and took me round the walls with him, consulting me as to how they had best be strengthened, and so on. "I will go up and see him presently, and tell him that you have arrived and are the bearer of a letter from our minister to Shah Kamran. I shall of course mention that you have come in disguise, and that you have therefore been unable to bring the customary presents, and I shall point out to him that you possess the confidence of the British minister. I shall say that for that reason I have persuaded you to remain here during the siege, and that I am sure you will act with me, and moreover will endeavour to keep M'Neill well informed of everything going on here, and will continually urge him to impress upon the British government the importance of the position and the necessity for interfering to prevent it from falling into the hands of the Persians. As to its importance there is no doubt, especially as Russia appears to be making Persia a cat's-paw in the matter. That is why I feel that while fighting for these Heratees--who between ourselves seem to me to be unmitigated ruffians--I am merely fighting for England, for it is of the utmost importance that the gate of India should not be in the hands of Persia, especially if, as you say, Russian influence is dominant at Teheran." "I am sure I shall be delighted if you will accept me as your assistant, though I don't see at present what possible service I can be." "You will be of use. There will be no end of things to see about." Then he burst out laughing. "It does seem absurd, doesn't it, that we two, I a young lieutenant and you a lad not yet seventeen, should be proposing to take a prominent part in the defence of a city like this against an army commanded by the Shah of Persia in person." Angus joined in the laugh. "It is not ridiculous for you," he said, "because as an artillery officer you must know a great deal more about the defence of towns than these Afghans can do; but it certainly is absurd my having anything to do in it." Pottinger went with Angus to the house of the Armenian in order that he might know where to find him. Leaving him there he went up to the citadel, which stood on rising ground at one corner of the town. He returned in an hour, and said that the wuzeer would receive him at once. "He is a good deal impressed," he went on, "with the fact that our minister should have sent a messenger here with the letter. At first he did not see why England should be interested in the matter, and I had to explain to him about the Russian intrigue in Persia, and that there was no doubt that sooner or later they would invade India, and that this would be rendered comparatively easy by Herat being in the hands of their friends the Persians. He enquired of me what rank you held. I told him that you were a member of the embassy, acting as assistant-secretary to the minister, and, as was evident by his entrusting you with so important a despatch, were deep in his confidence." On arriving at the citadel they were at once conducted to the apartment of the wuzeer. Yar Mahomed rose from his seat and greeted them politely. Angus walked forward, bowed, and delivered his letter. "You speak Persian, your excellency?" the minister said. Angus had difficulty in restraining a smile at his new dignity, but said gravely: "Yes, your highness, I speak it and Arabic." "You journeyed here comfortably, I hope?" "Yes; there were a few adventures on the way, but not more than I had expected." Yar Mahomed opened and read the letter. "You are aware of its contents?" he asked. "Yes, I learned them by heart before I left Teheran, in case I should be robbed of the letter on the way." The wuzeer sat in thought for a minute. "But how," he said doubtfully, "can your country, which is, as I hear, very far distant, exercise any influence with the Shah? Surely you could not send an army all that distance?" "Not from England, your highness; but we could send a fleet that could shut up all the ports in the Persian Gulf, and we could send troops from India to occupy those places, and so destroy all their trade. Moreover, we could put a stop to all trade passing by land through this town to Scinde, and send a great army by sea and invade Persia, and, as our soldiers are much better than the Persians, might even take Tabriz and Teheran. The Shah knows that they have done great things in India, and will see how they might bring ruin on Persia." "Yes, what your minister says is true; but will he do this at once?" "That I cannot say," Angus replied. "At first, no doubt, the government of England would say, 'Herat is very far off; it will fall before we can do anything.' But if they find that it holds out bravely, they will say, 'We must help these people who are fighting so well.' There is another thing. It is said that there are already some Russian officers with the Shah's army. The English are very jealous of the Russians, and when they come to understand that it is Russia who has sent the Shah to capture Herat their anger will speedily be roused, and they will bid their minister say to the Shah, 'If you continue to fight against Herat, we shall send our ships and our army against you.' The Shah knows that we have conquered in India people far more warlike than the Persians, and he will say to himself, 'Why should I run the risk of losing my kingdom merely to please the Russians, who are really much more dangerous neighbours than the English?'" "The words of your excellency are wise," the wuzeer said. "You will see that we shall hold out for months, or even for years if necessary. I can understand now why the British minister has confidence in you though you look so young. How many years has your excellency?" "I am not yet thirty," Angus said calmly. The wuzeer looked surprised. "It is because your face is smooth that you look so young. We Afghans wear our beards; I see that you do not, for even this brave officer, who has come to fight for us, has no hair on his face. He has told me that you will stay here, and assist with your advice." "So far as I am able to do so, I will; but I am not greatly skilled in such matters. Still, I will assist him so far as I can." "It is good," the Afghan said. "It would be better, your highness, that it should not be known that I am an agent of the British minister; though of course you can, if you find it necessary, cheer your soldiers by telling them if they fight bravely and well the British minister will try and mediate between you and the Shah, and to persuade him to draw off his army. But were the Shah to know that the British minister has an agent here, he would be wroth with him, and might not listen so willingly to his representations. Let it then, I beg you, be supposed that, like Mr. Pottinger, I am but an English traveller, who, chancing to be here, is willing to do all that he can to aid in the defence of the town against the Persians." "Your words are good; so let it be. Where are you dwelling now?" "At the house of the Armenian carpet-weaver Kajar. The times being bad, his looms are at a stand-still, and he was glad to let me an apartment." "He is a good man," the wuzeer said, "a good man and honest, but not rich." Angus felt that the last words were rather a question than an assertion, and he said: "Surely no. His rooms are very simple, but they are clean, and if a traveller can but find a clean lodging, he cares not how poor it is." "Shall you be sending a message to the minister?" "I shall endeavour to do so by a servant lad I have brought with me. I will tell him that his mind may be at ease, for Herat can hold out." "The Persians are cowards!" the wuzeer said angrily. "My horsemen have been round them for many days, but they give them no chance. They keep together like a flock of sheep, with their guns and their infantry, instead of riding out bravely to bring in plunder and fight with their enemies when they meet them." Then turning to Pottinger he went on: "I have sent out, as you advised me, to cut down all the trees within half a mile of the town, so that the Persians will have no shelter from our guns; and as all the granaries are emptied for miles round, they will have a long way to go to get food. A number of men are also at work at the place where, as you showed me, the wall was rotten; and others are clearing out the ditch, and making the bank steeper where it has slipped down, so that if they should be so mad as to rush forward and try to cross the moat, they will not be able to climb up." "That is important, Wuzeer, and still more so is it that the little wall at the foot of the mount of earth that surrounds the city wall should be repaired. That is of the greatest importance. They may manage to fill up the moat and cross it, but as long as the lower wall stands they cannot climb up, even if a breach was made in the main wall." "I will go round now with you," the wuzeer said, "and we will see where the worst places are." Angus accompanied them, and found that Pottinger's statement as to the weakness of the fortifications was well founded. From a distance the wall had looked imposing, for it was of considerable height and great thickness, but it was entirely constructed of dried mud, and heavy guns could effect a breach anywhere in the course of a day or two. It was evident that if the place was to hold out, it must depend upon the bravery of its troops and not upon the strength of its walls. For the next week the work went on incessantly. Every able-bodied man in the town was employed in the repairs of the wall and in cutting down trees, while the work of destroying grain and all kinds of necessaries which could not be brought into the town was performed by the troops. These were all Afghans, were in regular pay, and formed the fighting army of the ruler of Herat. Their discipline was at all times very lax, and the permission to destroy and burn, which naturally included looting everything of value for their own benefit, rendered them even less amenable to discipline than before. Eldred Pottinger, as far as he could venture, tried to induce the wuzeer to have the work executed in a more regular manner and under strict supervision by officers told off for the purpose, but Yar Mahomed viewed the matter with indifference. "What does it matter," he said, "whether the soldiers take things or not? It would be all the same to the owners whether they have them, or whether they are destroyed, or fall into the hands of the Persians. In a few days the enemy will be here, and it would be foolish to cause dissatisfaction among the soldiers over a matter of no consequence whatever." The country, indeed, was now deserted by all its inhabitants. Immense stores of food had been brought into the city, every unoccupied piece of ground between the city walls was crowded with cattle, sheep, and horses, and there was no fear that famine would for a very long period be a serious trouble to the besieged. Eldred Pottinger's time was principally occupied in seeing to the repair of the guns and their carriages. Without any definite rank having been given to him, it was understood that all his orders had the support of the wuzeer, and were to be obeyed as if they came directly from him, and that the young man with him was also an Englishman of some importance, and possessed similar powers. While Pottinger looked chiefly after the military work performed by the Afghans who had come into the town, Angus superintended that upon which the Sheeahs were engaged. These Persian-speaking people carried out his instructions cheerfully, because they were given in their own language, and were not accompanied by the contemptuous haughtiness and animosity which would have characterized the orders of an Afghan, the hostility between the two great religious sects of Islam being even greater than that entertained by both against the infidel. Pottinger had now taken up his abode at the house of Kajar, where there were several apartments unoccupied. As he did not speak Armenian, and knew but little Persian, Angus and he arranged to have a mess of their own, engaging a man recommended to them by the Armenian as a good cook. This had been rendered the more necessary, as the trader with whom Angus had first spoken had also moved with his wife to his brother's house. He had taken this step because he foresaw that as the siege went on the position of the Sheeahs would become more and more unbearable, and that the protection the presence of the two Englishmen could afford would be most valuable. Indeed Kajar, as soon as he saw that Angus had been favourably received by the wuzeer, had himself suggested that Pottinger might also be offered accommodation at his house. "There need be no further talk of payment, effendi, between us. Your presence here will be of vastly greater importance than any money you could give us. No one can say what will happen here. It is not only our property, but our lives which will be at stake; but with you as inmates here, no one would dare interfere with us, and we all regard the fact that you should almost accidentally have been brought here as a special blessing that has been sent from heaven to us." The young Englishmen thus strangely thrown together soon became fast friends, and it was pleasant indeed to them to enjoy their evenings together, after each had been engaged during the whole day at the duties they had undertaken. A couple of hours, however, were always spent by them, each in his own room. Pottinger engaged the services of a mollah, or priest of the Sheeah sect, to give him lessons in Persian, while Angus worked at Pushtoo with Kajar, who spoke the Afghan language perfectly. CHAPTER III THE SIEGE OF HERAT On 22nd of November, a fortnight after Angus arrived at Herat, the Persian army took up its position on the plain to the north-west of the city. The inhabitants crowded the walls to watch the advancing host--the Afghan portion of the population with scowling faces and muttered imprecations, the Sheeahs prudently abstaining from all demonstrations of their feelings, but filled with hopes of deliverance from their tyrants. Pottinger learned that the Afghan horse were going to make a sortie, and he and Angus went together to the north-west angle of the wall. "A good deal will depend upon this first fight," Pottinger said. "If the Persians easily repulse the assault, it will cause a deep depression among the Afghans. If, on the other hand, the Heratees obtain a fair amount of success, it will so encourage them that they will not fear another time to encounter the enemy, and will fight strongly when the walls are attacked." In a short time the Afghan horse were seen pouring out of the western gate. There was but small attempt at anything like military order. It was a mob of horsemen; individually splendid riders, and for skirmishing purposes unsurpassed, but, as Pottinger remarked to his companion, quite unfit to stand against a charge of regular cavalry equally endowed with courage. Keeping near the city wall until facing the Persian position, where a regiment of cavalry were hastily mounting, they wheeled round and rode against the enemy with loud shouts. The Persians rode to meet them, but were unable to withstand the impetuosity of the charge, and, amidst the exulting shouts of the Afghans on the wall, wheeled round and fled in disorder. The Afghans then turning, flung themselves upon a strong body of infantry that was advancing against them in good order. These, however, stood firm, emptying many saddles by a heavy volley they poured in when the Afghans were close, and presenting so steady a line of bayonets that the horsemen recoiled. As they did so, the Persian artillery opened upon the Afghans, who retired until near the wall, and then dismounted and opened fire with their long matchlocks upon the Persian gunners. Pottinger ran at once to a couple of guns close to where they were standing, and under his directions the Afghans in charge of them at once replied to the Persian guns. A number of the Afghan footmen ran out from the gate on that side, and, joining the dismounted men, kept up a hot fire, while those on the wall also joined in the conflict. As the Persian guns could effect little against the infantry lying in shelter, they were now directed against the wall, causing a rapid dispersal of the peaceable portion of the spectators. The effect of their fire showed at once the rottenness of the fortifications. Although but light guns, they knocked down portions of the parapet, which crumbled as if it had been made of rotten timber. Pottinger shook his head as he and Angus walked along to watch the effect of the fire. "If a six-pound shot can effect such damage as this, it is clear that when they get their siege guns to work a few hours will effect a breach in the wall itself." On their side the Persians also sent out skirmishers. These pushed forward to a point where they could take the Afghans in flank, and cause them to retire nearer to the walls. The fighting was continued until dark, when the Persians drew off, and the Afghans retired into the city. No material advantage had been gained by either side, but the Heratees were well content with the result. They had shown themselves superior to the Persian cavalry, and had maintained themselves against the infantry. The Persians lost no time, and during the night pushed forward and occupied all the gardens and enclosures on the west of the city, and placed a strong force among the ruins of a village there. In the morning they began to advance against the wall. The Afghans sallied out horse and foot; the cavalry, unable to act in such broken ground, moved round, and hanging on the flanks of the Persian camp, continually threatened an attack. The infantry, taking advantage of every wall and bush, maintained a heavy fire upon the enemy. The artillery on both sides opened fire, but at the end of the day neither party had gained any advantage. The Afghans brought in the heads of several whom they had killed, and a few prisoners. The heads were placed on pikes and exhibited on the walls. The prisoners were bartered as slaves in exchange for horses to the Turkomans, of whom a considerable party were encamped at a short distance from the walls. "It is horrible and disgusting," Pottinger said to his companion that evening as they sat together, "this custom of cutting off heads, but as it is, I believe, universal in the East, it would be worse than useless to protest against it. It is the custom always to reward a soldier for bringing in a head as a proof of his valour, though, in fact, it is no proof, as he may simply, as he advances, cut it from the body of a man shot by someone else. Putting aside the brutality, it operates badly, for instead of following up an advantage hotly, the men stop to collect these miserable trophies, and so give time to an enemy to escape or rally. I have read in the accounts of the campaigns of the Turkish conquerors that the heads were always brought in to the general and piled before his tent, and that each soldier was rewarded according to the number he brought in, and I fancy it was the same thing with Mohammedan conquerors in India. Well, I am afraid that we shall see a number of things that will disgust us before the siege is over. If I were fighting solely for the Heratees, I should certainly retire if they continue these barbarities. But I have no interest whatever in them; in fact, I see that the greater portion of the population would be benefited by living under the Persian rule. I go into this matter solely because it is one I consider of vital interest to England, and therefore, as an Englishman I am willing to do my utmost to keep, not the Persians, but the Russians from seizing this place." Angus had now completely caught the enthusiasm of the young artilleryman. He was perhaps less horrified than his companion, for he had seen so much of Eastern modes of punishment, that he had learned to regard them with less horror than that felt by Europeans unaccustomed to Oriental methods. "I have been accustomed to look on at acts of brutality," he said, "for from the time when I first came out, my father always impressed upon me that we were strangers in this part of the world, and must be very cautious not to show any aversion to its customs. It would lead us into endless trouble if we were to show in any way that what to them seems only natural, was to us revolting; and though I have often been tempted to interfere when I have seen some act of brutality, I have always followed my father's instructions, and walked away without showing any anger or disgust. I agree with you that it is horrid, but it is not like seeing living men tortured; at least, when one is dead it can make no great difference if one is buried with a head or without one." Pottinger laughed. "That is certainly one way of looking at it, and I can understand that as the custom has prevailed among these peoples for centuries they can scarcely understand our feelings of abhorrence and indignation. However, I am determined that, whatever I do or feel, I will keep my mouth shut, and not say a word that would anger the wuzeer and shake my influence with him. At present he is well disposed towards me, and I have been of real assistance to him. When things become critical I may be of vital service. From what Kajar says there is a strong suspicion that he is not personally brave, which I can quite believe, as very few thorough-paced brutes are. Now old Shah Kamran is, I must own, an exception; an absolutely greater scoundrel than he has proved himself to be probably never existed, but he is known to have been in his earlier days as brave as a lion. If he had been some twenty years younger I should have stronger hopes of eventual success than I have now. Personal bravery in a general is of no extraordinary advantage in a European army, where he is not expected to lead men into battle, but with irregular troops like these Heratees it is of vital importance. They will follow their leader anywhere, but if he sends them into danger while he himself remains at a distance, they lose their enthusiasm directly, and are half thrashed before the battle begins." "Do you not think that Kamran will be able at any important moment to come forward and show himself among the defenders of the breach? I hear that only a month or so ago he returned from a campaign." "I am afraid not. I have seen him twice, and although it cannot be said that he is an imbecile, he is next door to it. He understands what is going on, but his nerves are utterly shattered by drink; he is in what may be termed the lachrymose condition of drunkenness. He works himself into a state of childish passion; sometimes he raves, then he whimpers. Certainly his appearance would have no inspiring effect upon these rough Afghan soldiers. They want a man who would rush sword in hand at their head, call upon them to follow him, and then dash into the middle of the foe, and the miserable old man could scarcely hold a sword in his shaking hand." "Well, at any rate, the Afghans have fought bravely yesterday and to-day." "Excellently; but it is the work they are accustomed to. An Afghan battle consists of two sets of men snugly hidden away among the rocks, firing away at each other until one side loses a few men and then retires. So they were quite at home at their skirmishing work, and certainly more than a match for the same number of Persians. What they will do when an attack on a breach is made by a column remains to be seen." Night and day the Heratees worked at their defences, while the Persians raised batteries and fortified their camp against sudden attacks. After four or five days of comparative quiet a heavy cannonade broke out. Artillery played upon the walls, mortars threw shell into the town, and rockets whizzed overhead. For a time the consternation in the city was prodigious; the rockets especially, which were altogether new to them, appalled the inhabitants, who, as night came on, gathered on the roofs of their houses and watched with affright the sharp trains of light, and shuddered at the sound of the fiery missiles. The sound of lamentation, the cries of fear, and the prayers to Allah resounded over the city; but the panic abated somewhat when it was found that comparatively little injury was effected. But while the peaceful inhabitants wailed and prayed, the troops and the men who had come in from the Afghan villages laboured steadily and silently at the work of repairing the damages effected by the fire of the Persian batteries. But little could be done to the face of the wall, but the crumbling parapets and earth dug up from open spaces were used to construct a fresh wall behind the old one at points against which the Persian guns played most fiercely, so that when a breach was formed the assailants would find an unlooked-for obstacle to their entrance into the town. This work was directed by Pottinger, who took but little rest, remaining constantly at his post, and only snatching an hour's sleep now and then. Angus assisted to the best of his power, always taking his place when his comrade could no longer battle against sleep, and seeing that everything went on well. The Afghans yielded a willing obedience to the orders of these young strangers. They saw the utility of the work upon which they were engaged, and laboured well and steadily. The Persian artillery were, fortunately for the besieged, badly commanded. Instead of concentrating their fire upon one spot, in which case a breach would have been effected in a few hours, each gunner directed his aim as he thought best, and the shot which, if poured upon a single point, would have brought down the crumbling wall, effected no material damage, scattered as it was over a face a mile in length. It was all the less effective, inasmuch as the artillerymen generally aimed at the parapet of the wall instead of the solid portion below it. It was a delight to them to see a portion of the parapet knocked down by their shot, whereas when the wall itself was hit comparatively small show was made. Many of the shot flew high and passed over the town into the fields beyond it, and at the end of four days' almost continuous firing, Herat was stronger and more capable of resistance than it was when the Persians first appeared before the walls. The absence of any tangible result evidently lowered the spirits of the besiegers, while it proportionately raised those of the defenders. Moreover, the immense expenditure of projectiles by the Persians showed the Shah and his generals that, large as was the store of ammunition they had brought with them, it might prove insufficient, and the labour and time which would be entailed in renewing the supply from the magazines at the capital would be enormous. Consequently the fire became irregular, sometimes for an hour or two all the batteries would play, while at other times only a few guns would be discharged in the course of an hour. The shells that were thrown into the city did much more damage than the round shot of the batteries. Many houses were almost destroyed by them, and whole families killed. These, however, were for the most part peaceable Sheeahs, and the matter in no way affected the defenders of the wall, whose spirits rose daily as they perceived that the Persian artillery was by no means so formidable as they had anticipated. The Persians made no attempt to blockade the city, evidently fearing the sorties the defenders made, and confined their operations to that side of the city before which they were encamped. This was a great advantage to the besieged. Three out of the five gates of the city stood open, communications were maintained with the surrounding country, the cattle and other animals went out to graze, and firewood and other commodities passed freely into the town. Throughout December the Persians were harassed by nightly attacks. The working parties in their entrenchments were driven out, tools carried off, the workmen killed, and the work performed during the day destroyed, the assailants retiring before heavy masses of infantry could be brought up to repel them. Upon many days scarce a shot was fired, then for a few hours there would be a lively cannonade, but of the same scattered and wasteful fashion as before. On December 26th all the Persian prisoners who had been captured in the sorties were sent off for sale to the frontier of the Turkoman country. The Shah retaliated by putting to death in various cruel manners the Afghan prisoners who had fallen into his hands. Two days later a mine was sprung and a breach effected in the wall. The Persians advanced to storm it, but were met with the greatest resolution by the Heratees, who repulsed them with considerable loss, their leader being severely wounded, and a deserter from Herat, a man of high military reputation among the Afghans, killed--a fact that caused almost as much joy to the defenders as the repulse of the assault. The success, however, of the mine, and the knowledge that the Persians were engaged in driving several tunnels towards the wall, caused a considerable feeling of uneasiness. Nevertheless, the 30th, which was the day of the termination of the long Mohammedan fast, was celebrated with the usual rejoicings, which the besieged were enabled to take part in without fear of an attack, as the day was being celebrated with similar festivities in the Persian camp. Shah Kamran went with his family in procession to the principal mosque, and after the conclusion of the prayers usual to the occasion, observed the custom of scattering sweetmeats to be scrambled for by the priests. To their disappointment, however, he did not follow this up by inviting them to a banquet, but sent extra provisions to the troops and the workers on the walls. There was now a pause in active operations for more than three weeks. The Persians laboured at their mines, but either from ignorance of their work, or on account of the water flowing from the moat into their galleries, no damage resulted. The Heratees countermined under the advice of Pottinger, but beyond proving that the Persian galleries were not being driven where they expected, nothing came of it. But on the 26th of January the Afghans determined to give battle to the Persians in the open. Again the whole population gathered on the walls, and the two young Englishmen were also there. "The wuzeer asked me this morning whether I would go out with them," Pottinger said to Angus, "but I replied that, although acquainted with artillery and siege operations, I did not know enough of the Afghan way of fighting to accept even a small command in the field. I am useful here," he went on, "and I should be of no use whatever outside. The Afghans have their own ideas as to when to advance and when to retreat; besides, it might offend some of the leaders were I, a stranger, to interfere in any way. There is no jealousy of me at present, at least I think not. They know nothing of sieges, and there is no one who holds any special post in connection with the fortifications. No one therefore feels superseded. In the next place, the work is for the most part carried out by labourers, who get paid for their services, and not by the troops, and it is nothing to them whether they get their orders from an Englishman or an Afghan. In an attack on a breach I should certainly fight; in the first place, because I consider it my duty, and in the second, because, if the Persians get inside the walls, you may be sure that there will be something like a general massacre." The Afghan cavalry and infantry poured out from the gate, and spread themselves over the open country to the east of the Persian camp. The men on foot took possession of a village, and established themselves in its houses and the gardens surrounding it. From the wall a view could be obtained of the movements in the enemy's camp. The vedettes had fallen back as soon as the Afghans issued out, drums were beaten and horns sounded, the troops ran hastily together, and their general, Mahomed Khan, could be seen galloping about issuing orders. Presently a strong column moved out. It was headed by cavalry; and as soon as these made their appearance the Afghan horse galloped across the plain, while the crowd on the walls burst into shouts of encouragement, although the troops were too far off to hear them. "It is a pretty sight, Angus, but about as unlike modern warfare as could well be. European cavalry seeing a mob of horsemen coming down upon them in such disorder would ride at them, and no irregular horse could withstand the impact of a well-disciplined and compact cavalry charge. There, the Persians are forming line; but there is no smartness about it, it is done in a half-hearted sort of way, as if they did not like the business before them. There, they are off; but they are too slow, they won't be fairly in a gallop before the Afghans are upon them." For a minute or two the contending bodies were mixed in a confused mass, then the shouts of the spectators rose high as the Persians could be seen flying towards their infantry hotly pursued by the Afghans. Then came the rattle of musketry, the quick reports of cannon, as the infantry and artillery covered the retreat of their cavalry. Presently the Heratee horse were seen retiring from the village in which the struggle had taken place; another body, which had not yet been engaged, instead of riding forward to support them, also, turned, and for a time all rode off, while the Persian cavalry were reinforced from the camp and pursued them. The Heratees soon recovered themselves and again charged, but again the leading squadrons were badly supported by those behind. These were under another leader, who was probably influenced by jealousy or by tribal hostility, and the Persian horse, well supported by their infantry, gradually gained the advantage, their own infantry coming to the support. The Afghan footmen also advanced, and the fight was maintained during the whole day. "It is like playing at war," Pottinger said irritably; "except in that first charge they have never really come to blows. It is skirmishing rather than fighting. Here there are some ten or twelve thousand men, taking both sides, cavalry, infantry, and a few guns. I don't think that when our men come in again it will be found that they have lost a hundred, and I don't suppose the Persians have lost much more. It is a fair field for fighting, and between two European forces of the same strength a long day's battle would probably have caused three or four thousand casualties. One would think that neither party was in earnest. Certainly the Heratees are, though I don't suppose the Persian soldiers have any particular personal interest in the matter." The action was altogether indecisive, and at the end of the day the Persians held no ground beyond the village where their infantry first opened fire, while the Heratees had gained nothing by their sortie. When the Afghans re-entered the walls it was found that Pottinger's estimate as to the amount of loss was very near the truth; there were between twenty-five and thirty killed, and some four times as many wounded, more or less seriously. They of course claimed a victory, and were highly satisfied with their own doings, but the operations only tended to show that neither party had any eagerness for real fighting. On the 7th of February Pottinger said: "I have received permission to go into the Persian camp to-morrow. Kamran has given me a message on his part to the Persian king. It is an appeal to him to retire. He says that when Khorassan was in rebellion he refused the entreaties of its chief to aid them, although at that time he could have raised ten thousand horsemen, and might, with the rebels of Khorassan, have marched to Teheran. He had sent one of his highest officers to congratulate the Shah on his succession, and now the latter is without provocation marching against him. He prays him therefore to retire, to aid him with guns and men to recover the dominions he has lost in Afghanistan, and if he be successful he will hand over Herat to him. Yar Mahomed has also given me a message to the Persian minister, just the sort of message I should have expected from him. He declares that he is devoted to the Shah and to him, but that he is bound to stand by his master. That whatever might be his own wish, the Afghans would never surrender the city, and that he dare not propose such a thing to them, but that he shall ever remain the faithful servant of the Shah and of the minister whom he regards as his father. I will take you with me if you wish, but that must be a matter for your own consideration." "I should, of course, like to go," Angus said, "but I do not know that it would be wise for me to do so. Mr. M'Neill may be in the Persian camp. It is not probable that I should be recognized, still there must be many officials there who came frequently to see him at the embassy, and who would know me. Should one of these declare that I was a member of the mission, it might create a very bad impression against M'Neill, as it would seem that he was in secret communication with Kamran." "That is just what I was thinking," Pottinger said, "and I must say that I agree with you. It certainly would be awkward for him if it were known that one of his suite was in Herat. Yes, I think it would be better that you should not go. We shall certainly be the centre of curiosity while we are in the camp, and there would be no possibility of private communications between you and M'Neill. But should I see him have you any message for him? I think we have agreed that when this business is over it will be much better for you to go with me back to India than to return to Teheran." "Yes, I have quite settled that," Angus said. "With the kind offer you have made to present me to your uncle I should think that the prospect of my obtaining advancement there is very much greater than it is in Persia, where I might be left altogether in the lurch if M'Neill were recalled. I shall be obliged, therefore, if you will tell him of my intention, and thank him for me very heartily for his kindness. He will, I am sure, approve of the step, for he has several times told me that he was sorry he could see no chance of my obtaining more than a clerkship at the mission, and advised me on no account to think of remaining there if I could see my way to doing better for myself." "I will be sure to give M'Neill the message if I see him but I don't expect to be long in the camp. I am charged with such a ridiculous message that there is no likelihood of any discussion taking place. The minister will, of course, scoff at Yar Mahomed's declarations of respect for the Shah and affection for himself, and the Shah, after taking the trouble to collect an army and come here himself, is not likely to retire at the request of Kamran. My real hope in going is that I may find a British officer with the Persians. There is almost certain to be one, as the Russians have, it is said, several. Through him I may send messages to friends at home and to my uncle in Scinde. They must all begin to feel anxious about me." Angus saw his companion ride out the next morning with some anxiety as to his reception, but with no particular regret that he did not accompany him. He had often been in the encampments of the Persian troops before the army left Teheran, and there would therefore be nothing new to him in the scene. Pottinger as usual wore the dress of an Afghan of some standing, and was accompanied only by one mounted attendant and a runner to hold his horse. A small party of Afghans rode with him for some distance beyond the walls, and then, shouting good wishes for his return in safety, left him. Angus continued to watch the men at their work for two or three hours, and then took his place on the walls again and watched for his comrade's return. It was not, however, till the 10th that he came back to Herat. On the previous day he was prevented from returning by a violent storm which raged from morning till night, and considerable anxiety was felt in the town. That he had gone on a mission from Kamran was generally known, but none save the Shah and his wuzeer were aware of its nature. Angus was much alarmed, as he thought it too probable that his friend had been shot by the Persian outposts as soon as he arrived among them, for there was nothing to show that he came as an envoy. He was therefore greatly relieved when a native brought the news to him that the Englishman was returning. As the news spread it caused great excitement. When Pottinger rode in at the gate a great crowd had assembled there, and all thronged round him asking for information. He replied that they must enquire of the wuzeer, who alone could deliver it. As he saw Angus in the crowd he shouted to him, "As I expected, nothing has come of it; meet me at the house." An hour later Pottinger arrived there. "I was getting very anxious about you," Angus said, "and was beginning to fear that you had been shot by the Persian outposts." "I was a little uncomfortable myself, and I kept a good look-out, as you may suppose. The roads led through those ruined villages, and at any moment I might have a bullet whizzing about my ears. Presently I saw some Persian soldiers running towards the road, and I told my man to take off his turban and wave it to show that our intentions were peaceable. When they perceived this they came straggling up. I told them that I was an English officer, and the bearer of messages to the Shah and his minister. They seemed delighted, chiefly perhaps from the fact of my being an Englishman, but also because they hoped that I had come with an offer of surrender. However, they shouted 'Welcome, welcome! the English were always friends of the Shah.' The officer who commanded the picket turned out to be a major who had served under Major Hart, and who knew all the English officers who had of late years been in Persia. He took me to the major-general commanding the attack, who turned out to be a Russian in the Persian service commanding a corps of Russians--men who had left their own country for doubtless good reasons. At any rate, he received me courteously. We had tea, and smoked a pipe together, and he then sent me on with an escort to the Persian camp. [Illustration: AFGHANISTAN AND NORTH WEST FRONTIER OF INDIA] "The news that someone had come in from Herat to arrange terms for its submission having preceded me, almost the whole camp came out to see me, and if my escort had not used their iron ramrods most vigorously upon the heads and shoulders of the crowd I should never have got through. When I reached the minister's tent he received me graciously, but we did not enter into business; it was necessary that the Shah should first decide whether he would receive me. "I had learned from the Russian general that Colonel Stoddart was in camp. As it was known before I left India that he would accompany the Persians I had letters for him, and received permission to go to his tent to deliver them. His astonishment at finding that I was a British officer was, as you may imagine, great. However, I had but little time to talk, for in a few minutes a message came that I was to go back at once to the minister, or, as he is called there as well as here, the wuzeer. Stoddart accompanied me. The Persian asked me what were the messages that, as he had been informed, Kamran and Yar Mahomed had sent to the Shah and himself. I told him that I could only deliver Kamran's message to the Shah, and that I thought his own message had better be given him privately. "The wuzeer, who is a bilious and excitable little man, sent everyone out from the tent but Stoddart and myself, and I then delivered the message. We had a long discussion. The wuzeer declared that the English themselves had put down Herat as forming part of the Persian dominions in the map that Burnes had made. I said that I thought not. He produced the map to convince me, but to the little man's intense disgust he found that he was altogether wrong. He then appealed to Stoddart. The latter, as our military representative at the Shah's court, replied diplomatically that he had no instructions on the subject, and would refer the case to the envoy at Teheran. (M'Neill, by the by, has not yet reached the camp.) Stoddart said that he was not aware that the Persian government had annexed Herat, as its ruler had, both with the British government and the late Shah, been acknowledged as sovereign in Afghanistan; so, as I expected, nothing came of the interview. We went back to Stoddart's tent, and shortly afterwards were sent for by the Shah. He received us with courtesy, and I delivered Kamran's message. "The Shah replied, speaking with dignity and calmness, and stating his complaints against Kamran, that he had permitted his soldiers constantly to make incursions into Persian dominions, robbing and slaying, and carrying off Persian subjects to sell as slaves; then gradually warming up as he recited a number of such forays and depredations, he denounced Kamran as a treacherous liar, and said that he would not rest satisfied until he had planted a Persian garrison in the city of Herat. Of course there was nothing more to be said. We were formally, though courteously, dismissed, and I went back with Stoddart to his tent, where I remained till this morning. I was by no means sorry that the tremendous storm yesterday afforded an excuse for stopping, and I enjoyed my day of quiet talk with Stoddart immensely. "He thinks that if the Persians do but make an attack with all their strength the town must be taken, in which I entirely agree with him. He said, however, that, as the slackness of their fire for some time past has shown, the Persians are heartily sick of the business, and if the Shah had some really good excuse for retiring he would gladly do so. I said that the best excuse would be some strong action on the part of our government. He replied that he had himself urged this upon M'Neill, and that the envoy had already written urgently home in that sense. Of course I told him of your being there. He had already heard from M'Neill that he had sent you here to encourage Kamran to hold out. He asked a good deal about you, and quite agreed with me that with your knowledge of languages--and I told him that in the three months during which you had been here you had already learned enough Pushtoo to converse in it freely--you would be sure to get an appointment in India, as it was extremely probable that an army would shortly be sent into Afghanistan to support Shah Soojah against Dost Mahomed, especially as the latter had received Vickovich, an aide-de-camp to the governor of Orenburg, as an envoy at Cabul. "Of course I had heard about the intention of supporting Dost Mahomed before I started. I know that my uncle and Mr. Burnes, who is our agent at Cabul, are both strongly opposed to this. Dost Mahomed has always defeated Shah Soojah, he is firmly established on his throne, and Burnes believes that he is very well disposed towards us. However, that is not our affair; but if there should be such an expedition it much increases your chance of obtaining an official post. I took the opportunity to write to my uncle and to send my report to the Indian government, and in both cases I stated that I had received the most valuable assistance from a young gentleman who was temporarily attached to the mission at Teheran, and who, speaking as he did, Persian, Pushtoo, and Arabic, would, I considered, be of great service should any difficulties arise with Afghanistan. I said that I had seized the opportunity of recommending you, as it was possible that I myself might fall in the defence of Herat." "It was awfully kind of you, Pottinger, and I am extremely obliged to you." "I felt that I was acting in the interest of the Indian government as well as of yourself. The siege may last for another month yet, and by the end of that time you will be able to pass as easily as an Afghan as you now can as a Persian, and may be invaluable; for as we have as yet had very little contact with Afghanistan there are not, I should say, half a dozen officers in our service who can speak Pushtoo--probably not one who could do so well enough to pass as a native. I myself knew but little of it when I started, so my disguise was that of a Cutch horse-dealer, and I passed through Afghanistan as a native of India. Even now I do not speak Pushtoo as well as you do, having devoted myself to Persian, while you have been working at Afghan. For your sake I hope that the siege may last for some time yet, as it may be a great advantage to you when you apply for an official post to be able to say that you can pass anywhere as a native." CHAPTER IV A STURDY DEFENCE Pottinger's belief that the Shah was anxious to bring the war to a conclusion was confirmed by the arrival of the major he had met when going into the Persian camp, with instructions from the Russian general, endorsed by the minister, to endeavour to persuade the Afghans to consent to the terms offered by the Shah. It was better, he urged, for them to settle their differences among themselves than to employ mediation. He warned them that as the English had come to India under the pretence of trading, and had finally conquered the whole country, they should on no account be trusted. He assured them that the Shah had no desire to interfere in the internal administration of Herat, the present movement was not an expedition against Herat but against Hindostan, and that all true Mohammedans should join the Shah's army, and that he would lead them to the conquest and plunder of all India and Turkestan. Pottinger was sent for privately, and consulted by the Kamran and the wuzeer as to what answer should be sent. His advice was taken, and the next day the envoy returned to his camp with vague assurances of regard, and the suggestion that if the Persians were really inclined for peace, the best proof that they could give of the sincerity of their inclination would be the retirement of the besieging force. There was much excitement in the city when the proposals brought by the Persian officer became known, and many of the older men began to argue that it did not matter much whether Kamran was called prince or king, or whether the supremacy of the Persian Shah was or was not acknowledged in Herat, as long as no Persian garrison was placed in the city. The wuzeer, however, remained firm. He declared that he had no confidence in the Persians, that he desired to be guided by the advice and be aided by the mediation of the English, and that if the Shah would place the conduct of negotiations in the hands of Colonel Stoddart, he on his part would trust everything to Lieutenant Pottinger, and would accept whatever was decided upon by the two English officers. "That was his own decision, and not mine," Pottinger said, when he returned from an interview with the wuzeer. "There is no doubt that, ruffian as he is in many respects, he is a clever man. You see, he shifts all the responsibility for the continuance of the war off his shoulders on to those of the Persians, for their refusal to accept the decision of the British officer in their camp will convince the Afghans that the Persians will be satisfied with nothing but their destruction." Two days later the Persian officer returned to Herat with a letter stating that the Shah had no desire to possess himself of the town, but only claimed that his sovereignty should be acknowledged. The answer was the same as before. Kamran was willing to do all that was required if the Persian army would but retire. The negotiations were carried on for a day or two longer, but though both parties desired peace, the one would not surrender, the other would not retire and acknowledge failure. Hostilities, therefore, continued without intermission, and a fortnight later the Persians gained possession of a fortified place three hundred yards from the north-east angle of the wall. The Afghans stationed there had made but a poor resistance, and upon entering the town their faces were smeared with mud, and they were sent through the city accompanied by a crier who proclaimed their cowardice. A month passed without any incident of importance, and at the end of that time M'Neill arrived at the Persian camp. Every effort had been made to hinder him on his way from Teheran, and he was at first coldly received. A week later he had an audience with the Shah, and stated to him that the attack upon Herat was an obvious violation of the treaty between Great Britain and Herat, and the British government would therefore be justified in taking active measures to enforce its terms. The Shah upon this consented to accept the British mediation. Three days later, however, the Persians made a serious attack. Some new batteries opened against the ramparts near the great mosque. Their fire was this time concentrated, and the wall crumbled so rapidly that by the evening a practicable breach had been made. The Afghans, however, did not lose heart, declaring that they trusted to themselves, and not to their walls, to defend the city. They had, indeed, gained an advantage in the middle of the day. They blew in a mine that had been carried almost up to the wall, and taking advantage of the alarm caused by the explosion rushed out and furiously attacked the besiegers, carrying the trenches for some distance before a strong Persian force came up and drove them back again. So heavy a fire was then opened from the trenches on the musketeers on the walls, that these were completely overpowered, and were unable to show a head above the parapets. As evening came on the Persians shouted that an English officer wished to enter the town, but the wuzeer shouted back that no one would be allowed to enter at that hour. The next day Major Todd, who was attached to the embassy, entered the town. He was in full regimentals, and his appearance excited the most lively admiration of the populace. He announced that the Shah was ready to accept the mediation of the British government. He was received with the greatest courtesy by Shah Kamran, who after the interview took a cloak from his own shoulders and sent it by the wuzeer to Major Todd, who returned to the Persian camp with the assurance of Kamran's desire to accept the mediation of the British minister. But though apparently both parties had at last arrived at an understanding, that evening the aspect of affairs became more warlike than ever. The Persian trenches were filled with men, the bodies of horse and foot on the line of investment were strengthened, and there were all appearances that an assault would be made that evening; and the Afghan chiefs were called together and each had his post assigned to him. But scarcely had they separated when Mr. M'Neill himself arrived. He was conducted at once to Kamran's palace, and the greater part of the night was spent in discussion. It was nearly dawn when the minister accompanied Pottinger to the latter's residence. As he had arranged when he arrived that he would sleep at Pottinger's, a room had been prepared for him, Angus sat up for several hours, but then feeling sure that the minister would at once retire to bed on his return, had lain down. When he awoke it was half-past six, and dressing hastily he went into the sitting-room that he shared with Pottinger, and to his surprise found Mr. M'Neill writing there. The minister greeted him cordially. "I heard all about you from Colonel Stoddart, and approve highly of your remaining here to give Pottinger what aid you can during the siege. I also think that you have done very wisely in determining, as Pottinger told Stoddart you had done, to go to India. I myself will write to the English government saying what you have done, how intelligently you carried on your work at the mission, and recommending you for an appointment on the northern frontier either with the army or the resident at Scinde, or perhaps better still, with Mr. Burnes at Cabul." At this moment Pottinger entered the room, and he was as surprised as Angus had been at seeing the minister at work after only a couple of hours in bed. There was another meeting with Kamran, who placed himself entirely in the hands of the British envoy, and said that he would gladly consent to any terms agreed upon by him. At the conclusion of the meeting Mr. M'Neill returned at once to the Persian camp. To the disappointment of all, Major Todd rode in two days later with the surprising news that the Shah had entirely changed his attitude, and absolutely refused to submit the dispute to British arbitration, and that unless the whole people of Herat acknowledged themselves his subjects, he would take possession of the city by force of arms. This sudden change was the result of the arrival of the Russian representative, Count Symonwich, on the morning of the day of M'Neill's visit to the city. The Russian party at once became ascendant. He himself took the conduct of the operations of the siege, the officers with him taught the Persian soldiers how to construct batteries, and Russian money was freely distributed among them. Pottinger's task of explaining to Kamran the news brought by Major Todd was an unpleasant one; but the old man took the news quietly, and said that he never expected anything else, for the Persians had always been noted for their treachery and want of faith. The news, however, caused great discouragement in the town, and it was determined at a meeting of the chiefs that they would send to the Russian ambassador and place themselves under the protection of his master. Meeting after meeting was held, at all of which Pottinger was present. Sometimes he was received and listened to with respect, and other times he was treated with marked discourtesy. The influence of Mr. M'Neill at the Persian court declined rapidly, while that of the Russians became supreme. For some months past he had failed to obtain any satisfaction for matters of serious complaint. As far back as October a courier bearing despatches from Colonel Stoddart to him at Teheran had been seized by a Russian officer, stripped and imprisoned by the Persians, and his despatches taken from him. The British resident in the Persian Gulf had been grossly insulted by the governor of Bushire, and the Persian government had continued to evade its obligations under the commercial treaty between the two nations. So marked was the indignity with which M'Neill was now treated in the Persian camp, that on the 7th of June he left it with Colonel Stoddart and all his suite and attendants, a step equivalent to a rupture of the relations between Great Britain and Persia. In the meantime the pressure of famine and sickness became more and more intense in Herat. The city was altogether without drainage, and the stench from the bodies of those who had died or been killed, and of the dead animals, was dreadful. But although much depressed, the courage of the Afghans still sustained them, and when on the 13th of June the Persians surprised the outer works, they held the connecting passage and defended it until assistance came, when the garrison poured out, rushed down the slope, and dislodged the assailants with much slaughter. Another attempt on the same day at a fresh point was equally unsuccessful, and the storming party were twice repulsed. Pottinger was now armed with an authority that he had not before possessed, for he had been appointed by M'Neill British envoy at Herat. The news of the departure of the embassy, and Pottinger's assurances that this was a prelude to war between England and Persia, had but little effect. It was certain that the city could not possibly hold out many weeks, and it might be months before the arrival of a British fleet and army could influence the Persians. Happily, however, Lord Auckland, Governor-General of India, had not waited for instructions from home, but at the news of the investment of Herat, and the outrage upon our resident in the Persian Gulf, had begun to take steps early in the spring; and on the 4th of June two transports and some vessels of war left Bombay harbour with detachments of two British regiments and a marine battalion, and on the 19th anchored off the island of Karrack in the Persian Gulf. Upon the 24th of June Herat went through the most terrible experience of the siege. At daybreak a heavy fire opened from the Persian batteries on all four sides of the city. It ceased suddenly after a time. Pottinger, who was at breakfast, exclaimed to Angus, as he leapt up from his seat: "They are going to assault; the batteries have done their work. Quick, to the wall!" Warning the soldiers they came upon as they ran, they made their way to the wall. Just as they arrived there another gun was fired, and at the signal the batteries on all sides again broke into life. A storm of rockets carried dismay into the town, the mortars dropped their shells into it, and most conclusive of all, a rattle of musketry broke out, growing every moment in power. Against five points was the assault directed. That on the gate of Candahar was repulsed, and the enemy chased back to their trenches. That upon the south-west angle was but a feint, and was never pushed home against the western gate. The Russian regiment under Sampson, and a strong force under a Persian officer, pressed up to the breach; but the Persian was killed and Sampson carried off wounded, and the troops fled after suffering immense loss. The attack on the north-western face was similarly repulsed, but the fifth contest was desperate. The storming party gained the _fausse braye_. The Afghans defending it fought desperately, and all fell at their post. The storming party rushed up the slope. The officers and leading men were mown down by a heavy musketry fire, but after a fierce struggle the upper _fausse braye_ was carried, and some of the assailants gained the head of the breach. But now the Afghan reserves were brought up, and the Persians on the breach were driven back. Again and again, the Persians fighting this time with desperate courage, struggled to effect a lodgment, only to be repulsed, and fell back in confusion on their comrades behind. For a long time the issue was doubtful; a desperate hand-to-hand conflict raged, the assailants and defenders swayed up and down the breach, which was covered with corpses and slippery with blood. Yar Mahomed arrived almost at the same time as Pottinger and Angus, for these, before coming here, had seen that all was going well at the other points attacked. They had observed as they came along men leaving the breach by twos and threes under pretence of assisting wounded comrades, and Pottinger saw to his dismay that the men were losing heart. As they came to the breach they found other soldiers coming up. The wuzeer was sitting down close by. Pottinger ran up to him. "You must encourage your men, wuzeer; go forward and join them, or all will be lost." The Afghan scarcely seemed to hear what he said. "You must come," Pottinger repeated loudly; "there is no time to be lost." Then he turned to Angus: "Do what you can," he said. "I must rouse the wuzeer; evidently his nerves have suddenly given way." Glad at last to be free to join in the struggle, Angus drew his sword and ran down, thrusting back those who were mounting, and pushed his way forward to the front, shouting in Pushtoo: "Fight, men! fight for your faith, your wives, and your children! Everything is going on well elsewhere. Are you alone going to fail?" The bearded Afghans, astonished at seeing this young Englishman rushing forward in advance of them, followed him, and again the Persians were beaten back. But although the Afghans in front had been animated by the lad's example, those behind were still dropping off. The wuzeer, aroused by the vigorous exhortations of Pottinger, had risen up and neared the breach. The Persians were renewing their attack, and the wuzeer called upon his men to fight. The fugitives paused irresolute. The wuzeer's heart failed him again, and he turned back, his action still further discouraging the men. Pottinger, in the most vehement language, exhorted him to set an example. Again he turned and advanced, but again shrank back. Pottinger now instead of entreating reviled and threatened him, called him opprobrious names, and at last, seizing him by his arm, dragged him forward to the breach. This astounding treatment maddened the Afghan. He shouted to the soldiers to fight, and as they continued to fall back, seized a large staff, and, rushing like a madman upon the soldiers, drove them forward again with a shower of heavy blows, while Pottinger sword in hand seconded him. Cooped up as they were, and seeing no other outlet of escape, many of them leapt wildly down over the parapet, rushed down the slope, and fell upon the Persian stormers. Believing that great reinforcements must have arrived, these were seized by a panic, abandoned their position, and fled. Herat was saved entirely by the energy and courage of the young English lieutenant. Pottinger's first question was as to his companion. He had, while urging the wuzeer to advance, caught sight of him fighting desperately in the midst of the Persians, and he at once made his way down to that spot. He was not long in discovering Angus, who was lying insensible, bleeding from a number of sabre wounds. Calling four Afghans, he ordered him to be carried on to the wall. There he bandaged his wounds, and then had him placed on a stretcher and carried to their lodging, taking on himself to send an order to the wuzeer's own medical attendant to go there at once and attend to his wounds. Then he turned his attention to the wuzeer. The mind of the minister had been almost unhinged by the terrible events, and he was still wandering about in a confused and bewildered way. Several of the other chiefs were similarly affected, and were unable for days afterwards to perform their usual duties. The soldiers themselves, instead of being excited over their victory, were as gloomy and depressed as if they had suffered a defeat. The peril had been so great, the city had been so nearly lost, that there was a general feeling that another such attack would be successful. Their confidence hitherto had rested upon the wuzeer, and on the conviction that their courage was infinitely greater than that of the Persians, and they had found that the Persians could now fight as well and stoutly as they themselves. They were humiliated by knowing that it was to a young English officer they owed it that the Persians had failed in their object, and that another young Englishman, scarce more than a boy, had led their best and bravest into the thick of the fray, and had himself penetrated beyond them into the midst of the Persians and had fallen there. None appreciate bravery more than do the Afghans. It was not so much that Pottinger had exposed himself recklessly to the shower of bullets with which the Persians in their trenches swept the spot where he was standing with the wuzeer, but that he should have ventured to abuse, revile, and even forcibly drag their dreaded leader forward astounded them. All Herat felt that it was he who had saved the city, and the fame of the deed spread through the country round, and men when they came in sought him out and kissed his hand with enthusiasm. A deep gloom, however, hung over the city. Even the work of repairing the damaged fortifications was carried on apathetically. They had repulsed the Persians, but it was felt that nothing but a miracle could enable them to withstand another such assault. Food was all but exhausted, the treasury was empty, the inhabitants could not be fed, the soldiers could not be paid. But an equal amount of depression was felt in the Persian camp. Five assaults had all failed, and some eighteen hundred of their best troops had fallen. The loss of officers had been enormous; the Russian general, Berowski, had been killed, and two of the principal Persian generals. Another Russian general, Sampson, and two pashas had been wounded, and almost all the field officers of the regiments engaged in the attack were hors de combat. Pottinger's position was a very painful one. The need for money to pay the troops was absolute, and the wuzeer, when he had recovered from the effects of his scare, instituted a reign of terror even more terrible than anything the wretched inhabitants had ever before felt. The soldiers went from house to house, and all suspected of possessing money were seized and tortured. Even ladies of rank were so treated, and the very inmates of Kamran's zenana were threatened and had to contribute their jewels. Pottinger felt that it was solely owing to his influence that the city had so long held out, and as he went through the streets starving men reproached him as the author of their sufferings. He did all that he could, but that was little. Men of all ranks came to him imploring his aid and protection. Some he was able to save, but for others he could do nothing. Never was a young soldier placed in so terrible a dilemma. As a man he was agonized by the sufferings he saw round him--sufferings he could at once bring to an end by advising the wuzeer to surrender: as a soldier and an Englishman, he felt that it was his duty to hold out to the bitter end. His position became still more difficult when, a fortnight after the assault, the Persians again opened negotiations, demanding, however, as a first step that he should be expelled from the city. Pottinger declared that no thought of personal safety should persuade him to stand in the way of any arrangement conducive to the safety of Herat and the welfare of his country, and that if these could be gained by his departure he would willingly leave the town. But Yar Mahomed was undecided. He felt that the dismissal of the man who had saved Herat would be a stain on his character, and, moreover, that the Persians having obtained his dismissal, would become still more exorbitant in their demands. He had long expected the arrival of a relieving force of Turkomans, and Pottinger was convinced that ere long the intervention of England would compel the Persians to fall back. The bombardment of the city had not been renewed since the repulse of the attack, and the Persians relied now solely upon famine to reduce it, and maintained a strict blockade. In order to mitigate the horrors he saw around him, Pottinger undertook that all who voluntarily brought in their money should be reimbursed at his recommendation by the British government. This brought some money in, though slowly, and July passed. Then a deserter from the Persian camp brought in news that there was a report that a great British army had landed in the Persian Gulf, had taken Bushire, and was advancing. This report had fortunately enormously magnified the strength of the British expedition, and the news gave fresh life to the defenders of Herat. The Persians again opened negotiations, waiving the question of the expulsion of Pottinger, but the wuzeer was less inclined than before to yield to the Persian demands. M'Neill was on his way to the frontier when he was informed of the arrival of the British expedition to the Persian Gulf, and at the same time received instructions from the Foreign Office in anticipation of the refusal of the Shah to retire from before Herat. Fortified by these instructions, he despatched Colonel Stoddart to the Persian camp with a message to the Shah. He arrived there on the 11th of August, and on the next day had an interview with the Shah, who welcomed him with cordiality, and listened to the message from the British government. "It means, then," he said, "that if I do not leave Herat there will be war?" "It all depends upon your Majesty's answer," Stoddart replied. Two days later Stoddart was again summoned to the royal presence. "We consent," the Shah said, "to the whole of the demands from the British government. We will not go to war. Were it not for the sake of their friendship, we should not return from before Herat. Had we known that by our coming here we should risk the loss of their friendship, we certainly should not have come at all." In reply, Colonel Stoddart said he thanked God that his Majesty had taken so wise a view of the real interests of Persia. But as he left the audience, he hinted to the Persian minister that although the Shah's answer was very satisfactory, it would be more satisfactory still to see it at once reduced to practice. Although rumours reached the city that the Persians were about to leave, it was not for another week that the rumours became a certainty. An effort was made to induce the wuzeer to make some concessions that would give a better grace to the withdrawal of the Shah. Some of the conditions suggested were refused by Pottinger's advice; but on the 4th of September the Persian prisoners in the town were sent into camp, and on the 9th the Persian army began their march back to Teheran. It was time indeed that they did so, for they had but three or four days' supply of forage remaining, and their flour and grain were almost all exhausted. Their failure to capture so weakly fortified a place was, in Pottinger's opinion, due to the fact that there was no union of effort. The commanders of the various sections of the army acted independently, and except when, under the command of the Russians, they made a simultaneous attack, they never acted in concert with each other. It was his opinion that the Shah might have carried the city by assault the very first day that he reached Herat. He declared that the Persians were equally as brave as and far better soldiers than the Afghans, and that they had an ample supply of artillery to capture a strong fortress if properly employed. For a week after the struggle of the 24th of June Angus Campbell lay between life and death. He had lost a great quantity of blood, and when first carried to his room his Armenian friends believed him to be dead. Pottinger, who had hurried back as soon as he saw that there was no chance of a renewal of the assault, went to Kamran's and obtained some spirits, and with the aid of these the action of the heart, which had before been so slight that the pulse could not be felt, was stimulated, and respiration grew stronger. Kamran's doctor had already declared that none of the wounds were in themselves dangerous, but that he despaired of the patient recovering. Pottinger, however, by no means despaired; he procured some fresh meat, and ordered a servant to make the strongest broth possible, and to pour a spoonful between the patient's lips every few minutes. Angus was wrapped in warm blankets, and a large bottle of hot water placed against his feet. The wounds had already been carefully dressed and bandaged by the surgeon, for although almost entirely ignorant as to the use of drugs, Afghan doctors had abundant practice in the treatment of wounds. Pottinger remained two or three hours, and then, seeing that Angus was breathing regularly though feebly, and that the pulse could now be felt at the wrist, hurried off to see that the work of repairing the breach had been taken in hand, Kajar's wife undertaking to look after the patient. For a week the issue of the struggle was doubtful; then the improvement, although slow, was distinct, and day by day some slight advance was made. The ladies of Kamran's zenana were much interested in the young Englishman, and frequently sent down presents of fruit and perfumes. Both were welcome. The air of Herat was very unfavourable to wounds, but a little scent sprinkled on a muslin curtain drawn across the window to some extent neutralized the terrible stenches of the town, and a handkerchief steeped in water to which a little of the perfume had been added, was laid lightly over the bandages. In three weeks Angus was able to sit up for a time, and a week later he walked across the room. His progress was now more rapid, and by the end of July he was able to sit on a donkey as far as the city wall, where he could breathe a purer air than that of the city, and by the end of August he could walk freely about the town. But he was listless and without energy. It was now certain that in a very short time the Persians would draw off. "You must be out of this as soon as you can, Angus," Pottinger said to him one evening. "What you want is some mountain air. You will never get better as long as you remain in this pestilential atmosphere. It is enough to kill a healthy dog, and I only wonder that the whole population has not been swept away. When M'Neill was here, he told me that if our people interfered and Herat was saved he should appoint me officially as the British resident envoy. He said that he was sure the British government would send money and do all that was possible to alleviate the misery that has been suffered by the inhabitants; and although I would infinitely rather have other employment, it seems to me that it is clearly my duty to stay here. It is largely owing to me that these poor people have suffered for ten months the horrors of the siege, and the least I can do is to help them now, for if I did not you may be sure that any money sent by England would simply remain in the coffers of Kamran and the wuzeer. It is said, and I quite believe it, that a large proportion of the money wrung by torture from these wretched people has been retained by Yar Mahomed. It is therefore absolutely necessary, if the people are to be fed, their houses rebuilt, and matters tided over till trade recovers, that a British officer be here to receive and superintend the distribution of British money. But the very day the gate is open you had better be off. You speak Afghan now perfectly, and I am glad to see that Azim has picked it up too. He is a capital fellow, and has watched over you since you have been ill as if you had been his father. The question is, do you feel strong enough to travel through the mountains? If not, there is nothing for it but for you to return to Teheran and stay there till your strength is restored." Angus shook his head. "I don't think that I could stand the journey across the plains," he said, "nor that I should pick up much at Teheran, while I believe that in the hills I should soon get braced up. There is nothing really the matter with me now, except that I feel lazy. If there had been fighting going on, and there was something I must do, I should soon shake it off; but what with the sight of the misery of the people here, and the stinks, and the heat, I feel myself that I am making no progress. I believe I shall be a different man as soon as I am once out of this place and on my way to the hills. It will soon be getting cold up there, and in a fortnight I shall be fit for anything." "I think you are right, Angus; I would give a good deal myself for a few hours in the fresh mountain air. I do think that you are strong enough to travel quietly. Of course you will have to do so, as I did, in disguise; and indeed this will be much more necessary now than it was a year ago. It is well known that the chiefs at Candahar have been long negotiating with Persia, and have offered to place themselves under the Shah's protection, and that, encouraged and pushed on by Russia, they have meditated an invasion of India. The news of the failure here will no doubt moderate their ardour, but from all that has been learned from Afghans who have come into the town during the siege, there is throughout the whole country a feeling of deep excitement at the prospect of another Mohammedan invasion of India, and a conviction that the whole country would rise and join the Persians were they to advance to Candahar. "The Afghans consider that Russian influence really means Persian influence, whereas we know that it is just the other way, and that Russia only uses Persia as her cat's-paw. As for the Persians, we know now what they are worth, and that a British division would be sufficient to smash them up. But the Afghans don't know that. They believe that Persia is the Persia of old, and that with her aid they could assuredly drive the British out of India. This being the state of feeling, your chance of getting through were it discovered that you were British would be small indeed. You must pass as a Persian who, having long traded with Herat, has learnt the Afghan language. It would be a natural story that, finding that Herat is ruined, and that there can be no trade between it and Persia for a long time, you are travelling south with the intention of fixing yourself at Candahar, and of trading between that town and India on the one side and Persia on the other. You can account for your not having merchandise with you by saying that owing to the presence of the Persian army, and marauders from Herat, and the general disturbance of the country, it would not have been safe to travel with merchandise." "I will certainly carry out your plan," Angus said. "I don't think there will be any difficulty in getting through. But I do wish that you were coming with me." "I hope it will not be very long before I follow you, for I think there will be some stirring work there soon." Angus was well provided with money. He had received from Mr. M'Neill a sum that would not only cover all the expenses of his journey to Herat, but would enable him either to return to Teheran or proceed to India, as circumstances might determine. In addition to this, he had received a year's salary in recognition of the risk he incurred. He had this sum still in his possession. The money he had brought from Tabriz he had left at the embassy, Mr. M'Neill promising to send an order for the amount should he write for it from India. CHAPTER V IN CANDAHAR On the 15th of September Angus started, after a tearful farewell from his Armenian friends. Their gratitude to him and Pottinger was unbounded. The presence and influence of their two English guests had preserved them from the rapacity and cruelty of the wuzeer, while all other merchants and traders in the town had been maltreated and robbed, and in many cases had died under the tortures inflicted to wring from them treasures it was believed they possessed. Kajar and his brother and their families alone enjoyed an immunity from persecution. Both had determined that they would leave Herat, and taking with them their workmen, establish themselves at Teheran or Tabriz, where the profit of their work might be less, but they would at least be able to enjoy it in security, such as could never be hoped for as long as Yar Mahomed was the virtual ruler of Herat. The period that had elapsed since Angus left Teheran had changed him much. He was no longer a boy, for he had been doing man's work. He was now nearly eighteen years old, and had attained his full height of nearly six feet. His illness had pulled him down much, and sharpened his features, and except for his lighter colour, he really more closely resembled an Afghan than the Persian trader he was dressed to represent. The pallor caused by his illness had been succeeded by a deep tan, caused by his passing so many hours daily in the sun during his convalescence. "I am glad to be out of Herat," Azim said, as he looked back at the walls. "So am I, Azim. I thought at one time that I was never coming out at all." "It is a very bad place, master. In Persia the governors squeeze the people a bit, and sometimes there is much grumbling, but the worst of them are very much better than Yar Mahomed, who is a son of Sheitan, whom may Allah confound." "He is a scoundrel," Angus agreed heartily. "I wonder myself that the people of Herat have not long since risen and torn him to pieces. I know that if I had been a merchant there I should have tried to stir them up to do it." Azim shook his head. "They cannot trust each other, effendi. There are many who would like to do as you have said, but there are many who cannot trust their own neighbours." "Then I would do it myself. Look how many old men were tortured to death; some of them must have had sons. Had my father been so tortured I would have lain in wait for the wuzeer day after day in some empty house--there are plenty of them in one of the streets by which he usually went from his palace to the walls--and as he rode past I would have put a bullet in his head. I would then have escaped from the back of the house if possible. No one would have seen who had fired the shot, and I should have been safe if once away. If I were overtaken I would put a pistol to my head, so as to avoid being tortured to death. I cannot understand thirty or forty thousand people continuing to support the rule of a tyrant, when one bold man could put an end to it." Once on his way Angus felt new life in his veins, and in a week he had entirely shaken off the feeling of lassitude that had oppressed him in the poisoned air of Herat, and felt equal to any ordinary exertion. As he had expected, he met with no difficulties whatever on his way, for on the road between Herat and Candahar the Afghans were accustomed to see Persian traders passing, and no suspicion whatever was felt that Angus and his attendant were other than they represented themselves to be. The journey was a long one, but Angus did not hurry. It was pleasant to him, after being for a year cooped up in the besieged city, to travel quietly in the fresh mountain air. The scenery was all new to him, and though Azim felt the cold a good deal, Angus enjoyed it immensely. He made short stages, and never exceeded twenty miles a day, and often, when he arrived at a village which offered fair accommodation, he was content to stay when only fourteen or fifteen had been traversed. As this was the great high-road of trade there were khans in almost every village, and there was no difficulty in purchasing the necessaries of life. Everywhere the talk was of war. Once beyond the territory over which Shah Mahomed ruled, the news that the Persians had failed to take Herat and had retired had excited regret. It had been regarded as certain that the place would fall, and all had anticipated the march of a Persian and Russian army to Candahar, to be followed by a grand invasion of India. The mountaineers had felt sure that the army would gladly pay whatever was demanded for permission to pass unmolested; that they would be ready to pay high prices for provisions and the hire of transport animals, so that they would enrich themselves in the first place, and then have a chance of sharing in the plunder of India, and the destruction of the infidels. Angus was appealed to by all with whom he conversed to explain how it was that the Shah with his great army had failed to take Herat. He was eagerly questioned, too, with regard to Russia, a country of which they had heard many strange rumours. Were they very strong? were they really in alliance with Persia? were they infidels? if so, how was it that the Shah was friendly with them? To the first of these questions Angus could only reply that, not having been in the Persian camp, he was unable to give them information. There were certainly Russian generals and officers leading the Persians at the siege of Herat. They were infidels, and neighbours of the Persians. For himself, he thought that while no doubt the Shah wished to be at peace with such powerful neighbours, he would be wise not to trust them very far. He could not really wish for them to become more powerful, and if they aided him, it could only be for their own objects. As a peaceful man he himself only desired to trade, and left these matters to wiser heads. But at the same time he knew that Russia was constantly extending its dominions at the expense of its neighbours; and that, as it was a Christian country, it certainly could not be thinking of invading India for the benefit of the Mohammedans of that country, or those of Afghanistan--certainly not those of Persia. Whatever the Shah and the military officers might think, the trading classes were uneasy at the influence that Russia was gaining, and apprehensive of the growing power and proximity of a neighbour possessed of such immense forces, and of ambitious views. Two months after leaving Herat Angus entered Candahar. The journey had been wholly without any incident of importance. The appearance of Candahar somewhat resembled that of Herat. Situated in a fertile plain, with a range of craggy hills at no great distance, and surrounded by a wall, it was incapable of offering any prolonged resistance to the attack of a European force provided with siege artillery. The town was a comparatively modern one, being founded in 1754 on the site of an ancient city. It was built on a regular plan, the streets all crossing each other at right angles. Like Herat, it had four principal streets meeting in the centre, each of these 150 feet wide, and lined with shops. Streams of water ran down almost every street. The town made a very favourable impression on Angus after the ruin and dirt of Herat. As a Persian he felt at home here, for Persian inscriptions and names met his eye everywhere, as throughout Afghanistan the whole of the trade is carried on by Persians or by natives of India, the Afghans themselves deeming the profession of arms the only one honourable. The upper classes among them all habitually spoke Persian; which language was generally employed in writing and in all official communications. Angus put up at a khan which he learned was frequented by traders passing through the city, and soon made the acquaintance of several merchants lodging there. From them he learned much more of the state of affairs than he had gathered in the Afghan villages he had passed through on the journey. The English were, it was said, gathering a great army in Scinde with the intention of placing Shah Soojah on the throne of Afghanistan instead of Dost Mahomed. Of all the blunders that have been committed from the time of our first arrival in India, none is comparable, in point of injustice, hopeless blundering, or misfortune, to the policy thus inaugurated in Afghanistan. Shah Soojah was the head of the Dooranee tribe, and had been overthrown by the Barukzyes, who had gradually attained a power which the Dooranee monarch was unable to withstand. The four princes of that tribe divided the kingdom between themselves, and after waging many wars against each other Dost Mahomed, the youngest of the four brothers, became ruler of Cabul. During these wars Peshawur had been captured by the great Sikh ruler, Runjeet Sing. In 1834 Shah Soojah made an effort to recover his kingdom, but was defeated, and again became a fugitive in British India. Dost Mahomed, alarmed at the preparations made by the Sikhs for still further dismembering his country, and by the fact that his two brothers, who were Lords of Candahar, might at any moment take advantage of his troubles with the Sikhs to throw off his authority altogether, was anxious to enter into an alliance with the British, all the more so as he had learned of the ever-increasing influence of Russia in Persia. Lord Auckland sent Captain Burnes to Cabul; nominally his purpose was to arrange for a larger commercial intercourse between the two countries. He was received with great honour in Cabul, but he had come altogether unprovided with the customary presents, and Dost Mahomed reasonably felt this as a studied slight. Nevertheless he exerted himself to the utmost to obtain the alliance of the British. But Burnes had no authority whatever to treat with him, and could give him no assurances that aid would be forthcoming if, on the fall of Herat, which was considered certain, the Persians and Russians, aided by the Candahar chiefs, who were known to be in correspondence with them, were to invade his territory. Nor could he obtain any promise that the British would use their influence with Runjeet Sing to restore Peshawur. Burnes saw how sincere was the desire of the Ameer for a close friendship with England, and wrote strongly to Lord Auckland in favour of an alliance with him. He pointed out that Dost Mahomed was firmly seated at Cabul, where he had reigned for ten years, that Shah Soojah had no adherents, and even if placed on the throne could not maintain himself there. Colonel Pottinger, the resident in Scinde, also gave the same advice, but Lord Auckland paid no attention whatever to their representations. A weak man, he was guided chiefly by Mr. Macnaghten, his secretary, a comparatively young man, with great ambition and an unbounded belief in himself, but, as events proved, with few of the qualities required in a man placed in a highly responsible and difficult position in India. Burnes was instructed to insist upon the Ameer's binding himself to make no alliances whatever without the consent of England, and at the same time he was to refuse to give any pledges in return for such a concession. A more preposterous demand was never made upon an independent sovereign. For a long time the Ameer strove in vain to obtain some sort of conditions, and at length, finding this hopeless, he threw himself into the arms of the Russian agent, whom he had hitherto treated with great coldness. Burnes's position became intolerable, and he was recalled; and Lord Auckland at once prepared to place Shah Soojah on the throne by force. Runjeet Sing was asked to join in the undertaking, and at a great durbar held in the Punjaub, the conditions were arranged, under which Shah Soojah was to pay a large amount to Runjeet as well as to the British for the aid they were to give him. As if it was not enough to have united all Afghanistan against us, the people of Scinde, who had hitherto been on good terms with us, were treated as if they were enemies. They were ordered to furnish provisions and carriage for the army, and to pay large sums of money, although they had, by the terms of a treaty with us, been guaranteed against any claim whatever for money or services. It would seem, indeed, that Lord Auckland and Mr. Macnaghten had neglected no step whatever that could ensure the failure of their enterprise. When, after the war, the papers relating to the policy that had occasioned it were published in the form of a blue-book, it is significant that the passages in the letters of Burnes and Pottinger remonstrating against the course proposed by Lord Auckland were suppressed, dishonesty being thus added to the terrible blunders of the weakest and most obstinate of the governor-generals of India--blunders that caused not only the utter destruction of a British army, but led to an almost equally unjust war for the conquest of Scinde. As far as Angus could learn the Candahar princes were making no preparations whatever to take part in the war. The general idea was that they would gladly see Dost Mahomed overthrown and Shah Soojah placed on the throne, feeling certain that the latter would not be able to retain his position, and that they would have a far better chance of becoming masters of the whole of Afghanistan then than they could have so long as their brother remained on the throne. Three days after his arrival an officer from the palace called upon Angus and requested him to accompany him there, as the princes wished to question him as to the reasons for the Persians retiring from before Herat. On arriving at the palace he was shown into a small chamber, where Kihur-el-Khan, with two of his brothers, was sitting. "I have heard that you have arrived here, and that you passed by Herat just as your Shah had left with his army." "That is so, Prince," Angus said, bowing deeply. "You have come hither for purposes of trade? From what city do you come?" "From Tabriz. I represent one of the largest merchants there." And he mentioned the name of a well-known trader. "When I left it was considered certain that Herat would speedily be captured, and that the Shah would move forward here, having, it was said, entered into an alliance with you. 'Therefore,' my patron said to me, 'go you to Candahar. Doubtless, in future, trade with Northern India will go by that route instead of by sea, and Candahar will be a mighty centre of trade. Therefore go and see for yourself what are the prospects, and the price at which goods can be carried from the present frontier to that city and thence into Scinde. Find out for me whether there are any hindrances to trade along the road, what are the charges for permission to travel through the passes held by various tribes, and the disposition of the people towards traders.'" "How was it that you did not turn back when you found that your army was retiring without having captured Herat?" "I thought it best still to go on as I had come so far," Angus replied. "The Shah, it is true, was retiring, but he might return in the spring; and I could not doubt that with your powerful friendship he would the next time succeed, and the information that I should gain would enable my patron to send off without delay a large caravan of merchandise if he found it expedient to do so." "Were you in the Persian camp?" "No, your highness. An army when it is retiring is best avoided by peaceful men. When all goes well the camp officers see that traders are not meddled with by the soldiers, but when things are not going favourably and there is discontent in camp, discipline is relaxed, and it is useless for those who are robbed or maltreated to make complaints." "That is no doubt true, but doubtless you heard a good deal from those who have been in the camp. How did men say it was that they failed to capture Herat, which is but a weak town?" "Some say one thing and some another, your highness. Some declare that had it not been for a British officer who happened to be there the place would have fallen in a very short time. Others say that it could have been taken easily had all the Persian generals been of one mind, but that each acted for himself, and that only once did all attack at the same time." The Prince nodded. He had seen very many times the evil of divided counsels, and knew how necessary it was that there should be a strong leader who could make himself obeyed by all. "And what do people say about the Russians? We know that they had officers there. We hear that they are a great people, and are good friends with Persians." "Opinions are divided, Prince. There are those who believe that their friendship will indeed be a great advantage to Persia. There are others, especially among the trading class, who think otherwise, and believe that Russia is too strong to be a real friend, and that it would be far better to maintain a close alliance with England, which would support them against Russia, and which lies so far away across the seas that it could gain nothing by meddling in her affairs or taking her territory." "But it is reported that it is the English who have now interfered and have saved Herat, and are sending a fleet and an army to compel Persia to desist." "That is what was reported and generally believed, Prince, but I cannot say how truly; I merely heard the common talk on the way." "But why should England have interfered? What does it matter to them whether Herat belongs to Persia or to the Suddozye, Prince Kamran." "According to the opinion of the traders in Tabriz, England would not have cared at all had Persia been strong and been fighting only for the conquest of Herat, but it was known that England regards with great jealousy the approach of Russia to India, and considers that as Persia was certainly acting under the influence of Russia, it was the latter who would be the real masters of Herat, and not the Persians. Then, too, it was said--though we know that rumour often lies--that Russia and Persia had many friends in Afghanistan, and that the conquest of Herat would only be the first step to further advances south." Kihur-el-Khan frowned. Such an undertaking had certainly been made by him and his brothers, but the retreat of the Persians from Herat at the dictation of the English, and the fact that the latter were now gathering an army with the avowed purpose of placing Shah Soojah on the throne of Afghanistan, gravely altered the position. They had no love for their brother, and had a British force advanced through the Khyber passes to Cabul, and placed Shah Soojah on the throne, they would certainly have rendered no assistance to Dost Mahomed, for they felt sure that Soojah would not be able to maintain himself, and saw that there was a good chance that in the confusion which would prevail, they themselves might obtain the mastery of Cabul. But as the English army was evidently intending to advance through the Bolan Pass, it would probably in the first place march on Candahar, and they themselves would, in consequence of their intrigues with Persia and Russia, be regarded as enemies. He was therefore silent for a minute or two, and then said: "If the Shah has retired because he is afraid of the English, he will not venture to send another army to aid us against them." "I do not think that he could do so. His army suffered very heavily." "I hear that you speak the language of our country. How is that?" the Afghan asked suddenly. "I do not speak it well, your highness," replied Angus, who had thought is possible that this question might be asked him. "Having known for some time that I should make this journey hither, I studied for a time with a slave who had been bought by a merchant of my employer's acquaintance, who had himself bought him from the Turkomans in a journey that he made in their country. But I speak it only well enough to make my way through the country, and to obtain such necessaries as may be required on the journey, and to converse in some fashion with such travellers as I might meet on the road or in the khans." "It was reported to me that you spoke so that all could understand you," he said. "It was this that seemed strange to me that you, a Persian, should speak Pushtoo. I will speak to you further another day." As Angus returned to the khan, he felt that he was an object of suspicion. Up to the point when the Prince had sharply and suddenly asked how he came to speak Pushtoo, his bland manner had led him to believe that he had been simply desirous of obtaining the last news from the frontier. But this showed him unmistakably that the Prince had learned something which had excited his suspicions that he was there either as an emissary from Kamran, or of Russia or Persia, desirous of ascertaining the position of affairs at Candahar, the forces at the disposal of the princes, and the feeling among the people in general with reference to a protectorate, or occupation by one or other of those powers. Angus knew the naturally suspicious character of Eastern princes. In Persia no one ever ventured to discuss any public affairs openly. In Herat, hated as Kamran and Yar Mahomed were, no one dared breathe a word of aught but adulation, for the slightest suspicion of disloyalty sufficed to bring about the ruin and death of the unfortunate man on whom it fell. The last words of the Prince were in fact a sentence of imprisonment to the city for an indefinite time. The Prince might not send for him again for months. But the mere intimation that he would do so was sufficient. He could not continue his journey without running the risk of being pursued and brought back again, in which case he might first be tortured to extract any secret he might possess, and then be put to death. He might, for aught he knew, be already spied upon, and everything that he said or did reported. Consequently, when he reached the khan, he took care to evince no appearance of thoughtfulness or uneasiness, but chatted with the traders there upon commercial matters, respecting the advantages of Cabul and Candahar as trading centres, the amount of the taxes laid upon goods in the two cities, and other topics that would naturally be of interest to a merchant intending to establish himself in Afghanistan. He was under no uneasiness as to Azim. He had instructed him carefully in the account he should give of himself, the city from which he came, the merchants whose agent he was, the route he had followed, and other similar matters, so that their stories should correspond in all respects. When all had lain down for the night, Angus was able to think over quietly what was to be done. As to remaining where he was, it was clearly out of the question. For aught he knew, the British force said to be gathering to advance on Cabul might be months before it was put in motion, or the expedition might be abandoned altogether. Even if the advance was made, it might not pass through Candahar, and he might be detained in that city for an indefinite time. It was evident, therefore, that he must somehow escape. The question was how this could be managed. What disguise could he adopt, and how could he evade the vigilance of those who were watching him? The matter was rendered all the more difficult by the fact that there were practically but two roads open to him, that through the Kojak Pass to Quettah, and that to the north-east through Kelat-i-Ghilzye and Ghuznee to Cabul. If he moved off either of these regular lines of traffic he would be unable to give any reason for his divergence, and in any case would be subject to plunder. Even on these roads it was only as a travelling merchant he would be respected, and as a travelling merchant he would be quickly overtaken by the Prince's followers. Think as he would, no plan occurred to him, and he at last went to sleep determining to consult Azim, in whose sharpness he had much faith. In the morning, accordingly, as soon as he was up, he sauntered across the yard to where the boy was watching the horses feed, and preventing other less fortunate animals from robbing them. "Azim," he said, "the Princes have their suspicions of me, and have as much as ordered me not to leave the town; try and think over some manner in which we may get away, and if overtaken may not be recognized. I do not wish to talk with you now, because for aught we know a spy may be at present watching us, but at mid-day I will come out and speak to you again. In the meantime think it over. Now, when the horses have done feeding, take your basket, go into the bazaar, and buy food for our dinner, so that anyone who may be watching us may suppose that I have merely been giving you orders what to purchase." He then went out into the town, and spent the morning looking into the shops, and asking questions as to the prices of the goods, so that he might appear to be ascertaining what profits would be made. He also went to several shops which happened to be untenanted, asked the rent, and made enquiries about the accommodation. At dinner-time he went over to where Azim was squatting, attending to two earthenware pots that were simmering over a small charcoal fire, which he was fanning to keep it going. "I can think of nothing, master." "Then to-night, Azim, after everyone is asleep, get up quietly and go round to the back of the khan. I will join you there, and we will talk it over together. Do not be surprised if I keep you waiting some time. Some of these people may sit up late talking. I cannot move till all are asleep. It is quite possible that someone who is lodging at the khan may be watching us." It was indeed late before the talk ceased and all lay down to sleep. Angus waited for another hour and then got up quietly and went out. Two minutes later he joined Azim. "Well, lad, have you thought of any plan yet?" "Nothing, master; unless we leave our animals and goods behind us." "That we could do," Angus said. "I can get rid of the goods to-morrow. Why leave the animals?" "Because, sir, they will be looking for a man with a fair complexion, and a boy, mounted on horses." "That is so; but if we left the horses behind us and walked it would be just as bad." "I did not think of walking, master. I thought that perhaps you might buy a camel and go on that." "That would be better certainly, Azim. We might both darken our faces, and in my Afghan dress might make our way easily enough, if it were not that we should be hotly pursued, and then a man and boy, however they were dressed, or however they were travelling, would be sure to be closely examined. I have it!" he said after a pause. "You might go as a woman; well wrapped up, little more than your eyes would be seen. You might ride on the camel, and I might lead it. In that way we might pass as natives of some village among the hills. The first difficulty, however, is how to buy a camel. I have my Afghan dress, and, if I were sure that I was not watched, could get to some quiet spot, change my Persian dress for it, and go boldly into a shop and buy a woman's clothes for you; I could then go down into the quarter where the tribesmen encamp and buy a camel. But if I were caught doing so, it would be almost proof positive that I was going to try to leave the city, and in that case I should no doubt be arrested and thrown into prison at once." "We might steal one," Azim suggested. "There are many always grazing outside the wall while their masters are here doing their business." "Yes, but they have not saddles. However, I will think it over, Azim. Your idea about having a camel has certainly shown me a way in which we can get away if it is managed well, and I ought to be able to find some plan by which we can carry it out. It is of no use talking any longer over it, there is no hurry for a day or two; and the longer I appear to be really engaged in looking for a place of business, the more careless the watch may become." Angus did not go to sleep that night, but thinking the situation over in every way decided that the first step to be taken was to ascertain for certain whether they were watched. If they were not, the matter would be comparatively easy, but if his every movement were followed, he could see no way out of the difficulty. When he paid his usual visit to Azim in the morning, he said: "I want to find out if I am followed. I will walk straight along this street towards the southern gate. When I get to the last turning to the left, I will turn up it; then I shall be out of the crowd. Do you keep a good long way behind me. I shall go on for some distance, and then mount the wall and walk along there, looking over the country. I want you to observe if any man follows me. You must be so far off that even if he looks round he will not recognize you. I don't want you to find out this time who he is, we can do that later on; I only want to know if I am followed. Each time I turn a corner he is likely to look round before he turns, so when you see him getting near a corner that I have turned, hide yourself if you can." "I understand, master." Accordingly, when half an hour later Angus came out, the lad waited for a time, and then followed him. His master was out of sight, and Azim walked quickly till he saw him looking as usual into one of the shops, and then dropped behind again and followed slowly until Angus turned off the street that he had named. Azim walked still more slowly, and on reaching the corner saw him a considerable distance ahead. There were but a few people about, for beyond the four principal streets were many large open spaces dotted here and there with ruined walls of houses that had stood there at the time when the city was far more populous than it was at present. Angus was walking at a steady pace, as if he had some definite object in view, and of the various people in sight only one, who was about half way between him and Azim, was walking at anything like the same rate. A hundred yards farther Angus turned to the right. Azim kept on until he saw the man he was watching was close to that point; he then stepped aside into an empty piece of ground between two houses. Half a minute later he looked out; the man was no longer visible. He walked on fast until he reached the corner, and saw the man again turn off after Angus. They were near the wall now, and the boy went forward with greater caution than before. When he got to where he had last seen his master, he caught sight of him on the wall some fifty yards away. The man who had been following him had stopped at a low wall, and over it was watching Angus furtively. That settled the point, and Azim at once returned to the khan. It was an hour later before Angus came in. He did not pay any attention to Azim, but went in and engaged in talk as usual with some of the occupants. It was an hour before he came out to the yard. "Well, lad?" he asked. "You were watched, master. A man followed you all the way, and hid behind a wall to watch you when you went on the wall. I thought at the time that I might have crept up to him and stabbed him if I had wanted to, but of course I would not without your orders." "No, that would not have done at all till we are ready to go; and I don't like stabbing anyhow. Still, I will think it over. Come round again to the same meeting-place to-night; by that time I shall have decided what to do." CHAPTER VI AN ESCAPE "I think, Azim," Angus said, when they met that night "you must buy some clothes for yourself. You may be pretty sure that no one is watching you. You must not get them at any shop in the main street, because there are always passers-by who stop and listen to the bargains made; but there are some by-streets where there are a few shops. Of course you will go into a Persian's. If you give a fair price--not too high, you know, so as to seem too anxious to buy--I don't suppose he will trouble much what you may want them for. You must make out some likely story--say, for example, that your master keeps a sharp look-out over you, and that you want to be able to go out sometimes in such a dress that he would not know you if he met you. I don't know that that is a good excuse, but I am unable to think of a better one. All you will want will be a long white robe coming over the head and down to the eyebrows, and falling to the feet; and a white cloth coming across the face below the eyes, and falling down over the throat. There is no occasion to buy other garments. A rug torn asunder and wrapped round the waist, falling to the feet, so as to fill up the outside robe, is all that will be required. But the more I think of it, Azim, the greater appears the difficulty about the camel; indeed, now that we have ascertained about this spy, it seems to me hardly possible to make a start without being pursued at once." Azim nodded approvingly. "That is just what I think, master. But I could put a knife into him, and then all trouble would be over." "I don't like the idea of killing the man, Azim." "You killed many men at Herat." "That was in battle, which is a very different thing from stabbing a man to enable us to get away." Azim shook his head. This was quite beyond him. "He is fighting against you now, master. If the princes find out that you are English they will put you in a dungeon and most likely kill you, and kill me too, so as to shut my mouth. This man is paid to act as a spy on you. Why not kill him? Thousands of people were killed or died at Herat. I cannot understand why one man should not be killed, when we can perhaps get free away if he is dead." "If he found us escaping and attacked us, we could kill him, Azim, but it is not an Englishman's way to kill men, except in fight." Azim shook his head. To his mind this was very foolish. "Perhaps we might make him prisoner, Azim." "Where could we put him in prison?" Azim enquired, with his eyes wide open in surprise. "I don't mean in a prison, Azim, I mean in some empty house or some out-of-the-way place; we might tie his arms and legs and gag him." Azim's eyes twinkled. "I see, master, you do not like to use a knife. Good, we can bind and hide him. Perhaps no one would come for a long time, may be a year, and, finding only a skeleton, would not bother about him. He would just say it was some fellow killed by robbers." "No, no, Azim," Angus said in a tone of horror. "I never thought of such a thing. No doubt someone would come along and let him out." "Someone might come, master. He might come a few minutes after we had gone, then they would catch us at once. If someone did not come in an hour, why should he come in a week or a month?" Angus was silent. "No, Azim, you don't quite understand me. I meant that he should be gagged and bound after dark, and then be left in some place a little distance from the road, where he would not be seen till morning. Then the first person who came along would turn aside and look at him, and he would be loosed, but we should have got twelve hours' start." "That would be a good plan, master. But how should we get the camel?" "In that case we should make a start without it, for we might ride fifty miles, perhaps a good deal more than that, before it would be discovered that we had gone. We could do that in our present dress, and then I could put on my Afghan clothes and go into a village off the road and say that the horses were tired and that I wanted to go on, and so buy a camel." Azim shook his head. "Anyone who wanted to go on fast, master, would not buy a camel." Angus uttered an exclamation of disgust, and Azim struck another blow at his plan by saying, "How would you get the horses out, master? The gates are shut at dark. You could not tie up the spy till after the gates were shut, and in the morning he might be found, and we should be caught as we went out." "I am getting altogether stupid," Angus said. "Of course you are right; the horses could not be sent out beforehand, for if the spy saw them going out he would at once inform his employers, and I should be arrested. Ah, I have an idea! That trader from Scinde, who arrived here yesterday, was saying that as he intended to stay here for some time he would sell his horses if he could get a fair price for them. I might say that I would buy two of them, as they are better than mine, and as I wanted to travel fast, I would give him my two and some money for them. I dare say he would be willing to do that, as our horses would sell more easily than his. One can always sell a poor horse, while one might have to wait some time before finding a purchaser for a good one. I don't suppose really there is much difference in value between his and mine, and he would think he was making a good bargain. I should say that for certain reasons, which it would not be necessary to explain to him, it must be a part of the bargain that he should deliver them outside the city, and that one of his men should take them out during the day and wait for us at a spot we could agree upon." "That would be a capital plan, master." "Then we will carry it out, Azim." "Shall I get the woman's dress?" "Yes, you may as well do that. We may want all sorts of disguises before we get down. We need not talk any longer now; at any rate we certainly shall not try the plan to-morrow. We must not appear in any hurry with the trader, and there are several things we shall have to talk over when I have struck a bargain with him." The next night Angus was able to inform his follower that he had made his arrangements with the Scinde trader. "I am to buy his horses," he said, "and he will deliver them in the way I want. Without saying it, he evidently understood that I wanted to get quietly out of the city to escape some trouble. He asked a very reasonable price, but he would have nothing to do with my horses. He said that if there should be any trouble about my leaving, the change of horses might be noticed. If he said he had bought them of me, and sold me two of his, he might get into trouble too. However, I afterwards talked to one of the other merchants, who was going away in a day or two, and told him that I might be kept here for a considerable time, and should therefore be glad to get rid of my horses. He said he would be glad to buy them, as he was taking down a number of Heratee carpets and other things. So we struck a bargain at once, and he paid me the money and I gave him the receipt. "I said that you would continue to look after the horses as usual until we started, so that matter is quite arranged. The Scinde man will keep the horses I have bought with his others till he sends them out through the gate. When he does so, he will put our saddles on them. Now for our plans to-morrow. I shall go out as usual in the morning; the spy will of course follow me. While I am away make up our rugs and disguises and fasten them upon the saddles, and take these to the new horses, so that the trader's servant will put them on with the saddles and take them out with the horses before sunset. He is to stop at those three palm-trees that grow by the roadside a quarter of a mile out of the town. Even if the spy is looking on as they go out of the yard, he will have no idea that I have anything to do with the horses. "When you have seen to that, you will buy twenty yards of rope for us to get down over the wall. I shall start at about four o'clock. I shall go exactly the same way as I did the last time you followed me. It is a very lonely part there. He is sure to watch me very closely, as he will wonder why I choose that way for my walks. I shall stay there for a bit, and shall lean over the wall as if I were calculating its depth and intended to make my escape there. He is sure to be intent on watching my movements, and will get up as close as he can. Then is your time to steal up. Do you think that you can do it without his hearing you? If not, I should think that a better plan will be for you to hide close to the way we shall come back. I shall not return till it is beginning to get dark, and he will probably keep closer to me than he would going, so as to better watch my movements. When he comes along you will spring out and knock him down, and I will, as you shout, run back to your assistance." "I shall not want any assistance, master," Azim said confidently. "I am sure I am quite as strong as he is, and as I shall take him by surprise I shall have no difficulty in managing him." "Don't use your sword, Azim." "No, master, I will get a thick stick." "Of course you will bring the rope with you, Azim; the twenty yards will be ample to spare a length to tie him up with, and to reach to the ground from the top of the wall. You may as well put enough food for a couple of days in the saddle-bags, and a supply of grain for the horses, then we shall not have to stop to buy anything." The day passed quietly. Azim bought the heaviest staff that he could find, and brought it back and stowed it away during his master's absence, as he did not think that the latter would approve of its weight. He considered his master's objection to his stabbing the spy to be a weakness which he was quite unable to understand. At four o'clock Angus started, and a few minutes later the trader's servant led the two horses he had bought through the streets and out at the southern gate. Azim waited till he saw him go, as there was no occasion for him to follow the spy closely, and indeed it had been arranged that he should not do so, lest the spy should this time notice him and perhaps take alarm. He therefore strolled leisurely along until he neared the spot where Angus was standing on the wall. The spy had taken up his post nearer to him than before, and was evidently watching narrowly what he was doing. As he might turn round suddenly, Azim seated himself behind a ruined hut within a couple of yards of the road, and there patiently waited until, as darkness fell, Angus came along. "I am here, master," Azim said. "Take care of yourself," Angus replied without stopping; "he will probably have pistols, and certainly a knife." "All right, master." Azim stood up now grasping the heavy staff firmly in both hands. Listening intently he heard a minute later a soft footstep, and the spy passed him keeping his eye fixedly on the figure ahead of him. Azim sprang out, and swinging his staff round his head, brought it with all his strength against the back of the man's head, just below his turban. He fell without a sound. "He is down, master," the lad cried. Angus, who had been listening for the sound of a struggle and had heard the blow, came running back. "Why, it was almost like the sound of a pistol," he said, as he saw the motionless figure. "Yes, master, I was obliged to hit him hard, because, as you said, he might have pistols." "You have stunned him," Angus went on, going up to the prostrate figure. "Now, cut off a length of that rope and we will tie him up securely." He tied the man's legs, and then turned him over. The inertness of the body struck him, and he placed his ear over his heart. "He is dead," he said. "He is not breathing, and his heart is not beating. You have hit him too hard." "Well, I did hit him hard, master. It is a misfortune, but perhaps it is all for the best. Undoubtedly it was Allah's will that he should die." "Well, it cannot be helped," Angus said, "and undoubtedly it will make it safer for us. Well, let us move on." "Do you go on, master, and I will take his clothes off and drag him into this hut. He may lie there for months before anyone comes along and looks in." "Very well, I will walk on to the wall; don't be long." Five minutes later Azim rejoined him carrying a bundle. "We do not want to be bothered with the clothes," Angus said. "No, master; but if we left them there, they might be found to-morrow morning. Someone might recognize the man by them, so I thought it would be better to carry them away with us for a few miles, and then throw them in some bushes. I have got his pistols and knife. He was well paid, master; he had ten gold pieces in his sash--here they are." "Put them in your own pocket, Azim. I do not want to have anything to do with them; they are your spoil." Azim, who had no compunction in the matter, at once put the little bag into his sash. The rope was now fastened to the battlement, and they slid down. The wall was about forty feet high, and unprovided with a moat. They started at once for the place where the horses were to be waiting for them; a quarter of an hour's brisk walk took them there. Angus made a present to the man in charge of them, who, while they were tightening the girths, at once wrapped himself in the blanket he had brought out and lay down to sleep till morning. [Illustration: AZIM SURPRISES THE SPY.] "We need not press the horses," Angus said as they rode off. "We shall certainly have twelve hours' start, and I hope twenty-four. It all depends on how often the man reports to his employer, who is no doubt an official at the palace. Probably he goes once a day, though, as there has been nothing suspicious about our movements and no signs of any intention of leaving, he may have been ordered to go only every two or three days unless he has news to give. Of course in that case we are all right; but if he reports every evening, how long a start we shall get depends entirely upon what sort of a man the official is. In any case, he would hardly give a thought to his spy not coming in this evening, but would suppose that I had been out till late. When he does not appear in the morning, if the official is of a suspicious nature he will enquire for the man, and when he is not found will send down to the khan to see if he is there, and to ascertain if things are going on as usual. "When the news is brought him that the man is not there, and that we have been out all night, he will become alarmed. He will go himself and question the traders there, and will doubtless ascertain that I have sold our horses. I don't suppose he will hear that we have bought others. The trader will see that there is going to be trouble about it, and is likely to hold his tongue and tell his servant to be silent on the subject; and as the official could have no reason for imagining that we should sell our horses and buy others, he will conclude that we have made our escape over the wall on foot. That is the report which he will probably make to the Prince, and we may safely calculate that it will be afternoon before parties of horse are sent off in pursuit by the Herat, Ghuznee, and Quettah roads, and will probably be instructed to enquire for two young Persians on foot. They will lose time by stopping at every village to make enquiries, and after going forty or fifty miles will begin to feel sure that we have not come along that road, but have gone by one of the others, or perhaps hidden up in some village at a distance from the road. "They may have instructions to go as far as Quettah; but suppose they get thirty miles before sunset--and they certainly won't get farther than that, as they will have to make enquiries, and will probably halt as soon as it gets dark,--we shall have a start of nearly sixty miles before morning, and will hide up and go on as soon as it is dark, and shall be another thirty or forty before they start next day; so we shall then be some sixty miles ahead of them and within from twenty to thirty from Quettah. We will skirt round the town without going into it, and then make down the Bolan Pass. I don't think there is the least chance of any pursuit being kept up beyond Quettah, and we can travel at our own pace down the pass. We shall have to lay in a good stock of provisions at the last village we pass before beginning to descend, and must travel at night, for otherwise we may be plundered by the tribesmen, who have the worst possible reputation." "How long is the pass, master?" "Fifty-five miles long, Mr. Pottinger told me. He says that it is a frightful place. A river runs through it, and in the wet season anyone caught in it would be drowned, for in some places the sides are perpendicular, and the channel is only sixty or seventy feet wide. There are caves along there in which the tribesmen hide, and rush out and plunder, and often kill, travellers. We must get through in two nights, and must be extremely careful where we stop for the day, choosing some place where we can hide ourselves and our horses." "Well, master," Azim said after a pause, "if it is the will of Allah that we are to get through, we shall; if not, not." "That is it, Azim. I do not think that there is much fear of our lives. We know that travellers do use that pass. I believe they generally pay so much to one of the chiefs of the tribesmen, and we will do the same if, on arriving at the top of the pass, we find that we can arrange it. We shall want money to take us from Dadur across the plain to the Indus. It is a barren and desolate country, and we shall have to buy some supplies at Dadur. Coming down without merchandise, the tribesmen will make sure that we have money, as we should naturally have sold the goods we brought from Persia at Candahar, and must intend buying a fresh stock in India. Therefore, you may be sure, that if captured we should be stripped of every penny we have about us." They rode for eight hours, and reckoned that they had made some fifty miles. They gave the horses a good feed and lay down until daylight, for they were now at the foot of the Kojuk, a gorge so steep and difficult that it could not be passed at night. Just as they were starting, three tribesmen rode up, and in the name of the local chief demanded two gold tomauns, one for each horse and rider, as tribute for a free passage. As the money was paid without question, they rode off without giving further trouble. The passage was long and difficult, and in many cases they had to lead their horses. Once through, they allowed the animals another hour's rest and a feed, and then mounting, rode on briskly again. A few miles farther on they halted in a clump of trees, and slept until nightfall, and then rode another twenty miles. As speed was of less consequence than keeping their horses in fair condition, they turned off at a little stream, followed it for half a mile up, and then halted in a dip through which it ran. Here there was good grass for the horses. They remained for the rest of that day, and until within three hours of daybreak next morning. As Angus had calculated, they saw at sunrise the mud fort and town of Quettah standing on its rocky eminence. They made a detour, and came down upon the road again round the town, and then rode briskly down the Shawl valley. The country round was rich and fertile, and dotted with villages, orchards, and vineyards. They stopped late in the afternoon at a village near the entrance to the pass. Two armed men came out from a hut as they drew up. The leader said, "Our chief is master of the pass, travellers find it wise to pay for right of passage." "That we are ready to do," Angus said. "But does your chief guarantee that we shall go unmolested down to Dadur?" "The chief cannot guarantee that, he can only guarantee you from hurt or damage from his people. He is lord of the eastern side of the pass, but there are others--men of no account, and who own no chief--among the mountains to the west. They sometimes waylay travellers. Our chief punishes them when he can do so; but it is seldom that he is able to catch them. He does all that he can, for he wishes well to traders and others who pass along, for when ill happens to them others are afraid to pass, and he loses his tribute. When a large caravan comes up, and is able to pay handsomely, he furnishes an escort of twenty men or more; but he will not send less than twenty, for a smaller party might not be able to defend the caravan, and he would suffer loss of honour from failing to give protection to those to whom he guaranteed it." "We cannot afford to pay for an escort of twenty men, and have but little to be robbed of, for you see we carry no merchandise, having disposed of what we bought at Herat and Candahar, and sent the proceeds by sure hands back to Persia." As their attire gave no signs of their being men of substance, the tribesman said: "In that case you will only have to pay one tomaun each; that is the price for a man and horse, and the same for each camel- or horse-load of goods; that is the regular toll." "That we can pay. As to the brigands you speak of, we must take our chance." He handed the money to the man, who in return gave him a little white-and-red flag, which he was to show should he encounter any of his tribesmen. They stopped here all day, and purchased food for their journey. "I should think it would be a very good thing, Azim," Angus said in the afternoon, "if we could engage a guide. We might break our necks making our way down here in the dark. I will speak to those two fellows. I suppose they are on duty here, and cannot go themselves, but there may be others of the tribe in the village; or, if not, some of the people here may be accustomed to going down the pass with caravans." Angus went to the hut occupied by the two tribesmen and called them out. "We are intending to travel at night," he said, after offering them a packet of tobacco. "In that way we may escape being seen by these brigands." "It will be almost impossible for you to go at night--quite impossible without a guide." "That is what we came to you about. Are there any of your tribe who would act as a guide for us? How long would it take us?" "It would take you four nights' journey. You could do it in two stages if your horses are sure-footed and you travelled in the day, but at night it would take four at least. How much would you be willing to pay?" "How much would be charged?" Angus said quietly. "You should have two men," the man answered, "two men who know the pass well. Yakoob and I could go with you. We have been here six days, and two others will come to take our places and collect tolls to-morrow, so we shall be free. We know every foot of the pass, having travelled up and down it scores of times. We cannot guarantee your safety, but you would have a better chance with us than with others. We will take you into Dadur. We do not promise to fight; when twenty attack four, fighting is foolish. We have our horses; there are parts where the pass opens out and the bottom is level." "Well, how much would you charge?" The two men talked together in an undertone, and then the one who had before spoken turned again to Angus. "We would take you for three gold pieces each." "It is a large sum," Angus said; "but as I hear in the village that it is not safe to go unless with a large caravan, and that it might be three weeks or a month before a sufficiently large number of travellers arrive, we will pay you that." "It is a bargain, then," the man said. "We had best start at four o'clock; the descent here is very steep, and it is not overlooked from the hills to the west. Therefore, we can go down there by daylight, and then rest our horses for an hour and move forward again when it is quite dark. You had better buy four black blankets, to cut up and tie round the horses' feet, so that when we are passing the bad points, where the brigands generally lurk, no noise will be made in climbing over the boulders or slipping on smooth rocks. It will be necessary, of course, to get food for us all and for the horses." "I will buy that to-morrow," Angus said. "I suppose it would be of no use taking torches?" "You might take some," the man said. "In some places the rocks are so steep that no one could look down from above, and at these points there are no caves where the thieves would be hiding, and we should certainly get on a good deal faster with torches." "I will take some then. Have you ever been through by night before?" The man shook his head. "We have not. It is seldom attempted; but it is because you are willing to travel so that we are ready to accompany you, for the brigands would expect no one at that time, and will most likely be asleep." "Then, if we are attacked we must be taken prisoners?" "No," the man said; "there are many places where the hills can be ascended by men who know them. Should we be attacked near one of these spots we must leave our horses and fly; that is what we should do, and what I should advise you to do also. A man's life is worth more than a horse and saddle. Of course in the daytime there would be no escape in that way, for they would bring us down with their matchlocks; but at night we could elude them, and if they did follow us we could defend ourselves, taking shelter and shooting them as they came up." "Well, it is a satisfaction, anyhow," Angus said, "that there would be a chance for us. Our horses are good beasts, but we value our lives more." "I think they are honest fellows," he went on after telling Azim the substance of his conversation with the tribesmen. "They say that the Afghans have a treacherous disposition, but I believe these men can be trusted to keep their engagements. They did not exaggerate the difficulties of the journey as some would have done, nor did they pretend that they would join in a hopeless fight. In fact, although of course the actual difficulties of the journey would be very much greater in the dark than in daylight, they evidently considered that the danger from the other tribesmen would be by no means great." It was, however, a terrible journey, and Angus felt that without the guidance of the tribesmen it would have been an impossible one. They knew exactly where the river was fordable, and on which side the pass was most free from great boulders and obstruction, and where torches could be safely used. But at times progress was terribly slow, their horses having to pick their way among rocks and boulders, and taking more than an hour to cover a mile. At other times they were able to go at a brisk walk, and even break into a trot. Whenever they neared spots where the caves frequented by the robbers were situated, the horses' feet were muffled, and they were led with the greatest care. It was indeed comparatively seldom that the riders mounted; where it was dangerous to have torches, they walked along by the side of their horses, allowing the animals to pick their own way, which they were able to do better than they could have done if led. The horses Angus had bought having made the ascent of the pass were to some extent accustomed to the work, and not having to carry the weight of the riders were able, save in exceptional places, to get along more easily than Angus and Azim were able to do. Both of these had many falls, and would have had many more had not their guides at such times stood close beside them and rendered them assistance, often warning them of obstacles of which they themselves were unable to make out the faintest outline. Several times they saw the glow of fires burning in the caverns. At such points the strictest silence was observed. They had purchased Afghan shoes at the village, and round these had wound strips of thick woollen stuff like felt, so that their steps were as noiseless as those of the horses. The stirrups were fastened over the animals' backs so as to avoid contact with rocks; and any slight sound that might be made was to a great extent drowned by the murmur and rattle of the rapid stream. The long halts during the daytime were made at points, carefully chosen by the guides, at the foot of precipitous rocks. Fragments that had fallen from above formed a bank at a short distance from the foot, the greater part of the rocks having bounded outwards with the impetus of their fall. Between the bank and the cliff there was a depression partly filled with splinters of rock. It was, however, considerably lower than the bank, and the men and horses stationed in it were hid alike from observation from above and from the eye of those passing along the valley. Here they slept on beds composed of their saddles and rugs laid on the rough stones, their guides by turn keeping watch. As a whole they got on faster than the guides had anticipated, and were fairly down at the mouth of the pass at daybreak on the fourth morning after their start. Here the tribesmen received their pay, Angus adding another pound to the amount agreed on, for the care and assistance given. They waited two days at Dadur to allow their horses rest. Here they were fortunate in finding two men well acquainted with the road. They had so far guided a party who were proceeding up the pass to Quettah, and as they were now returning, were glad enough to accept the offer of a couple of pounds to act as guides across the desert. In accordance with their advice two rough ponies were bought to carry water-skins and provisions, while smaller skins were to be taken on their own horses, as the country to be traversed was for a considerable distance a waterless desert. Even this part of the journey would not be accomplished without danger, for the Belooches of the district were to a man plunderers, and cared nothing for the authority of the Khan of Khelat. The distance from Dadur to Shikarpore is nearly a hundred and fifty miles across a flat and dreary country, almost unpopulated; but as they were unencumbered by baggage, and carried sufficient water for their wants and those of their horses, it was performed in seven days. At Rojhan they came upon Captain Thompson, who was in command of a party which had gone forward to examine the state of the water-supply, and if necessary to sink more wells. He was surprised when a young Persian trader addressed him in English, and informed him that he had just come through from Herat. This was quite enough to assure a warm welcome, and the officer put him up for the night in his own tent and made him in all respects comfortable. After hearing something of the siege of Herat, and of his journey, he asked anxiously as to the water-supply in the villages on the way to Dadur. On hearing that few of them were much better supplied than Rojhan he threw up his hands in despair. "Two or three thousand natives ought to have been engaged," he said, "and a couple of hundred set to work to dig deep wells in these villages. A hundred wells would be little enough for the army, its horses and baggage animals, and its native followers. Even when they are dug the water runs into them slowly. I have sent down my report from here. There are only three wells, one of which Sir Alexander Burnes sank when he was here a week ago; the others contain such bad water as to be quite unfit for human use. I am really frightened at the thought of what will take place before the army gets to Dadur. However, I hear that they will not advance for another month, and that some very energetic steps will be made to secure a water-supply before they come along." On the following day Angus passed several working parties who were engaged under the superintendence of Major Leech, assistant to Sir Alexander Burnes--for Captain Burnes had been knighted as a reward for his services in Cabul. With the exception of these parties they scarcely encountered a human being on the way down, except in the miserable little villages which were situated where the soil permitted the cultivation of a scanty crop, which was for the most part cut when green and sold to passing travellers. Angus was heartily glad when Shikarpore came in sight. He had learned from Captain Thompson that Shah Soojah had arrived there with a native army which he had raised, that the Bengal army under General Cotton, which had marched down by the Indus, was expected to arrive there in a day or two, and that the Bombay army under Sir John Keane was but a few days behind. Upon entering the town he was glad to see British uniforms in the street, and addressing in English the first officer he met, he found that the division of General Cotton had arrived two days before. "I have just come from Herat," Angus said. "I left there after the siege was raised. I have some despatches from Lieutenant Pottinger, which should be given either to Colonel Pottinger or to Sir Alexander Burnes." "Burnes is here. I think that Colonel Pottinger is at Sukkar, he was there a few days ago; you will find Burnes at the head-quarters. He is the political officer and so forth of the army; but Macnaghten is envoy and commissioner to Soojah, and generally at the head of all political business." The army was encamped round the town, and Angus had no difficulty in finding the quarters of Sir Alexander Burnes. Dismounting a short distance away, he left Azim to look after the horses and went towards the tent. He was stopped by a sentry, who on learning that he wished to see Sir Alexander, called an attendant. The latter, coming up, took Angus's name in, and reappearing at the entrance almost immediately, signed to him to enter. CHAPTER VII IN THE SERVICE "I am glad to see you, Mr. Campbell," Sir Alexander Burnes said as the lad entered his tent. "Colonel Pottinger was asking me only three or four days ago to keep a look-out for you. He had received a letter from his nephew saying that you were going to travel down _via_ Candahar, and that he was afraid that you would not manage to get through. I myself received a letter from Lieutenant Pottinger speaking very highly of services that you had rendered, and I understand that both he and Mr. M'Neill, our minister in Persia, spoke very favourably of you in their despatches to the Governor-general. How have you got through?" "I had very little difficulty, sir, except that I was detained at Candahar, and had to effect my escape secretly." And he gave a short account of his journey, and the manner in which he had escaped from Candahar and avoided recapture. "You managed it very cleverly, Mr. Campbell. I will take you in at once to Macnaghten, who is supreme here, for Shah Soojah is at present little more than a puppet. I have no doubt that he will be very glad to learn what is the feeling throughout the country as to Shah Soojah. I may tell you in confidence that I am convinced that a terrible blunder has been made in taking up his cause. I was, as you no doubt know, several months at Cabul, and I am convinced that Dost Mahomed was sincere in his desire for our friendship, and that he can support himself against his brothers at Candahar, who have, as we know, been intriguing with Persia and Russia. I have all along urged the Indian Government to give him warm support and to enter into a firm alliance with him. However, the Governor-general and his advisers have taken the other view, and I have only to do my best to carry out their orders, although I have strongly represented my own opinion. "I do not think that Government has any idea of the difficulties to be encountered. So far as fighting goes there is no doubt whatever that the Afghans cannot stand against us, but the operation of feeding the troops and animals will be a troublesome one indeed. The heat will increase every day, and even the march up to Quettah will present enormous difficulties, as you who have just descended the pass will readily understand; but the great problem will not be how to place Shah Soojah on the throne but how to maintain him there. I tell you this because Macnaghten, who really knows nothing of the matter, is extremely sanguine. I warn you that it will be as well that you should not express any strong opinion against the enterprise. It is determined upon, and will be carried out, and without in any way shaking his opinion you would only set him against you and might seriously injure your own prospects. As it is, he has much to irritate him. There have already been serious troubles with the Ameers of Scinde, who have been treated in a very high-handed manner instead of being conciliated in every possible way. This alone has vastly added to the difficulty, by rendering it almost impossible to obtain carriage or provisions. "Then he differs greatly from General Cotton, who, since his arrival here two days ago, has shown himself an officer who has an immense opinion of his own dignity. As general in command he declines to take any orders, or indeed to listen to any advice, from Macnaghten. This is certainly not Macnaghten's fault, who, although, as I consider, mistaken in his opinions, is very conciliating in his manner, and would willingly avoid all friction, which can but be disadvantageous to the enterprise on which he has set his heart. Cotton's transport is really insufficient for his own army; Shah Soojah has hardly any transport at all. Cotton cares not in the slightest about the Shah or the Shah's army, and, to say the truth, they are of no great value. "Macnaghten, however, attaches, and reasonably from his point of view, great importance to the fact that Shah Soojah should appear as arriving to claim his throne as an independent prince with his own army, supported by his allies the British, and not as a mere puppet forced upon the Afghans by British bayonets; and he is therefore most anxious that he and his force should occupy as prominent a position as possible. It is as well for me to give you these hints as to the situation before you see Macnaghten, and to warn you against speaking to him strongly of any hostile opinions as to Shah Soojah's chances that you may have gathered on your journey. When a man has an open mind it is well to give him both sides of the case, but when he has pledged his reputation and thrown himself heart and soul into one side of the case it is worse than useless to endeavour to turn him, especially when the die is cast and the day for drawing back is past. If my opinion, gathered from nine months' residence in Cabul and almost daily interviews with Dost Mahomed, has been altogether unheeded, certainly yours, gathered in a passing trip through the country, would have no effect whatever beyond setting him against you." "Thank you, sir, I will be careful; and indeed my opinion would in any case be of little value. I certainly conversed a good deal with the natives on my way from Herat to Candahar, but at that city I spoke only to Persian merchants, and had no intercourse whatever on my way down, except with my guides in the Bolan passes." "Well we will call on him now," Sir Alexander Burnes said, taking his cap. Mr. Macnaghten's tent was next to his own, and he at once took Angus in with him. "I have come, Mr. Macnaghten, to introduce to you Mr. Angus Campbell, who has just come down through Candahar from Herat. His name was, I know, very favourably mentioned both by Lieutenant Pottinger and Mr. M'Neill. He has brought down letters of introduction to me and Colonel Pottinger." "I know your name well, sir," Macnaghten said. "Mr. M'Neill told us that you had been in his service, and had gone to Herat on a mission to induce Shah Kamran to hold out to the last, and that when the siege was raised you had started from there with the intention of journeying down through Afghanistan into Scinde, in hopes of obtaining employment in some capacity where your knowledge of Persian and Arabic would be of service. I also understand, by Lieutenant Pottinger's last despatch, that you have learned Pushtoo. The Governor-general was very favourably impressed with these reports, and authorized me to employ you at once as one of the junior assistants. I should think, Sir Alexander, that you can employ Mr. Campbell to greater advantage than I can, as the work of making the arrangements for the advance of the army is in your hands." "I shall be very glad of an addition to my staff, for as we get on I foresee that the three officers who now assist me will be altogether insufficient; and the high terms in which Mr. M'Neill and Lieutenant Pottinger have written about him, and the fact that he has been able to travel about the country unsuspected, shows his fitness for such work." "You must understand, Mr. Campbell," Macnaghten said, "I cannot guarantee that the position will be a permanent one, as all such appointments in the service must be confirmed by the Court of Directors; but I shall at once acquaint Lord Auckland of your arrival here and of your nomination, and I have no doubt that he will himself confirm it so far as this expedition continues, and will strongly recommend the Court of Directors that your appointment to the service shall be a permanent one, in view of your exceptional knowledge of Persian and Pushtoo." "I thank you very much indeed, sir, and will do my best to merit your good opinion." As Angus left the tent with Sir Alexander Burnes he said: "I am indeed obliged to you, sir. I had hoped that I might obtain an appointment of some sort, but I never hoped for one like this. It is the work, too, of all others that I should like, and you may rely on me to carry out your orders to the full extent of my power." "I have no doubt you will, Mr. Campbell. I am glad to have one of my officers speak Pushtoo, for although both in Scinde and Afghanistan Persian is the language most spoken by the upper classes, it is of no use with the peasants. In the work of digging wells, bargaining for fodder for the horses, and so forth, Pushtoo will be very useful, for although it differs from the language of the Belooches, it is near enough for them to understand it; and, of course, when we are once through the Bolan it is the language of all the countrymen." "May I ask what dress it will be proper for me to wear?" "As it is a civil appointment you will not wear uniform, but either the ordinary civilian dress, or, if you like, a dress of oriental character. I generally dress so, and it certainly has its advantages, and favourably predisposes chiefs you may have to visit. A British uniform they understand, but a purely civilian dress is too simple for them, and does not convey any sense of importance." "Very well, sir; I am glad that you have decided so. I have no civilian clothes with me, and should find it very difficult, if not impossible, to get them here." "Your appointment will be a thousand rupees a month, so long as the campaign lasts; after that it would, of course, depend upon the future employment you might have. If you would like to draw a month's pay in advance you can do so." "No, thank you, sir; I am fairly provided with money." "I have four officers employed on similar duty, Mr. Campbell, I will introduce you to them at once; and you will, of course, mess with our party." Major Leech, the chief assistant, was away on duty, but the other three officers were at once sent for. "Captain Jones, Captain Arbuthnot, and Lieutenant Macgregor, I wish to introduce to you Mr. Campbell, whom I have just appointed as one of my political assistants. He has distinguished himself greatly under Lieutenant Pottinger throughout the siege of Herat, and was previously an assistant to Mr. M'Neill, our ambassador at the court of Persia. He speaks Persian, Arabic, and Pushtoo, and has been specially recommended to the Governor-general by Mr. M'Neill and Pottinger. He has now made his way from Herat through Candahar, and the fact that he has done so safely shows that he knows how to use these languages to advantage." As Lieutenant Pottinger's gallant defence of Herat was the theme of general admiration throughout India, Angus could not have had a better introduction, and he was warmly received by the three officers, who at once took him away with them. "You will share my tent with me," Lieutenant Macgregor said. "I am alone at present. You have a horse, of course, and a servant, I suppose?" "I have a very fair horse, and an excellent servant, who is a young fellow, a Persian, the son of a door-keeper at the embassy. He was with me through the siege, and I found him invaluable. He is a strong fellow, and has plenty of courage and shrewdness; I should never have got away out of Candahar had it not been for his assistance. "Sir Alexander has advised me to get an Eastern dress, as I cannot wear uniform; and I must see about that at once, for this Persian dress would in any case have been out of place, and my journey down the Bolan has ruined it altogether. But in the first place, I shall be obliged if you will tell me where my two horses are to be put up." "Your horse will be picketed with ours in our tents; our servants' horses are in the line behind them. Is that your man over there with the two horses? I will send an orderly to tell him to take them over and picket them. Now, I suppose you want something to eat? We had tiffin an hour ago, but the servants can get something for you." "Thank you; I will go down into the town. I had something before mounting this morning, and I own I should not care about going into the mess-tent till I have got something to wear a little more respectable than these clothes." "Oh, that is nonsense. Besides, you need not go into the mess-tent. I will order them to warm something up at once, and to bring it into my tent. We are all wanting to hear more about Herat. The official despatches only give us bare facts." For the next two hours Angus was fully occupied in relating his experiences of the siege to the three officers; after that he went down with Azim to the town. There he bought for himself a dress such as would be worn by a native of some rank--a white turban, a blue tunic opening at the breast and showing a white cambric shirt, several white robes, and loose white linen trousers tightened in at the ankle. He bought a good supply of under-linen and a couple of pairs of native riding-boots. For Azim he bought clothes appropriate to a retainer of a Mohammedan gentleman. As he was unable to procure a camp bed of European make, he bought a native charpoy, which could be taken to pieces and conveniently carried. He had found that his fellow-officers had each three native servants--a butler or body servant, a syce for their riding horses, and a man who looked after and led on the line of march two baggage animals. He had no difficulty in engaging a syce, and let the question of the baggage animals stand over until next day. Azim would, of course, act as his personal servant. The lad, who had during the past year become imbued with the spirit of adventure, was delighted to hear that his master was to accompany the army. He had, during his stay in Herat, picked up the language, and could converse in it as fluently as Angus himself was able to do; and although he had no pleasant recollections of the journey from Candahar, he felt sure that it would be a very different affair when accompanying a British army. He expressed as much to his master, who said: "I should not make so sure of that, Azim. We had no great difficulty in obtaining provisions for ourselves, but it will be a very different thing with an army of thousands of men, with an even larger number of camp followers and five or six thousand camels. Except just round one of those little villages, we did not see a blade of grass from the time we left the Shawl valley, and how the animals will exist till we get up to Quettah I have no idea. Once there no doubt we shall do fairly well, but we shall have a very bad time on the journey, unless I am mistaken. If I had the management of affairs, I should send off at once the whole of the camels with a sufficient escort as far as Dadur. There they should leave the provisions and forage they took up, and return here to accompany the army with a further supply. No doubt it would cause a month's delay, but it would be better to do that than to lose half our baggage animals and to risk famine for the troops." "I believe," Captain Arbuthnot said when Angus joined the others, "that ten days' supply are ready at Dadur, and twenty days' supply at Quettah." "Certainly there were no supplies at Dadur when I came through, but I know nothing about Quettah," Angus said; "still I think that if any supplies of consequence had been collected there I should have heard about it from the men who guided us through the pass." "There were no troops there, then?" "No, not the slightest sign of them, nor did we pass any on the march down from Candahar; but of course the Khan of Khelat may have collected a great force of Belooches, and if he did so, he would naturally keep them at Khelat until he heard that the army was approaching, as it would be an immense deal of trouble to victual them in the pass." "I know that Mr. Macnaghten received news which induced him to believe that a large force would be likely to march down from Candahar, and that the attitude of the princes was altogether hostile. It is on account of that news that we are going to advance in two or three days' time, instead of waiting for another three weeks for a larger stock of supplies to be collected. It was but ten days ago that the commissary-general sent off four thousand camels to bring up supplies from the rear. However, they will be useful for the Bombay column which is coming up, as it is arranged that we shall collect transport and supplies for them. "Therefore the decision has been taken to march at once, so that we can ascend the pass before the enemy send a sufficient force to hold it against us. No doubt the report that we were not going to leave here for another three weeks has been sent up to Candahar. The Prince is sure to have agents and spies here. We ought to be at the foot of the Bolan before it is known in Candahar that we have started. As to Khelat, the Khan has sent in assurances of his friendship, and I expect he will make himself safe by assuming neutrality; but the Belooches are a warlike people, and born plunderers, and his authority is very slight, except in Khelat and the district near it. We are sure to have trouble with the mountaineers, but beyond having to protect the convoy strongly, I do not suppose we shall have serious fighting with them. I expect that we shall be sent off to-morrow or next day to Khelat and Quettah, perhaps one of us may even go to Candahar. I know that Mr. Macnaghten thinks that possibly the princes may not take an active part on Dost Mahomed's side. Everyone knows that they have no great love for their brother; which is not surprising, for he, who is the youngest of the family, has managed to secure the sovereignty. Besides, they would see that if they took up arms in his favour the whole brunt of the fighting would fall upon them, for Cabul could render them no real assistance. They are very shifty gentlemen, and though they may make a show of force at first, it would probably be only for the purpose of securing advantageous terms for themselves." "I saw them when I was at Candahar," Angus said, "and they, or at least one of them, questioned me closely; but supposing me to be a Persian just arrived from Herat, he naturally said nothing about a British invasion. His great anxiety was to know what the intentions and power of Russia and Persia were. No doubt the plans that were formed were entirely disconcerted by the Shah's retreat from before Herat. I saw no signs whatever of any gatherings of the Afghans, nor was the subject ever alluded to in the conversations I had with traders at the place where I lodged." At this moment a native officer came in and said that Sir Alexander desired to see Captains Arbuthnot and Jones. As they buckled on their swords the latter said: "You have told us about Herat, Mr. Campbell, and this evening I hope you will tell us about your journey down." When the officers returned Angus found that Arbuthnot was not mistaken as to the probable work they would have to perform, for he was to accompany Major Todd the next morning with an escort of cavalry for Khelat. They were to see the Khan and arrange with him for supplies to be sent to Dadur. Captain Jones was to remain there to see that his promises were carried out, and Arbuthnot, unless he learned that a force from Candahar had arrived at Quettah, was to go on there and see to the collection of grain and cattle. "A squadron of cavalry is going forward to-morrow morning, Campbell. Four hundred labourers are going with it, and you are to be in special charge of half of them. Of course, they will have eight or ten headmen, but they will want looking after all the same. They are to dig wells at Burshoree; the other half, under you, Macgregor, are to do the same thing at Meerpoor. It is a thousand pities it was not done before, for the army is to begin its advance the day after to-morrow. However, you will gain a couple of days on them, and that is something. If you meet Major Leech, who is at work improving the roads, you will, of course, report yourself to him, and he will doubtless be able to advise you as to the best place for the wells." Angus heard the news with much satisfaction. In the first place it meant active work, and in the second it would save him from the slow and toilsome march of the army, which would, he felt sure, be accompanied with enormous hardship. The four officers dined together. Sir A. Burnes was not present, as he was dining with General Cotton and Mr. Macnaghten. After dinner Angus related his adventure at Candahar; how he evaded pursuit, and his passage through the pass. He had hardly finished when he was sent for to the general's tent. "I have just been telling General Cotton, Mr. Campbell," said Mr. Macnaghten, "that you arrived this morning from Candahar. He wishes to learn as much as you can tell him of the state of the pass at present, and of the country between Dadur and this place. I told him that I had not been able to find time to question you on these points." "In the first place," the general said, "what is the state of the Bolan?" "As I only travelled during the night I cannot tell you very much about it. The river is not high, and there is no difficulty whatever on that score. The ground is generally extremely rough, and covered not only with rounded boulders, but by rocks that will prove very trying to the feet of the animals. We bandaged very thickly the hoofs of our horses to deaden the sound, and so saved them from being lamed, which they otherwise would certainly have been. The bandages were of felt, and these were completely cut to pieces the first night. After that we cut up one of the water-skins I had with me, and we covered the felt with the leather, but even this was cut to pieces, and had to be renewed the next night. Although this is the general character of the pass, there are places at which, by skirting the foot of the hills at points where the pass opens out--and the hills are not precipitous, although everywhere steep--it is possible for mounted men to go along at a fast walk, the stones being much smaller, and like, I should think, what I have heard of a sea-beach, though I never saw one, at least that I can remember." "Still, there were no insurmountable difficulties, Mr. Campbell?" "No, sir, though there were places where certainly not more than two laden camels could pass abreast." "Well, next as to the country between this place and Dadur. We know about it as far as the edge of Beloochee Desert; what is it beyond that? Did you suffer from want of water?" "No, sir, at the villages where we stopped there was always water; but there were, as far as I saw, but a few small wells, which would seem to me very insufficient for the supply of an army and its train." "Well, we are going to dig more wells," Mr. Macnaghten said rather impatiently. "If the water will run into three or four wells it would run into fifty. Now, about forage?" "There were small patches of cultivation round each of the villages; at Bhag more than elsewhere, as it lies nearer to the foot of the hills; but at Meerpoor, Burshoree, and Rojhan I should not say there were more than twenty or thirty acres of cultivated land. At Bhag I was strongly advised to take the road at the foot of the hills to Dundeaver down to Larkhanna, and from there to follow the Indus up to Sukkar; but the guides said that I should be more likely to be troubled by the Beloochees along that route, and as it was also twice as far I took the straight way here." "Thank you. We will not detain you any longer, Mr. Campbell, and we are obliged for the information that you have given us." Angus bowed and retired. He felt that Mr. Macnaghten was vexed that he could not report better upon the chances of obtaining sufficient supplies of forage and water. But he felt that it was clearly better that he should give, in the plainest terms, the true state of affairs, for when, as he was sure would be the case, there was immense suffering of men and animals, the blame would fall upon him if he had given a more hopeful account than the facts warranted. Sir A. Burnes sent for him on leaving the general's tent. "You did quite right in not giving a rose-coloured description of the state of things along the line of march, Mr. Campbell. Of course neither Mr. Macnaghten nor General Cotton liked it. Neither of them, in fact, has the slightest idea of the troubles ahead of them, and both were inclined to view me as a pessimist. However, it will not matter to you very greatly whether Macnaghten is pleased with you or not, because your reports will be sent in to me. This sort of work will not last very long. I have only undertaken it because Major Garden, General Cotton's quarter-master-general, has been taken ill. Major Craikie, the adjutant-general, will go forward with me the day after to-morrow to superintend matters generally. I hope by that time to have a thousand more men for well-digging. Major Leech has gone to Sebee to cut a dam there on the river Naree, which it is hoped will fill the small water-courses and greatly assist us. I have more fear about forage than water. You can dig wells and cut dams, but you can't get a crop to grow at a day's notice. However, we must hope for the best." The next morning at three o'clock Angus and Lieutenant Macgregor started with the labourers and an escort of fifty native cavalry. "I am very glad to be off, Campbell," Macgregor said. "It has been disheartening work for some time. Somehow or other nothing has gone smoothly since we started. Of course I am only a sub, but certainly it seems to me that so far there has been an enormous amount of unnecessary friction, and that the chiefs have not gone the right way to work. I don't believe myself in this Shah whom we are going to force upon the Afghans. Dost Mahomed is worth a dozen of him, and no one who knows anything of the affairs of Afghanistan is able to understand why Lord Auckland and Macnaghten and the rest of them should ever have conceived the idea of supplanting a man who has shown himself really desirous of our alliance and friendship, and who undoubtedly possesses the support of a majority of his countrymen, by one who has never shown any talent, who has no party whatever in Afghanistan, and is a member of a discredited and fallen family. "Still, that is their affair; but matters have been complicated by the manner in which the Emirs of Scinde have been treated. Instead of regarding them, as they have always shown themselves, as friendly to us, we have gone out of our way to render them hostile, by the manner in which we have, in absolute contradiction of the terms of their treaty with us, compelled them to furnish carriage, provisions, and money. Had they been a conquered country we could not have carried matters with a higher hand. It will be sure to lead to trouble some day, and certainly adds immensely to our difficulties. Now, the very fact that, in the days when he was for a short time ruler in Afghanistan, Soojah advanced all sorts of preposterous claims of suzerainty over a large portion of Scinde, was in itself a reason why, if we took the absurd step of placing him on the throne of Cabul, we should have advanced from Peshawur through Jellalabad direct, instead of taking this roundabout journey through Scinde. Of course there would have been great difficulties in the Khyber, and we should have had to encounter fierce opposition from the hill-tribesmen, but that will have to be met in any case. And after installing Soojah at Cabul, we could have gradually extended his power--or ours, for of course he would be but a puppet in our hands--through Ghuznee to Candahar. Of course you won't hear any talk like this among the officers of the Bombay or Bengal army. They know and care nothing about the matter. It is just among the men who have been employed here in the north, and who know something about it, that there is any doubt as to the wisdom of the affair. I know Burnes considers that the whole thing is a mistake. Colonel Pottinger, who, as our resident in Scinde, knows a great deal about the Afghans, says little, but I know that he disapproves of it; and so, I think, do all of us juniors, who have worked either under him, or with Burnes, or up in the Punjaub, and have, of course, always taken an interest in the affairs of Afghanistan, especially since Russian influence has become so preponderant in Persia. Well, we can only hope for the best, and do our best in our own little way. Thank goodness, whatever comes of it, we have no responsibility in the affair." "I really know very little about it," Angus said; "but I do know that it will be a terrible business getting the army to Quettah, and that directly it was determined to come this way arrangements should have been made to dig sufficient wells to ensure a supply of water at every watering-place, and to collect stores of forage and grain. I really don't see how it is to be done now. From all that I could hear as I came down, there will be a lot of trouble with the Beloochees." The difficulties of the advance had already been felt. Great numbers of camels had died between Sukkar and Shikarpore, and those that accompanied the party of well-diggers were enfeebled, and looked as if they had accomplished a long forced march instead of the strong and fresh animals one would expect to see setting out on such an enterprise. The first halting-place was Jagan. The next day they started at the same early hour and proceeded to Janeedera. Here they had passed beyond the boundary of the Scinde Ameers, and had entered the territory over which the Khan of Khelat held nominal authority. At this place there was a small mud fort, outside of which straw had been collected for the use of the cavalry, and to guard this a small party of Shah Soojah's troops had been posted. These, however, had been attacked and driven off by a Beloochee band, and the straw carried away. However, there was sufficient water in the wells for the men and animals. The next day's march was a long one, but at Rojhan a certain amount of forage had been collected, and there was a fair supply of water. The country so far had been barren, with occasional bushes, but beyond Rojhan they had nothing but an absolutely flat surface of sand, without a blade of grass or a bush to break the level expanse; across this desert the party toiled on for twenty-seven miles. A little water was carried by the camels, but this supply was soon exhausted, and with parched lips and throats the men plodded on, knowing that until the end of the journey no water could be obtained. Scarce a word was spoken during the painful journey. Passing over the ground as he came down at a canter, Angus had thought but little of it; he had done it in less than four hours, and there was no trouble from the dust. It was very different now. It was fourteen hours from the time of starting before they reached Burshoree, the mounted men having to accommodate their pace to that of the labourers, and the dust rose in dense clouds. A part of the cavalry rode ahead, the rest some half a mile behind the main body of the footmen. But before half the journey was done these began to straggle, and the dust had no time to settle before the horsemen came along. Fully half the labourers, indeed, threw themselves down on the sand incapable of going farther, and lay there until the cool evening air revived them, and it was long after midnight before many of them reached Burshoree. Here a considerable number of wells had already been dug by the party under Major Leech. The water was muddy, and trickled in but slowly. Still it was water, and men and horses drank it eagerly as fast as it could be brought up in buckets and emptied into troughs which had been erected. Although the village--a mere collection of native huts, surrounded by a wall as a protection against the plundering Beloochees--offered a most uninviting prospect, Angus was well pleased that he had arrived at the end of his journey, and had not, like Macgregor, another day's march to perform. The latter started as usual at three o'clock, and an hour later Angus, with some difficulty, roused his two hundred weary men and set them to work, promising them that if they laboured hard he would allow them to rest during the heat of the day. Cheered by the promise, the labourers set to work under their headmen. Each of these had charge of twenty workmen; these were divided into two gangs and worked wells close together. Angus had nothing to do save to exercise a sort of general superintendence. The soil became much more firm a few feet below the surface, and as the sides stood satisfactorily it was not necessary to make the wells of any great depth. It was found that four men only could be employed on each, two working in the bottom and the others bringing up the earth with buckets and ropes, consequently, the number of the wells was largely increased. After three days of prodigious toil, water was reached in the majority of the wells, and by the end of the fourth day fifty had been added to those already dug. The liquid, however, oozed in but slowly, and when a well was emptied it was two or three hours before water could again be drawn from it; thus although the amount that could be obtained altogether was considerable, it was still wholly insufficient for the supply of an army. Five-and-twenty of the native cavalry were kept constantly on the alert, for parties of plundering Beloochees hovered round, and several of the well-diggers who, in spite of orders, ventured to wander some distance away were robbed and killed. The next morning General Thackwell, with a body of cavalry, a small force of infantry, and some irregular horse, rode into the place. He brought with him an order from Sir A. Burnes for Angus to accompany him. The well-diggers were to remain there and continue their work. The general had intended to stop there for two or three days, but finding that no forage could be procured, he started the next morning early and rode through Meerpoor to Oostar, a distance of twenty-seven miles, where, as had been reported by Major Leech, there was a small reservoir of water, and a store of straw and grass had been collected. Angus stopped for an hour at Meerpoor and had a talk with Macgregor, whose men had also accomplished a great deal of work, and who bewailed his fate at having to remain there instead of going forward with General Thackwell. CHAPTER VIII THE ADVANCE The cutting of the dam of the Naree did not afford so much aid as had been hoped for, for the thirsty soil absorbed the water almost as fast as it poured out, and it was not until many days later that it began to fill the little irrigation canals at the villages through which the army passed. After resting two days at Oostar, the force proceeded to Bhag, a town of some size. Here water was found in abundance, and grain in considerable quantities, and also a supply of carrots, which were eagerly purchased by the officers for the use of their horses. At the various places where they halted Angus acted as interpreter, and rode out with a small body of cavalry to villages at which they learned a certain amount of forage could be obtained. At Bhag, to his great satisfaction, Sir Alexander Burnes joined the party. He had paid a visit to the Khan of Khelat, and obtained from him stringent orders to the headmen of villages and others to do all in their power to aid the army. The inhabitants were all to be set to work to dig the holes, for which they would receive payments from the British. The Khan also promised to despatch to Dadur what supplies he could gather, but explained that unfortunately there was a much greater difficulty than usual in collecting provisions, as the previous season had been a very bad one, and in many parts of the country the villagers had not been able to gather sufficient for their own needs. As Angus had heard the same at Candahar, at the village near Quettah, and from his guide, there could be no doubt that this excuse was a genuine one, and indeed the officers who had been engaged in Scinde and in the country bordering the Indus affirmed that the supplies obtainable there were also vastly smaller than had been anticipated. Throughout the next week Angus was continually employed in riding among the towns in the khanate, interviewing headmen, and expediting the despatch of convoys. He was always accompanied by a troop of cavalry, for plundering parties of Beloochees were making their way on all sides towards the line followed by the army, where they murdered stragglers, captured lagging camels, and were so bold that they ventured close to the outskirts of the villages occupied by the British camps, robbed the natives of the moneys paid them for forage or grain, and rendered it necessary that every convoy should be protected by a considerable escort. After a week of this work, Angus received orders to join the force that was gathering at Dadur. During the last two days' march the difficulties with regard to water had disappeared. The villages had all been situated on the Bolan river, and little irrigation canals enabled the cultivation of a considerable tract of country to be carried on, which supplied forage in sufficient quantity for the first division of the army which came along. Dadur, a town of some four thousand inhabitants, stands on the eastern branch of the Bolan river, whose banks were fringed with high reeds and groves of dwarf trees. The country round was well cultivated, and the fields were covered with young crops of wheat and barley. Close to the town were gardens, and the whole presented an agreeable appearance to the troops, who had for nearly three weeks been painfully making their way across country which, even at its best points, was little more than a sandy desert. Here Angus again met Sir Alexander Burnes, who had been making the greatest efforts to accumulate supplies at the town. His success, however, had been very small, nor had Major Leech, who was also at Dadur, been more fortunate. It had been reckoned that twenty days' supplies for the whole army would have been accumulated there, but not more than sufficient for two or three days had been gathered, and General Cotton, on arriving there with the Bengal army, decided that it was necessary for at least a portion of the army to advance without delay. Sir Alexander Burnes started at once with Major Cureton of the 16th Lancers, with a troop of that regiment, three companies of the Native Infantry, and a strong party of sappers and miners, to survey the pass up to Quettah. Major Leech was sent to Khelat to maintain a strong pressure upon the Khan, and it was still hoped that stores might be collected by the time the Bombay army came along. The report sent down was satisfactory inasmuch as the physical difficulties of the journey were concerned. In spite of the fact that heavy rains had fallen, the river had not risen sufficiently to interfere seriously with the passage of troops and animals, and on the 16th of March the Horse Artillery, 2nd Light Cavalry, the 13th Regiment of the line, and the 48th Native Infantry, started early in the morning, forded by torchlight the Bolan river, and at eight o'clock pitched their camp in the valley, where they were to rest for the day. The road had so far offered no difficulties, except that the river had to be forded no fewer than eight times. The baggage animals which started at midnight had already arrived, but the tents were pitched with some difficulty owing to the rocky nature of the ground, which necessitated the use of iron tent-pegs instead of the wooden ones previously used. Fortunately, owing to the pause that had been made by the advance parties at Dadur, and the abundance of succulent food they had obtained there, the animals had recovered to a large extent from their previous fatigues and hardships, and the journey through the pass was accomplished with less loss and suffering than had occurred during the march from Sukkar. Vast numbers of animals, however, died, and the troops, who had started full of life and strength, were sadly changed, many of them being utterly worn out and a mere shadow of their former selves. The rumour that had precipitated the march by three weeks, upset all the transport arrangements, and caused so vast an amount of suffering, proved to be false--no forward movement had been made by the Candahar princes, and except for some little trouble with the marauding villagers, the march was entirely unopposed. Once in the Shawl valley the fatigues of the army were over for the time, but in spite of the efforts of Sir A. Burnes and his assistants, only a very small amount of food and forage had been collected in readiness for them. So small indeed was the supply that it was necessary to place both the troops and native followers on reduced rations of flour, rice, and ghee. Meat, however, was plentiful. The proceedings of the Khan of Khelat were not of a character to inspire confidence in him. While protesting strongly his friendship for us, he told our officers frankly that he was certain Shah Soojah would not retain his position for a day after the British troops marched away; that the whole feeling of the country was against him, and that although, had he advanced with only a native army raised by himself, he might have been accepted, the people would never submit to a sovereign thrust upon them by British bayonets. Opinions differed much as to his sincerity. Those who doubted it pointed to the fact, that although he was said to have large stores of provisions at Khelat, he had scarcely sold any to our troops, and had failed in all his promises in that direction. On the other hand, Sir A. Burnes maintained that the stores of provisions spoken of did not exist; and that in any case, having no belief in the possibility of Shah Soojah maintaining himself, it was but natural that he should hang back until he saw how matters went, for if he were to give any active aid to the British he would be considered a traitor by his countrymen, and would imperil his khanate and his life when our protection was withdrawn from him. The question was never satisfactorily cleared up. Some of those who took part in the proceedings and wrote on the subject regarded him as a very ill-used man, while others considered the measures afterwards taken against him as being fully justified by his conduct. As it was absolutely necessary that food should be obtained, parties were sent into the villages and a rigorous search instituted, and in this way a considerable quantity of hidden grain was discovered. This was taken and paid for at the market price. In Quettah itself one very large store was found and taken up for the use of the army. The climate was pleasant, and in spite of reduced rations the men benefited by the halt, which was not without its excitement, for large bands of plunderers hovered round, attacks were frequently made upon parties going out with camels to graze, and expeditions to punish the villages to which the marauders belonged were undertaken. At length General Sir John Keane, who was in command of the whole expedition, arrived at Quettah, to the satisfaction of the army, for it was thought that some decision must now be arrived at. It was evident to all that, unless something were done, famine would ere long stare them in the face. The European troops could indeed exist upon meat, but the native troops and camp followers, the greater portion of whom were not meat-eaters, were already in sore distress, the supply of grain and rice barely sufficing to keep life together. The hope was justified. As soon as the general arrived the heads of the departments were assembled and arrangements were made for an advance. The greater portion of the Bombay army arrived soon after their commander, and although the men were still weakened by privation the army was in most respects perfectly capable of carrying out the work successfully. There was, however, one serious drawback which threatened to destroy their efficiency: the horses of the cavalry and artillery and the animals of the transport were so weakened by want of grain and hay that they were altogether unfit for hard work. It was upon the 7th of April that the army moved forward, seven weeks having elapsed since they started from Shikarpore. The march to Candahar was long and painful, several passes had to be traversed, food became more and more scarce, and hundreds of animals died daily. Beloochee plunderers during the first portion of the journey, and Afghan raiders during the second, hung along the line of march, murdering all who straggled, capturing camels, at times even threatening an attack in force. They were able to do this, as our cavalry horses were so broken down that they could scarcely proceed beyond a walk. The Candahar princes with a large following came out to give battle; but Hajee Khan Kakur, one of the leading chiefs, had been bribed by our political officers, and deserting, came into our camp with a large body of followers, and this so disheartened the princes, and excited so much fear among them of further treachery, that they withdrew at once to Candahar, and a few hours after their arrival there took the northern road. After immense suffering from want of water and food, the army entered the city on the 26th of April, Shah Soojah having gone on with Hajee Kakur and made a formal entry into the town two days previously. Angus had had little to do during the march from Quettah. The chances of obtaining forage or food at the deserted villages near the line of march were so small that Sir John Keane decided that it would be useless to endeavour to obtain anything there, especially as an officer leaving the main body had to be accompanied by a strong escort to protect him from the bands of marauders, and it was deemed inadvisable to give the horses any work that could be avoided. Angus's own animal, being accustomed to the country, suffered less than those from the plains, and in order to spare it as much as possible, and keep it in such a condition that it would be fit for work were he ordered to make any expedition, he generally walked by its side the greater part of the day, preferring this, indeed, to sitting on horseback and moving at the snail's pace necessitated by the difficulties of the road and the slow progress of the weakened animals of the baggage train. Among these the mortality had been terrible, and one writer estimated that no fewer than thirty thousand transport animals died on the road between Sukkar and Candahar. Shah Soojah had at first established himself in his camp outside the city, but two days after the arrival of the army he took up his abode at the palace. He was accompanied by his own officials and by Macnaghten and Burnes and their assistants. "What are you smiling at, Campbell?" Lieutenant Macgregor, who had been his companion and tent-fellow since they left Dadur, asked as they rode together into the city. "I am thinking of the difference between my position in this procession, and the fact that I am going to take up my quarters in the palace, and the position I occupied when I was last here--a pretended trader, suspected and watched, and obliged to escape by night." "Yes, it is a change, certainly," Macgregor said, "and one for the better, though, after what we have gone through and all we may have to go through before we leave this wretched country, I don't think it would be safe to assert that it is less dangerous now than it was then. From the time we left Shikarpore till we arrived here three days ago, we have never had a decent meal, we have practically never had enough to eat, we have suffered horribly from thirst, we have never dared to ride a hundred yards beyond the column or camp; we have lived, in fact, dogs' lives--not the life of a respectable dog in England, but of a starving cur in an Indian bazaar. We don't know much about the future; I don't suppose we shall suffer from hunger and thirst as we have done, but our dangers of other kinds will certainly not be abated. Everything looks smooth enough here. I don't think there is any enthusiasm at all for Soojah, but there is no doubt that the princes were hated, and the people heartily glad to be rid of them. I fancy that we shall not have much difficulty in reaching Cabul. They say Ghuznee is a strong place, but we have taken scores of places in India that the natives considered impregnable. Still, considering the way in which these marauding Afghans hover round us, I think we shall have a very uncomfortable time of it." As the soldiers were not at first allowed to enter the city, the merchants there speedily established a temporary bazaar outside the walls. Here vendors of rose-water, of sherbet, and of a drink concocted of the juice of fruits, took up their stalls. People from the country round brought in loads of lucerne, wheat, barley, wood, and chopped straw. Other merchants displayed posteens, pelisses made of sheep-skins, with the wool inside and embroidered outside with blue, red, and yellow thread; fowls, sheep, onions, milk, tobacco, and spices were also on sale, and before long the horse-dealers of Herat brought down large numbers of good animals, which were eagerly bought up by officers who had lost their chargers. As soon as the soldiers were allowed to enter the town they poured into it. Wheaten cakes, cooked meat, and mulberries tempted their appetite, and a little later plums and apricots were brought in in great profusion. The scenes in the streets were very amusing. The British soldiers and Sepoys with their large variety of uniforms mingled with the people of the town and country round. Some of these wore long cloaks of chintz or woollen cloth, with large turbans; their hair, beards, and moustaches being allowed to grow very long, and the beards being dyed red. Others were closely shaven, and dressed in jackets and trousers of blue linen, and tunics of brown cloth with long hanging sleeves, their heads being protected by skull-caps of various colours. With May the heat, which already had been great, became even more oppressive. Water was abundant, but the troops and camp followers were still on short rations of food. The price of grain was enormously high, and there was no chance of the magazines being replenished until the fields were ripe for harvest. It was not until nearly three weeks after possession was taken of the capital that a force was despatched under Brigadier Sale in pursuit of the princes--a grievous mistake; for Shah Soojah had entered Candahar on the day they left, and as they were greatly encumbered by their baggage train, the ladies of the harems, and a host of camp followers, they might easily have been overtaken; whereas, after their escape, they became the centre of intrigues against the Ameer. In June the harvest ripened, large quantities of grain were bought up by the commissariat, and preparations began for the advance to Cabul. Candahar was quiet and apathetic. So far no signs were visible of any enthusiasm for their new ruler among the people. Not only did none of the neighbouring chiefs come in to pay their allegiance, but the Shah's orders were everywhere disregarded. Marauding bands harassed and sometimes attacked convoys coming up; and even close to the city it was dangerous for the soldiers to move many hundred yards beyond the limits of their camps. The health of the troops was far from good. The plains of Candahar, fertile as they are, are unhealthy, as water can be found everywhere six or seven feet below the surface. The native troops suffered comparatively little, but the European soldiers were attacked by dysentery, jaundice, and fever, and large numbers were carried off by these diseases. At the end of June the necessary amount of grain was accumulated by the arrival of a large caravan from Mooltan. The army was now to cut itself entirely free from its former lines of supplies, and would have to depend solely, upon the country for food, as the ever-increasing boldness of the Beloochees in the Bolan Pass, and of the Afghan marauders between Quettah and Candahar, had made it impossible for convoys, unless very strongly guarded, to make their way up. The advance began at two o'clock on the morning of the 28th, and four hours later, after passing through a fertile district, the troops encamped at the village of Killa Azim. Here they obtained barley for their animals, and peasants from other villages brought in an abundance of chopped straw for the camels. At midnight the trumpet sounded, and an hour later the army moved forward again as far as Kheil. Four days' further march brought them to Kelat-i-Ghilzye, the chief town of the Ghilzye tribes. Two or three hundred of their horsemen galloped away as the troops approached. Marching ten miles a day, the army followed the valley of the Turnak, which afforded an ample supply of water for all their needs. The country was mountainous and desolate, the dreariness being only broken by small villages with their orchards and patches of cultivated ground. Grain was brought in in abundance. The force was now far above the plain, the heat ceased to be oppressive even in the middle of the day, and the mornings and evenings were delightfully cool. Nevertheless, the number of sick increased, owing to the bad quality of the flour and the absence of vegetables. The country now became more thickly populated, little villages, with the fortified dwellings of their chiefs, being thickly scattered about. The hostile tribesmen followed the march on both flanks, and many skirmishes took place; on one occasion the Ghilzye marauders made an attack on the line of march, but were driven off with heavy loss. On the 17th a nephew of the Ameer rode in with fifteen followers. He had gone to Ghuznee with his brother to aid in its defence, but suspicions being entertained by Mohummed Hyder, the governor, of their fidelity, his brother was seized and put to death, and he himself only escaped a similar fate by flight. As they approached Ghuznee, Sir Alexander Burnes said to Angus: "Mr. Campbell, I shall be glad if you will resume your Afghan costume and ride to-morrow at daybreak with a party of six of Hajee Khan Kakur's men, and ascertain whether the enemy are in strength outside the fortress and intend to oppose our approach. If they do, we shall leave the baggage here under a strong guard and proceed to attack them. If they retire into the fortress, we shall advance as we have been doing, for possibly the siege may last some time, and it would be as well to take our ammunition and stores with us. Will you undertake that mission? I do not wish you, of course, to approach the enemy very closely. They will naturally take you for a party coming to join them, and will pay no attention to you. Half a mile will be near enough for you to go to the fortress. The disguise is only necessary because they too may have parties out, and should any come suddenly upon you, you would pass without suspicion or question; and indeed should you be stopped, your knowledge of the language is quite good enough to pass in any case. I have requested Hajee Khan to choose well-mounted men. We shall remain here to-morrow, and the general will send out a troop of cavalry to meet you on your return half-way between this and Ghuznee, so that should you be pursued, you will know that you will meet with succour before going many miles. The fortress itself is some twelve miles from this camp." "I will undertake it willingly, Sir Alexander." Accordingly on the following morning Angus set out. Azim asked leave to accompany him, but he refused. "Your horse is not a very fast one," he said. "It is a good beast, but we may have to ride for our lives, and you would soon be left behind. It is not a dangerous expedition, but in a country like this there is always the possibility of a surprise." After riding for two miles the fortress of Ghuznee was seen. It was situated on a high rock and surrounded by a wall of great height and strength, and was regarded by the Afghans as absolutely impregnable. As they approached, and could make out the strength of the fortifications, it seemed to Angus that, except by famine, it would be next to impossible to capture it. The general had left the few heavy cannon he had brought with him at Candahar because of the extreme difficulty of getting transport, and the light field-pieces could make but small impression indeed on these massive walls. When he approached within a mile he halted. There were no signs of any Afghan force in front of it. It was, of course, possible that they might sally out when they saw the army approaching, but at present there was nothing to show that they meant to do so. He was about to turn, when he was suddenly seized from behind, and in a moment his hands were bound tightly to his side by the sashes of two of his escort. The Afghans burst into a shout of triumph. "Infidel dog," one said, "did you think because Hajee Khan Kakur is a traitor that all his men are also. You came to see Ghuznee. You shall see the inside as well as the outside." Angus was brave, but a shudder ran through him as he thought of the fate that awaited him. The Afghans never spared those who fell into their hands, and fortunate were those who were speedily killed, for in many cases they were tortured before they were done to death. It had never occurred to him to doubt for a moment the good faith of the men who accompanied him; and yet, now he thought over it, such a possibility should have been foreseen, since there was no reason why the men should be traitors to their race, although for the moment they had obeyed their commander's orders and ridden with him into the British camp. They might even have remained faithful to him had not this opportunity of rejoining their countrymen presented itself. Even in the midst of his own deadly peril he was glad to think that, by his refusal to allow Azim to accompany him, he had saved him from the fate that awaited himself. He knew well that no entreaties would avail to soften the heart of the Afghan commander, and determined that, whatever came, he would maintain a firm countenance and meet his fate bravely. The gate of the fortress stood open. The men as they entered said a few words to the guards stationed there. "We were forced," they said, "to accompany the traitor Hajee Khan Kakur to the camp of the infidel, but we have taken the first opportunity to desert, and have brought with us this man, who is one of their officers, as a prisoner." "Why trouble to bring him as a prisoner?" "We thought that Mohummed Hyder would like to question him, and are bringing him here to show that we are true men." Climbing a steep road, they entered a great courtyard. Here they dismounted, and their leader, a sub-officer, went forward to the governor's house, followed by two others, between whom Angus walked. The leader entered, the others remained outside until he returned. "Follow me with the captive," he said, "Mohummed Hyder will speak to him." A minute later Angus stood before the governor. He was seated on a divan, and several other chiefs of importance were standing or sitting round. "They tell me," the governor said, "that you can speak our tongue?" "I can do so," Angus said quietly. "Where did you learn it?" "In Herat, where I fought during the siege, against the Persians." "And now you come hither as a spy?" "Not as a spy. I came here only to view the fortress from a distance." "Is it true that the kafirs are bringing no big guns with them?" As the governor was doubtless well informed as to the strength of the British army and the number of its guns, Angus felt that there could be no harm in answering the question. "They are not," he said. "How do they intend to take Ghuznee? Will they fly over the walls or burrow through the rock?" the governor said scoffingly. "Are they madmen, who think they can tear down the walls of Ghuznee with their finger-nails?" "I know nothing of the plans of the general," Angus replied. "But the British have taken many strong places in India when it seemed that it could not be done." "They will not take Ghuznee. When the first shot is fired at its walls we will throw over to them your head and your limbs, to show that we despise them and mock their foolish effort. Take him away, Yakoob. Do you see him safely bestowed." Angus was led to a cell in one of the turrets on the wall. His weapons had been taken from him when he was first captured, and when he reached the prison his arms were unbound by the leader of the band, who carried off the sashes to the men to whom they belonged. A massive door was closed behind them, and Angus heard two heavy bolts shot--a proof that the tower was often used as a prison. Listening, he heard another door at the foot of the turret closed and bolted. The window was a mere loophole, but it commanded a view of the road by which he had been brought up. The cell was circular in shape, and some ten feet in diameter; it was absolutely bare. Angus stood for some little time looking through the loophole. It was three feet wide on the inner side, but narrowed to six inches at the outlet; the wall was more than two feet thick, and of solid stone. "It is evident that there is no possibility of escape," he said aloud as he turned away from the loophole. "Even if I could widen the hole so to be able to creep through, there is a fall of a hundred feet or so; and there is nothing of which a rope could be made. I have my knife," he said, "fortunately they did not think of looking in my pockets; but though it has a good long blade, and I might at the end sell my life as dearly as possible, and force them to kill me, it can be of no earthly use here, for there is nothing to cut except that rough plank in the corner, which was, I suppose, brought up for some purpose or other and forgotten." The day passed slowly. No one came near him until, just as the sun was setting, two soldiers came in bringing a jug of water and some bread. Angus had little sleep that night. He dozed off occasionally, but the hardness of the stone floor and the cold speedily roused him, and he was glad indeed when daylight returned and the sun shone out. An hour later, when looking from his prison window, he perceived a party of horsemen. Long before he could distinguish their figures he made sure that they were British troops, from the fact that two or three rode ahead, and the rest, evidently an escort, in a close body behind them. They approached within musket-shot. As soon as they did so a fire of matchlocks broke out from the walls. They drew off a little, and then turned and rode off. There was no doubt that they were a reconnoitring party, who had ridden forward to ascertain the best spot for an attack. Two hours later three regiments of infantry came up, followed by a battery. The object of their approach was to discover whether Ghuznee was held in force, for reports had reached the camp that the greater portion of the garrison had retired. It answered its purpose, for the guns of the fortress opened fire, and for an hour there was an exchange of shot between them and the battery. The object of the reconnaissance being fulfilled, the British returned to their camp. Not until five o'clock was any further movement perceptible; then Angus saw a long dark line ascending the pass. On reaching its head the column made a wide detour, so as to keep beyond the range of the guns of the fortress, and then entered a rocky and difficult country to the east. As he knew that the gates had all been walled up with masonry with the exception of that through which the road from Cabul entered it, he had no doubt that it was intended to encamp on that side, thus cutting off the fortress from relief by the army assembled under another of the Ameer's sons, and at the same time preventing the flight of the garrison. As long as it was light the column was still passing on--a long line of baggage waggons and native followers, guarded by bodies of troops against any sortie that might be made. During the night occasional shots were fired from the fortress, and at various points of the plain and on the surrounding hills fires raised gave indications of gatherings of tribesmen. It had indeed been a painful and difficult march. Several streams and water-courses swollen by rain had to be crossed, but with enormous exertions the whole force was established, and on the following morning tents were erected along the position chosen. Sir John Keane, accompanied by General Cotton, ascended the heights, took a survey of the fortress, and decided upon the plan of attack. At two o'clock in the afternoon a body of Afghan horse suddenly attacked the camp in the rear, but were beaten off by our own cavalry. Angus heard the outburst of firing, and concluded that the governor would ere long carry out his threat. He had no idea what the commander-in-chief's plan was, but he felt certain that the attack when made would be sudden and sharp, and would be in the nature of a surprise, for in no other way did it seem possible that a force, however strong, could without artillery capture the place. In that case there was just a possibility that in the excitement of the moment his existence would be forgotten. "At any rate," he said to himself, "I will do what I can to defer the moment of my execution. I don't suppose it will be of the smallest use, but as I have nothing else to do, I will cut some wedges, and as soon as the attack begins in earnest I will jam them in round the door." For the rest of the day he occupied himself in cutting strips of wood off the plank and fashioning wedges, of which he made about four dozen, the work sufficing to keep his thoughts from dwelling upon his probable fate. He concealed all these in his clothes; then he cut off a stout piece of plank and fashioned it into the form of a short thick bat, with which to drive the wedges into their place. Then he laid the plank in its place again, with the freshly-cut side against the wall, swept up the chips, and threw them out of the loophole. He thought it probable that Sir John Keane would attack without any delay, as it was all-important to capture the citadel before the relieving army from Cabul and the forces of three or four great chiefs which were also in the neighbourhood could join hands and attack him in the rear, while the powerful garrison sallied out and fell upon him in front. CHAPTER IX JUST IN TIME The plan of the British general for the capture of Ghuznee was a bold one. He knew that his little guns could make no impression upon the walls, and that it would take weeks before it would be possible to effect a breach. His idea was to blow in the gate and to pour his troops in through the opening. His plans were admirably laid. At midnight six companies of infantry established themselves in the gardens to the right and left of the spot where the assaulting column were to take up their position, ready to advance as soon as the gate was blown in. Two hours later three companies of a native regiment made a detour and took up a position to the north of the fortress. The field artillery took up their post on a height. At three o'clock in the morning the infantry on the north opened a musketry fire. At the same moment the artillery on the hills began a brisk cannonade, while a camel battery directed its fire against the walls. The guns of the fortress at once replied, and the walls were fringed with the musketry fire. It was still an hour to daylight when Captain Thompson, of the Royal Engineers, with a party of his men, crept forward to the gate, carrying with them nine hundred pounds of gunpowder in twelve sacks. The movement was altogether unobserved by the garrison, who had been taken completely by surprise by the sudden fire. The night had been exceptionally favourable for the attempt. The wind blew so strongly that the tramp of the columns and the sound of the wheels of the guns failed to reach the ears of the sentries on the walls. When the fire broke out the Afghans at once burned numbers of blue lights to endeavour to obtain a clear view of the attacking force; but the light failed to pierce the darkness, and the fireworks burned but fitfully owing to the force of the gale. They therefore distributed themselves along the whole circuit of walls instead of concentrating upon the point where the attack was about to take place. The Engineers had done their work admirably. They crept silently along the causeway which afforded a passage across the moat, and then up the steep ascent which led to the gate, unnoticed by those who manned the loopholes. Two minutes sufficed to place the sacks in position. The fuse was then fired, and the party ran back to such cover as they could find. At this moment the Afghans lit a large and brilliant blue light immediately over the gate, but before they could obtain any idea of what was passing below the explosion took place. The gate was blown to pieces, and masses of masonry and fractured beams fell into the passage beyond. Then a bugle was sounded by the Engineers, and the storming party rushed down and crept into the dark, blocked-up passage. Here they were fiercely opposed. The Afghans had rallied almost instantly from their first surprise, and rushed down to defend the passage. A desperate struggle took place in the dark, but British valour was triumphant, and the four companies of the 2nd and 17th Regiments fought their way into the interior of the fortress. Had they been at once supported by the column behind them, commanded by Brigadier-general Sale, the capture of Ghuznee would have been comparatively bloodless; but as he was advancing he met one of the Engineer officers, who had been terribly bruised and injured by the explosion. Upon being questioned, the latter said that the gate had been blown in, but that the passage was blocked with the ruins. As in that case it would have been madness to advance, the general ordered the retreat to be sounded. The call was heard by the leading companies, but not obeyed. Instead of the troops retreating, they halted irresolutely, rather than carry out an order the most unwelcome that can be given to British soldiers. Fortunately another Engineer officer soon came along and assured the brigadier that, although the passage was greatly blocked, the storming party had made their way through; whereupon the column at once rushed forward. The delay, however, had given the garrison time to rally, and large numbers had run down from the wall to take part in the fight. Many, however, despairing of successful resistance now that their assailants had won their way into the town, allowed the storming party to pass and then attempted to escape through the gateway. But as they did so, General Sale with the head of his column arrived, and another desperate fight took place among the ruins of the gate. The general himself was cut down, and his assailant endeavoured to complete his work. Sale succeeded in grasping his sword hand, but, weakened by his wound, must have been overpowered had not an officer run up and severely wounded the Afghan. The struggle continued, but the general managed to gain his feet and cut down his assailant. The column was a long time in passing over the heap of ruins, now further encumbered by wounded and dead. As soon as they had entered, the reserve, who had been suffering from the fire of the Afghans still on the walls, followed them, and while General Sale's division ascended the steep path that led to the citadel, which rose far above the rest of the fortress, the reserve began the work of clearing out the Afghans from the houses. Large numbers of Afghans had taken refuge here as the troops entered, and these, rushing out, flung themselves upon the troops with the fury of despair. Many of these who had first entered, exhausted by their exertions, were with the wounded sitting in the courtyard at the foot of the citadel. Upon these the fanatics rushed, cutting and slashing with their keen tulwars alike at the soldiers who started to their feet, the wounded on the ground, and their own horses, who, mad with terror, were galloping wildly over the courtyard. A series of desperate hand-to-hand conflicts were waged until the last of the Afghans were shot or bayoneted. The walls were cleared with little difficulty, but many soldiers were shot as they passed through the narrow streets of the native town. All resistance ceased at a quarter past five. Thus in two hours and a quarter after the first shot was fired, a fortress deemed impregnable and garrisoned by three thousand five hundred men was captured. Ghuznee had been provisioned for six months, and so certain was Mohummed Hyder of the ability of the place to hold out that he had brought with him all the ladies of his zenana. In spite of the desperate nature of the fighting, not one of the Afghans who surrendered was injured, nor was the slightest insult offered to the ladies of the zenana or the women in the native town. The troops who had ascended to the citadel found the gates open, the Afghan prince having lost all hope as soon as he found the lower fortress in possession of the British. He was found hiding in disguise, and was brought before Shah Soojah. The latter magnanimously said to him: "What has been has been; you have deserved evil at my hands, but you have this day behaved like a brave man. I forgive thee the past; go in peace." The young prince was then handed over to Sir Alexander Burnes for safe custody. The success had been cheaply purchased. Only seventeen non-commissioned officers and privates had been killed, and eighteen officers and a hundred and forty-seven men wounded. Of the Afghans, five hundred and fourteen bodies were buried next day; more than a hundred fugitives were killed outside the walls; upwards of a thousand horses, a great number of camels and mules, vast quantities of provisions, ammunition, and arms fell into the hands of the conquerors, together with more than fifteen hundred prisoners. Over a thousand made their escape. At the first outburst of firing Angus had sprung to his feet; as the fight increased in fury he was certain that a night attack was in progress, and he at once proceeded to drive in the wedges he had prepared. Just as he had completed this he heard the dull roar of the explosion, followed by loud and excited shouts, but the noise of the gale prevented him from catching the words. He had no doubt, however, that either the gate had been blown in or that a mine had been driven into the wall, and that the explosion of an immense charge of powder had effected a breach. Then came the sound of a heavy and continuous rattle of musketry. The cannon of the fortress opened fire, while those of the besiegers answered. By the occasional fall of masses of masonry, and the screams of women, he had no doubt that the British artillery were now directing their fire against the citadel, in order to add to the confusion among the defenders of the fortress. [Illustration: HE TOOK DOWN THE PROP, AND THRUST IT SUDDENLY WITH ALL HIS FORCE THROUGH THE HOLE.] Presently he heard a rush of feet up the staircase, then the bolts of the door were pulled back, and a yell of rage and surprise arose as the door did not yield to the push against it. The staircase was a very narrow one, and but one person could mount at a time. As it terminated at the door, one man only could use his strength against it, and Angus felt perfectly sure that it would need a much greater pressure than this to force it open. He had already propped the plank against it, and stood with his foot at the lower end to prevent it from slipping. The man next to the door, finding that it did not yield, began to hammer with the hilt of his sword, but soon desisted, finding that his blows did not even shake it. There was a confused sound of talking, and then silence for a few minutes; then there was a renewed noise, and a heavy blow was struck at the door. Evidently a large block of wood had been brought up; but this did not greatly alarm Angus. The staircase was a circular one, and at most but two men could work the battering-ram, which on account of the confined space was necessarily short. This proving unsuccessful, there was again silence. After an interval came blows of a sharper sound, an axe of some sort was being used. During the lulls of the wind the sounds of the struggle below could be plainly heard, and as it was now dawn Angus could have seen what was going on had not the loophole been on the opposite side, but from the sharpness of the sound he had no doubt that the firing was in the courtyard, and that his countrymen had effected an entrance. The chopping went on regularly. The door was thick and strong, and it was half an hour before the edge of the axe first showed through it; another five minutes and a hole a foot wide appeared some four feet from the ground. At this rate it would be some time before an opening large enough for a man to pass through could be made. He took down the prop, and thrust it suddenly with all his force through the hole, striking the man who was wielding the axe full in the face. There was a terrible cry, mingled with yells of rage from the others. Presently a pistol was thrust through the hole and fired; he had expected this, and had stood back. Again and again shots were fired. It was evident that there was an unwillingness on the part of his assailants to try the axe again. Presently he heard a shout from below. The words came up distinctly, "Mohummed Hyder's orders are that the attack is to cease," and Angus felt that he was saved. The prince, indeed, seeing that all was lost, had sent an officer in great haste to put a stop to the attack on his prisoner's cell. He no longer thought of carrying out his former intentions. The British army was not after all an impotent enemy to be insulted, but a victorious one to be appeased, and as soon as he was informed of the attack on his prisoner's cell he had sent off to put a stop to it. It had not been made by his orders, but was the act of the soldiers on the wall near it, who, seeing that the British had entered, had determined to take vengeance upon the captive. A few minutes later Angus heard the triumphant cheers of the troops as they poured in through the open gate of the citadel. It was another hour before the contest in the courtyard below and on the walls of the fortress came to an end. Shortly afterwards he heard steps approaching, and through the hole in the door saw a British officer coming up the stair; behind him was Azim. "I am glad indeed to see you, Campbell," the officer said, as he caught sight of his face. "We had all given you up as dead when we found that none of your escort came back; but your boy, on questioning the prisoners, found out that you were confined here, and came at once to tell me. I see by the state of the door that you have been standing a siege. Are you uninjured?" "Yes, my rascally troops seized me suddenly and brought me here. I will tell you about it as soon as I have unfastened the door." "It is the first time I ever heard of a prison door having bolts on the inside." "They are not bolts, as you will see directly." It took some minutes to get all the wedges out. Macgregor then entered and shook Angus warmly by the hand, while Azim threw himself on his knees, and seizing his master's hand kissed it again and again, tears of joy streaming down his cheeks. "Where in the world did you get these wedges?" Macgregor asked. "I cut them out of this plank. It took me all day yesterday to make them and this mallet. How the plank came here I don't know, but it certainly saved my life." "That and your wits, Campbell. It was a capital idea, first-rate. I see there is blood on the staircase." "The plank came in useful again. I used it as a battering-ram on the fellow who was chopping, and as I caught him full in the face, the blood is accounted for. As you see by the opposite wall, they fired a few shots through the hole afterwards, but of course I took good care to be out of the line of fire." "Well, come along. Sir Alexander has been asking about you, but could get no information, and it might have been some time before you were set free had it not been for your boy." On going down into the body of the citadel, Angus was most warmly greeted by Sir Alexander Burnes and the other officers who knew him, for all supposed that he had been murdered. He explained to his chief why his life had been spared. "You had a narrow escape indeed," the latter said, "for I have no doubt whatever that the Afghan would have carried out his threat had we attacked in a regular way. It is quite in accordance with their barbarous customs. But I certainly wonder that they did not kill you when we entered the fortress." Macgregor then told the manner in which Angus had converted his little cell into a fort, and had resisted successfully the attacks made upon it. "A very narrow escape indeed, Mr. Campbell," Sir Alexander Burnes said. "It was fortunate indeed that that piece of wood had been left in the cell; but the idea of cutting wedges from it and fastening the door would not have occurred to everyone. It was a most happy thought, and certainly was the means of saving your life. It was a treacherous business indeed of Hajee Khan Kakur, for I have no doubt that he was the concocter of the plot. He has given us the strongest grounds for suspicion ever since we left Candahar, and has continually been making excuses for lagging behind. We have strong reason for believing that if we had failed here, he would at once have turned against us." "I do not think he knew of this, sir. When I was seized, the trooper said. 'Do you think that because our chief is a traitor we are traitors too?'" "These fellows are very crafty, Mr. Campbell, and Hajee has a special reputation that way, having before now turned traitor in spite of promises and vows. He may very well have instructed one of his men to say this, in order that if, contrary to all probability, you ever rejoined the army, he himself might be shielded by your repeating this speech. We have never put any trust in him since he joined us, though of course it was politic to seem to do so, as other chiefs might follow his example. He was questioned very sharply as to the orders he had given his men when you did not return that afternoon. Of course he swore by the Prophet that he had chosen men in whom he had the greatest confidence, which was, I have no doubt, true. However, as it was possible that you and they might have fallen into an ambush, the matter was dropped for the time. But our suspicions gained ground when, as we came up here, no signs of a fight were discovered, no bodies either of men or horses, and I intended to reopen the matter as soon as things were a little settled down. Well, I can assure you I am heartily glad to see you back again safe and sound, and I shall not fail to report the matter to Sir John Keane, and tell him how cleverly you escaped the fate intended for you." The army remained for a week at Ghuznee while preparations were being made for converting the fortress into a base from which further operations could be carried on. It was thought well to pause, so that the full effects of the disaster might be felt throughout the country before the advance began again. The fall of Ghuznee had indeed entirely disarranged the plan of campaign that had been decided upon by Dost Mahomed. The fortress had been provisioned for six months, and it was confidently believed that it could resist all attacks for that time. With the approach of winter, the position of a besieging army would be desperate. The cold would be intense, they would be surrounded on all sides by swarms of fierce tribesmen, would be unable to obtain provisions in the country round, and must either retire through the passes they had ascended, to Candahar, or be forced by famine to surrender. In the former case, the disaster that afterwards occurred in endeavouring to retire from Cabul would probably have befallen them. This plan was entirely brought to naught by the fall of Ghuznee, and six days later the brother of Dost Mahomed arrived in camp with an offer from the Ameer to surrender the government to Shah Soojah, on condition that he himself should, as the head of the Barukzyes, fill the hereditary office of wuzeer, or prime minister. As this would have placed the whole power of the state in his hands, the offer was refused, and on the 31st of July the army resumed its march. After three days' march, they learned that the Kuzzilbashes had mutinied. This body of troops were of Persian descent, and had for very many years formed an important part of the military power of Cabul, and held a position similar to that of the Janizaries of Constantinople and the Mamelukes of Egypt. Under but very slight control, they were constantly causing trouble by their insolence and exactions, and they now showed that they entertained no feeling either of loyalty or gratitude towards the dynasty which they served. In spite of the exhortations of the Ameer, they insisted upon his granting them a discharge from his service, and as it was evident that the news from Ghuznee had so much dispirited the whole army that no reliance whatever could be placed on their fidelity, the unfortunate monarch was obliged to allow the Kuzzilbashes to disband, and the rest of the army to disperse, and to take to the mountains as a fugitive, accompanied only by a small party of personal followers. A force was at once sent in pursuit of him; but as the following of the traitor, Hajee Khan, formed the principal part of this force, the double-faced chief, who desired to make himself safe whatever turn affairs might take, so contrived that Dost Mahomed and his party were not overtaken. In the meantime the main force marched forward to Cabul wholly unopposed. Twenty-two guns were found abandoned at the spot where the Ameer's army had dispersed. These, placed in a strong defile, and supported by a large force of tribesmen, might have long resisted our advance had the Kuzzilbashes and other Afghan horsemen swept round on our rear, and although British valour might have finally succeeded, it could only have been after a terrible struggle. But now the Ameer was a fugitive, the guns were in our hands, the Kuzzilbashes and native tribesmen had come in to salute their new ruler, and nothing remained but to enter the capital in triumph. The entry took place on the 7th of August. The ceremony was an imposing one. Shah Soojah, after an exile of thirty years, rode at the head of the cortege, on a white charger with golden trappings. He wore a jewelled coronet, his arms and garments were ornamented with precious stones, and his waist encircled with a broad girdle of gold encrusted with rubies and emeralds. Accompanying him were the commander-in-chief, and Mr. Macnaghten and Sir Alexander Burnes, who were in full diplomatic dress. Two of the Shah's sons and a few of the principal chiefs rode behind him with a number of staff officers in full uniform. Following him came the army that had performed so long and difficult a march to place him on his throne. The surrounding country traversed was rich and fertile in the extreme, and almost covered with orchards of peaches and other fruits; under these crops of all sorts grew luxuriantly. On the eminences commanding the plain immense numbers of tribesmen assembled to witness the martial display. On entering the city, the victors found the inhabitants clustered in the streets through which they passed to the royal residence in the Bala Hissar, a great citadel situated on a hill commanding the town, and so strongly fortified that it would have been difficult to capture it unless by the aid of a regular siege train. The aspect of the inhabitants was perfectly peaceful; there were no shouts or exclamations of enthusiasm, but it was evident from the expression of satisfaction on their faces that the majority were well satisfied with the termination of the rule of the Barukzyes, whose exactions had pressed heavily upon them. Dost Mahomed himself was popular. He was affable and kindly in disposition; his decisions on all matters brought before him were just and fair; he was accessible to all having complaints to bring before him; and had he possessed a body of trustworthy infantry to overawe the marauding Kuzzilbashes and the semi-independent chiefs, there can be no doubt that his rule would have been a wise and beneficial one. Shah Soojah was the reverse of his rival. Haughty and arrogant, he regarded and treated with contempt his new subjects, seldom granted audience, or troubled himself in any way with their affairs, rarely went abroad, and remained in almost constant seclusion in his palace. The shops of Cabul excited the admiration of the officers and men of the British force. Probably nowhere else in the world could such a display of fruit have been collected. Here were piles of peaches equal to the finest product of English hothouses, grapes of five varieties, rosy apples, juicy pears, several delicious kinds of melons, almonds, pistachio nuts, walnuts, quinces, cherries, and red and white mulberries, and vegetables of all kinds. The butchers' shops were cleanly and well arranged; there were public ovens, in which loaves, and the cakes of which the Afghans are extremely fond, were baking when the force entered. In the potters' shops were jars and drinking vessels of all kinds; Afghan, Persian, and Russian cloths, cloaks, furs of many kinds, sets of china and Dresden porcelain in the shops of the wealthier traders; and behind these open shops were inner apartments with very fine and costly shawls, silks, precious stones, valuable carpets, and tea imported by way of Bokhara. Conspicuous were the shops of manufacturers of swords and daggers, and makers of scabbards and belts, shields and chain armour, and even of bookbinders, who manufactured covers for manuscript copies of Persian poems and stories. Unfortunately for the moral of the army, there were also manufactories of spirits. Since leaving Candahar no spirit rations had been served out, and the troops had greatly benefited in health during their arduous work by the privation, but the power to purchase vile spirits at a very low price now tempted many into drinking to intoxication, and lowered at once their health and discipline. Mr. Macnaghten and his staff had a fine building in the Bala Hissar allotted to them. Sir Alexander Burnes with his assistants occupied a house in the city. The position of Burnes was an unsatisfactory one. He had a right to expect that after his previous residence in Cabul he would be appointed British resident there, and he had only accepted a secondary position upon the understanding that Macnaghten's appointment was a temporary one. He had on the way up rendered much valuable assistance, but he had no strictly defined duties. His opinion was seldom asked, and if given, was wholly disregarded. For this he was himself somewhat to blame. His temperament was a changeable one. At times he was full of enthusiasm and saw everything in the rosiest light; at other times he was depressed and despondent, and came to be regarded as a prophet of evil. Having no serious work to occupy his mind, he worried over trifles, exaggerated the importance of the bazaar rumours, and was often filled with the gloomiest anticipations. The war had been undertaken altogether in opposition to his advice. He had been most favourably impressed with Dost Mahomed, and his remonstrances against the attempt to force Shah Soojah on the Afghans had been so strong and persistent, that the home government, in defending themselves from the public indignation excited by subsequent disaster, even went the length of suppressing some of his despatches and garbling others, after he was no longer alive to proclaim the falsification. Once at Cabul, his opportunities for doing useful service came to an end. Macnaghten, who was always sanguine to an extent that, in the light of subsequent events, seemed to border on insanity, was all-powerful with the new Ameer. The expression of any opinion which ran counter to his own was in the highest degree distasteful to him, and it was only in negotiations for the supply of the troops, and with the petty chiefs, that Burnes and his staff found any employment. Although Pushtoo was the language of the country-people who came in with goods, the inhabitants of Cabul almost universally spoke Persian, and Angus Campbell and Azim found themselves quite at home among them. On the 3rd of September, a force under Colonel Wade, which had advanced through the Khyber Pass, arrived at Cabul. It was a mixed body composed principally of Pathans and Sikhs. It had met with comparatively small resistance, but had rendered valuable service, as a large force had been detached from Dost Mahomed's army to oppose its advance, and thus greatly weakened the army with which the Ameer had intended to meet the British advance from Candahar. The Afghan force had been recalled in haste after the news of the fall of Ghuznee, but had not arrived until after the disbandment of the Ameer's army and his flight to the Bamian Pass, when it had also broken up, and Wade was therefore able to reach Cabul without opposition. It was now necessary to decide what should be done with the army of occupation. Macnaghten was pressing by a constant succession of letters that large reinforcements should be sent up in order to win back for Shah Soojah the territories that had once formed part of the Afghan empire. He urged that in order to check Russian aggression an army should not only occupy Herat, but should extend its operations until it became paramount at Bokhara; while, on the other hand, Peshawur and the territory wrested from Afghanistan by the Sikhs should be reconquered, and the Sikh nation, which was becoming more and more hostile to us, should be brought into subjection. But fortunately Lord Auckland, now freed from the pernicious influence of Macnaghten and surrounded by discreet counsellors, was by no means disposed to turn a favourable ear to these fantastic projects. The cost of the army of occupation was a heavy drain on the revenue of India, and so far from any assistance being rendered by Afghanistan, Shah Soojah was constantly clamouring for subsidies to enable him to maintain his position. The absence of so many troops was also much felt in India, for they were greatly needed on the frontiers of the Beloochees as well as those of the Sikhs. Macnaghten had so persistently asserted that Shah Soojah was personally popular with the Afghans, that it was decided that only a comparatively small force was needed to uphold his authority in case Dost Mahomed should make an effort to recover his throne, and orders were given that the greater portion of the Bombay army should march down through the Kojuk and Bolan Passes, and most of the Bengal troops through the Khyber, leaving some six regiments, with a proportion of artillery, at Cabul, with garrisons at Ghuznee, Candahar, Quettah, and Jellalabad. Macnaghten in vain remonstrated and entreated. It was settled that the movement should begin at the end of September, so that the troops could regain the plains before winter set in in earnest. September passed quietly. The climate at this time was perfect, and the troops enjoyed the rest, with the abundance of fruit and vegetables. There were reviews and races. Shah Soojah established an order of knighthood, and held a grand durbar, at which the principal officers were invested, with great ceremony, with the insignia of the new order. On the 18th of the month the Bombay column started on its march, but news having been brought down from the force that had occupied the Bamian Pass, that Dost Mahomed was collecting a formidable army, the authorities were induced to maintain a great portion of the Bengal force round Cabul. Great difficulties arose with reference to provisioning these troops through the winter. There was abundant accommodation for them in the Bala Hissar and its citadel, but Shah Soojah strongly objected to the presence of a large body of troops there. Macnaghten, with his usual weakness, gave way. On the 15th of October Sir John Keane, with that portion of the Bengal force that was to return, set out. The Ameer left two days later, to spend the winter in the more genial climate of Jellalabad, and Macnaghten accompanied him. Sanguine as he was, he could not help feeling uneasy at the situation. The British occupation had greatly benefited the merchants and traders, the farmers and cultivators of Cabul, but it had seriously injured the poorer portion of the community. The natural result of so large an army, well supplied with money, being stationed in the city, was to raise the price of all articles of consumption prodigiously, and to cause wide-spread discontent. The exactions of the native tax-collectors pressed heavily upon all the tribesmen. The British officers, by the terms of the treaty with Shah Soojah, were unable to interfere in any way with the internal affairs of the country; but when the natives revolted against the unjust exactions it was they who were called upon to suppress them, consequently the infidel supporters of the Ameer became more and more hated by the people, and it was soon dangerous for them to go beyond the limits of their camps. The Ameer himself resented the state of subjection in which he considered that he was held, though he could not dispense with British bayonets and British money. Macnaghten left behind him experienced administrators. Burnes, Conolly, Leech, Todd, and Lord had all long acquaintance with the country, and if anyone could, under such circumstances, have reconciled the country to foreign occupation, they would have done so. CHAPTER X A MISSION "I wish that we had trustworthy news of what Dost Mahomed is doing," Sir Alexander Burnes said one morning when he and his assistants were talking over the work for the day. "Of course one hears from the Hindoo merchants what rumours are circulating, but these are so contradictory that they are not to be relied upon. One day it is said that Dost has retired to Bokhara, another that he has already gathered a formidable force. It is certain that if he does not recross the Bamian soon he will not give us any trouble till the spring, for I doubt whether even the Afghans, hardy as they are, could traverse the passes when winter has fairly set in. Still, it would be very useful to us to obtain some sort of inkling as to what his movements and intentions are. He may intend to make a bold stroke to recover his kingdom, he may wait until there is a popular rising here. In the first case, our force here must be maintained at the present strength, and it would be well to warn Lord Auckland as soon as possible that next spring its strength must be increased rather than diminished. If, on the other hand, Dost depends upon a rising here rather than upon any force he may himself gather, there will be no occasion for more troops than we have, for these should suffice to crush any tribal rising." "I should be happy to undertake the mission if you would confide it to me, sir," Angus said. "I travelled as a Persian without exciting suspicion, and I can do the same again. I might obtain a couple of horse-loads of Indian silk and cashmere goods, and travel as a Persian trader who has been settled here, but who, fearing that fresh disturbances might occur, had decided to make a trip himself to Bokhara with a view of establishing himself there. I see all trade is at present at a stand-still, as the northern traders dare not venture down here. The fact that I can also speak Pushtoo will, of course, be an advantage, and would seem to show that I had, as I gave out, resided here for some time." "It would be a dangerous enterprise, Mr. Campbell." "There would be a certain amount of danger in it, sir, but not, it seems to me, excessive--not more than I met in my journey from Herat. There is danger, as you have frequently said, even here; and at any rate, I am ready to take all risks if you think that the mission would be of utility." "That it would certainly be, and I admit that no one would be more likely to carry it to a successful conclusion, but I fear that it would be impossible for you to return before the spring." "I do not think that I could return across the mountains, but I might dispose of my goods to the Turkomans. From what we hear, Dost Mahomed is either at Balkh or Kunduz, or possibly Tashkurgan, half-way between them. Balkh would, of course, be more convenient, for it is but a couple of days' journey to Kilif, on the other side of the Oxus. There I might dispose of my goods, and buy carpets and shawls of Bokhara; and then travel across the plains to Herat; thence, by the trade route, to Candahar; and so back through Ghuznee. That would, of course, be a long journey, but there would be no very lofty passes to traverse. I need hardly say that I should not enter Herat, as I might be recognized there; but there would be no fear of recognition elsewhere. As my servant is really a Persian, and has also picked up Pushtoo, he would greatly aid me in preserving my disguise. At any rate, I would rather be doing something than remaining here idle through the winter." "Then I accept your offer, Mr. Campbell. The information you would give as to the feeling of the people on the other side of the mountains would be invaluable. I will myself question one or two of the Hindoo merchants as to the goods that are generally sent to Bokhara. I know, of course, that the bulk of that trade with India is carried on through Candahar and Herat, but it would be natural that a trader residing here and wishing to leave should prefer the direct route, however toilsome it might be. I should say easy loads for three animals would be sufficient, and as the merchandise would be of light materials, a considerable value could be carried by three horses. You will need a fourth for a small stock of provisions, for you will have to depend on yourselves until you are on the other side of the passes. You will require two men to look after the four horses. I will obtain two soldiers from one of the Pathan regiments. It would be dangerous for you to hire a man in the city; I will get a couple of men of approved fidelity. They will, of course, be in native dress, and will pass as peasants hired for the journey by you. Four of you, well armed, should be able to give a good account of yourselves if you should fall in with any small party of freebooters, though that is more likely to happen on your return journey than on your way across the hills." "Thank you, sir." "Well, to-day is Monday; it will take two or three days to make all the preparations and get the sort of men you require. Would you be ready to start on Thursday?" "Certainly, sir. As far as I and my man are concerned, we should be ready to start at a moment's notice, as there will be no difficulty in buying the clothes we require." "Very well, then, it shall be settled for Thursday. I know I need not tell you to warn your servant to maintain absolute secrecy as to the fact that you are leaving the town." Azim was greatly pleased when Angus told him of the intended expedition, for, having few duties to perform, he had found the time hang heavily on his hands, and was glad to hear that he was not to spend the long winter at Cabul. He purchased in the bazaars all the garments for his master and himself--high boots lined with fur, and cloaks of thick cloth similarly lined, and Afghan hats of black lamb's wool. [Illustration: THERE, LYING CLOSE UNDER A ROCK, WAS A YOUNG AFGHAN.] On Wednesday evening Sir Alexander Burnes said to Angus: "It is just as well that you did not make your start this morning, for there has been a sharp skirmish on the road ten miles off between a squadron of our cavalry and a party of Afghan horse. I hear the fellows fought well, but were driven off with considerable loss. I have seen the two men who have been selected to accompany you, they have both been some time in our service. Their colonel spoke highly to me of them. I explained to them the nature of the duty on which they were going, and gave them the option of declining it, but said that if they carried it through successfully they would on their return receive a present of six months' pay and would at once be promoted. They accepted without hesitation, and I feel certain that you can rely upon them. They were recruited from the border tribes, which have ever held themselves independent of the Afghan factions, and have no sympathy whatever either with the Kuzzilbashes or Soojah himself, and care not a snap who rules over Afghanistan. If questioned, their story will be that they came up as camp followers with Colonel Wade's force, and that on arriving at Cabul their work with the army was at an end, and they took service with the Persian trader. All the goods and packs have been marked in Persian characters, with the prices they would fetch in Persia, and those at which they would probably sell at Bokhara; so that you will know how to carry on your trading without exciting suspicion either by asking too little or by demanding an unusual price. Each man will lead two horses, and I have provided rough ponies for them to ride. I think you will find that no detail has been neglected. I have had a thousand rupees sewn up in the saddle of your horse. I sent for one of the cavalry saddlers, and your man showed him which was your saddle. Another five hundred are sewn in the saddle of your servant in case of mishap. Here is a letter to Lieutenant Mackenzie, who commands the troop of horse artillery which is at Bamian with the Ameer's Ghoorka regiment. You may be questioned there, so without giving him any details I have simply requested him to allow the bearer and his party to pass on without question or interference." The start was not made from the house of Sir Alexander Burnes, but from that of the Hindoo merchant from whom goods had been purchased. As there was nothing unusual in a trader starting with some horse-loads of merchandise, no attention was attracted, and the party crossed the plain four miles farther up, and skirted the foot of the mountains until they reached the gorge through which the track--for it could not be called a road--led over the mountains to Bamian. They had decided to camp here, but they found that it was the scene of the previous day's combat. Dead horses and men were scattered about, and it was evident that the Afghans had been lying in ambush here, aware that at times parties of our cavalry rode some distance up the pass. They determined to go half a mile farther up the gorge, as there was no danger of disturbance by the Afghans, who, after their defeat on the previous day, were not likely to be in the neighbourhood. After proceeding a quarter of a mile Angus, who was riding ahead, suddenly stopped his horse, hearing a deep groan. As the ground was strewn with rocks on either side of the track, he concluded at once that some poor fellow had crawled away to die, unnoticed by our cavalry returning from pursuit. Knowing what tortures he must be suffering from thirst he dismounted, and filling a pannikin from one of the skins, he bade Azim bring some fruit, and then made his way to the spot from which the sound proceeded. There, lying close under a rock, was a young Afghan, whose clothes showed that he was a chief of some rank. His eyes were closed, his face pallid and drawn, his lips black and cracked with thirst. Angus knelt beside him, and poured a few drops of water between his lips. This he repeated again and again. The wounded man opened his eyes with a deep exclamation of thankfulness. Then his face darkened, and he said: "You meant kindly, good friend, but you have done me a cruel service. The worst had passed; I had sunk into unconsciousness, and should have passed into Paradise without more pain." "Where are you wounded?" Angus asked. "Perhaps we can do something for you." The Afghan slightly shook his head. "Nothing can be done for me," he said. "I have a musket-ball in my shoulder, and my right leg is broken above the knee." "At any rate we can make you comfortable. We were going to camp a short way ahead, but we will now do so here." "May Allah bless you, but it would be better to leave me to die at once." "That I cannot do. Now, have a good drink of water, and then I will cut a melon into pieces for you to suck while we are preparing our camp." The horses' loads were removed and the animals turned loose to graze on the grass growing among the rocks. Then the tent was erected and the Afghan carried into the shade of a high rock close by. By this time he was able to speak more strongly, and said: "You are Persian, I see, by your dress. How comes it that you have entered this lonely gorge with your pack-horses and your goods?" "We are going to make our road to Bokhara. There are rumours of disaffection in Cabul, and if there is fighting the houses of the traders will be looted. Therefore I resolved to leave while I could, and am taking my Indian goods for sale there." "It will be a terrible journey," the young chief said. "There is already snow in the upper passes. I wish you success. I shall think of your kindness as I lie here, and pray Allah to protect you. Before you go I pray you to carry me down to the edge of this stream, so that I may drink when I will." "We will certainly do that, and give you a supply of fruit if we can do no better. Now we must look and see to your wounds. I can at least bandage them, and make you somewhat easier." To his surprise Angus found no wounds in the leg. "I see no bullet mark," he said. "No, the leg was broken in my fall. My men had fought well, but the Feringees were too strong for them, and we fled. I was riding in their rear, when a shot struck me in the shoulder. I fell from my horse, and when I found that my leg was broken I felt my end was at hand; but I heard no more shots nor any further sound of galloping horses, and I knew that by Allah's mercy they had ceased their pursuit. My horse had galloped on after the others, and my men might not notice that I had fallen until they had gone some distance, when they would probably conclude that I had been killed. I managed to crawl out of the road to the shelter of that rock where you found me, as the infidels might come up in the morning, and I would rather die quietly there than be shot down." "They would not have injured you," Angus said. "They kill many in battle, but it is a rule with them never to touch an injured man; and had they come along they would have taken you back to their camp and have done all they could for you." "I have heard that they were strange in that respect; but I did not think of it--my only wish was to die quietly and alone. I tried several times to crawl to the stream, but the agony was so great that I could not do it." Angus while he was speaking was feeling the limb. "The first thing to do," he said, "is to bring the ends of the bone together; the operation will be painful, but it will greatly relieve your sufferings." "Do as you will, stranger; Allah has sent you to my side, and what you do must be right." "In the first place, I must prepare some splints to keep it in its place." Leaving the Afghan, Angus searched among the bushes until he found a shrub which was thick enough for the purpose. He and Azim with their knives cut this down near the root, and then divided it into lengths, split each of these and smoothed the pieces until they were perfectly even. He then tore off several long strips of cloth to form bandages, and calling to the two men, he returned to the wounded Afghan. The patient was lifted into another position, where he could place his left foot against a rock. "Now, chief," Angus said, "you must with that leg prevent yourself from being pulled forward; my servant will hold you round the body, so as to aid you; the other two men will take hold of your right leg and pull it, while as soon as it is sufficiently stretched I shall press the broken ends into their position. I am afraid that the pain will be very severe, but you will be much easier afterwards. At present the ends of the bones are tearing your flesh." "An Afghan can bear pain," the chief said quietly; "do as you will." "Now," Angus said to the soldiers, "take a firm hold above the ankle, and draw as steadily and quietly as you can, but with all your strength." The resistance of the muscles was so great that it was only by exercising their utmost power that the men got them to yield. At last Angus felt the end of the bone on which he was pressing suddenly slip into its place. Then for the first time he looked round. No sound had escaped the Afghan's lips, but the agony had been so intense that he had fainted. "Now, give me a long bandage, Azim; you need not hold him any longer. Double up a cloak or something and lift him and put it under him, so that I can pass the bandage round and round." First a wad of thick material soaked in water was placed round the leg at the point of the fracture, and then bandage was added to bandage, until the limb down to the knee was surrounded by a casing half an inch thick; then the splints were applied, some reaching only down to the knee, others to the ankle. These were held in their place by the three assistants, while Angus again firmly bandaged them. The operation being completed, he dashed some water on the Afghan's face. The latter soon opened his eyes. "It is all over, chief; the bones are in their place again, and if all goes well, in time the ends may knit firmly together." "It is easier already," the chief said gratefully. "I no longer feel as if an evil spirit from Eblis were torturing me with a hot iron." "I will now see to your shoulder. The wound has ceased bleeding; therefore I shall but sponge it with cold water and put a bandage on in case it should break out afresh." This was soon done. Some cloths soaked in water were laid over the bandage, then some more fruit was given to the wounded man, and he was left in the shade, and the men set about cooking a meal. Angus from time to time went across to see him, and had the satisfaction in the evening of finding that he had fallen asleep. "Now, Azim," he said when he returned, "the next thing to do is to settle what is to be done with him." "I have been wondering that ever since we found him, master." "There is a choice of two things: one is that I mount my horse, ride back to Cabul, report having found a wounded man, and ask that a party with a stretcher may be sent out to fetch him in early in the morning; the other is to take him on with us." Azim looked in surprise. "That would be very difficult, master." "No doubt it would be difficult, but I think it might be done. There is no doubt that from his dress and appearance, and from the fact that he speaks excellent Persian, he is a chief of considerable standing. In that case his friendship might be invaluable to us, both on our way down to the frontier, and possibly in the future, which Sir Alexander Burnes regards as very threatening. It would be worth while, therefore, to make some sacrifice to carry him down to his friends. I would not do it if I thought the journey would harm him, but I believe the cold air of the mountains would be vastly better for him than the heat of the plains round Cabul. He may suffer somewhat from jolting, but I think that we can obviate that if we cut two strong poles about fifteen feet long, attach them to the pack-saddles of two horses, and by securely fastening a blanket between them make a hammock, in which he can ride comfortably. The poles would be elastic enough to save sudden jolts; we can only go at a foot's pace in these passes, and these native horses are so sure-footed that I think the chance of any accident is extremely slight. The horses are but lightly weighted, and as the provisions are consumed we can move a portion of the weight they carry to the one who takes our food." "Yes, that would be a good plan, master." "Another advantage of it would be," Angus went on, "that whereas he would chafe at being in a hospital in care of the people he hates, his spirits would naturally rise as he felt that he was returning to his friends, and this would hasten his recovery. However, I will put the question to him in the morning. If he decides upon being kept in camp, I will send you back with a letter to Sir Alexander Burnes for stretcher-bearers, and you will easily overtake us at our camping-place to-morrow evening." In the morning the young chief was better than Angus had even hoped for. Once or twice during the night fresh water had been poured gently over the bandages on the wounded shoulder. Like all people living chiefly in the open air, accustomed to climbing, and to hard exercise, the Afghans suffer less from wounds than Europeans do. Abstemious in their habits, comparatively small meat-eaters, lithe and sinewy in their figures, they speedily recover from wounds unless of a mortal nature. Angus found that the chief's forehead and hands were cool, and there were no signs of fever setting in. "I have been thinking over what would be best for you, and decided to leave the choice to yourself. I am acquainted with Burnes Sahib, and if I send my servant with a letter I know that he will at once send out a party to carry you into hospital, where you will be well cared for." "I would rather die than accept kindness at their hands," the Afghan said firmly. "In that case there seems no other course but for me to construct a litter between two of my pack-horses, and to carry you over the mountains to Kundur." "And would you thus burden yourself with a stranger?" the Afghan asked in a tone of great surprise. "Certainly I would for a wounded stranger," Angus said; "but I do not think that there will be any great trouble, and I will try to make the journey as easy for you as possible." He then explained how he intended to carry him. The face of the wounded man lit up. He had permitted Angus to set his limb because he believed it was destiny that had sent him to his aid. He felt sure that the man who had taken such trouble with him would leave a store of provisions within his reach, and that possibly some of the natives might come along and carry him to their village, and so tend him until his strength was restored. It was but a faint hope, for now that winter was approaching the men from the upper villages would have come down into the plain, and the chances were but slight that any would enter the gorge. His hope rested chiefly in the belief that, as he had been so unexpectedly saved from death, his final deliverance would also be effected; but that this kind trader should offer to carry him up the passes had never entered his mind, and his pale cheek flushed with pleasure. "Certainly I will go with you if you will take me," he said joyfully; "nobly indeed do you carry out the precept of the Prophet, to be compassionate to all those who need it." "Let us say no more about it, chief. It will be a pleasure to me to see you grow stronger, and I doubt not that the mountain air will benefit you greatly, and I shall have my reward in seeing you regaining your strength. We have meat with us, but it will be better for you to take fruit and a little bread." Two soldiers were sent out, and presently returned with poles of the desired length and thickness. Breakfast was then eaten. Afterwards the poles, a long blanket having been firmly lashed between them, were securely fastened against the horses' flanks under their burdens. In this way a hammock was formed in which, while the body and legs were below the level of the poles, the head was somewhat above them. A cloak was rolled up to make a pillow, and the chief was then gently lifted and laid in it. They started at daybreak, rested in the shade for three or four hours in the middle of the day, and then continued their journey till late in the evening. After two days' travel the halt was no longer necessary, for they were now far above the level of the plain. The air was fresh during the day, and at night all were glad to cover themselves with their long coats lined with sheep-skin. Angus had made no attempt to discover the position of the ball in the shoulder of the wounded chief. Even if he found it, he had neither the instruments nor the skill necessary for its removal. The only thing he could do was to keep the cloths bathed with cold water to prevent inflammation setting in. The track they were following sometimes disappeared altogether, and Angus often congratulated himself upon having the young chief with him, for the latter had twice before crossed the mountains, and was able to tell him which line to take. The day's journey varied much in length, being from fifteen to twenty-five miles, according as they found a suitable halting-place. They always camped where there was water, emptying the skins and filling them afresh as often as possible. At times the ground was covered with snow. This they thawed in a pot over a fire of brushwood, of which they were careful to gather some at every opportunity on the day's march. The chief and Angus occupied the little tent, while Azim slept with the two soldiers in a shelter composed of blankets. Every day there was a visible improvement in the state of the wounded man; the cool air acted as a tonic to his system. The first two or three days his arm pained him a good deal, though he had never once complained of it. It was kept bound to his side, and by means of splints and bandages the shoulder was held in its natural position; more than this Angus had not attempted. He believed that the shoulder was broken, but even of this he was not sure, and could only hope that the bone would knit together itself. One day, however, in reply to his questions the Afghan admitted that he felt a burning pain just over the left shoulder, and feeling, Angus perceived a hard substance apparently but a short distance under the skin. "There is no doubt that this is the ball," he said. "A surgeon would cut down upon it, and get it out easily enough." "Then why do you not do it? you seem very skilful." "I have had no practice," he said. "My father was a trader of Tabriz. He was a good man and very much respected. The poor often came to him in cases of accidents, and I have many a time seen him bandage broken limbs, that is why I was able to do it; but of bullet wounds I know nothing." "Take my dagger and cut down to it at once; the pain of a cut is nothing. Cut fearlessly and deeply, so that you can take hold of the ball with your fingers." After some hesitation Angus agreed to do so, for, by the pain it was causing, the bullet might set up inflammation. "It is a mere nothing," the Afghan said. "I have frequently cut out bullets from my tribesmen." The chief's dagger was as keen as a razor, and seeing that his patient really wished it, Angus performed the operation. He had to cut three times before he could manage to get hold of the bullet. The Afghan himself did not once flinch. "That is well," he said, when the ball was extracted. "Now, bring the edges together again, put a piece of wet rag over them, and then tie a bandage tightly round me; by the end of a week there will be nothing but a scar remaining." Two days later they arrived at Bamian. As they entered the little town a native officer of a Ghoorka regiment came out and demanded their business. For the first time Angus was unable to give an answer in the language in which he was addressed. Knowing, however, the purport of the question, he showed his letter to Lieutenant Mackenzie. The native was unable to read English, but called to an English artilleryman, who at once came up. On seeing the letter he motioned to the pretended trader to follow him, and conducted him to the house where Lieutenant Mackenzie lodged. "There is a man outside who has a letter for you, sir," he said saluting. "An Englishman?" "No, sir, one of these traders, I think. He has some horses with packs, and he has a wounded or dead man in a litter." "Show him in." Angus on entering said in Persian, "My orders are to deliver this letter to you when alone, sir." The lieutenant signed to two orderlies, to whom he had at the time been giving orders, and Angus then went on in English: "You do not remember me, Lieutenant Mackenzie. I am Angus Campbell, on the staff of Sir Alexander Burnes." "Oh, yes, I remember you now," the officer said, rising and shaking him by the hand. "Of course we have met many times, but in that Persian dress I did not know you again. I suppose you have come to see how we are getting on?" "No. I am on a mission across the mountains to see what Dost Mahomed is really doing there, as you will see by this letter." The officer glanced through it. "I see you do not want the natives here--there are not many of them--to be asking any questions. Let me see. We are pretty closely packed, as you may imagine. I could give you a room here, but that would hardly do." "No, it would not do at all," Angus said. "It would appear strange indeed to the natives if you were to so honour a travelling merchant. I can do very well without a room, for I have a tent that I have used on my journey. All I wish is that you give an order that we shall not be in any way interfered with." "That I can do easily enough, and will put a sentry over your encampment with orders that no one is to enter into conversation with your followers." "Thank you; that is just what I desire." "I hear that one of your men is ill, can anything be done for him? We have a doctor with us, and you could leave the man in hospital, and he could either make his way back when cured, or follow you--though I doubt whether that would be possible, as the passes will soon be completely blocked with snow. As soon as we are sure of this we shall return to Cabul, so we are looking forward eagerly, as you may imagine, for the news that they have become impassable." "Thank you. The man met with an accident by falling from his horse, but I doctored him as well as I could, and I think in another day or two he will be able to sit a horse; and as he knows the passes, I must keep him with me, for already the paths are in many cases obliterated by snow, and I should fare badly indeed without him." "Yes, I see that. How long are you going to stay here?" "I shall start again the day after to-morrow. It is most important that I should push on, for the passes may be closed any day. I will give the horses and men one day's rest, that is all that I can afford now. I will say good-bye, for it would not do for you to be seen speaking to me again." "No, I suppose it would not do for you to come here, but I will after dark to-night come down and have a chat with you. I have had no news from Cabul for the last fortnight. There would be no harm in that, would there?" "No; I should be very glad if you would come in that way." Half an hour later the tents were erected, and two sentries were placed near them to warn off all intruders. Angus went into the little town, and made some purchases from three small traders who had remained there, and had been well rewarded for doing so by the prices they obtained from the troops for their stores. Lieutenant Mackenzie, on his arrival, had ordered them to send all the liquor they had to his quarters, telling them that unless they agreed to this they would not be allowed to remain, and promising that the liquor should be returned to them when the troops left. Their stores were almost exhausted, but Angus was able to purchase some rice, a pot of ghee, and a sack of grain for the horses. At eight o'clock Mackenzie came down. Sadut Khan had been apprised of the intended visit, and had willingly consented to be carried for the time into the other tent, so that Angus had his to himself. "It is a snug little tent," Mackenzie said when he entered it; "not much head room, but that is of no consequence, as it is only a place for sleeping in. I am ashamed to come empty-handed, but I only brought a couple of bottles of spirits with me, and they are both empty long ago. I can't drink this beastly native stuff. And besides, the room in which I stored all there was in the place when I got here is locked up. I made the traders put their seals to it so that there could be no dispute about the quantities when I handed them over." "Thank you," Angus said; "I don't touch spirits. Whatever may be the case in other places, I am convinced that men are better off without them in a country like this. Certainly they are best avoided in hot weather; and I think even in the cold weather coffee is infinitely better, and I have brought a good store of that with me. Now, make yourself as comfortable as you can. Fill your pipe from that jar, it is the best Persian tobacco. Then when the coffee comes in I will give you the news from Cabul." A large jug of coffee, with two silver horns which Angus had bought before starting, was soon brought in, and then Angus told what had happened at Cabul since the last letter Mackenzie had received. "Then you don't think things are going on well?" Mackenzie said when he had concluded. "No, there is much disaffection among the lower class in the city. The tribesmen are restless and discontented. It was a great mistake to allow Shah Soojah the entire control of all civilian matters; the consequence is that the people are grievously oppressed by the tax-gatherers. The Ameer himself is impatient at the slightest attempt to control him. He renders himself intensely unpopular by hardly ever appearing in public, by his refusal to grant audiences, and by his haughtiness and arrogance to those whom he does admit to his presence. I am certain that he could not maintain himself for a day if we were to march away, and I don't see how we can leave him to his fate. Altogether the situation is very difficult, and I am afraid it will end badly. They want a strong man at the head of affairs. I do not think that Macnaghten is a strong man. Keane is a good soldier, but it is said that he will return to England in the spring." "And how about Burnes?" "Burnes is my chief," Angus said with a smile; "but I can say this, I believe that if he were in Macnaghten's place things would go on better. At present, however, he has no authority of any kind. He differs from Macnaghten on almost every point, and any advice he gives is almost contemptuously neglected." "It is a queer state of affairs," Mackenzie said. "However, I suppose we shall get out all right in the end. It is a way we have. We generally make a muddle in the beginning, but our fighting power has pulled us through. Well, I will be going now; it is eleven o'clock. I think that it would be better that I should not come again to-morrow." "I think so too. If the Afghans here entertained the smallest suspicion that you were visiting me, they would feel sure that I was not the trader I pretended to be, and would find means of sending a message across the mountains, which would result in the failure of my mission and my own certain death." After a hearty farewell, and an expression of the best wishes for the success of his mission, Mackenzie said good-bye and left the tent. The Afghan chief was carried back into it, and in a few minutes all in the little camp were asleep. CHAPTER XI A DANGEROUS JOURNEY Angus made every effort to secure the services of a native well acquainted with the passes as guide, but was altogether unsuccessful. The difficulties were, they declared, insurmountable, the danger overwhelming. "I must see what I can do," Sadut Khan said, when Angus informed him that the natives were all of opinion that the snow was too heavy and the danger too great for the pass to be attempted. "We stayed here for some days, when I crossed the hills with Dost Mahomed. There is a petty chief living in a village two miles away; if he is still there, I think he would accompany you. Whether or not, I am certain he would not divulge the secret of my being here to anyone." "I will go myself to see him," Angus said. "I hope indeed he will accompany us, for if not, I fear that our journey has come to an end, as the offers I have made would have tempted any of the natives here to go with me if they had thought it possible. Shall I mention your name to him?" "Say to him only that a chief of the Momunds, whom he knew here three months ago, desires to speak to him." Angus at once mounted his horse and rode to the foot of the hill upon which the village with the tower of its chief was perched. Then fastening the bridle to a stunted shrub, he made his way up the steep ascent on foot. The place did not contain more than a dozen houses. As he passed through these, natives wrapped in sheep-skin jackets came to the door and gazed at him with angry scowls. As he reached the door of the tower four armed men came out. "What would you here, stranger?" one of them said. "I would speak a few words with your chief." "He does not want either to buy or to sell," the man said shortly. "I do not seek to sell," Angus said. "I have a message of importance to him." One of them went into the tower, and returning in a minute, motioned to Angus to follow him. The chief, a tall and powerful man of middle age, was seated on the floor of a room in the upper story of the tower. Near him was a large earthenware pan, in which a charcoal fire was burning. "Why come you here, Persian?" he said, "and what message can one like you bear to me?" Angus repeated the message that Sadut Khan had given him. The chief rose to his feet suddenly. "You lie!" he said fiercely, "he is dead. The news came to us a week since." "Nevertheless, he gave me that message; and if you will come with me to Bamian you will see for yourself that he is not dead, though it is true that he has been sorely hurt." "I go not into Bamian," the chief said. "I have not put foot in the town since the accursed infidels came there. They have held no communication with me, nor I with them. This may be a trick to lure me there and make me prisoner." "If they had desired to do so," Angus said quietly, "they would have sent a hundred men with a gun or two, and not a mere trader. Besides, how could they have told that a Momund chief had been here with Dost Mahomed when he passed through?" "Many could have told you that," the chief said, "seeing that, next to the Ameer himself, he was the most observed of the party." "Well, chief, if you will not go, I have nothing to do but to return and inform him that you refuse to come and see him." "How can he be there, in the midst of the enemy, unless indeed he is a prisoner?" "He is not a prisoner; he lies in my tent. You can see him without entering Bamian, for my camp is outside the town. What motive, chief, could I have in deceiving you?" "I will go," the chief said suddenly. "It shall not be said that I refused to answer such a call, however improbable it might seem." He threw on a cloak lined with sheep-skins, and telling his men that unless something befell him he would be back by noon, he led the way down the hill. Angus mounted his horse when he reached it and rode beside him. For some distance the Afghan did not speak. "Do you know the name of this chief?" he asked abruptly when half the distance had been traversed. "It is Sadut Khan, the fighting chief of the Momunds, and a nephew by marriage of the Ameer." The Afghan had not expected this reply. "You must be in his confidence indeed, Persian, or he would not thus have disclosed himself when in the midst of those who would hail his capture as one of the most valuable prizes." "He has, as you say, faith in me," Angus said quietly, "and will, doubtless, when you see him, give you his reason for that trust in me." "Your story must be true, and I believe it; forgive me for at first doubting it. But having heard that the chief had been killed, I thought this was a plot of some kind." "It was natural that you should not believe me," Angus said. "You could scarce credit that he was alive, and, what was still more strange, that he should be in a town occupied by the English, and yet not be a prisoner." "This is a fortunate day for me, indeed," the Afghan said. "There is no chief whose name is more honoured in the country than that of Sadut Khan. He is as brave as a lion, good to his people, and faithful to Dost Mahomed, when so many have fallen away from him. The Ameer regards him as if he were a favourite son, and it will gladden his heart indeed, and lessen his troubles, when he learns that he is still alive." Avoiding the town they went straight to Sadut. Angus dismounted and led the way to his little white tent, and, raising the flap, said to the chief, "He is here; enter." The Afghan did so; and thinking it best to leave them together for a time, Angus strolled away and saw that his horse was, as usual, well wrapped up in a thick felt blanket. It was half an hour before the chief made his appearance at the entrance to the tent and looked round. Angus at once spoke to him. "My friend," said the chief, "I again ask your pardon for doubting you for a moment. Allah will surely bless you for the good work you have done. Sadut Khan has told me all, and it passes my understanding why a stranger should have cumbered himself with a wounded man of whom he knew nothing." "Does not the Koran bid us succour the afflicted?" "That is true, my friend, but there are surely limits. One will do great things for a friend, one may do something for a stranger, but to hinder one's journey and cumber one's self with a wounded stranger is surely more than can be expected of us." Angus now entered the tent. "My trust in the chief was not misplaced," Sadut Khan said. "He will act as our guide across the mountains, though he doubts whether it will be possible to cross the passes. If it is the will of Allah, Persian, that we should not, we can but die." "That is so," Angus said; "but the passes may not be as badly blocked as we expect." "We can hardly hope that," the chief replied, shaking his head. "The last party that came over reported that they had never known it so bad. This was a week ago, and since then the sky has always been dull to the north, and it has surely been snowing there. However, to-day it is lighter, and maybe no more snow will fall for a time. We had best lose not an hour in starting. I shall take four of my men with me. We have no horses, but that matters not at all, for the passage will have to be made on foot. Let us move to-morrow at daybreak, and travel as far as we can before it is dark." When the arrangements were all settled, Angus went into the village and bought some more grain, cheese, and other food, also a store of extra blankets, and two other native tents; these were to be packed on his horse and Azim's. Among other things he bought two native lamps for each tent, and a good supply of oil, a roll of flannel for tearing into strips for winding round the feet and legs, and he was then satisfied that he had done all in his power to render the enterprise a success. Before daybreak next morning Hassan, the Afghan chief, arrived with four of his followers, all strong and sinewy men. The animals were speedily packed; Sadut's litter was placed between two of the horses which were more lightly loaded than the others, and they set out just as daylight was spreading over the sky. The speed with which the start was effected was in itself a sign that all felt the gravity of the task before them. Angus had the evening before explained to the two soldiers that the journey before them was one of tremendous difficulty, and offered to leave them in charge of Lieutenant Mackenzie till spring, when they could return to Cabul and rejoin their regiment; but they would not hear of it. "We are both mountain men," one said, "and if others can get through we can. At any rate, we will risk anything rather than return with blackened faces and say that we had feared to follow our officer." The morning was bitterly cold, but the sky was clear. "We shall do well to-day," Hassan said to Angus, "and the horses are fresh. As for to-morrow, who can say?" The snow was knee-deep when they got beyond the village. The ascent began almost at once and was heavy work both for men and horses. They continued their journey till it was too dark to go farther, then they halted in a ravine which afforded some shelter from the piercing wind. All set to work to clear away the snow where the tents were to be pitched, but before raising these the horses were attended to. Blankets were girded round them from the ears to the tail, and they were picketed touching each other for mutual warmth. A supply of corn was then laid down before each on some square pieces of felt placed on the snow. When the tents were pitched the lamps were lighted and the flaps closed, then snow was scraped up outside until the canvas was covered nearly to the top. In spite of the intense cold all were thoroughly warmed by their hard work before they turned in. Angus took Azim into his tent, the rest divided themselves among the other two. At other times it would have been unpleasant to be so closely packed, but in such weather it was an advantage. Before setting to work to pile the snow against the tents a brass kettle filled with water had been suspended from the ridge-pole over the lamps, and the water was almost boiling by the time the work was finished, and in a few minutes coffee was made. The frozen carcasses of four sheep had been brought, as well as a large quantity of meat that had been cooked on the previous day. Some slices of the latter were thawed over the lamp and eaten with bread that had been purchased at Bamian. But few words were spoken after the meal was finished, their fatigue and the warmth of the tent rendering it difficult for them to keep awake. In a few minutes all were sound asleep. The next day's march was even more arduous. Sadut had given up his litter and again mounted his horse, as it was found impossible for the two animals linked together by the hammock to make their way up the steep place. The work was toilsome in the extreme, but all worked cheerfully. Hassan and his four men laboured with the greatest vigour, carrying burdens to places which horses when laden could not have climbed, hauling the animals out of deep drifts into which they frequently fell, carrying Sadut Khan in his litter at points where the ascent was so steep that, crippled as he still was by his injured leg, he could not have retained his seat in the saddle. The party worked in almost complete silence, but with a stern determination and energy which showed their consciousness that every moment was of importance. Twelve miles were the result of as many hours of labour. No signs of a track had been visible since they left Bamian, and Angus felt how absolutely impossible it would have been to cross the pass had it not been for the intimate knowledge of Hassan and his followers; even these were sometimes at fault. None of them had ever passed over the mountains when so deeply covered with snow, and consultations constantly took place between them as to the line to be followed. When they arrived at their halting-place for the night, Hassan told Angus and the Momund chief that they were now within two hundred feet of the top of the pass. "To-morrow's work will be the most dangerous; the north wind sweeps across the plateau with terrible force. Moreover, I do not like the look of the sky this evening. We have been fortunate so far, but I think that there will be a change." "It is well, indeed," Sadut said as they ate their supper, "that we crossed the highest pass before the snow began in earnest; we certainly could not have supported that journey had we been ten days later. We have got through the hardest part of the work, and everything now depends upon the weather. May Allah grant that there be no more snow. The pass to-morrow is but twelve miles across, and if all goes well we shall begin to descend on the following morning. If the snow holds off we shall be able to do that distance easily, for it is almost a level plain that we have to traverse. Parts of it will be nearly clear of snow, which the fierce blasts sweep away as fast as it falls, while in other places the surface will be hard enough to walk on, the snow being pressed firmly together by the weight of the wind." They were on foot again next morning even earlier than usual. All were aware of the importance of haste. The tents were pulled down and loaded with the greatest rapidity. The cold was intense, and but few words were spoken until they reached the summit of the ascent, by which time the effort of climbing had restored the heat that had been lost as soon as they left their warm tents. The sky was cloudless, and Angus felt hopeful that the day's journey would be accomplished with comparative ease. He noticed, however, that there was an anxious look on the faces of the five tribesmen, who, although they were travelling more rapidly than they had done since they left Bamian, were constantly urging horses and men to press forward at a greater speed. Angus had expected that they would have to face very strong wind, but scarce a breath was blowing. As Sadut had predicted, the rock was in many places completely bare. The fields of snow were so hard that, instead of struggling knee-deep as before, they now seldom sank over their feet, and sometimes left scarcely a track upon the surface. The hills on either side stood up clear and hard, and the silence was almost oppressive. They were, they calculated, half-way across the pass three hours after leaving their camp, when Hassan, who was walking beside Angus and Sadut, stopped suddenly and pointed to the sky. Looking up Angus saw two or three little wisps of vapour passing overhead with extraordinary speed. "The storm!" Hassan exclaimed. "See, others are coming; it will soon be upon us. We can go no farther, but must prepare to meet it instantly or we shall be overwhelmed." Knowing that Hassan would not have spoken thus unless from the direst necessity, Angus at once ordered a halt. The plateau was perfectly flat, and nowhere could any shelter be obtained, and they were now on an expanse of hard snow. Urged by the shouts and exclamations of Hassan all hastened to unload the animals. As soon as this was done, Angus ordered the tents to be pitched. "It is useless," Hassan said, "they would be blown down in an instant. Let them lie open on the snow. Let each man take his two blankets and keep them by him in readiness, and when the storm begins let him wrap himself up in these, and then let those who are tent-fellows lie down together on one side of the tent, pull the other over them, and roll themselves in it. I and my men will be the last to take shelter, and we will pile the sacks and saddles over the ends to keep them down. But first put all the extra blankets over the horses and fasten them over their heads, and let them hang down well behind. They will turn their backs to the wind. Make all those that are accustomed to lie down do so. Range the others close to them." Ten minutes of hard work and all was ready. Then they had time to look round. The sky was hidden from view by masses of black clouds streaming along. The men took their places on their tents and wrapped their blankets round in readiness. "Lie down at once!" Hassan ordered. "It will be upon us almost immediately." The men did so. Hassan and his followers pulled the felt covering over them, pushing the edge of the upper side under them as far as possible. Then they piled baggage and saddles on the ends. Angus, with Azim and Sadut, remained standing till the last. Hassan ran up to them with his men. "Quick!" he said, "the storm will be upon us immediately." Glancing ahead as he lay down, Angus saw what looked like a white mist in the distance, and knew that it must be snow swept up by the force of the wind. Half a minute and they were tucked up in the thick felt; this was weighted at both ends. "Allah preserve you!" Hassan shouted, then all was silent. A minute later the storm struck them with such force that they felt as if pressed down by a heavy weight. Had they been inclined to speak they could not have heard each other, so loud was the howl of the wind. Wrapped up in their sheep-skin posteens and blankets, they did not feel the cold. For some time Angus lay and wondered how long this would last. Presently he fell asleep, the warmth, after the bitterly cold air outside, overpowering even the thought of danger. He was lying between Sadut and Azim, who, like himself, lay without moving. Indeed, movement would have been difficult, so tightly was the tent wrapped round them. He slept for many hours vaguely conscious of the roar and fury of the gale. When he awoke at last it was with a sense of suffocation, a heavy weight seemed to press upon him, and the sound of the storm had ceased. "Are you awake?" he asked the others, but he had to shake them before he obtained an answer. "Something must be done," he went on, as soon as they were capable of understanding him. "We shall be suffocated if we don't let some air in." "That is true," Sadut said. "The snow is evidently piled up round us. We must let air in, or we shall perish." But in spite of their efforts they found it impossible to move forward to get to the end of the roll. "We must cut our way out; it is our only chance," Angus said, and turning on to his back, he managed to get out his long Afghan knife, and cut a slit three feet long in the felt. As he did so, the snow came pouring in through the opening. "Do you both put your hands under my shoulders," he said, "and help me to sit up." It was not until he had cut a transverse slit so as to allow the hole to open wider that he was able to do so. "The snow is not packed very hard," he said, as he pressed it aside. "It can't be very deep, for I can see light." It was not long before he was on his feet, and had pushed the snow sufficiently back to enable his companions to get out also. The feeling of suffocation was already relieved, as a sufficient amount of air made its way through the snow, and after five minutes' hard work they clambered out. The gale was still blowing, though not so violently as at first, the snow still falling thickly. Two white mounds marked the position of the other tents, elsewhere a wide expanse of level snow was seen. It was evident that, as it drifted, it had first heaped itself against the tent. More had settled beyond it, and so gradually mounds had risen until they were seven or eight feet high. "We must rescue the others at once," Angus said. On the windward side the snow was so hard that their hands made no impression upon it, but on the sheltered side it was lighter, and working with their hands they were soon able to clear it away down to the end of the tent beneath which Hassan and three of his followers were lying. It was not, like the others, closed there, as its occupants had been unable to place weights on it after they had rolled themselves up. As soon as they had cleared the snow and opened the felt out a little, Sadut called-- "Are you awake, Hassan?" "I am awake," he replied, "but am bound down hand and foot." They cleared the snow off until they saw a foot. Taking hold of this together they pulled and gradually drew one of the men out. The other three were extricated more easily. They found that these had not suffered so much from a sense of suffocation as the first party had done, as, the ends of the roll being open, a certain amount of air had found its way through the snow. Half an hour's hard work sufficed to rescue the occupants of the other tent. The three were unconscious, but the cold blast speedily brought them round. "What is to be done next?" Angus asked Hassan. "The gale is still far too severe for us to move," the latter answered. "We had best clear away the snow over the tents, and then take to them again." After two hours' work the tents were cleared. The men had worked from above, throwing out the snow over the sides of the mound, so that when they had finished the tents lay at the bottoms of sloping holes. A meal was then eaten, and lifting the upper covering of felt they lay down again and closed it over them. The sun was in the east, and they knew that some fifteen hours had elapsed since the gale had struck them. A mound of snow had marked where the horses were lying. They did not interfere with these, for Hassan said that the horses would be able to breathe through the snow, and probably the heat of their bodies had melted it immediately round them, and they would be much warmer than if the snow were cleared off. Before turning in Hassan and his men managed to erect the tent of their leaders. Lying as it did in a crater of snow, it was sheltered from the force of the wind. Holes were made with a dagger on each side of the slit that Angus had cut, and the edges tied together by a strip of leather. A couple of lamps and oil were taken from the sack in which they were carried, and also the bag of corn, and the little party after filling their vessels with snow and hanging them over the lamps, and closing the entrance to the tent, soon felt comfortable again. "It has been a narrow escape," Sadut said. "Had it not been for your thinking of cutting the tent, and so enabling us to make our way out, the whole caravan would assuredly have perished. Now, we have only an imprisonment for another day or two at most, and can then proceed on our journey." The next morning the gale had ceased, though the snow continued to fall. By mid-day the sky cleared, and all issuing out from their shelters prepared for a start. It took them an hour's work to extricate the horses; one of these, a weakly animal, had died, the others appeared uninjured by their imprisonment. All the vessels in the camp had been used for melting snow, and a drink of warm water with some flour stirred into it was given to each of the animals, and an extra feed of corn. As soon as they had eaten this, the baggage was packed on their backs, and the party moved forward. It was heavy work. The snow that had fallen since the force of the wind had abated was soft, and the animals sank fetlock-deep in it. But after three hours' travelling, they reached the end of the pass and began to descend. Two hours later they halted at a spot where a wall of rock afforded shelter against the wind from the north. "Allah be praised that we have reached this point!" Hassan said. "Now the worst is over. I can see that we shall have another storm before an hour is past, they generally follow each other when they once begin. But here we are safe, and it was for this that I said 'No' when you proposed that we should halt at the mouth of the pass." The tents were soon erected, great stones being placed on the lower edge to steady them against the gusts of wind. Then a diligent search was made for wood, and enough bushes were found to make a good fire. Strips of meat from one of the frozen sheep were cooked, the kettles were boiled, cakes of flour and ghee were baked, and the travellers made a hearty meal. The horses were each given half a bucket of warm water, thickened with flour, and a double feed of grain. Then all sat round the fire smoking and talking until it burned low, when, in spite of their sheep-skin coats, the bitter cold soon made itself felt. They had scarcely turned into their tents when the storm, as Hassan had predicted, burst. Except for an occasional gust they felt it but little, and slept soundly until morning, when they found that light snow had eddied down, and was lying two feet deep. The day was spent in cooking and attending to their own wants and those of the horses. For two days they were prisoners, then the gale abated, and they continued their journey, and late that evening arrived at the village of Chol. Here they were received with hospitality by the natives, who were astounded that in such weather the caravan should have made its way over the pass. Resting here for two days, they travelled to Kala Sarkari. Sadut now took the lead, for the chief of the village seeing three horses loaded with merchandise demanded toll; but, Sadut announcing himself as a nephew of Dost Mahomed, and saying that the whole party were under his protection, the threatening attitude that the inhabitants began to assume was at once calmed. Four days' travel, with halts at small villages, took them to Balkh. Here, on declaring himself, Sadut was received with great honour, and was entertained at the governor's house, where Dost Mahomed was lying ill. No attention was bestowed upon Hassan and his followers, who walked behind him, and were reported as having been the means of his safety. Angus with his party kept some little distance in the rear and took up their quarters at a khan unnoticed, but when Sadut was seen to call early the next morning upon the Persian trader and remain with him for a considerable time, it was understood that they were under his protection, and no enquiries were made by the authorities of the town. On the third day Sadut said to Angus: "I regret that the Ameer is ill. Had it not been for that he would have received you. I told him of the services you have rendered me, and that but for you a few hours would have ended my life. He said that he would like to see so noble a man, and to give him a fitting testimonial of gratitude for the service done to his sister's son. He requested me to bring you to him as soon as he is able to rise from his couch; and when he enters Cabul in triumph, as he assuredly will do ere long, he hopes that you will establish yourself there. I can promise you that your business shall flourish." "I thank you heartily, Khan, for having spoken to the Ameer about me," Angus said gravely, "but I cannot receive a present from Dost Mahomed. I have intended many times to tell you more about myself, and I feel that I must do so now. You are my friend, and I cannot remain in a false position with you. As long as we were travelling together, no harm was done; it mattered not to you who was the man who had aided you in your extremity. But the case is different now. You were then a sorely wounded man, who needed what aid I could give you; now you are a close relation of Dost Mahomed, and a powerful Afghan chief, so the case is changed. Dost Mahomed, and no doubt yourself, know what is passing in Cabul by means of your friends there, who see all that is going on. The English general, on the other hand, knows nothing of what is passing beyond the ground patrolled by his cavalry. "It was important for him to learn what was passing on this side of the mountains, and he selected me, an officer in his army, on account of my knowledge of Persian and Pushtoo, to cross the mountains and ascertain what prospect there was of Dost Mahomed's returning with an army to Cabul in the spring. I confide my secret to you as to a friend. You can see that it would be impossible for me to accept presents from Dost Mahomed in my character of a Persian merchant, and for the same reason I should abstain from questioning you, or even allowing you to give me any information as to the military preparations going on. To do so would be to take an unfair advantage of the chances that enabled me to be of service." Angus had thought the matter over, and knew that while such work as he was engaged in would, if discovered, cost him his life, it would be regarded by the Afghans as a legitimate means of obtaining information; and although if caught he would be killed as an enemy, his action would be regarded as showing that he was a man of great bravery thus to place himself in the power of an enemy. This was the view, indeed, in which Sadut Khan regarded it. "You have done well to tell me," he said gravely. "It was truly the act of a brave man not only to risk discovery here, but to undertake the terrible adventure of crossing the passes when winter had fairly set in, in order to obtain information for your general. Still more do I wonder that you should have burdened yourself with the care of an enemy, one who was fighting against your people. It was wonderful on the part of a Persian trader, it is far more so on the part of one against whom I was fighting, who is not of my religion, who was engaged upon an enterprise of such a nature, and to whom speed was a matter of the greatest importance. Had it not been for the slow pace at which you travelled with me, you might have crossed all the passes before they were blocked. I shall fight against your people as before, but I shall respect them now I see that although our religions differ, there are good things in their beliefs as in ours, and that even the Koran has no lessons in charity and kindliness stronger than those that you have learned from the teaching of your own religion. "What I thought wonderful on the part of a Persian merchant is still more marvellous on the part of an English officer, who could have no possible interest in saving a dying man; and who, indeed, might have gained credit by delivering him into the hands of his countrymen, since so long as I was a prisoner in their hands, I should be a hostage for the quiet behaviour of my people. You can do no harm to us by your enquiries here; it is known by all on this side of the mountains that the Ameer will in the spring endeavour to turn out the usurper; it is known already to every sheik from Candahar to Jellalabad. Whether he will come with ten thousand or twenty thousand men matters little; when he appears, all Afghanistan will rise. Your generals might have been sure that it would be so without sending to make enquiries. I cannot tell you with what force we shall come. It will not be a great army; even in summer a large force could scarcely traverse the passes. It is not on the force that he will take from here that Dost Mahomed relies; it is on the host he will gather round him when he crosses the mountains. We have learned that the disaffection to Soojah is everywhere on the increase. There were many who did not love the Barukzyes, but they know now that things are worse instead of better since the change, for the man has made himself hated by his arrogance, his contempt for the people in general, and the extortion exercised by his tax-gatherers. "There is no secret in all this, your own officers must know it. What you will not learn, for the decision will not be made until the spring, is the line by which the Ameer will advance. There are many passes by which he may then cross; or he may go round by Herat, and gather forces as he advances. Or again, he might go east, and crossing by the passes there, come down through Chitral to Jellalabad." "That I can well understand, Khan. Of course I have already learned that there is no doubt that Dost Mahomed is preparing to cross the passes in the spring, and that he is sure of the support of the tribesmen on this side of the mountains." "He could gather a very large army if he chose," Sadut said, "but the difficulty of transporting food for so large a body would be very great, I think that ten thousand men will be the utmost he could move with. I am doing no harm in telling you this, because you would soon learn it in the town, and it is certain that your people could not prevent his passing the Hindoo Koosh, since he has so many routes to choose from. His force is not like your army, which, moving with great trains of baggage, cannon, and ammunition, could only cross by one or two passes; we can move wherever our horses can climb. And now I will leave you, for I have some business to attend to; but I will return this evening." CHAPTER XII TROUBLES THICKEN Angus saw that as he could not hope to obtain further information, however long he might stay, and as he had fulfilled the main object of his mission by discovering that Dost Mahomed would not be content with remaining master of the northern province, but would certainly advance in the spring, he could do no good by remaining any longer. The information that he could give would enable Macnaghten and Burnes to show the Indian government that their intention of withdrawing more troops in the early spring would be disastrous; and it was with this special object in view that he had been sent. He had on the two previous days sold a portion of his goods, but had held out for the prices with which they were marked. He was now more willing to bargain, as he wished to travel in future as lightly as possible. Accordingly, before nightfall he had disposed of nearly half the stock with which he had started; but he had at the same time purchased a certain amount of goods from Turkestan, as these would be more appropriate as merchandise when he started from Balkh for Herat. Sadut came again in the evening. "My friend," he said, "I have been thinking over your position. Doubtless you might stay here for some time without its being suspected that you were other than you seemed to be, but a chance word from one of your men might betray you, and as you have really learned all that there is to learn, it seems to me that there is no use in your tarrying any longer here. It is true that Dost Mahomed, for my sake, would protect you, even were you discovered. Still, you know the nature of our people, and were it rumoured that you were an infidel, you might be torn to pieces before either the Ameer or myself knew aught about it." "I have come to the same conclusion. If I thought I could gain anything by remaining I should do so, whatever the risk; but as it would be useless to stay, I intend to leave to-morrow. I have a long journey to make via Herat; the sooner I am off the better. My men are now packing up my goods and preparing for a start at daylight." "I felt so sure that this would be your course that I have brought with me an order from the Ameer to the governor and headmen of all towns and villages through which you may pass, enjoining them to give you good treatment, as he holds you in high esteem for having rendered most valuable services to me." "I thank you very heartily," Angus replied. "This will greatly facilitate my journey and save me from all small annoyances. I trust that we shall meet again." "I hope so indeed. Never shall I forget the debt of gratitude that I owe you. Perhaps some day I may be able to repay that debt to a small extent. Remember, that in case of need you may rely upon me to the utmost. At any rate, you must not refuse to accept this; it is a present from Dost Mahomed, not to an English officer, but to a Persian merchant who has saved the life of his sister's son. He talks continually while with me of the nobility of your action, and when I told him that you were going he had his turban brought and took out this gem, which was its chief ornament, and bade me hand it you in remembrance of the deed. I told him you had said that you would receive no present for a simple act of humanity. More I could not tell him without revealing your secret, though I know that it would be safe with him. You cannot refuse to take this. As for myself, I am here an exile far away from my own people, and have but this to give you as a token of my love. It is my signet ring. If you send it to me I will go through fire and water to come to you. My tribesmen will all recognize it, and will do anything in their power for its possessor." Angus saw that, offered as it was, he should greatly hurt the Afghan's feelings if he refused the immense ruby surrounded by diamonds that Dost Mahomed had sent him. "I will not refuse the gift of the Ameer so given to me, and shall cherish it as my most valued possession and the gift of a man whom I for one, and I may say most British officers, consider to be very badly treated by us. I know from Sir Alexander Burnes that Dost Mahomed was most anxious for our alliance. Shah Soojah is as unpopular among us as among his own people. Of course, as soldiers, it is not our business to concern ourselves with politics; that is a matter for the government only. Still we cannot but have our feelings, and I am sure that should the fortune of war ever place Dost Mahomed in our hands he would receive honourable treatment. Your gift I shall prize as highly, as a token of our warm friendship, and trust that the time may never come when I have to put its virtue to the test, though I well know that I could in necessity rely upon any help that you might be able to give me." After talking for some time of the best route to follow, Sadut Khan took an affectionate leave, and Angus started the next morning with his party. Before setting out he bestowed handsome gifts upon Hassan and his followers, whom he had learned to like greatly for the devotion they had shown to Sadut and the energy and courage with which they had worked during the journey. Travelling from twenty to five-and-twenty miles a day, with occasional halts, he reached Cabul after two months of travel. His journey had been greatly facilitated by the order that he carried from Dost Mahomed. He had not entered Herat, as it was probable that he would be recognized there. Avoiding the city, he travelled by the same route as before to Girishk, and then took a road running a few miles north of Candahar and falling into the main road at Kelat-i-Ghilzye. His first step was to see Sir Alexander Burnes and to report to him that assuredly Dost Mahomed would come south with a considerable force as soon as the passes were opened. His following would not itself be very formidable, but he relied upon being joined by all the tribesmen south of the hills. "Your news is most opportune," the agent said, "and can hardly fail to induce the Governor-general to alter his determination to withdraw the greater part of our force in the spring. Already we have not a man too many for contingencies that may arise. Now, tell me about your journey. The winter set in so severely directly you left us that I have been seriously uneasy about you. I had only one message from Mackenzie after you had left, it was brought by a native; and he told me that you had passed through, but that the weather had changed for the worse the day after you started, and the universal opinion among the natives was that you and your party had perished." Angus gave an account of his journey. He had thought over the question whether it would be wise to mention the episode of the wounded Afghan, but he concluded that it would be better to do so, as Mackenzie, when he rejoined the force, might casually mention that he had a sick man with him; and he therefore told the whole story as it happened. "I admire your humanity, Mr. Campbell, though it seems almost quixotic to burden yourself with a wounded man. But, as you say, it was evident that if you could manage to carry him through he might be of great service to you. Undoubtedly he would have been a valuable prisoner to have in our hands, but his gratitude to you may prove valuable to us, for the Momunds are a powerful tribe, and your conduct to him cannot but have inspired him with a better feeling towards us than he has hitherto shown." "He may have less animosity, sir, but I fear that he will still be found fighting against us. On the way he spoke many times of his determination to continue the struggle until Afghanistan was free from the infidel; I am convinced that his indignation at the treatment of Dost Mahomed, and his fanaticism are so strong that no private matter is likely to shake them." The winter passed quietly, and the attention of Burnes and Macnaghten was turned rather towards the frontier than to the state of things round Cabul. Yar Mahomed, virtual ruler of Herat, although he was receiving large sums of money from us, was known to be intriguing with Persia, and trying to form an alliance with the Shah to expel the British from Afghanistan. Russia had sent an expedition against Khiva, and the conquest of this little state would bring her more closely to the frontier of Afghanistan. Dost Mahomed, however, had gone on a visit to the Ameer of Bokhara, and had been detained for the present by that treacherous ruler; thus for a time the prospect of an invasion on his part was greatly diminished. In the spring Macnaghten and Shah Soojah returned to Cabul. The former continued to ignore the warnings of Sir A. Burnes, as to the ever-growing hostility of the Afghans to the British and the man they had forced upon them. His advice and that of Burnes had been so far followed that the force at Cabul had not been diminished; but, not content with this, Macnaghten continued to urge on the Indian government the necessity of sending a great force to occupy Herat and another to cross the mountains and thwart the projects of the Russians by carrying our arms into Bokhara. Moreover, he was continually applying for money to meet the expenses of Shah Soojah's government. As if the drain that these demands would entail upon the Indian treasury and upon the Indian army were not sufficient, he insisted upon the necessity of conquering the Punjaub, where, since the death of Runjeet Sing, the attitude of the population had been increasingly hostile. It is difficult to understand how any perfectly sane man could have made such propositions. It would have needed the whole army of India to carry them out, to say nothing of an enormous outlay of money. Although the Governor-general and his council firmly declined to enter upon the wild schemes proposed to them, Macnaghten did not cease to send them lengthy communications urging the absolute necessity of his advice being followed. As the summer came on there were everywhere signs of unrest. In April the Ghilzyes cut the communications near Candahar, but were defeated by a small body of troops sent from that city. The Beloochees, whose country had been annexed, were bitterly hostile, and convoys were cut off. Candahar was invested by them, Quettah besieged, and Khelat captured. With the exception of Macnaghten himself, there was scarcely an officer in the army but was conscious of the tempest that was gathering round them. Shah Soojah was as unpopular among them as among the native population. Macnaghten was almost as unpopular as the Shah. Everyone knew that it was his influence that had first induced Lord Auckland to enter upon this war, and the levity with which he replied to every warning, and the manner in which he deferred to Shah Soojah in every respect, and allowed him to drive the tribesmen to despair by the greed of the tax-gatherers, incensed the officers of the army to the utmost. In the spring the little garrison of Bamian were on the point of being reinforced by a Sepoy battalion when Dr. Lord, who had been sent as political officer, received information that led him to believe that Jubbar Khan, one of Dost Mahomed's brothers, who was in charge of Dost's family at Khooloom, was ready to come in. One of his sons had already done so, and Lord thought that by sending forward a force to the fortress of Badjah he would quicken Jubbar Khan's movements. It had the desired effect, and Jubbar Khan came into Bamian bringing with him Dost Mahomed's family and a large party of retainers. This, however, in no way improved the position of the little party at Badjah, for the natives in the vicinity exhibited the greatest hostility. The officer in command sent a detachment under Sergeant Douglas to escort another officer to Badjah. The party was, however, attacked, and although they made a gallant resistance, they would have been destroyed had not two companies of Ghoorkas arrived on the spot and beat off the enemy. In August the startling news arrived that Dost Mahomed had escaped from Bokhara. He was received with open arms by the governor of Khooloom and a large force speedily gathered round him. Early in September he advanced upon Bamian with eight thousand men. Badjah was attacked, and although the Ghoorka regiment kept back the assailants, it was evident that so advanced a post could not be held, and the force retreated, leaving all their baggage behind them. A regiment of Afghan infantry had been raised and were stationed at Bamian, but on hearing of Dost Mahomed's approach they deserted to a man, most of them joining the enemy. Even Macnaghten could no longer shut his eyes to the serious nature of the position. Cabul was full of Sikh emissaries, who were stirring up the population to revolt, promising them that the Sikh nation would join in driving out the infidel. Reinforcements under Colonel Dennie reached Bamian on the 14th of September, and on the 17th Dost Mahomed with his army approached the place. Ignorant that the whole force was upon him, Dennie sent Mackenzie with two guns and four companies of native infantry and some four hundred Afghan horse, and himself followed with four more companies in support. On joining the advanced party, he found that the whole of Dost Mahomed's force was in front of him. In spite of the enormous disparity of numbers, he determined to attack; a wise resolution, for although in our Indian wars the natives often fought bravely when they attacked us, they seldom offered a vigorous opposition when we took the offensive. Mackenzie's two guns opened fire with shrapnel, which had a terrible effect upon the dense masses of the enemy. These were unable to withstand the fire, and soon began to fall back. Mackenzie followed them, and again opened fire. Before long, Dost Mahomed's levies broke and fled; and Dennie launched the Afghan horsemen in pursuit. These cut down great numbers of the enemy, and dispersed them in all directions. The effect of this signal defeat was at once apparent. The Governor of Khooloom entered into negotiations without delay, and pledged himself not to harbour or assist Dost Mahomed; the country south of Khooloom was divided, he taking half, while the southern portion came under the authority of Shah Soojah. The victory caused great satisfaction in Cabul, but this feeling was short-lived. Dost Mahomed after his defeat went to Kohistan, where there was great discontent among the chiefs, some of whom were already in revolt. General Sale sent a force from Jellalabad, which attacked a fortified position held by them, but the assault was repulsed with heavy loss. It was about to be renewed, when the Kohistanees evacuated the fort and fled. The fact, however, that our troops had met with a repulse had a great effect upon the minds of the natives. For the first time the Afghans had successfully withstood an attack by British soldiers. Throughout the month of October Dost Mahomed was busy, and at one time approached within forty miles of Cabul, when guns were hastily mounted on the citadel to overawe the town, and orders sent to the force at Bamian to return at once. Dost, however, moved no nearer. Sir Robert Sale was pursuing him, and it was not until the 27th that he moved down again towards Cabul, and on the 29th the greater part of the force there marched out to give him battle. On the 2nd of November the two armies came face to face in the valley of Purwandurrah. The Ameer at once moved from the village to the neighbouring heights, and the British cavalry galloped to outflank the Afghan horse. These were comparatively few in number, but headed by Dost Mahomed himself, they advanced steadily to meet the Indian cavalry. Gallantly as Indian troops have fought on numberless fields, on this occasion they disgraced themselves utterly. Turning rein as the Afghans approached, they galloped away in headlong flight, pursued by the Afghans until within range of the British guns. Their officers in vain attempted to arrest their flight, charging alone into the midst of the enemy. Two of them were killed when surrounded by enemies, Dr. Lord was shot, and the other two cut their way through their assailants and reached the British line covered with wounds. No more disgraceful affair has taken place in the story of our wars in India than this rout of Indian cavalry by a third of their number of wild horsemen. But even yet the affair might have been retrieved had an officer like Dennie been in command; had the guns opened and the infantry advanced it might still have been a repetition of the victory of Bamian. But Sir A. Burnes was in authority, and, easily discouraged, as was his nature, he gave no orders, but sent off word to Macnaghten that there was nothing for it but to fall back to Cabul. Suddenly, however, the position was changed by Dost Mahomed himself. As he rode back after the victorious charge he thought over his position. His imprisonment at Bokhara had not broken his spirit, but it had affected him by showing him that the Mohammedans of Central Asia could not be trusted to work together or to unite to beat back the ever-advancing wave of infidel aggression by the British on the south, and the Russians on the west. But more than this, the defection of his brother at Khooloom, and the surrender by him of his family, had convinced him that it would be vain for him to continue to struggle to regain the throne that he had lost. The Kohistanees had risen before he joined them, and he had the satisfaction of showing that his bravery was in no way shaken by his misfortune, and of gaining a success of a most striking description. Now at least he could lay down his sword with honour. Accordingly, without telling anyone of his intention, he rode off the field with a single attendant, and on the following day reached Cabul and rode to the British Embassy. As he approached it he saw Macnaghten returning from his evening ride. His attendant galloped forward and asked if the gentleman was the British envoy, and on Macnaghten saying that he was so, he then returned to his master; and Dost Mahomed riding forward, dismounted, saluted the envoy, and handed him his sword, saying that he had come to surrender and to place himself under his protection. Macnaghten returned it to him, and told him to remount, and they rode together into the residency, Dost Mahomed asking eagerly for news of his family, of whom he had not heard since their surrender. Being assured that they were well and were honourably treated, he was greatly relieved. A tent was pitched for him, and he wrote at once to his son, begging him to follow his example. He conversed freely with Macnaghten, gave him the history of his wanderings and adventures, and assured him that there was no occasion to place a guard over him, as his mind had quite been made up before he came in, and nothing short of force would compel him to leave. His only anxiety was that he should not be sent to England, and on Macnaghten assuring him that this would not be the case, and that an ample maintenance would be assigned to him in India, he became perfectly contented and calm. As a result of his letter, three days later his eldest son, Mahomed Afzul, came into camp and surrendered. Dost remained two days at Cabul, where he was visited by many of the British officers, all of whom were impressed most strongly by him, comparing him very favourably with the man for whom we had dethroned him. Macnaghten wrote most warmly in his favour to the Governor-general, urging that he should be received with honour and a handsome pension assigned to him. He was sent down to India with a strong escort, where he was kindly received by the Viceroy, who settled upon him a pension of two lacs of rupees, equivalent to £20,000. Unfortunately, just at the time that the ex-Ameer returned to Cabul a European regiment, a battery of horse artillery, and a regiment of native infantry were recalled to India, and with them went Sir Willoughby Cotton, and the command for the time being remained in the hands of Sir Robert Sale. Angus Campbell had not accompanied Sir A. Burnes when he left Cabul with the force which marched out to encounter Dost Mahomed, but had been left in charge of the office at Cabul. He was now his chief's first civil assistant, his temporary appointment to the civil service having been approved and confirmed by the Court of Directors at home in consequence of the very warm report in his favour sent by Eldred Pottinger and Mr. M'Neill. Sir A. Burnes, too, had in his letters spoken several times of his energy and usefulness, and on his return from his expedition through the passes, both Burnes and Macnaghten had reported most highly both of his volunteering to undertake so dangerous a mission, and of the manner in which he had carried it out. In return the directors had sent out an order for his promotion to a higher grade, and had ordered that a present of £1000 should be given him in token of their recognition of his conduct. "Your foot is well on the ladder now," Sir A. Burnes had said on acquainting him with the decision of the board. "You will now have your name on their books as one of the most promising of the younger officers of the Company, and you may be sure that they will keep their eye upon you. Macnaghten will shortly return to England, and I have long been promised the succession to his post. I shall certainly request, and no doubt my wishes will be acceded to in such a matter, that you should hold the position of my chief assistant. As such you will have many opportunities of doing good service, as you will naturally proceed on missions to the chiefs of neighbouring peoples, and will so qualify yourself for some important post in the future." Macnaghten, indeed, was extremely anxious to leave. Bodily and mentally he had suffered from the strain and anxiety. He had been promised a high post in India, probably the succession to the governorship of Bombay, but it was considered advisable that he should remain at his present post till the country was more settled. The winter passed quietly. With the submission of Dost Mahomed and his sons there was now no rival to Shah Soojah, no head round whom those discontented with the Ameer's rule could rally. He was the less unwilling to remain, as he thought that an era of peace had now begun, and that his anxieties were at an end. He was soon, however, undeceived. On Shah Soojah's first arrival in India he had naturally looked to the Dooranees for aid against the Barukzyes, who had so long oppressed them, and had made many promises of remission of taxation as an incentive to their zeal. These promises had so far been kept, that no taxes whatever had been exacted from the Dooranees; but in view of the absolute necessity of raising an income for the expenses of the government, and for the personal expenditure of the Ameer and his favourites, it became necessary that all should contribute to some extent to the revenue. Although this tax was but a tithe of that which they had paid under Barukzye rule, the Dooranees of the district of the north-west of Candahar rose in rebellion, and General Nott marched out from that city and defeated them in a pitched battle. For a time the movement was crushed, but the discontent remained. This was rendered more formidable by the fact that the Heratees had taken up so offensive an attitude that our mission there had been withdrawn, and proofs were obtained that its ruler was fomenting the discontent in the western province, and was encouraging the disaffected by promising them assistance. In May more serious trouble arose, this time with the Ghilzyes. It had been determined to restore the dismantled fort of Kelat-i-Ghilzye. The tribesmen viewed the work with hostility, and assembled in larger numbers, and Nott sent a force against them under Colonel Winder, with four hundred British troops, a Sepoy battalion, a battery of horse artillery, and a small body of cavalry. The Ghilzyes advanced to the attack in great force. The battle was long and desperate, but the volleys of grape from the guns, and the steady fire from the infantry, at last turned the scale, and after five hours' fighting the Ghilzyes retired. The Dooranees were again in arms, and three thousand men were assembled under their chief at Girishk. A small force, under Colonel Woodburn, marched out against them and defeated them, but having no cavalry on which he could rely, he could not prevent the rebels from retiring in fair order. Major Rawlinson, the political officer at Candahar, again warned Macnaghten that the situation in western Afghanistan was extremely threatening, but was answered that this was an unwarrantable view of our position, and that there were "enough difficulties, and enough of croakers, without adding to the number needlessly." But Rawlinson was perfectly right, and Macnaghten was living in a fool's paradise. The defeated chief of the Dooranees was joined by another, and in August a force of eight hundred cavalry, of whom some were regulars, three hundred and fifty infantry, and four guns, under Captain Griffin, met the insurgents. They were strongly posted in a succession of walled gardens and small forts, but the fire of the guns and infantry drove them from the enclosure, and the cavalry then charged them with great effect and scattered them in all directions. Another defeat was inflicted upon the Ghilzyes in the same month. For the moment all was quiet again; the only drawback to Macnaghten's satisfaction was that Akbar Khan, Dost Mahomed's favourite son, was still in the north, and was reported to be gathering troops somewhere near Khooloom. In September Macnaghten received news of his appointment to the governorship of Bombay, and began his preparations for leaving Cabul, and Burnes looked forward to receiving at last the appointment for which he had so long waited. His position had been in every respect irksome. His views differed from those of Macnaghten; he saw the dangers of the position which Macnaghten refused to recognize. The reports he addressed to the envoy were generally returned with a few lines in pencil of contemptuous dissent; but he believed that with power to act in his hands he should be able to remedy the blunders that had been made, and to restore peace and contentment in Afghanistan. The troops were now commanded by General Elphinstone, who had succeeded Cotton. He was a brave old officer, but almost incapacitated by infirmities. He obtained the post simply as senior officer, and was wholly unfitted for command in such a critical time and in such a position. Probably had it not been for the assurances of Macnaghten that all was going on well, and that the trifling risings had been crushed without difficulty, Lord Auckland would have yielded to the opinion of his military advisers and appointed General Nott. Had he done so the greatest disaster that ever fell upon the British army might have been avoided. Nothing could be worse than the position in which the British camp and mission were established. They were on low ground, commanded on every side by hills, and surrounded by forts and villages. They were nearly a mile in extent, defended only by so contemptible a ditch and rampart, that an English officer for a bet rode a pony across them. The commissariat compound was near the cantonment, and occupied an extensive space with the buildings and huts for the officers. It, too, had a rampart, but this was even less formidable than that which surrounded the camp. Things had now settled down. Many of the officers had sent for their wives and children, and Lady Macnaghten, Lady Sale, and others were established in comfortable houses. The climate was exhilarating, the officers amused themselves with cricket, horse-racing, fishing, and shooting, and lived as if they had been at a hill station in India, instead of in a mountainous country surrounded by bitter foes. October came in quietly, though Pottinger, who was now in Kohistan, sent unfavourable reports of things there. But these were as usual pooh-poohed by Macnaghten. The latter's troubles with the Indian government, however, continued unabated. The expenses of the occupation of Afghanistan, amounting to a million and a quarter a year, were a terrible drain upon the revenues of India, and it had become necessary to raise a loan to meet the outlay, and the question of a withdrawal from Afghanistan was being seriously discussed. None of the good results that had been looked for had been achieved, nor did it appear likely that the situation would improve; for it was evident to all unbiassed observers that the Ameer was upheld solely by British bayonets, and that when these were withdrawn the whole fabric we had built up at so enormous an expense would collapse. The uneasiness of the Indian government was increased by the fact that a change of ministry was imminent at home, and that the Conservatives, who had always opposed the invasion of Afghanistan, would at once take steps for the withdrawal of the troops from the country; and the investigation which would be made into the whole affair would create intense dissatisfaction in England, and lead to the recall of the Indian politicians responsible for it. The news stirred Macnaghten to fury; but he saw that it was necessary to make retrenchments, and accordingly he largely cut down the subsidies paid to the chiefs. The consequence was, that the leaders of the whole of the powerful tribes, including those round Cabul, the Kohistanees, Ghilzyes, and Momunds, at once entered into a hostile federation against the British. Sale's brigade, that was about to start on its way to India, was ordered to attack the Ghilzyes at Jellalabad, and on the 9th Colonel Monteith was sent with a Sepoy regiment, a squadron of cavalry, and a party of sappers and miners, to keep the passes clear. The force was, however, attacked at the first halting-place, and Sir Robert Sale marched with the 13th Regiment to clear the pass from his end. Joined by Monteith's force, he succeeded in driving the natives from their heights, the Sepoys and the British soldiers vying with each other in climbing the almost inaccessible crags. The 13th retired down the valley, and Monteith encamped in the Khoord Cabul pass. He was attacked at night, the enemy being aided by the treachery of the Afghan horsemen, who admitted them within their lines. They were, however, beaten off, and Monteith was joined by Sale on the following day. Negotiations were then opened with the Ghilzyes; terms were made, but broken by the treacherous tribesmen a few hours after they had been signed. On his way back to Jellalabad Sale was attacked more than once in great force, and with difficulty cut his way down. Macnaghten, who had determined to leave on the 1st of October, but had postponed his departure for a short time, wrote on that day that he hoped the business just reported was the expiring effort of the rebels. Angus had remained with Burnes at Cabul. The latter was much depressed by the occurrences that had taken place. He had greatly disapproved of Macnaghten's wholesale cutting down of the subsidies of the chiefs. "How unfortunate am I!" he said many times to Angus. "Had Macnaghten gone but two months earlier, this would never have happened. It has been money alone that has kept the tribesmen quiet, and the very worst form of retrenchment has been chosen. Had he gone I should have acted in a very different way. In the first place, I should have told the Ameer frankly that the troubles were solely caused by the rapacity of the men he had appointed to receive the taxes. These must be dismissed, and honest and faithful ones appointed in their place. It is the abominable tyranny with which the taxes--of which I believe but a small portion ever get into the treasury--are collected that has brought about the trouble. With proper administration the revenue could be doubled, and the taxation would press much more lightly upon the people than it does at present. Now the evil is done, and I shall have to take over the administration when everything points to a terrible catastrophe, with which my name will ever be associated." CHAPTER XIII THE MURDER OF SIR A. BURNES October passed quietly, and Macnaghten arranged to leave on the 2nd of November. Burnes had received several warnings as to the formidable nature of the confederacy of the chiefs. Mohun Lal, the principal moonshee, who had been down to Sale's camp, told him that if the conspiracy was not crushed in its infancy it would become too strong to be suppressed. Burnes replied that he had no power at present, but that as soon as Macnaghten left he would conciliate the chiefs by raising their allowances to the former point. On the 1st of November Mohun Lal again expressed his opinion of the danger. Burnes replied that he feared the time was coming when the British would have to leave the country. He was in one of his moods of depression, but from this he recovered in the evening, and congratulated Macnaghten upon leaving when everything was quiet. At the very time he was speaking the hostile chiefs were assembled together, and were discussing the methods that were to be taken to overthrow the British power. They determined that the first step was to forge a document in the Ameer's name, ordering all the people to rise, and at the same time to spread a report that it was the intention to seize all the principal chiefs and send them prisoners to England. It was singular that they should not have waited a few days, for the Indian government had sent peremptory orders that the whole force at Cabul, with the exception of a single brigade, should return with Macnaghten to India. The chiefs decided that as a first step a tumult should arise in the city, and this they at once set about exciting. They had no idea that it would succeed, and none of them ventured to take any part in it, as it was only intended to excite the passions of the rabble of the city. Early the next morning a friendly Afghan brought Burnes news that the residency was about to be attacked. He did not believe the intelligence, as the city had of late been as quiet as usual; but on sending out some of his servants into the street they reported that there was certainly an unusual stir and excitement. He wrote to Macnaghten saying so, but stating that he did not think the matter at all serious, although at the same time he requested that a military guard should be sent to him in order to overawe any disaffected persons. Angus had gone out early with Azim. The latter had for some days past spent his time in the city, and each evening had returned with the rumours he had gathered. The talk in the lower quarters was all of the understanding at which the chiefs had arrived, and the general opinion was that in a few days these would pour down with all their forces and annihilate the infidels. Angus himself noticed the sullen expression on the faces of the lower class and the manner in which they scowled at him as he passed, and quite agreed with his follower that the troubles he had long foreseen were about to come to a head. When in the streets, too, he had an uneasy consciousness that he was being followed. Several times he turned sharply round, but in the throng of natives in the streets he could recognize no face that he knew. This morning the feeling was particularly strong, although, as he had often done before, he assured himself that it was pure fancy on his part. "I am not conscious of feeling nervous," he said to Azim, "but I must be getting so. It has been a very anxious time all the year, and I suppose that without my knowing it it must have told upon me. However, I will turn down this quiet street, and if anyone is following us we shall certainly detect him." A hundred yards down another lane crossed the one he had taken. Azim had looked several times, but no one else turned down the lane, which was entirely deserted. As they passed the corner of the next lane some men suddenly sprang upon them. Cloths were thrown over their heads, and in spite of their struggles they were lifted up and carried along rapidly. In a couple of minutes they stopped. Angus heard a door open. They were borne along what he thought was a passage, thrust into a room, and a door was slammed to and locked behind them. They tore off their mufflers and looked around. It was a room of no great size, with strongly-barred windows. There were cushions on a divan that ran along one side. On a low table in the middle of the room were two cold chickens, a pile of fruit, a large jar of water, and two bottles of native wine. "What on earth does this mean?" Angus said, "and why have we been carried off?" Azim did not attempt to reply. "We are prisoners, that is certain," Angus went on; "but it would certainly look as if they meant to make us comfortable, and the room must have been prepared in readiness for our reception. I see no hope of getting away; the windows are very strongly barred, and," he continued as he walked across and looked out, "this little yard is surrounded by houses without windows on the ground floor, and with no door that I can see. I suppose there is one below us; anyhow, if we could get through these bars we should be no nearer liberty, for at best we could only re-enter the house, and possibly the door is fastened on the inside. There are certainly men in the house; I heard voices in the passage just now, and no doubt one of the fellows is stationed there. The only reason I can imagine for their carrying us off is that we are to be kept as hostages. Of course I am known to be Burnes's chief civilian assistant, and they might think that if I were in their hands he would be willing to make some concessions to get me back again. It is of no use worrying over it; we are not so badly off as we were in that snow-storm in the pass. The best thing we can do for the present is to make a meal, for we did not take anything before we started." [Illustration: AS THEY PASSED THE CORNER ... SOME MEN SPRANG ON THEM.] They had just finished their breakfast when the sound of musketry was plainly heard. "There is fighting going on," Angus exclaimed. "What can it mean? There are no troops in the city except the native guards at our house and the treasury next door. It is either a fight between two factions in the city, or they are attacking our place. It is maddening being fastened up here just at this moment. The news brought by that Afghan this morning that we were to be attacked must be true, though Sir Alexander altogether disbelieved it. He was in one of his happiest humours this morning, as to-day he was to obtain the goal of his hopes and to be the resident political officer, with all power in his hands. When he is in that mood he disbelieves all unpleasant tidings, while in his fits of depression he gives credit to every rumour that reaches his ear. Still, the house should be able to hold out against a mob until help arrives from the camp; but whether or not, my place should be by his side whatever comes of it." "If there is really a rising in the town, sir, we are certainly safer here than we should be in the streets, or even in the house." "That may be," Angus said impatiently, "but my duty is to be there." He paced restlessly up and down the room. Presently Azim said: "I can't think how the men who seized us knew that we were coming along. It was quite by chance that you turned down the lane." "They must have been close to us when we did so," Angus said, "and must at once have run round by another lane and posted themselves at the corner where we were seized. We were not walking fast, and there would have been time for them to get there before us if they had run. But why should they have taken this trouble? and why should they have prepared this place beforehand for our reception? It beats me altogether." After the firing had continued for a few minutes it ceased; then they could hear a confused roar of shouting. "Good heavens!" Angus exclaimed, "they must have taken the house. The troops cannot have arrived in time, or we should have heard sharp volleys. This is maddening." "Well, sir," Azim said philosophically, "if we had not been carried off we should have been in the house when they attacked it, and should have shared the fate of the others, whatever it may be." "That is true enough," Angus agreed; "still, I ought to have been there. Ah!" he broke off suddenly, "they have not taken either your sword or mine, or my pistols"--for although not in military uniform the civilians generally carried swords, a necessary precaution when the whole native population always went about armed; and Angus in addition carried pistols also concealed in his dress. "It is extraordinary that they should not have disarmed us." "I do not think that they intended to do us harm," Azim said; "they could have cut our throats had they chosen to do so, when they brought us here, without fear of discovery. Why should they leave us our swords and provide a good meal for us if they intended to murder us afterwards?" "That is so, Azim, and it makes the affair more incomprehensible. I tried to get at my pistols as they carried me along, but they held my arms too tightly for me to do so. It seems to me possible that this is the work of someone who was aware of the intended attack, and who doubted whether the troops would not enter the city and slaughter many of the inhabitants, and so thought that by producing us at the right moment he would not only clear himself, from any charge of taking part in the affair, but would earn a reward for having saved our lives. I certainly have no friend in the city who would be likely to seize me for any other object. Of course, I was in communication with most of the important persons here, but it has been simply in an official way." "Whoever it is must have been watching you for some days, master, if, as you thought, he has been following you whenever you went out." "I can have no doubt on that subject now, Azim," and Angus sat thinking for some time. "I think," he said suddenly, "it must be Sadut Khan; if so, we are safe. We know that he was with the Ameer, and rode with him when he defeated our cavalry, and it has been reported that he has since returned to his tribe, though we have no certain information about it. It is possible that, knowing we were about to be attacked by the whole force of the tribesmen, he has borne his promise in mind, and has employed men to watch me and take steps, if necessary, to secure my safety. That certainly would explain what before it seemed impossible to understand." The noise in the town still continued. At one time there was sound of heavy musketry firing. "The troops have entered the city," Angus exclaimed; "there will be hard fighting, for in the narrow streets an armed mob can offer a desperate resistance even to the best troops. But in the end they will put down this tumult, and if Sir Alexander has been murdered, exact a heavy penalty for his death." In half an hour the firing gradually abated, and the musket shots came more faintly through the air. "Our men are falling back, Azim, there can be little doubt about that by the sound. There cannot be any great number of troops engaged. What on earth can Macnaghten and Elphinstone be doing?" The roar of shouting in the streets became louder, and there was an occasional sound of firearms. "It is quite evident that the mob are in entire possession of the city, Azim. They are looting the traders' quarter, and probably murdering all the whites who have taken up their residence there." These fears were fully justified. The houses of Sir Alexander Burnes and Captain Johnson, the paymaster of the Ameer's troops, adjoined each other. Johnson had, fortunately for himself, slept that night in the camp. Sir Alexander had with him his brother, Lieutenant Burnes, and Lieutenant Broadfoot, his military secretary, who had just arrived. Curiously enough, it was the anniversary of the disastrous fight at Purwandurrah, in which fight Broadfoot's eldest brother had been killed. Soon after Angus had gone out the Ameer's minister arrived and repeated the warning already given by the friendly Afghan. Burnes could no longer doubt that there was danger, but he refused to leave his house, saying that as soon as the news that there was a tumult reached the camp, the troops would be at once despatched to put it down. He, however, wrote urgently to Macnaghten for support, and sent messengers to the most powerful native chief in the town begging him to calm the people, and assure them that all grievances should be redressed. One of the messengers was killed on the way, the other managed to return to the house desperately wounded. The gathering in the street increased every moment. Burnes with the two officers went out on to a balcony, and from thence harangued the mob. His voice was drowned by yells and curses, weapons were brandished, and an attack was made on the doors of both houses. Part of the mob were fanatics, who thought only of slaying the infidels, but a still larger party were animated solely by a desire to share in the sack of the Ameer's treasury next door. The native guards both of Sir Alexander and the treasury opened fire, and for a time maintained themselves with the greatest bravery. Of the English officers, Broadfoot was the first to fall, shot through the heart. The position became more and more desperate. A party of the insurgents had set fire to the stables and forced their way into the garden. Burnes was still attempting to lull the fury of the crowd. Long ere this troops should have arrived to his rescue, but there were no signs that they were approaching. At last, seeing that all was lost, he disguised himself and went out into the garden with a man who had sworn by the Koran to convey him and his brother safely into camp. No sooner, however, did they issue out than the traitor shouted: "This is Burnes." The mob rushed upon the brothers and hewed them to pieces. The defenders of the two houses fought bravely to the last, but were finally slaughtered to a man. Sir Alexander Burnes owed his death to the faults of others rather than his own. Having been previously at Cabul as the British agent, and speaking the language perfectly, it was to him the people made their complaints, to him they looked for redress. They knew nothing of Macnaghten. When they found their condition growing from bad to worse, their taxes increasing, their trade at a stand-still, food extremely dear, and employment wanting, it was on Burnes that they laid the blame; and yet he was all the time endeavouring, but in vain, to persuade Macnaghten that it was absolutely necessary to compel the Ameer to abandon a course that was exasperating for people of all classes, from the most powerful chiefs to the poorest inhabitants of the city. Burnes was unquestionably a man of great ability, and had he been in Macnaghten's place with full power and responsibility, things would probably have turned out differently. The expedition from the first was a gigantic blunder, undertaken in the teeth of his remonstrances. In any case it was doomed to failure. It was impossible that we could maintain on the throne a man hated by the whole of his subjects--a race of fighting men, jealous to the last degree of their independence, and able to take full advantage of the natural strength of the country. But under the administration of an officer at once firm and resolute, and anxious to conciliate them in every way, the British force might have remained until the Indian government could no longer support the expense of the occupation, and could then have withdrawn quietly with the puppet who had proved himself so utterly incapable of conciliating the people upon whom we had thrust him. The great fault in the character of Burnes was instability--his alternate fits of sanguine hopefulness and deep depression, and his readiness to believe what suited his mood of the moment. These characteristics were no doubt heightened by the unfortunate position in which he found himself. He had had every reason to expect that in view of his previous residence in Cabul and his knowledge of the character of the people, he would have the post of political officer of the Afghan capital, and he only accepted a secondary position upon the understanding that Macnaghten's appointment was a temporary one, and that he would succeed him. When, however, months and years elapsed, and he was still without any recognized position whatever, when his advice was never adopted and his opinions contemptuously set aside by a man infinitely his inferior, he naturally came to take the worst view of things, and his fits of depression became more frequent. At last he fell, not because his house was isolated, for it could have held out until aid had come, but because the three men whose duty it was to rescue him--Macnaghten, the Ameer, and Elphinstone--were alike vacillating, undetermined, and incompetent. The Ameer was the only one of these three to take any steps. When he heard of the riot he sent down a regiment of Hindoostanee troops to rescue Burnes. Instead, however, of marching outside the town to the end of the street in which Burnes's house was situated, they entered the city by the nearest gate, and tried to make their way through a maze of narrow lanes. Their advance was desperately opposed. From every house and roof a fire of musketry was kept up, and, after losing two hundred of their number, they fled in utter confusion to the shelter of the citadel. Elphinstone in his report says that he received the news at half-past seven that the town was in a ferment, and shortly after the envoy came and told him that it was in a state of insurrection, but that he did not think much of it, and expected the revolt would shortly subside. Macnaghten suggested that Brigadier Shelton's force should proceed to the Bala Hissar to operate as might seem expedient, while the remaining force was concentrated in the cantonment, and assistance if possible sent to Sir Alexander Burnes. It was not, however, until between nine and ten that Shelton received his orders; and almost directly afterwards another note arrived telling him not to move, as the Ameer had objected. To this Shelton replied that in an insurrection of the city there was no time for indecision, and recommended the general at once to resolve upon what measures he would adopt. He was then told to march immediately to the Bala Hissar, where he would receive further instructions from Macnaghten. Just as he was marching off, a note came from this officer telling him to halt for further orders. He sent an engineer to ask the reason for this order, but the officer was cut down by an Afghan while dismounting just outside the square where the Ameer was sitting. Soon after this the military secretary himself came with orders for him to enter the citadel. When he arrived there, the Ameer asked him who sent him and what he came there for, and he was forbidden to enter the town. All that he could do was to cover the retreat of the Ameer's Hindoostanee troops. In consequence of all these delays, it was twelve o'clock before Shelton moved into the Bala Hissar, by which time Burnes and his friends had been murdered and the riot had spread. Houses were burned, shops sacked, and the families of several British officers massacred. It is certain that had the slightest energy been shown, and had a small body of troops been despatched when Burnes's first request for help arrived, the riot would have been nipped in the bud, for all accounts agree that for a considerable time not more than three hundred men took part in the attack, and even when Shelton urged the necessity for prompt measures Burnes might have been saved. Except in the case of the rising at Meerut in the Indian Mutiny, never did such disastrous effects result from the incompetence of a British general. The day passed slowly to Angus. It was maddening to be helpless when great events were happening. Until it became quite dark no one came near them, but at seven o'clock they heard the bolt of the door withdrawn, and a man entered with a torch, by whose light they at once recognized Hassan, their guide over the passes. "You here, Hassan!" Angus exclaimed. "I had always thought of you as back again in your tower near Bamian. Is it you who has thus made us prisoners?" "We were sorry to use force, effendi, but there was no other way. Sadut Khan charged us to look after your safety, and we have kept you in sight for some days. He was living in this house in disguise. He was absent yesterday evening to take part in the conference with the other chiefs, and did not return until after midnight. Then he said, 'There will be a tumult in the city to-morrow, Hassan, and probably the house of the officer Burnes will be attacked. What will come of it I do not know. I myself and the other chiefs are leaving at once, so that if things go badly we can disavow any connection with the affair. The young officer, my friend, is, as you know, at Burnes's house. He must be rescued. Prepare this room for him. If he leaves the house before the attack begins, you must seize him and carry him in here. If his servant is with him, bring him also; he too must be saved. He waited on me kindly, and did all in his power for me. If he should not leave the house, then you and your followers must join the mob and keep together, forcing yourselves to the front, so that you will be the first to enter the house. Take long cloaks to throw round them, and get them out, even at the cost of your lives.' "I told him that it should be done. You saved his life, and you also saved ours, for we should have been suffocated in the snow-storm had you not cut your way out and come to our rescue. So it has been done. We were glad indeed when we saw you come out. Had you not turned down that lane, I should have come up and accosted you, and, telling you that I had an important message to deliver to you, should have asked you to come with me to a quiet spot, where I might deliver it safely. As it was, directly you turned down, we ran round, and, as you know, captured you without noise and without being observed by you. You will, I trust, pardon me for having laid hands on you; but I had orders from the Khan, who told me that I should have to use force, as he was sure you would not, however great the danger, he persuaded to leave Burnes." "What has happened?" "The Englishman and two others with him have been killed. One of the Ameer's regiments entered the town, but was driven back. There is looting going on everywhere. Many have been killed, and many houses burnt." "But what is our army doing?" "Nothing. There is a force at the Bala Hissar, the rest are under arms in their camp." "It seems impossible!" Angus exclaimed. "However," he went on, stifling his indignation for the time, "I have to thank you deeply, Hassan, you and Sadut Khan, for having saved our lives. Assuredly you took the only way to do so; for had you only told me of the danger that threatened Sir Alexander Burnes, I should have returned to warn him and share his fate, whatever it might be. As it was, I cannot blame myself that I was absent. I thank you with all my heart. Pray tell the Khan when you see him that I am deeply grateful to him. He has nobly redeemed his promise, and I hope some day to thank him in person." "Now, sahib, we will start at once," Hassan said. "I have clothes for you to put over your own, and there is no fear of our being suspected. We will take you to within shot of your camp." He called out, and his four men entered, bringing with them Afghan disguises. When these were put on, they sallied out at once. The five men were fully armed, and long Afghan guns were given to Angus and Azim. The streets were full of people, for the most part in a state of wild excitement, though the better class looked grave at the prospect of the retribution that would probably fall upon the city, perhaps to-morrow or certainly in a day or two. None paid any attention to the group, who differed in no respect from the majority of those around them. Issuing from one of the gates, they made their way to the cantonments. When within a few hundred yards the Afghans stopped. After a hearty farewell and renewed thanks, Angus and Azim left them. They had taken off their disguises, and offered them to Hassan to carry back, but he said, "You had best keep them; you may want them again. There is no saying what may happen." And they accordingly carried them with them. In a short time they were challenged by a sentry, and halted till the latter had called a sergeant and four men. Then they went forward. Angus was recognized at once, as he was known by sight to everyone in the camp. In a short time they met an officer, who told them the news of the massacre of Burnes, his brother, and Broadfoot, and their guard, which was already known, as one man had escaped the general slaughter, and had, after hiding for some hours, come into the camp. Angus went at once to Macnaghten's house and sent in his name. The envoy came out into the hall. "I am glad to see that you have escaped, Mr. Campbell. I thought that all had perished, though your name is not specially mentioned as among the victims." "I was not in the house, sir," Angus replied. "Sir Alexander Burnes had sent me out to gather information, and I and my servant were suddenly seized and carried into a house, where we were kept as prisoners all day. After it was dark we made our escape, having obtained disguises from a friendly Afghan." "Well, I am glad," Macnaghten said; "but you must excuse me now, for the general is here, and we are holding a council. You had better for to-night take up your quarters in poor Burnes's tent. I shall have time to attend to matters to-morrow." Although Burnes had his residence in the city, he had a large tent not far from the envoy's house. This he occupied when he had business in camp, and it was here that he received natives who brought him news, or who had grievances that they wished to report to him. Here Angus lay down for the night, with a deep feeling of thankfulness that his life had been spared, mingled with a foreboding that the troubles had only begun, and that there was yet much peril in store before the army were safely out of Afghanistan. In the morning Angus again went up to the envoy's. "I have been thinking, Mr. Campbell," Macnaghten said when he entered, "as far as I have been able to think on any one subject, how your services can be best utilized temporarily. I think that, if you would not mind, you might be attached to the commissariat, and assist Captain Boyd and Captain Johnson." "I will gladly do so, sir," Angus said. "I will take up the work at once." "Anticipating your consent, I have already written a letter for you to take to those officers." Glad to have work before him, Angus went at once to the commissariat camp. The two officers were at breakfast. Both rose and congratulated him heartily on his escape. "How on earth did you manage it?" He gave as brief an account as he had done to Sir William Macnaghten, and then handed them the letter he had received from the envoy. "That is good news," Captain Johnson said heartily. "We shall be glad indeed to have your aid. I will have a tent pitched for you at once by the side of ours. Of course you have not breakfasted. Sit down with us. What do you think of the state of affairs? You know a good deal more than we do of the disposition of the Afghan chiefs." "I think things look very bad," Angus said gravely. "After what seems to me the imbecility shown yesterday, to which the death of my chief is due, it is impossible to feel anything like confidence in the general." "That is the universal feeling in camp," Captain Johnson said. "If we had Sale here I believe everything would go right, but poor Elphinstone is only fit for a snug armchair in a comfortable club. He is no more able to cope with a crisis like this than an old woman would be. In fact, for choice I would take the average old woman. "Orders have been given for an attack upon the town to-day, but it is more than likely that it will be countermanded. If Elphinstone can make up his mind to throw his whole force, with the exception of a strong camp guard, against the city, we should certainly carry it. No doubt there might be a considerable loss of life, but that could not be helped. It would certainly be successful. Then I should say we ought to turn the whole of the Afghan population out of the town, move all our provisions and stores there, and settle down for the winter. We could beat off any attack that the Afghans could make against us. As it is, we are terribly anxious about the stores. You know that I originally established all the magazines for the Ameer's army in the Bala Hissar. Then Macnaghten came up with the Ameer from Jellalabad, and he told me that the Ameer objected to the magazines being there. That was quite enough for Macnaghten. He always gives in to the Ameer's wishes, however ridiculous. So we had to leave the storehouses I had built and move out bag and baggage. "The only place that I could get was the camel sheds half-way between this and the town, and unless a strong garrison is sent down there the Afghans are certain to take possession of them. But Boyd's stores are even more important. They are within four hundred yards of the defences of the camp, and contain all our grain, our hospital stores, our wine and beer, our sugar, and everything else. And if his stores and mine are both lost, we shall have starvation staring us in the face at the end of a week. Just look out over the plain. Since daylight there has been a steady stream of men from the hills, and from all the villages round, flocking into the city; they have heard of the capture of my treasury, and are eager to share in the looting. If they succeed in capturing the stores and provisions, God help us all." CHAPTER XIV A SERIES OF BLUNDERS Numerous as had been the blunders, and great the mismanagement up to the 2nd of November, matters might yet have been retrieved had the conduct of affairs been in resolute and energetic hands. Macnaghten was personally a brave and fearless man. Had he at last felt the necessity for strong measures, an attack upon the city would certainly have been attended with success. Now that the first burst of hate and passion had passed, the inhabitants were filled with apprehension at the punishment that would fall upon them, and none doubted that the British army would at once attack the town. The army itself expected this, and, furious at the treacherous massacre of Sir Alexander Burnes and his comrades, were burning for the order to attack. The troops were under arms early, but no orders were issued for a forward movement. Some hours later the 35th regiment of Native Infantry, with two mountain guns, came in from Khoord Cabul, having brushed aside the opposition it had met with on its march. With this valuable addition to the fighting strength in the camp all opposition could have been easily overcome, and yet until three o'clock in the afternoon nothing whatever was done. By this time what could have been effected with comparative ease in the early morning had become a far more difficult operation. Vast numbers of the tribesmen had been pouring into the city since daybreak, and the two miles of plain between the camp and the city, which earlier in the day could have been traversed without a shot being fired, were now covered by a host of fierce enemies; and yet, after wasting so many valuable hours, the general, instead of throwing the whole of the force in the cantonments, and that of Brigadier Shelton at the Bala Hissar, against the city, sent only three companies of infantry and two guns to the attack. Naturally this handful of men failed; and it was well for them that they did not penetrate into the city, for had they done so they would assuredly have been overwhelmed before they had gone fifty yards. However, the officer in command, seeing the impossibility of the task set him, withdrew his detachment in good order. The result of the day's operation, if it could be so called, was disastrous, the troops, who had until then been eager to be led against the enemy, and confident of success, were irritated and dispirited, and lost all confidence in their commander; while, on the other hand, the Afghans were jubilant over what they considered the cowardice of the enemy. The next day the misfortune invited by the passive attitude of our troops happened. Only eighty men were in charge of the commissariat fort. The little party were commanded by Lieutenant Warren. Early in the day a threatening force of the enemy approached, and Warren sent a messenger urgently asking for reinforcements. But the Afghans had already occupied an old fort that commanded the road between the camp and the commissariat fort. Considering the enormous importance of the stores, an overwhelming force should have been sent out to drive off the assailants, and to occupy the fort in such strength that it could be held against any assault. Instead of doing this, two companies only of the 44th Regiment were sent. The two captains in command were killed by the fire from the Afghan fort, other officers were wounded, and the men fell so fast that the officer who was senior in command, seeing the impossibility of reaching the store, drew them off. Then an order was issued--which was practically the death-warrant of the army--by General Elphinstone, for a party of cavalry to go out and bring in the little garrison. This party suffered even more severely than the preceding one. From every wall, building, and orchard a storm of musketry broke out, and the troopers, after suffering great loss, again retired. The news that the general intended to abandon the store struck dismay into the officers of the commissariat. Captain Boyd hurried to head-quarters, and urged the general to send a force that would sweep away all opposition, and to hold the fort at all hazards. The general promised to send a reinforcement, but no relief was sent. As night was coming on, Captain Boyd and Captain Johnson again went to the general and pointed out in the strongest language the result that would follow the abandonment of the stores. The unhappy old man hesitated, but on a letter being brought in from Lieutenant Warren saying that the enemy were mining the walls, and some of the Sepoys, seeing their position was desperate, were deserting, he promised that a strong detachment should be sent at two o'clock in the morning to storm the Afghan fort and relieve the guard at the commissariat stores. Orders were accordingly issued, but these were presently countermanded, and it was decided that the force should not move until daylight. By that time it was too late. Warren had repulsed an attack on the walls, but seeing that the enemy were preparing to fire the gate and renew the attack, he retired through a passage that had on the previous day been dug under the wall, and reached the camp in safety. But this was not the only disaster that happened that day. Captain Johnson's store of provisions for the use of the Ameer's troops, on the outskirts of the city, was also attacked. Captain Mackenzie, who was in command of the little garrison there, defended his post throughout the day with the greatest gallantry; but water was scarce, and ammunition failing, and large numbers of women and children were in the fort, with great quantities of baggage. Urgent letters were sent asking for reinforcements, but no reinforcements came. Had they arrived the situation would have been saved. The Kuzzilbashes were ready to side with the British. Several of their commanders were with Mackenzie, but when they saw that no help was sent, they refused to join a cause that seemed to them lost. All night the fighting went on, and all next day, until his men were utterly worn out, and the ammunition exhausted. No more could be done, and when night came on, he moved out of the fort and fought his way to the cantonments--a brilliant action, which showed what could be accomplished by a mere handful of men well led. While Mackenzie was thus fighting for the stores under his charge, the troops in the cantonments were condemned to see crowds of Afghans looting the stores within four hundred yards of our camp, carrying off the supplies that had been garnered for their subsistence through the winter, and this without a man being set in motion or a gun brought to bear upon the plunderers. Furious at the imbecility of their leaders, the soldiers clamoured to be led against the enemy. Unable to resist the demand, the general ordered the 37th Native Infantry to move out; but instead of being led straight against the enemy, the officer in command hesitated and halted, and soon fell back with the indignant Sepoys. General Elphinstone was already talking of making terms with the enemy, and seemed to despair of victory when no attempt had been made to gain a success. On the 6th, however, a party of the 37th were again sent out under Major Griffiths. Again it was seen what could be done by an energetic officer. The Afghan fort was stormed, the enemy were driven out, and were routed by a party of horse, who dashed at them gallantly. The troops could be no longer restrained, and cavalry, infantry, and artillery poured out; but there was no general plan, and the consequence was, that although desultory fighting went on all day, nothing was accomplished. Had any general plan of operation been laid down, and a combined action fought, the enemy would have been utterly unable to withstand our troops, worked up to fury as these were by the disgraceful inaction that had been forced upon them. In the meantime, starvation would have already stared the troops in the face had not Captains Boyd and Johnson, aided by Angus and other officers of their department, gone out to the native villages and succeeded in purchasing a certain amount of grain. But already the troops were on half rations, and even these scanty supplies could not long be available. The general, while his troops were out fighting, wrote to Macnaghten, urging that negotiations should be opened with the enemy, and saying, "Our case is not yet desperate, but it is becoming so very fast." Macnaghten himself was conscious of this, conscious that, under such leading, the situation was fast becoming desperate, and he employed the moonshee, Mohun Lal, who was still in Cabul under the protection of the Kuzzilbash chief, to endeavour to bribe the chiefs of the Ghilzyes. Two lacs of rupees were offered. The chiefs gave a favourable reply, and then Macnaghten, with his usual instability, was seized with a suspicion that they were not sincere, and abruptly broke off the negotiations, thereby mortally offending the Ghilzye chiefs. Fresh danger was threatening in another direction. Mahomed Akbar Khan, the second son of Dost Mahomed, was on his way with a force from the north, and had already advanced as far as Bamian. Mohun Lal suggested that an emissary should be sent to offer him a large allowance if he would join the British. His suggestion was carried out, and money was spent in other quarters lavishly. But it was now too late. A quarter of the sum would, a fortnight earlier, have sufficed to satisfy the demands of all the chiefs of the tribesmen. Now that success had encouraged the assailants of our force, and the whole population had taken up arms against us, inspired alike by fanaticism and hatred and thirsting for blood, it was doubtful whether even the chiefs could restrain them had they chosen to do so. In their letters and journals the officers still spoke with kindness and respect of their unfortunate general. He had been a brave and able soldier, but age and terrible infirmities had rendered him altogether incapacitated for action. He had for months been suffering from gout, and had almost lost the use of his limbs. Only once or twice, after his arrival to assume the command, had he been able to sit on horseback; for the most part he was wholly unable to walk. Sometimes he was confined altogether to his couch; at others he was able to be taken out in a palanquin. His mind was also enfeebled by suffering. On the very day of the first outbreak he had been a little better, and had mounted his horse; but he had suffered a very severe fall, and was carried back to his quarters. It was altogether inexcusable that Lord Auckland, against the advice of the commander-in-chief and the remonstrances of his other military advisers, should have appointed such a man to a command which, beyond all others in India, demanded the greatest amount of energy and activity. There were many men who might have been worthily selected, men with a knowledge of the political conditions of Afghanistan, of the feelings of the people, of their language and of their country. General Elphinstone knew nothing of these things, and depended entirely upon the advice of others. Had he relied solely upon that of Macnaghten, things might have gone differently, but he asked advice from all around him, and took the last that was offered, only to change his mind again when he heard the opinion of a fresh counsellor. He was himself conscious that the position was too onerous for him, and sent down a medical certificate of his incapacity for action, and requested to be relieved. The request had been granted, and he was to have returned to India with Macnaghten, but unhappily no other officer had been appointed to succeed him. It is upon Lord Auckland, rather than upon the unfortunate officer, who, in the teeth of the advice of his counsellors and of all common sense, was thrust into a position for which he was wholly unsuited, that the blame of the catastrophe of Cabul should be laid. Macnaghten, in hopes that Brigadier Shelton, a brave officer, but hot-tempered and obstinate, would be able to influence the general and to put an end to the deplorable indecision that paralysed the army, persuaded Elphinstone to send for him to come in from the Bala Hissar to the camp and bring in with him a regiment of the Ameer's troops. He came into the cantonment of the 9th, and his arrival was hailed with the greatest satisfaction, as it was believed that at last something would be done. Unfortunately, however, Shelton's energy and the general's weakness were as oil on water. No two men were less calculated to pull together. Shelton enforced his arguments with a vehemence that seemed to the general insubordinate in the extreme; while the brigadier, on the other hand, was unable to make allowance for the physical and mental weakness of the general, and was maddened by the manner in which orders that had but an hour before been issued were countermanded. On the morning of the 10th the enemy mustered in great force, and occupying a small fort within musket-shot of the defences, opened a galling fire. Macnaghten only obtained the general's consent to a party going out to capture the fort by telling him that unless he gave the order he should himself take the responsibility of doing so, for that at any risk the fort must be captured. Thereupon Shelton was instructed to take two thousand men and attack it. When they were on the point of starting Elphinstone countermanded the orders. Shelton, in a fury, laid the case before the envoy, who was as eager as himself, and the general was again persuaded to give the order and the force advanced. It was intended to blow open the gate with powder, but by some accident only a wicket by the side of the main entrance was blown in. Led by Colonel Mackrell the storming party, consisting of two companies of Europeans and four of native infantry, advanced. They could with difficulty make their way through the narrow entrance, for they were exposed as they did so to a heavy musketry fire, but two officers and a few soldiers pushed through, and the garrison, believing that the whole column was following them, fled through the opposite gate. But unhappily they were not followed. A body of Afghan cavalry threatened to attack the storming party outside, and these, native and British alike, were seized with an unaccountable panic and fled. In vain their officers endeavoured to arrest their flight. The events of the previous week had terribly demoralized them. Shelton set them a noble example by remaining on horseback alone, and at last shamed them into returning. Again the Afghan horse approached, and again they fled. Again Shelton's expostulations and example brought them back. The guns in the cantonments drove the Afghans off, and Shelton led his men up to the capture of the fort. In the meantime the handful of men who had entered the fort had been engaged in a desperate struggle for life. The Afghans, discovering how small was the number of their assailants, re-entered the fort and fell upon them in overwhelming numbers. When Shelton's force entered, Colonel Mackrell had fallen mortally wounded, and was carried into the cantonments to die. Lieutenant Bird, with two Sepoys, were the sole survivors. They had, when the enemy poured in, taken possession of a stable and barricaded themselves there, and had successfully repulsed every attack. When they were rescued their ammunition was almost exhausted, but they were uninjured, and no fewer than thirty dead Afghans lying in front of the stable bore mute testimony to the steadiness and accuracy of their aim. Several small forts were abandoned by the enemy, and a quantity of grain was found in them, but as no measures were taken to convey it into the camp, it was lost again when the troops retired. Desultory fighting went on all the afternoon without any decisive results, and the next two or three days passed quietly. In the meantime the moonshee was making every effort to bring over some of the chiefs to our side. Macnaghten was sending off letter after letter to the political officer with Sale, urging the necessity for an instant advance of the force at Jellalabad. On the 13th the enemy occupied a hill within range of the cantonment, and planting two guns there opened a steady fire. Macnaghten spent hours in endeavouring to persuade the general and brigadier of the absolute necessity for driving the enemy off the hill, but without success, and it was not until he took the responsibility upon himself that a detachment under Shelton was ordered to be sent. It was then four o'clock in the afternoon. The troops advanced in three columns, and the infantry rushed forward with such impetuosity that the two guns with them could not arrive in time to herald their attack. The detachment poured in a volley within ten yards' distance, but they were unsteady from their exertions in mounting the hill, and their fire took no effect. A minute later the Afghan cavalry charged down upon them. The attack was unexpected, the men in confusion, and the Afghans rode through and through the ranks. The British troops retreated down the slope, where they re-formed behind the reserve; the guns opened fire with great effect, and the infantry again marched up the hill. Our cavalry now came into action and drove the enemy before them. The infantry carried the height, and the enemy fled, abandoning their guns. It was now getting dark. A party of the Ameer's infantry removed one of the guns; but the Afghan marksmen were keeping up a heavy musketry fire, and the troops, British as well as Sepoys, were so demoralized that they refused to advance and carry off the other. It was therefore spiked and rolled down the hill, while the smaller gun was brought by the Ameer's troops into the cantonment. The enemy, now strongly reinforced, attempted to intercept the retreat, but were beaten off. On the 15th Major Pottinger and another officer came in wounded, and reported that the Ghoorka regiment that had been retiring from Kohistan had been entirely destroyed. They defended themselves courageously against overwhelming forces, and held the barracks they occupied until maddened by thirst; then they rushed to a stream, where the enemy fell upon them and cut them to pieces, the two mounted officers alone escaping after innumerable dangers. On the 17th Macnaghten heard that there was no hope whatever of assistance from Sale, who was himself surrounded with difficulties. He now urged that the force should all retire to the Bala Hissar, behind whose strong walls they could have maintained themselves. But Shelton vehemently opposed the step, which would have saved the army from destruction, urging that the abandonment of the cantonments would be an acknowledgment of defeat. On the 23rd of November the enemy again appeared on the hill from which they had been driven, and a strong force moved out against it. Strangely enough, however, they only took one gun with them. The day was disgraceful as well as disastrous, for the British force was signally defeated and the gun was lost, and the troops re-entered the cantonment in headlong flight, hotly pursued by the Afghans till they reached the protection of the earthworks. Their conduct showed how completely the imbecility and vacillation of their commanders, and the effect of the insufficient rations on which they had to subsist, had destroyed the moral of the troops. The men who a month before could have driven the Afghans before them like sheep, were now unable to cope with them even when in superior numbers. On the 24th Elphinstone addressed a letter to Macnaghten stating his opinion that their position could no longer be maintained, and that he should at once enter into negotiations with the enemy. He accordingly sent a message to the insurgent chiefs inviting them to send in a deputation to discuss the conditions of the treaty. Two of their leaders came in, but as they demanded that the British should surrender at discretion, giving themselves up, with all their arms, ammunition, and treasure, as prisoners of war, Macnaghten resolutely rejected the offered terms. Angus had been constantly employed from the day he reached the cantonments. His work was to go out with small parties of the natives employed by the commissariat to bring in the grain that Boyd and Johnson had purchased. There was no slight risk in the work, for although the villagers were glad to sell their corn on good terms, the party who fetched it ran the risk of being cut off by any band of tribesmen they might encounter. Of an evening he talked over the situation and prospects with the two officers. Absorbed in work as they all were, they were less influenced by the feeling of hopelessness than those who had nothing to do but to rage over the trap into which they had fallen through the incapacity of their leaders. Still, they did not attempt to disguise from themselves the magnitude of the danger. "I have no faith in any treaty that could be made," Boyd said. "An Afghan is only bound by his word as long as it pays him to keep it. They will take Macnaghten's money, and will promise that we shall be allowed to go down the passes without molestation; but I am mistaken indeed if we shall not be attacked the moment we enter them. If they do so, few of us will ever get through. The men are weak now from want of sufficient food. They are utterly dispirited and demoralized, as is shown by their shameful flight yesterday. Besides, they will be encumbered with a host of camp followers, women, and children. I am still of opinion that our only hope is to take refuge in the Bala Hissar, and Shelton's vehement opposition has already put a stop to that. For myself, I would rather that they attacked us here, even if the attack meant our annihilation. It would be better to die so than cooped up hopelessly in the passes. At best the march would be a terrible one. The cold is severe already, and we hear that the snow is deep in the passes; not so deep as to render them impracticable, but deep enough to render the passage a terrible one." "Of course we are bound to stay with the rest and do our best to the end. Were it not for that, we three might escape. We all speak the language well enough to pass as natives. You, indeed, have already done so. However, of course that is not to be thought of; indeed, it would probably amount to the same thing in the end, for we could scarcely hope to reach either Jellalabad or Candahar." "No, it is not to be thought of, Johnson," his companion said. "We have to do our duty to the last. I still hope that the general may yet have an hour of inspiration and deliver battle in good order. I believe that the troops would fight well if they did but see that they were properly handled." On the following day they learned that Akbar Khan had arrived. He was greeted with great enthusiasm and much firing of guns. Macnaghten had a faint hope that he would side with us, as his father, mother, and brothers were in our hands in India; but, on the other hand, he had every reason for bitter animosity against the British, who had, without any ground for complaint, invaded the country and dethroned his father. The prince bore the reputation of being frank, generous, and far brighter and more cheerful than the majority of his countrymen; at the same time he was passionate and impulsive, given to sudden bursts of anger. The wrongs that he and his family had suffered were, indeed, at present predominant in his mind. For two years he himself had been an exile from his country. His father, who had tried so hard to gain the friendship of the British, had been dethroned by them; and as it was notorious that their captives were always honourably treated, he felt that no action upon his part would recoil upon their heads. He himself was now the heir to the throne if he could win it. He was extremely popular among the people, who hailed his advent as giving them a leader whom they could rely upon, under whom the chiefs of the tribesmen could lay aside their mutual jealousy and animosity and join in the effort to drive the foe for ever from their country. He did not, however, at once assume the chief authority. The Nawab Mahomed Zemaun Khan, a cousin of Dost Mahomed, had been proclaimed Ameer by the tribesmen, and all orders were sent forth in his name. He was a man of humane and honourable nature, of polished manners, and affable address. As soon as he learned the state of affairs, Akbar Khan took immediate steps to prevent further supplies being taken into camp. He burned the villages where grain had been sold, and placed bands of men to attack any parties coming out from the camp to purchase grain. Day after day passed, messengers came and went between Macnaghten and the Nawab, but nothing was done; the food supply dwindled; only three days' rations remained in camp. The supplies doled out were scarcely sufficient to keep life together. The oxen and other baggage animals were in such a state of starvation as to be wholly unfit for service. The store of fuel had long been used up, some men died of cold, and all suffered much. Macnaghten was still hopeful, and early in December again urged a retirement, but in vain. The enemy had now guns planted in several positions, and kept up an almost constant cannonade on the camp. On the 8th there were but three days' half rations left, and the general informed Macnaghten by letter that it was absolutely necessary to surrender upon the best terms that could be obtained; and the three senior officers also signed the letter, saying that they concurred in it. On the 11th there was but one day's food left for the fighting men, the camp followers were starving. Again and again Macnaghten urged that a force should sally out and at all costs bring in provisions, but the general knew that the men could not be relied upon to fight. The time had come when even Macnaghten saw that all hope had gone save in surrender. He drew out the rough draft of a treaty, and met the leading chiefs of the Afghans at about a mile from the river. By this treaty the British were to evacuate Afghanistan. They were to be supplied with provisions for the journey, Shah Soojah was to abdicate, and to have the option of accompanying them; but if he did so, his wife and family were to remain as hostages until Dost Mahomed and his family were released. The troops at Jellalabad were also to retire, as well as those at Ghuznee and Candahar. Four British officers were to be left as hostages, to return to India on the arrival of Dost Mahomed and his family on the frontier. The conference lasted two hours, and its main stipulations were agreed to. The meeting then broke up, on the understanding that the British troops were to evacuate the cantonments in three days, and that provisions should in the meantime be sent in. The treaty was a humiliating one, but Macnaghten was not to blame for it. When the three military chiefs had declared that there was nothing for it but surrender, he was forced to make the best arrangement he could, and the terms of the treaty were as good as could have been expected in the circumstances. When the conference broke up Captain Trevor, one of Macnaghten's staff, accompanied the chief to the city as a hostage for the sincerity of the envoy. On the 11th the Bala Hissar was evacuated. Akbar Khan pledged himself to conduct the garrison safely to the cantonments, and kept his promise, succeeding in inducing the crowds of horsemen who gathered round to let the little detachment pass. The provisions, however, were not sent in as agreed, and the chiefs refused to send them until the garrisons were withdrawn from the forts they occupied round the cantonments. The parties were each suspicious of the other's good faith. On the 18th snow began to fall heavily. Macnaghten tried desperately to win over some of the chiefs, lavishing money among them. The Afghans made fresh demands, and demanded more hostages, and Lieutenants Conolly and Airey were handed over to them. On the 22nd Akbar Khan sent in fresh proposals, to the effect that the British were to remain in Afghanistan till the spring, and then to withdraw as if of their own free-will. Shah Soojah was to remain as Ameer, and Akbar as his minister. As a reward for these services Akbar was to receive an annuity of £40,000 and a bonus of £300,000. Macnaghten accepted the terms, and agreed to meet Akbar. The offer was so strange that Elphinstone and others thought that it was probably a plot. Macnaghten replied that he did not think that it was so, but in any case he would go. After breakfast he sent for the officers of his staff, Lawrence, Mackenzie, and Trevor, who had returned, and begged them to accompany him to the meeting. An hour later they set out with a few horsemen. As they rode on Macnaghten admitted to his officers that he was well aware that it was a dangerous enterprise, but that he was playing for a heavy stake and the prize was worth the risk. "At all events," he said, "a thousand deaths are preferable to the life I have of late been leading." The parties met at some hillocks six hundred yards from the cantonments, where some horse-cloths had been spread upon the snow by Akbar Khan's servants. Macnaghten presented to Akbar a splendid horse he had admired. They dismounted, and Macnaghten took his place on the blankets. Trevor, Mackenzie, and Lawrence sat behind him. Suddenly the envoy and his companions were violently seized from behind. The three officers were dragged away, and each compelled to mount horses ridden by Afghan chiefs, who rode off through the crowd. Trevor unfortunately slipped from his insecure seat, and was instantly cut to pieces, while the other two reached Mahomed Khan's fort alive. In the meantime the envoy himself was struggling desperately on the ground with Akbar Khan. Exasperated by the resistance of his victim, whom he had only intended to seize, the Afghan's passion blazed out, and drawing from his girdle a pistol, which Macnaghten had given him the day before, he shot him through the body. Instantly his followers closed round and hacked him to pieces. Thus died a gentleman who, in other circumstances, might have made a great reputation for himself. Possessed of unusual talent, his course was marred by his propensity to believe all that he wished, to disbelieve all that ran counter to his own sanguine projects. During the last month of his life he did all that man could do to avert a catastrophe, but he had been unable to instil his spirit into any of the military commanders, or to induce them to take the only course to redeem the position, by giving battle to the foe that surrounded them. He was the author of the ill-fated expedition to Afghanistan, he was its noblest victim. His peculiar temperament was fatal to him. Even when there was no longer any ground for hope he still continued to be sanguine. He had all along believed in himself, and scoffed at the warnings of men who knew the country and people--of Burnes, Rawlinson, Pottinger, and others. He was thoroughly sincere; he was always able to convince himself that what he believed must be true, and he acted accordingly. He was not a strong man; had he been so the course of events might have been altered. He deferred in every way to Shah Soojah's wishes, however much these might be opposed to his own judgment. He allowed him to misgovern the country, to drive the natives to desperation by the exactions of his tax-gatherers, and to excite the bitterest animosity of the chiefs by the arrogance with which he treated them. A strong man would have put a stop to all this--would have intimated to the Ameer that he held the throne solely by the assistance of British bayonets, and that unless he followed British counsels he would at once yield to the oft-repeated wishes of the Indian government and order the retirement of the troops. CHAPTER XV A DOOMED ARMY Even the murder of the British envoy within sight of the camp failed to arouse the military authorities from their deadly lethargy. Sullenly the troops remained in their cantonments. Not a man was put in motion to avenge the deed or to redeem the honour of the army. The only idea was to renew the negotiations that had been broken short by the murder of their political chief. The commissariat had nothing to do. Beleaguered as they were, it was impossible to collect provisions unless a strong force was sent out, and the military authorities refused to allow a man to be put in motion. They had no confidence in their soldiers, and the soldiers had none in them. It was their leaders who had made them what they were. Macnaghten in his wrath had spoken of them as miserable cowards, but they were not cowards. They had at first full confidence in themselves, and if ordered would gladly have attacked the Afghan forces in the open and have carried Cabul by storm. But kept in enforced inactivity, while fort after fort was wrested from them without an effort being made to relieve the garrisons, while the whole of their provisions for the winter were carried off before their eyes by an enemy they despised, and feeling that on the few occasions on which they were led from their entrenchments there was neither plan nor order--no opportunity for showing their valour, none for engaging in battle, they lost heart. Day by day they were exposed to continual insults from their exultant foes, day by day exposed to a heavy cannon and musketry fire, while the food served out was insufficient to maintain their strength--almost insufficient to keep them alive. It is not wonderful that their fighting powers were lost, and that they had become little more than a rabble in uniform. Angus had now no official duties to perform, and he spent much of his time with his old friend Eldred Pottinger, now a major, who, after Macnaghten's murder, took his place, by right of seniority as well as of energy and talent, as chief political officer. He had been employed in the west, but had been sent to Cabul, and very shortly afterwards had proceeded to Kohistan, returning almost the sole survivor of the little force that was stationed there. His counsel since then had always been for energetic measures, but his voice, like that of Macnaghten, availed nothing. He had, however, taken no prominent part in affairs, having been confined to his bed by the wound he had received. He was now recovering from it, and took up the work with the same energy as he had displayed at Herat. As he said to Angus, "It seems to be my fate to have to do with incapable men. At Herat it was Yar Mahomed and Kamran, here it is Shelton and Elphinstone. Elphinstone and Kamran have both in their younger days been fighting men. Both are utterly worn out bodily and mentally by disease and age. "Shelton is a brave man, a hard fighter, but his temper overmasters him. When in the field he shows personal gallantry, but no military capacity whatever. At first he was always in opposition to the general; he has given that up as useless, and beyond always endeavouring to thwart his chief when the latter was roused to momentary flashes of energy by Macnaghten, he has sunk into a deep gloom, as if he regarded it as absolutely hopeless to struggle further. I would that any other than myself had been placed in the position I now hold. The terms proposed to Macnaghten were hard enough, they will be still harder, still more disgraceful, now. But however disgraceful they may be, they will be accepted by the military leaders, and my name will be associated with the most humiliating treaty a British officer has ever been called upon to sign." His previsions were correct. Negotiations were renewed without the slightest allusion being made to the murder of Macnaghten, and as if such an event had never happened. While these were going on, little food was allowed to enter camp--enough to sustain life, but no more. At last the terms were settled. The Afghan chiefs agreed to supply provisions, and to send in baggage animals, upon payment being made for them. Six officers were to be handed over as hostages, all muskets and ordnance stores in the magazines, all money in the treasury, and all goods and property belonging to Dost Mahomed, were to be surrendered, and Dost himself and his family to be returned. No provision whatever was made for the safety of the man we had placed upon the throne. Pottinger endeavoured in vain to obtain better conditions. He received no support from the military chiefs; and even when at last he agreed to the terms, he did so with little hope that they would be observed. Warnings came from friends in the city that no dependence whatever could be placed upon the chiefs, and that in spite of all promises the force would certainly be attacked on its way down through the passes. No step was taken by the chiefs to send in either provisions or carriage animals, and the escort that was to accompany them did not make its appearance. On the 5th of January the military authorities determined to march out, contrary to the advice of Pottinger, who argued that without carriage and provisions, and without the protection of the chiefs as promised, the prospects of four thousand troops and twelve thousand followers being able to make their way down through the passes was small indeed. Angus had come to rely very much upon Azim for information as to what was passing outside the cantonment. The latter had during the three years come to speak the Afghan language perfectly, and in the attire of a peasant often went out after dark, mixed with the insurgents, and entered the city. He had each time he went out brought back a less hopeful report than on the previous one, and Angus was the more impressed since the young fellow was generally cheery, and disposed to look on the bright side of things, taking indeed comparatively little interest in what was going on around him, having absolute confidence that his master would find some way out of any difficulty that might confront him. "I quite agree with all you say, Azim, but I am powerless to act in any way. If I were here as a private person I should certainly disguise myself and endeavour to make my way down to Candahar, but as an officer I must remain at my post, come what may, and share the fate of the rest. But if you are disposed to try and get down, I will not throw any obstacle in your way, and will furnish you with money sufficient to pay your way either back to Persia or down into India, where, with your knowledge of languages, you will have no difficulty in finding employment." Azim laughed. "No, master, whatever comes, I will stay with you. Just as you are in the employment of government and cannot leave, so am I in your employment." Angus did not attempt to push the matter further, for he felt that it would be useless; and indeed, although he would have done what he could to procure his follower's safety, he felt that he would be a great loss to him in many ways. They had been so long together, and had gone through so many dangers in companionship, that he regarded Azim as a friend rather than as a servant. "When you have been in the city, Azim, have you ever seen our friend Sadut?" "No, sir; I have heard that he has been in the city many times, and that he was with the Afghan horsemen who drove our people in, but I have not seen him. Should I speak to him if I do so?" "Yes, you might thank him in my name, and your own, for having saved our lives the other day; but on no account say anything to him about the future. I cannot make any overtures for help to a man who, though a friend of my own, is fighting against us. And indeed, however willing he might be to aid me to the best of his power, he could not do so. If we are really attacked in the pass, mixed up as we shall be with the camp followers, we could not be found in the crowd; and you may be sure that the tribesmen and the Ghazee fanatics will be mad with bloodshed and hate, and that even a chief would be unable to stand between them and their victims. Even if he were to send a messenger to me to say that he and his men would again save me, if I would let him know in which part of the column I shall ride, I should refuse to do so. It would be an act of treachery on my part to others, weaker and less able to take care of themselves than I am." On the afternoon of the day when the force moved out of the cantonments Eldred Pottinger sent for Angus. "Are you ready to undertake a hazardous mission?" he asked. "It is so hazardous that I would send no one upon it, were it not that I consider that those who stay here are running as great a risk. After the murder of Burnes and Macnaghten, I have not the smallest faith in the chiefs keeping to their promises, and the manner in which they have failed now to carry out the terms of the treaty heightens my distrust in them. I do not believe that any of the messengers that have been sent down of late have succeeded in getting through; and indeed, until to-day it was impossible to say whether we should really start or not. The messages sent down were necessarily vague, and were indeed only requests for aid. I know, and no doubt Sale knows, that it is as difficult for him to fight his way up the passes as it is for us to make our way down; but now that, in spite of my advice, Elphinstone and Shelton and the other officers have decided to wait no longer, but to start at once, a specific message must be sent." "I am ready to try to get through," Angus said. "I have no doubt that while we have been negotiating here, the tribesmen from all the country round have been gathering in the passes. The only way would be for me to join some party of men from the villages going that way. Once fairly in the pass and among the tribesmen, I could leave the party and mingle with others. Of course it would be slow work going on afoot, but I should say that it would be quite impossible on horseback." "I have not much hope that the mission will be of any real use, for Sale is himself besieged in Jellalabad. Still, one must make an attempt. I shall enter in my journals--trusting that they will some day be recovered--that as a last hope I have accepted the offer of Mr. Angus Campbell to carry a message to General Sale saying that we are starting, and begging him, if it be possible, to make a diversion in our favour by advancing as far as he can to meet us. I will not give you any written document. You are well known to many of the officers who went down with Sale, therefore no question can arise as to the message you bear being a genuine one. If you were searched and any letter found upon you, it would be your death-warrant. Still, I believe if anyone could get through alive, you can." "I will do my best anyhow," Angus said, "and I will start as soon as it becomes dark. It is all easy enough as far as Khoord Cabul, after that I shall keep a sharp look-out; if I overtake any party of villagers I shall join them." "I shall come and say good-bye to you before you start, Campbell." Angus returned at once to his tent. "You have my disguise ready and your own, Azim?" "Yes, sir, I have both ready, and have two of their long guns and some daggers and pistols." "I have my own pistols, Azim." "Yes, master, and it will be as well to take them; but they would be seen directly if you had them in your girdle." "No doubt they would, Azim, but there are a good many English pistols among them now. There were three pairs they got at Sir Alexander's house, and there have been several officers killed since. I can give out that I took part in the fight at Sir Alexander's and got these pistols as my share of the plunder." "Are you going anywhere, master?" "Yes, I am going to try to get down through the passes to Jellalabad. We shall start as soon as it is dark. It will be a terribly dangerous journey, but I hardly think it will be more dangerous than going down with the troops." "What are we to take, master? I will get it ready." "There is not much that we can take. I will go down to the store myself and get eight or ten pounds of ground grain. There is not much of it, for the mills have all been smashed, and we have had to serve the grain out whole; but I know that there are two or three sacks left in the stores. There is no meat to be had, nor spirits--not that I would take spirits if I could get them, for if they were found upon me it would excite suspicion at once. Another thing, I must stain myself. My face and hands are nearly as brown as those of the Afghans, but if we were searched and they took our things off, they would see in an instant that I was a white. I don't know how we are to get stain." "I should think, master, that if we were to bake some grain quite black, and then pound it and pour boiling water over it so as to make it like very strong coffee, it might do." "A very good idea. Well, I shall not want you for the next two hours. I shall go round and see some of my friends and say good-bye to them. Mind, whatever you do don't say a word to anyone about our leaving." "I will be sure not to do that, master." Azim went out to a little tent of thick native blanket a few yards from that of his master. There he sat looking through the entrance until he saw his master leave his tent. Five minutes later he issued out in his Afghan dress, long coat lined with sheep-skins, black lamb's-wool cap, high boots, and sheep-skin breeches, and at once set off at a brisk walk. There were at all times many Afghans in the camp, and indeed many of the camp followers had, since the cold set in, adopted the same dress; therefore no attention was paid to him, and no questions were asked by the sentries as he passed out at the gates. As soon as he got among the gardens and enclosures he broke into a run, which he continued until he reached a village a mile and a half away, and here he entered one of the cottages. "Have you news for us?" one of the four men sitting there said. "Yes, and good news. My master starts as soon as it is dark. He will be on foot, and he is going to try and make his way down through the passes." "That is good news indeed," the Afghan said. "I was afraid that we should never get a chance. Which road will he go by?" "I can't say exactly, but he is sure to leave by the western gate. He would have more chance of getting away unnoticed on that side. Of course we shall both be in our Afghan dress." "We will be on the look-out. I suppose that he will be armed?" "Yes, he will carry one of your long guns and a brace of pistols. You had best choose some spot where you can close on him suddenly, for he would certainly fight till the last." "We will be careful," the man said. "I don't want to get a pistol ball in my body. We shall follow at a distance until we find a convenient spot." "He is sure to keep along at the foot of the hill so as to avoid your people on the plain." "It will suit us best also, as we shall not have far to carry him." "Mind, you must make a struggle when you seize me as if I was violently resisting. Then, when we start you must order me to walk, and threaten to blow out my brains if I try to escape. My master can learn the truth afterwards. If he were to know it now, he would be furious with me; but in a few days, when fighting is going on in the passes, and a great disaster occurs, he will thank me for having prevented him from throwing away his life, especially as he knows perfectly well that the English in Jellalabad could not come out to assist those here." When Angus returned to the tent he found Azim busy roasting the grain. The Afghan costume had been laid aside. "Everything is ready, master. The grain is nearly done, and it won't take me long to pound it up. I got a few sticks down at the stores and the kettle is just boiling." "Then as soon as it is ready I will stain myself, but I sha'n't put on the Afghan dress until the last thing. Have you cooked some of the flour?" "Yes, sir, I have made four cakes. They are baking in the ashes now. I thought perhaps you would eat one before we started, and we can carry the others for to-morrow." "I wish, Azim," Angus said, "that there was some chance of this journey being useful, but I feel convinced that no good can come of it. The moonshee has sent in a report that confirms the rumours we heard. There can be no doubt that General Sale is strongly beleaguered in Jellalabad, and will have all his work to do to hold the place, and therefore it will be absolutely impossible for him to fight his way up the pass." "Then why should you go, master?" "Because I have been asked to go as a forlorn hope; and also because, however great the risk I may run, I do not think that it is greater than it would be if I went down with the army. We have no baggage animals. We have food for only three days more, and it will only last that time by cutting down the rations still further. The unfortunate camp followers are for the most part without warm clothing of any sort, and will die by thousands. As to the troops, I have no doubt that most of them will fight when they know that unless they cut their way through they are doomed, but their chance of victory is small. Here in the open plain they might even now, if well led and worked up to enthusiasm by a stirring speech, thrash the Afghans, numerous as these may be; but pent up in the passes, under a fire from every hillside by a foe they cannot reach--for in their present weak state they could never scale the mountains--I believe it will be a massacre rather than a fight. At any rate, if we are to be killed, I would rather be shot as a spy than go through such awful scenes as there will be before a bullet finishes me." "I don't want to die at all, master; but if it be the will of Allah, so be it. But, as you say, I would rather be killed straight off than struggle on through the snows in the passes and get killed in the end." As soon as it became dusk, Angus and his follower put on their disguises. A few minutes later Eldred Pottinger came in. "Well, as far as looks go you will pass anywhere, Campbell, and certainly as regards language there is no fear of your being suspected. The real difficulty will be in explaining where you came from. Every village has sent its contingent of fighting men, and if it happened that you met anyone from the place you pretended to come from, the consequences would be very awkward." "I intend to give out that I have come down from Arcab, which is a little village to the south of Ghuznee. I went out there once with a detachment to buy some cattle. It is hardly likely that any of the men from that place would have come here, for they would naturally join the bands that are threatening our garrison there. Of course I can invent some story to account for my not doing the same." Pottinger nodded. "Well, Campbell, I hope that you will get well through it. As I told you, I have not a shadow of hope that Sale will be able to lend a hand to us. Still, although it is but one in a thousand chances, I feel that it ought to be attempted; and in your case I say honestly that I consider there is no greater risk in your going down by yourself, and having your own wits to depend upon, than in going down with the army--if one can call this broken and dispirited soldiery an army--for in that case the bravest and clearest head would share the fate, whatever that may be, of the dullest and most cowardly." "I quite see that, and agree with you that nothing can be slighter than the chances of the army getting down safely. Be assured that whatever happens, so far from blaming you, I shall consider that you did the best for me by sending me on this mission." "I will walk with you to the gate," Pottinger said. "In the daytime there is no check upon anyone passing in or out, but at night the sentries are on the alert, and as you are both armed, you would certainly be stopped." A minute was spent in packing their scanty stores into the pockets of their coats, then they started for the gate. Here Pottinger, after seeing them through, shook hands cordially not only with Angus but with Azim, whom he had learned to like and value for the devotion he showed to his master in Herat. They proceeded on their way without meeting any parties of Afghans until they neared the foot of the hill, then, as they were passing along a path through an orchard, a party of men suddenly sprang out upon them, and they were thrown down on their faces before either had time to offer any resistance. Angus, indeed, had repressed the natural impulse to try to draw one of his pistols. Resistance would have meant death, and it seemed to him that these could only be plunderers. "What are you doing, fools?" he exclaimed. "Do you not see that we are friends?" No answer was given. His captors were binding his hands tightly to his side; then before raising him they muffled his head in a blanket. He was then lifted to his feet. He heard the men say to Azim that he was to accompany them, and that if he attempted escape he would at once be shot. A man on each side of him put his hands on his shoulder, and one said: "You are to walk quietly with us; escape is impossible, and it were well for you not to attempt it." Angus indeed felt that escape was out of the question. He was unable to conjecture into whose hands he had fallen. They were not bent upon plunder, for had they been so, they would have taken his arms, searched him, and probably cut his throat afterwards. It seemed impossible to him that they could know he was a British officer, and the only conceivable explanation he could think of was that men had been scattered all round the cantonment to prevent anyone from leaving, or going out with messages to one or other of the chiefs, and that they had seen him and Azim come out, had followed and seized them, and were now taking them to some chief to be questioned as to why they were in the British camp after dark, and for what purpose they had left. Certainly the affair reminded him of his friendly capture at Cabul; but it seemed to him altogether impossible that Sadut could have learned that he was about to start on a mission, or that had he even learned it, he could have known that he and Azim would have followed the road on which they had been captured. He soon found that the path they were following was an upward one, and as it became steeper and steeper, he was sure that he was being taken into the hills. Once or twice he addressed his captors, but received no answer. He walked, as far as he could tell, for two hours. At last there was a pause. He heard a door open, and felt that he was being taken into a hut. Then for the first time the pistols and knives were taken from his sash. His captors, after addressing a few whispered words to some men who were already in the hut, retired, closing the door behind them and piling heavy stones against it. The blanket was then taken off his head. A bright fire was burning in the hut, which he saw was some fifteen feet square. Four men, armed to the teeth, were standing by the fire. There was no door save the one by which they had been brought in, and it was evident that the hut consisted only of this room. "You are unhurt, I hope," he said to Azim. "Yes. I was knocked down before I had time to think of doing anything." "Do you know where they have brought us?" "No. They threw a cloth over my head." "How could this have happened, Azim? I cannot understand it at all." "No more can I, sir." "When we started to fight against the infidels we never thought that we should be attacked by our own countrymen. It seems to me that there must be some mistake." Then he turned to the Afghans. "Why are we brought here? What harm have we done?" "That I know not," the man said. "You must have done something, or our comrades would not have brought you here. That is their business." "It seems to me," Angus said angrily, "it is our business too. Our tribe are not at war with any others, and it is a new thing that Afghans should attack each other when all are uniting to fight the strangers." "I know nothing about it. I only know that our comrades brought you here, and left us to look after you. There are plenty of traitors among the men who have taken the infidel's gold. They will all be reckoned with when we have finished with the white men. Well, they did not tell us to keep you bound, and we will take off the cords if you swear by the faith that you will make no attempt to escape." Angus hesitated. It seemed to him that if two of the four men slept he and Azim could, if unbound, snatch at their weapons, and at least make a fight for it; that chance would be gone if he gave his word. "No," he said; "I will make no bargain with men who have deprived me of my liberty." "Well, just as you like," the other said, seating himself by the fire, "it makes no matter to us." "We may as well sit down too," Angus said, and advancing near the fire he sat down by the side of the Afghans. Azim did the same. "Where did you say you came from?" the man who had been the spokesman of the party asked. Angus briefly named the village he had before decided upon, and then sat looking silently at the fire. He saw that his chance of being able to discover at present any plan for escape was very small. Presently one of the men said, "Let us have supper," and rising he went to a corner of the hut, where the carcass of a sheep was hanging from the rafters. He cut off a leg, divided this into slices, which he spitted on a ramrod, and then put it over the fire. In the meantime another had unceremoniously placed the four cakes that were taken from the captives in the embers to warm up. When the meat was done, the leader said to Angus: "We do not wish to starve you. We will untie the hands of one of you, and let him eat; when he has done, we will fasten him up again, and let the other eat in the same way." This was done. When they were again securely bound Angus said in Pushtoo: "You may as well lie down now, friend. Perhaps in the morning the men who have taken us will find out that they have made a mistake and will let us go, with apologies for having treated friends so roughly." They lay down close together, but Angus was afraid even to whisper to his follower, lest it should excite the suspicion of their guard. For an hour he remained watchful, then he saw two of the Afghans lie down, but the other two lighted their pipes, and were evidently going to keep watch. He had tried quietly once or twice to see if the cords that bound him could be loosened, but he found that although they had not been tied unpleasantly tight, they were securely fastened, and did not yield in the slightest to his efforts. He therefore gave up the idea of trying to free himself from them; and indeed, even if the guards should all sleep, the prospect was hopeless, for from the noise made in rolling the rocks against the door, it was certain that this could not be opened without waking the sleepers. It would therefore be necessary as a preliminary to kill all of them, and even then he might not be able to break open the door. At any rate, there was nothing to do at present. After trying in vain to discover an explanation of their capture he fell asleep. He woke several times in the night, but found that two men were always on guard. The next morning he heard the stones removed from the door, but no one entered. The Afghans breakfasted, and this time permitted their captives to share the meal with them. From time to time one or other of the Afghans went to the door and looked out, and at two o'clock one of them said, "The infidels are moving." The others went out. "Have you thought of any way of escape?" Angus whispered in Persian to his follower. "I can think of nothing," Azim murmured. As there seemed no obstacle to their going out Angus joined his captors. He could see on the snow which covered the plain below, the dark masses of the troops surrounded by a host of camp followers, while beyond these hovered hordes of Afghans. From time to time horsemen rode in, evidently delivered some message, and then went off again. The departure of the troops had been fatally delayed. It was ordered to begin at eight o'clock in the morning, and at that hour they stood to their arms. The day was clear and bright, and although four miles from the camp, Angus could clearly see what was going on. Although it was now two in the afternoon, only a portion of the troops had left the camp, and it was not till six o'clock, when night had already fallen, that the rear-guard left it. Already confusion had set in; the ranks of the soldiers were broken up by the terrified camp followers, and presented the appearance of a vast mob rather than an organized army. Had they started at the hour fixed they might have reached Khoord Cabul in safety, but the loss of time was fatal. Only six miles were accomplished, and it was two o'clock in the morning before the whole gathered, when it was seen that their numbers were already diminished. The wretched camp followers, accustomed to the heat of the plains of India, and thinly clad, were the first to succumb. Hundreds, especially of women and children, sat down in the snow and were frozen to death. Already the Afghans were hanging on the flanks, and sometimes making rushes and cutting down many of the unresisting multitude. Soon after two o'clock a native came up to the hut and delivered an order to the Afghans, who at once cut up the remainder of the sheep, and divided it between them. Then their leader said, "We are to move." The ropes that bound the prisoners were loosened. One end was tied round the wrist of each captive, the other being wound round the waist of an Afghan, allowing a slack of a yard and a half. As soon as this was done the party moved off. They descended the hill for some distance, and then followed the lower slopes in the direction in which the army was moving. They kept on till long after midnight, and then halted at a deserted hut. Far behind them they could see the flames of the burning cantonments, which had been fired by the Afghans as soon as they had removed everything of the slightest value. In the morning Angus saw that their halting-place was high up above the entrance of the Khoord Cabul Pass. There was as yet no sign of the army, but in the afternoon it was seen approaching in a confused mass. The night had been a dreadful one; soldiers and camp followers, horses and baggage and cattle were huddled in a confused mass. No warm clothes had been served out to the followers, and hundreds were frozen to death during the night, while others were so badly frost-bitten that they were unable to walk. As soon as the troops started again the Afghan horsemen attacked the rear, seizing the baggage, capturing the guns, and cutting down all they encountered. At noon Akbar Khan, with six hundred horsemen, rode up. Pottinger sent Captain Skinner with six horsemen to communicate with him. Akbar said that he had been sent out by the Nawab to protect them from the attacks of the Ghazees. His instructions were to demand other hostages as security for the evacuation of Jellalabad, and to arrest the progress of the force, supplying it in the meantime with everything it required, until news of the evacuation of Jellalabad by Sale was received. The troops, however, did not halt until they reached the entrance of the Cabul Pass. The night was even more dreadful than the preceding day had been. The Sepoys burned their caps and accoutrements to obtain a little warmth, and numbers were frozen to death. At daybreak the crowd of soldiers and camp followers began to push forward, their only thought now being how to escape death. Akbar Khan spent some hours in negotiations. Four more hostages were demanded; Pottinger volunteered to be one of them, Captain Lawrence had been specially named, and Pottinger chose Mackenzie as the third. It was agreed that the force should move down through the Khoord Cabul Pass to Tezeen, there to await tidings of the evacuation of Jellalabad. CHAPTER XVI ANNIHILATION OF THE ARMY In terrible confusion the crowd of fugitives--they were now nothing more--all entered the terrible pass. The Ghilzyes at once commenced their attack. In vain did Akbar Khan and his chiefs endeavour to restrain the fanatics. From the hillsides, from every rocky crag they opened a murderous fire. That day three thousand men fell, either from the musket fire or from the knives of the Afghans. The dooly-bearers had all deserted on the first day, the greater portion of the camels and ponies had been captured. So far the ladies had escaped; they all rode next to the advanced guard, as this was considered the safest point, for the soldiers here maintained some sort of order, and the Afghans, therefore, devoted their attention to the helpless crowd in the rear. Again the column halted in the snow. In the morning the camp followers made another rush ahead, but the troops, who were ordered to march at ten o'clock, did not move, for in spite of all the remonstrances of the officers, the general countermanded the order, believing that Akbar Khan would send in provisions and troops to protect them. Another terrible night was passed, and then Captain Skinner rode into camp with a new proposal from Akbar Khan, namely, that all the English ladies of the force should be placed under his charge, and that they might be accompanied by their husbands. Pottinger remembering that Akbar Khan's family were in the hands of the British, and believing that he was sincere in his wish to save the ladies and children from destruction, sanctioned the proposal. Elphinstone at once accepted it. It was the choice of two evils. On the one hand Akbar Khan had proved faithless, and on the other certain death awaited the ladies. They were insufficiently clad, had scarcely tasted food since they left Cabul, and had passed three terrible nights in the snow. Undoubtedly it was the wiser course to trust them to Akbar Khan. Accordingly a party of Afghan horse rode in, and Lady Macnaghten, Lady Sale, and ten other ladies, some twenty children, and eight officers rode away under their escort. The next morning the survivors started. The Sepoys had already lost the greater portion of their numbers; the remainder threw away their guns, which they could no longer use owing to their hands being frost-bitten, and joined the disorganized rabble in front. They were attacked in a narrow gorge, and the pass was soon choked with dead and dying. Not a single Sepoy survived. Of the sixteen thousand men, soldiers and camp followers, that had left Cabul four days before, not more than a quarter were now alive. Akbar Khan watched the slaughter that was going on, declaring that he was powerless to restrain the Ghilzyes, whom even their own chiefs could not control. He advised that the remnant of the British army should lay down their arms and place themselves under his protection. The general very properly refused the offer, for Akbar Khan had already acknowledged that he was incapable of restraining the tribesmen. The march was continued. The rear-guard was commanded by Shelton, and nobly they did their work, repulsing several attacks of the enemy, and giving time for those ahead to pursue their way. Before daybreak they started again in hopes that they might reach Jugduluk that day. Despair gave the soldiers strength, and they moved off quietly in order to obtain a start of the camp followers, who paralysed their action. The latter, however, were soon on their feet, and as usual endeavoured to push on ahead of the troops. For some miles the retreat was uninterrupted, but presently a heavy fire opened on the rear-guard. The camp followers then rushed in a tumultuous crowd past the troops, and when, a little later, the head of the column was attacked, they again fled to the rear, not only hampering the movements of the soldiers, but carrying many of them away by the impetus of their rush. Steadily until day broke the Afghan marksmen maintained their fire. Soon afterwards the advanced guard reached a village ten miles from Jugduluk, and halting only till the rear-guard came up again pushed forward. Shelton, with a handful of the rear-guard, kept the Afghans at bay, and covered the retreat until all arrived in Jugduluk, where they took their post behind some ruined walls. There was, however, little rest for them; the Afghans, in ever-increasing numbers, posted themselves on the heights and opened a terrible fire. Three bullocks were found among the camp followers; these were instantly killed and served out to the famishing soldiers, who devoured them raw. Again Akbar's party approached, and Captain Skinner went out to remonstrate with him for permitting the continued attacks, but the Afghan prince declared himself incapable of repressing his men, as his orders were disregarded. A handful of the 44th Regiment issued out and made a gallant rush at the enemy and drove them back, but as the main body did not follow their example, they again retired behind the ruined walls. All night long and through the next day the force remained at Jugduluk. Akbar Khan sent in a message inviting the general, Shelton, and Captain Johnson to a conference, and promised to send in provisions. This promise he as usual broke, and insisted on retaining the three officers as hostages. The conference was resumed the next morning. Akbar now seemed in earnest in his desire to put a stop to the slaughter; but the petty chiefs of the tribes between Jugduluk and Jellalabad were now present, and these would listen neither to his entreaties nor commands, nor to the offer of large sums of money. They thirsted for blood, and were determined to extirpate the infidels. Mahomed Shah Khan, to whose daughter Akbar was married, then came forward and asked whether the British would pay two lacs of rupees for safe-conduct to Jellalabad. The general agreed to this, and it seemed that at last the safety of the survivors was ensured. At eight o'clock in the evening the survivors, who now numbered but a hundred and twenty of the 44th and twenty-five artillerymen, again set forth. No provisions had been sent in during the two days' halt, and all were terribly reduced by famine. The Afghans rushed down among the camp followers, killing them unresistingly. The soldiers, however, held together, and, bayonet in hand, drove off their assailants until they reached the Jugduluk Pass. They struggled up the narrow and terribly steep ascent until when near the summit they came upon a barricade composed of bushes and branches of trees. Here the column was thrown into great confusion, the camp followers crowding upon the soldiers. The latter fought with desperation, while the Afghans massacred the unresisting camp followers. Twelve officers fell here. Their number was large in proportion to that of the men. They had been no better clothed, and had suffered equally from cold and hunger; but they did not give way to the depression that during the first two marches had reigned among the troops. They were upheld, too, by the feeling of responsibility, and the necessity of keeping up an appearance of cheerfulness and hopefulness in order to encourage the men. After desperate fighting some twenty officers and twenty-five soldiers managed to break their way through the barricade, and at daybreak reached Gundamuck. There were but two rounds of ammunition remaining in the men's pouches. Most of them were already wounded, but they were resolute not to lay down their arms, and when called upon to do so they refused. Then the mob of Afghans rushed down upon them. One officer and a few privates were taken prisoners, but seven officers succeeded in cutting their way through, and being mounted, left the Afghans behind them, and reached Futtehbad, but sixteen miles from Jellalabad. Here, however, they were attacked by the peasantry. Two were cut down at once; the others rode off, but were pursued and overtaken. Four of them were killed, and one only, Dr. Brydon, reached Jellalabad alive, the sole survivor of four thousand five hundred fighting men and twelve thousand camp followers, with the exception only of those who had been taken over by Akbar as hostages. This, the greatest disaster that ever befell a British army, was due to the vacillation and weakness that had characterized every action since the murder of Sir Alexander Burnes. Had the force pressed forward at once on the morning when it left its cantonment, the greater portion would probably have reached Jellalabad, but two days had been lost before the army reached Khoord Cabul Pass, about ten miles from the city. There were fresh halts, fresh delays, fresh futile negotiations again and again, and during the time thus thrown away the enemy from all the mountains round were gathering in the passes to oppose them, and building the fatal barricade in the pass of Jugduluk. Had the force pushed forward with only an occasional halt of a few hours, they would not have been enfeebled by hunger. By slaying the baggage animals an abundance of food could have been obtained for all, the opposition they encountered would have been comparatively feeble, and cold would have been their only formidable antagonist. Truly it seemed that a curse had fallen upon the army; that it was Divine retribution for a most unjust and iniquitous war. Each day Angus and his followers had been taken along, always being halted in positions whence they could see the terrible tragedy that was being enacted. Angus was half mad with grief and with fury that he was not in his place among the troops. Azim in vain endeavoured to comfort him, by pointing out that it was not his fault that he was not there, but that he had been sent away from the army by the order of his superior; and that even had he not been taken prisoner, he would not be a sharer in what was going on in the pass. "That is true, Azim, but it is a poor consolation to me. I feel sure that Pottinger foresaw what would happen, and that it was as an act of friendship, in giving me a chance of getting through safely, that he sent me down. It was no doubt kindly meant, but I would a thousand times rather have shared the fate of the rest." "Well, master, for my part I own that I am glad we are up here. I have no wish to be killed, especially as it would do no good to anyone. Why should a man throw away his life? Allah has given it to us, and we shall die when our time comes. But it would be wicked to throw it away uselessly." "It is all very well to talk like that, Azim, when one is in safety, but when one sees one's comrades being slaughtered, a man would not be worthy of the name did he not long to be with them and to die fighting by their side. Indeed, we know not at present whether our lives are to be saved. We know not into whose hands we have fallen, or why we should thus be taken along to be spectators of this massacre. The whole thing is bewildering to me." [Illustration: ANGUS WAS HALF MAD WITH GRIEF AND WITH FURY THAT HE WAS NOT IN HIS PLACE AMONG THE TROOPS] They now generally conversed in Persian. Their guards, although keeping as strict a watch as ever on them, interfered with them but little. Fortunately the worst scenes took place at night, and were therefore hidden from those on the hill, the incessant rattle of musketry alone telling of the relentless pursuit. On the night of the 12th the roar of fire had been louder than ever. At last it ceased suddenly. Angus and his guards alike remained awake, Angus listening in agony to the sounds of the combat, the Afghans talking together in low tones. "What do you think has happened?" he asked them when some minutes had passed without the sound of a shot being heard. "Either Akbar Khan has succeeded in persuading the Ghilzye chiefs to spare what few there are left of the infidels, or the last man has been slain." Angus felt that the latter was by far the more probable solution, and throwing himself down on the ground he burst into tears. The eight days of mental suffering had shaken him terribly, and now, feeling that his worst fears had been realized, he broke down altogether. Before daybreak his captors moved some distance farther up into the mountains, and by the cautious manner in which they made their way, often pausing to look back and round, Angus concluded that they were desirous of avoiding all contact with their countrymen. He had indeed before observed how careful they were to avoid the Afghans scattered on the hillside, and he now concluded that they must be taking him to the tower of the chief, to be dealt with as he might direct, either shot at once or held by him as a hostage, for whose delivery he might obtain a handsome sum should the British again advance up the passes. All day they travelled among the hills. At last they came upon a large village. There were no men about, doubtless all had gone to take part in the fray. The women came out and eagerly questioned them as to the fighting on the night before. "We know nothing," the leader said. "We believe that the last of the infidels has fallen, but we know nothing for certain." Without pausing they took the two prisoners, whose appearance had created no surprise, as they were taken for natives, to the chief's tower, a much larger building than the abodes of most of the petty chiefs. Standing upon a crag of rock, it overlooked the village; entrance was only obtainable by a ladder leading to a door some thirty feet above the rock. Their coming had been observed. An old man stood at the door. "So you are back, Suffyd?" "Yes, as you see. Has the chief returned?" "No; it is two weeks since we saw him last. He started then with all the fighting men from here and the other villages; but I expect it will not be long before he returns, for, from what we have heard, the work must be nearly done." The party ascended the ladder, and the leader spoke a word or two with the old man, who looked greatly surprised. The captives were taken into a room, which by its furnishing was evidently one of the chief's private apartments. "You are free to move about the house," the leader said, "but you must not leave it." In a few minutes a woman entered, bringing a dish of boiled grain with portions of mutton in it. She gave the usual Afghan salutation. She was followed by another woman with a jug of water, two mugs, and a bottle. These were placed on a low table, and then without another word they left the room. A minute later they returned with a large earthenware dish full of burning charcoal. "This is a good beginning, Azim," Angus said, his spirits rising at the sight of the hot food; for although they had not been actually starved, they had been on extremely short rations when their supply of flour was exhausted, their captors being, like themselves, reduced to a handful of unground grain each day. "This does not look as if they meant to cut our throats. Evidently our Afghan is acting under orders. Those orders must have been that we were to be well treated." They ate a hearty meal; then Angus said: "See what there is in that bottle, Azim." The cork had already been taken out, and Azim poured some of the liquor into a tin, and handed it to his master. The latter smelt it. "It is Afghan spirits," he said, "the same as they sell in the bazaars in Cabul." He filled it up with water, and drank it off. "Now, Azim, do you do the same." Azim, who was not a very strict Mohammedan, and had more than once tasted the forbidden drink at Cabul, needed no pressing. "Well, master," he said, as he put the cup down, "after all this is better than lying dead and frozen down in the pass." Angus, warmed with the good meal and by the draught that he had taken, could not disagree with his follower. "I begin to think that you are right, Azim, though I did not believe so yesterday. It is certain that had I joined my countrymen I should have perished with them, and assuredly I have been saved from eight days of awful suffering and from death--if, indeed, we are saved from death." "I think we can feel certain of that, master. This is not the way the Afghans treat a man whose throat they intend to cut. They certainly do not make a pillau for him, or provide him with a bottle of spirits." "Do you know, I have been thinking, Azim," Angus said after a short silence, "that if it had been possible for Sadut Khan to know that we intended to leave camp in disguise, this might be his work again. But he could not have known it. No one but you and I, and Major Pottinger, and the three or four officers to whom I said good-bye, knew anything about it. Besides, he would have sent the men who captured us before, and who knew us by sight. And even supposing, which seems to be impossible, that this was his doing, why not have sent us here straight, instead of taking eight days to do a journey that could have been made easily in two, and forcing me to witness the awful scenes in the passes? It is all most extraordinary." "However, there is no question, sir, that whoever our captor may be, he has been the means of saving our lives." "There can be no doubt of that, Azim; and though I may not feel that at present, I shall in the future be very grateful to him. Even if he were to have us shot directly he comes here, I should still be grateful, for it would be a sudden death and not a lingering one, as it has been to those below. Well, it is of no use puzzling ourselves over the matter. I suppose we shall learn how it all came about when the chief, whoever he be, returns here. In the meantime we are certainly a great deal better off than we have been for the past two months in cantonments." "That we are, master. To begin with, I am warm for the first time since the winter set in; and in the next place, I have had a good meal, and do not feel that I could grumble at anything. As to your mission, you said yourself that nothing could come of it, even if you succeeded in getting through, so that in that respect nothing has been lost by our journey being so suddenly brought to an end." The next day some of the men who had been away with their chief returned, and the old man in charge told Angus that only one man out of all who had started from Cabul had reached Jellalabad, but that several officers had been taken as hostages, including the two generals, Major Pottinger and Captain Johnson, and two others; also, that all the ladies and children, and the ladies' husbands, had accepted the protection of Akbar. It was a relief, indeed, to Angus to find that his friends Pottinger and Johnson had been saved, and as Captain Boyd was one of the married officers, he also must have escaped the massacre. As to the fate of Elphinstone and Shelton he was indifferent, it was to them that the misfortune that had befallen the army was largely due; but the thought that his three greatest friends had escaped gave him much pleasure. With these exceptions, that but one man out of sixteen thousand five hundred should have escaped was appalling. That the loss had been terrible he was well aware, but he was hardly prepared for the total annihilation of the force. Another two days passed. They continued to be well fed and treated, and the women who waited upon them seemed to regard them as guests rather than as captives, talking freely with them, and only being silent when Angus endeavoured to find out the name of their chief. It was evident that on this point they had orders to keep silent. On the third day they heard a stir in the village, and shouts of acclamation and welcome. The room in which they were confined was at the back of the house, and they were therefore unable to obtain a view of what was passing. "We shall learn our fate now, Azim," Angus said. "I have no fear of its being a bad one, master. We cannot doubt that orders were given that we should be well treated. If we are kept prisoners till the spring, for my part I shall not grumble if they continue to treat us as well as they have been doing." They heard the sound of many footsteps and loud talking, then the door opened and Sadut Khan entered. He advanced with both hands outstretched to Angus. "My dear friend," he said, "how thankful I am that you have been saved where so many have perished!" "And so it is you, chief, to whom I owe my life?" Angus said, returning the warm grasp of Sadut's hand. "I did not thank you at first, for it seemed to me shameful that an English officer should not share in the fate of his comrades." Sadut smiled. "But in no case would you have shared their fate. It is not from that I have saved you, but from being killed on your way down. Knowing that the passes were full of our people, I was sure that you must have been taken and murdered. No story you could have told would have availed you. You were not a Ghilzye, nor a member of any of the tribes there, and you would assuredly have been detected and killed had I not saved you." "That is so, Sadut; and although at first I was half-mad at being unable to join my countrymen, I saw before the end came that, had I done so, my life would have been thrown away uselessly." "Exactly; and that was why I ordered that you should be enabled to see all that passed. From what I had seen of you, I was sure that at first you would bitterly resent being taken prisoner, and that even if you knew into whose hands you had fallen you would resist; and it was for that reason that I did not this time employ Hassan and his followers to seize you, though all through your journey they kept close at hand, to use my name and authority should any party of tribesmen meet you--not that I had much fear of your detection had they done so. The men with you had orders that in case they did meet such a party, they were to treat you both, not as captives, but as forming part of their own band. Still, it was as well that Hassan should be at hand in case of need." "I thank you with all my heart, Sadut. I could not have done so at first, but I can do so now; you have indeed saved my life. A few days ago that seemed to me as nothing, for I felt that I was dishonoured in looking on at the massacre of my countrymen. I have had time to think it over since, and I now know that the view I took was exaggerated. Could I have joined them it was plainly my duty to have done so, but if I was a prisoner no blame could attach to me. Have you, chief, taken part in this terrible business?" "No. With twenty of my own horsemen I rode with Akbar, who is my friend and relative, but I had no intention of drawing my sword against your people. I knew that they had been promised protection, and I thought that Akbar and his force were going to escort them. His word had been given, and I did not think he would withdraw it. "I do not think it was his intention to do so. He could have done much more than he did, but he could not have saved the fugitives. The Nawab was alone among the Afghan chiefs in the sincerity of his assurances. Akbar had no influence with the Ghilzye chiefs, and even had he influenced them they could not have restrained their tribesmen and the Ghazees. The die was cast. It was Allah's will that those who had invaded the country without any pretext, dethroned Dost Mahomed, who had eagerly sought their alliance, and forced a man we all hated upon us, should meet their fate. Over and over again we implored Akbar, for the sake of his pledge and his word, to assist your people; even if, in his efforts to do so, he fell, then his name would go down as long as our nation existed as one who died in defence of his oath and his honour. He was all along irresolute. At times he did his best short of attacking the Ghilzyes, at other times he held aloof altogether from the scene. At any rate, I can feel that my honour is not soiled. I was not one of those who signed the treaty, but I have done my best to prevent that treaty from being violated. Had your people sallied out from the cantonments and given us battle, I should have fought against them. But even had there been no treaty, I would not have taken part in the massacre of men who were practically defenceless, and who were in no way responsible for the crime of their government." "I am glad to hear you say so, chief. I should have been grieved indeed had you taken part in so treacherous and terrible a massacre. But how did you learn that I was going to try to make my way down to Jellalabad? That I have never been able to understand." "I kept a watch over you the whole time, my friend. Either Hassan, or one of his men who knew you, was always in the camp, dressed as one of the camp followers." "But even then I cannot imagine how he could have told that I was going. I knew it myself but a few hours before I started, and only Major Pottinger and three or four of my friends were aware of it." "My watch was a good one," the chief said, "and when two Afghans issued from your tent you may be sure the news was quickly brought to the men who had for some days been lying in readiness, and who were prepared to repeat the adventure in the city." Suddenly, to the astonishment of Angus, Azim threw himself on his knees. "Master!" he exclaimed, "you can kill me, but I own that it was I who betrayed you. I had met Hassan in the camp, and he told me that assuredly no white man would escape alive, that it was settled that all should be attacked and slain in the passes. He said that Sadut Khan had resolved to save you, but that to do this with certainty it would be necessary that he should be informed as to your movements, and where you would ride when the army started. He said that unless I helped them it might be impossible to save you. Then I agreed to do so, and met him or one of his men every day. As soon as you had left the tent after telling me of your expedition, I ran to the spot where I knew I should find Hassan, and told him that we were going alone. He said at once that it would be certain death were you to try to go down the pass, and that you must be carried off as soon as you had left the camp. I knew well that you would be greatly angered, and that if you suspected me you would kill me for my treachery; but that was nothing compared to your life, and so I turned traitor to you, and am willing now that you should order me to be taken out and beheaded." Angus held out his hand to his faithful follower. "I should have been angry at first--grieved and angry too, but I cannot be angry now. You did what you believed to be best for me, and I acknowledge that it has turned out so. Your treachery was but an act of fidelity, and undoubtedly was the means of saving my life. You did wrong, but it was with the best intentions. You ought to have confided in me." "But I knew that if I did so you would not have consented." "That is true enough; still, I was the best judge of what was consistent with my honour. However, next to Sadut Khan I owe you my life, and it would be but poor gratitude were I to reproach you. Let us say no more about it. I shall remember always that you saved my life, and shall forget that you somewhat betrayed my trust. I have for four years past regarded you as my friend rather than as my servant, and I shall esteem you even more so in the future." Azim retired with tears of joy in his eyes. Sadut and Angus had a long talk together. As if by mutual consent, the subject of the late events was avoided, and the conversation was upon their journey across the Bamian and Sadut's doings since that time. "I stayed at Khooloom until the governor, whom we had trusted implicitly, handed over Dost Mahomed's family and mine to your people. I happened to be away at the time, and on my return two days later was warned by Hassan of what had taken place. When Dost returned from captivity among the Turkomans, of course I joined him and accompanied him to Kohistan, and fought by his side in the battle of Purwandurrah. The Ameer had said no word even to me of his intention to surrender, and I was thunder-struck when I heard that he had given himself up. I remained there, and took part in the attack on the Ghoorka regiment, at Charekar. After that I returned home. My fortress, as you know, lies far to the west among the Momunds. This place does not belong to me, but to the husband of a sister of mine. She is at present at my place with her husband, who is ill; and as I wished to be nearer to the scene of action, he begged me to use his fort as a residence. I desired to hold myself aloof from the negotiations, as I knew that most of the chiefs were open at any moment to betray the cause for British gold. Still, I was often down in the city, where I own the house to which you were taken. I no longer hated your people as infidels--your kindness to me showed me that there was goodness in your religion as well as in mine--but I was still ready to fight against them as the invaders of my country." "And now, chief, what do you propose to do with me?" "That is for you to decide, my friend. I know what you will say, but, though I may regret it deeply, I shall certainly offer no opposition. You are my guest, and it is not for me to dictate to you. I should be happy if you would stay with me till these troubles have passed, but I place myself wholly at your disposal, whatever you may decide upon." "Thank you, indeed. It is clear to me that if it is in my power I should immediately rejoin our forces." "I was sure that that would be your wish, and I will send you down with a strong escort to Peshawur." "I would rather join Sale at Jellalabad." Sadut Khan shook his head. "In that case," he said, "I shall have rescued you in vain. Sale's force is already besieged, and it will be but a repetition of Cabul. By orders of Akbar Khan, the Ghilzye chiefs have all risen. The town is practically without fortifications, though I hear that the white soldiers have been labouring hard to put the place in a state of defence. But if the army at Cabul could not withstand us, still less will Sale's force, which is only a third of its strength, hold Jellalabad." "You forget, chief, that they are commanded by a man, and not by an utterly incapable person. They are not dispirited by forced inaction or want of food. I do not say that Jellalabad may not be taken, but I feel sure that it will offer a sturdy resistance, and the news of what has happened in the passes will only fill the soldiers with fury. At any rate, Sale's is the only force that remains of the army to which I was attached, and it is there that it is my duty, with your permission, to go. I am sure that were you in my place that would also be your decision." "So be it," Sadut said after a long pause. "Were you to go to Peshawur you might meet your death there also, as doubtless a force will endeavour to relieve Jellalabad, and in that case you would certainly go with them. They will never force their way through the Khyber Pass. From what I hear the Sepoys at Peshawur are almost in a state of mutiny. The Sikhs have sapped their loyalty, and have assured them that they will never be able to force the pass; and when they do move forward they cannot be depended upon to stand by the British troops so that your danger may be as great one way as another. However, Jellalabad is your choice and not mine. The citadel there is strong, and when the town is captured, as it certainly will be soon, the troops can retire there, and may hold out until they make terms and are allowed to return to India." "I do not think they will make terms, Sadut. They have had a terrible lesson as to the manner in which treaties are respected by the greater portion of your chiefs, and are not likely to trust again to any promises, but will hold out until they have fired their last cartridge." "They cannot hope to defend themselves," Sadut said positively. "Akbar Khan will himself head the army." "I do not think, Sadut, that you know yet what a British soldier can do when well led. There has been no great battle fought since we entered Afghanistan, and you must not judge them by the small fights that took place round Cabul; the soldiers there had lost heart and confidence in their commander. It will be a very different thing when you meet them confident in themselves and in their leaders. Believe me, your hosts, however large, do not frighten them. You know how they have overcome many of the best fighting races in India, and that in the teeth of odds as great as can be brought against them here. I say not a word against the courage of your people, but they want discipline and training, and even a host of men fighting each for himself, cannot withstand the charge of well-disciplined soldiers." "Why did they not come up the passes, then, to aid their friends." "Because they were deficient in carriage, they were in a country altogether hostile to them, they had many sick, and must have left a strong force to guard them. There may have been other reasons of which I know not, but these are sufficient. For a force to enter these passes without animals to carry their food and their wounded would have been madness. And I believe that Sale has not more than twelve hundred bayonets, a force sufficient to do wonders in the plains, but which could hardly fight their way up the passes against thousands of good marksmen, as the Afghans assuredly are, armed with guns which carry much farther than their own, and firing in safety behind inaccessible rocks. But whether Jellalabad can resist all attacks, as I believe, or whether the place falls, is a matter which does not affect my resolution. It is my duty to be there, and if you will afford me means of getting there I will assuredly go." "We will start to-morrow, then, and the sooner we are off the better. The news of what has happened in the passes will spread like flame through the country, and every fighting man will turn out to complete the work. There is a pathway from here which goes straight down to Gundamuck. I will ride with you with half a dozen of my followers; there are plenty of ponies on the hills. Certainly no questions will be asked, no suspicions can arise. When we get near Jellalabad we shall see how you can best enter. I will ride round the place with you. As I am a friend of Akbar's, it will be supposed that I am examining the place to see where an attack had best be made. There are many orchards and small villages round. When we are as near the town as we can get, you can slip from your horse as we go through an orchard. Keep under cover in the gardens until close to the walls. When you get within musket-shot you can tie a white cloth to your gun, and you will then be safe." This plan was carried out, and two days later, after a grateful parting from his preserver, Angus stood at the edge of the moat opposite one of the gates. CHAPTER XVII JELLALABAD A sentry had already sent down word that two Afghans had approached carrying a white flag, and an officer appeared on the wall. "What do you want?" he asked. "We want to come in, Thompson. I am Angus Campbell, and have escaped almost by a miracle." There was a shout of pleasure, and a minute later the gate was opened, and Thompson ran out and warmly shook Angus by the hand. "I am delighted to see you," he said. "We all thought you among the slain in the passes. What an awful time it has been since we left Cabul on our way, as we believed, to India! We can scarcely believe the terrible news even now. We have learnt but little from Brydon, who was, he thought, the only survivor, except the hostages who, he tells us, were given over a few days before the end came. He was desperately wounded, and could scarce sit his horse when he arrived, and has been too ill to give us any details." "I can give very little, for I was not with the army. I started the evening before they left camp, on a mission from Pottinger to Sir Robert Sale. Pottinger did not think that any help could possibly come, but at the same time he thought it right to make one more effort to communicate with your general, and to tell him that they were on the point of starting. I had gone but a short distance when I was captured. Fortunately the men who took me were followers of Sadut Khan. I was taken to his fort. He was absent at the time; when he returned he at once gave me my liberty, and escorted me to within a quarter of a mile of the wall, as a return for a service I had rendered him two years ago." "That was a piece of luck indeed. Then you saw nothing of it?" "Yes, I saw a great deal. My captors were, I suppose, anxious to see what was going on, and we followed the course of the army, keeping on the hill; and, except for the fighting at night, I saw almost the whole of the tragedy." While they were talking they were approaching the head-quarters of the general. Angus was well known to Sir Robert, to whom he had often carried messages and notes from Burnes or Macnaghten. When their first greeting was over, he repeated the story he had told Captain Thompson. He thought it best to say no word of his escape being the result of a preconcerted plan on the part of Sadut Khan, as he felt that some might suspect that he was privy to the scheme, and had taken advantage of the friendship of the Momund chief to make his escape. "I am not so surprised as I might otherwise have been," the general said, "since I received a letter from Pottinger yesterday. Akbar had allowed him to send it down, thinking that the information that Elphinstone, Shelton, Lawrence, Mackenzie, and Pottinger himself were all right might induce us to submit to terms. He said, 'I trust that before this you will have heard that we are about to start from Mr. Angus Campbell, who nobly accepted the desperate mission of penetrating through the passes and bringing you word of our intention. Should he have arrived safely, I beg to recommend him most strongly to the authorities for accepting the mission, which seemed almost a hopeless one. He has rendered great service during the time the troops have been in cantonments, by aiding the commissariat officers in bringing in grain.' As you had not arrived we naturally feared that you had been murdered on your way down. I am glad indeed that you have escaped. You will now, of course, give your assistance to Macgregor, our political officer." "If he cannot utilize my services, sir, and he can have but little political work to do now, I shall be glad if you will attach me to one of the regiments where you think I may be most useful." "You had better talk it over with Macgregor first. You know him, of course; and if he does not want you, I will attach you to my own staff. With your knowledge of the Afghan language, your services might be invaluable in obtaining information; or, should we make a sortie--and we have already made one with effect--I should be glad, if you wish it, to attach you either to the infantry or cavalry, whichever you prefer. Now that you have told us about yourself, please give us any details you can of what you saw of the fighting?" "It can hardly be said that there was any fighting, sir; until the last day the troops were so completely surrounded, and I may say overwhelmed by the camp followers, that they were practically unable to use their arms. General Shelton with the rear-guard fought nobly, and covered the retreat into Jugduluk, until the time when he was enticed with the general into Akbar's camp, and there held as a hostage. By what I heard, the handful of men left, only about a hundred and fifty all told, fought desperately to break their way through a barricade with which the Afghans had blocked the top of the pass. Only ten officers succeeded in breaking through, and of these all but one were killed on the road. All the soldiers died fighting at the barricade, and many officers. The last Sepoy had fallen two days before." "It has been a bad business," General Sale said, "bad not only in its terrible result, but in the manner in which affairs were conducted. We here received with astonishment the news that four thousand five hundred British troops were cooped up by a horde of Afghans without one single attempt being made to bring on a battle in the open. Officers and men alike were astounded when Pottinger's first letter arrived, saying that negotiations were continued after the murder of Macnaghten. However, all this is a matter for future investigation. And now a personal question. Can you tell me how it was that my wife, Lady Macnaghten, and the other ladies, escaped uninjured? I only know from Pottinger that the ladies and children were handed over to the protection of Akbar, and that those who had husbands were also accompanied by them." "The ladies were always kept close behind the advanced guard, sir. As these showed an unbroken front, the Afghans allowed them to pass without opposition, falling upon the confused mass behind them." "Do you think that Akbar was a sharer in this treacherous attack?" "I think his conduct was doubtful in the extreme, sir. He certainly did try more than once to persuade the Ghilyze chiefs to allow the survivors to pass on unmolested, but by that time the passions of the Afghans were absolutely beyond control. I myself have great doubts whether he would have interfered had he not been well aware that his interference would be useless. But this is only my opinion, based upon the facts, that in the first place he himself shot Macnaghten, whom he had invited to a conference; in the second place, he took no step whatever to carry out the condition to supply baggage animals and provisions; and lastly, because I know that long before the column set out on its march, he sent out orders to the Ghilzye chiefs to attack you." "The case certainly looks very black against him," the general said; "but at least we may hope that, as his family are in our hands in India, he will protect the hostages." "I hope, sir, that he will hand them over to the Nawab, who appears to me to be a thoroughly honest man. Undoubtedly he did his best to persuade the chiefs to agree to the treaty with us. He certainly did send in some provisions to the camp, and generally we formed a high opinion of his kindness of heart. Your fortifications are stronger than I expected to find them, from what I have heard, sir." "Yes, the men have worked incessantly at them ever since we came here. The mud walls can scarcely be said to have existed when we marched in. There was no parapet, the ditch was filled in with rubbish, and the walls had so crumbled away that carts could cross over them at almost every point. Fortunately the men were in good heart, and all, Europeans and Sepoys, have worked with an energy beyond praise. The moat has been cleared out and filled with water, the walls have been scarped, and a parapet twelve feet high erected. The bastions have been put in order; and though, had we been seriously attacked at first, we must have retired to the citadel, we are now ready to withstand any assault." Angus next went to Macgregor, who received him most warmly. "I am glad indeed to see you, Campbell. Pottinger mentioned you in his reports as doing invaluable service with Boyd and Johnson. You will not find much in our line here. When the sword is once drawn, there is nothing for us to do until it becomes a question of our dictating terms, a contingency not likely to arise for some time." "Had you hard fighting to get here?" Angus asked. "No fighting at all. As we marched down from Gundamuck, the natives all supposed that we were on our way to Peshawur, and when we suddenly turned and marched towards the city, it was too late for them to think of resistance, and they simply bolted on one side of the town as we marched in on the other. We were bitterly disappointed when we saw the state of the walls, and it was a question for some time whether we should not content ourselves with holding the citadel only. But it was at last determined, for a time at least, to hold the town, as our retirement to the citadel would look like weakness. Another consideration was, that once in the citadel we should be shut up entirely, for, as you see, it stands in the middle of the town, and with the streets crowded with the enemy, there would be no getting out to obtain provisions. "The result has proved the wisdom of the step we took. The walls are now strong enough to be obstinately defended, and from their extent we have been able to sally out at one gate or another and bring in provisions. We had but two days' food when we arrived here; now we have succeeded in gathering in a sufficient quantity to keep the troops on half rations for two months, and I hope that before it is finished we shall be relieved from Peshawur. We gave the natives a handsome thrashing on the day before we got in here. They attacked us in great force, trying especially to carry off our baggage, but the infantry repulsed them splendidly. However, they came on to renew the attack. The cavalry were placed in ambush, and the troops, after at first advancing, suddenly wheeled round and went off at the double. The enemy, believing that they had achieved a great victory, rushed after them. As soon as they reached an open space, the cavalry fell upon them. For months they had been inactive, being of no use among the hills. Now was their chance, and in a moment they were in the thick of the Afghans. They made terrible havoc among them, and thus it was that we were able to enter the town without further trouble. The next day, the 13th of November, Broadfoot was appointed garrison engineer. He had a small corps of sappers with him, and they soon set to work. "On the morning of the 16th, the enemy were thick in the gardens round the town, the principal body being on the hillside. It was resolved to give them another lesson. They were, as could be seen from the highest point in the city, some five thousand strong, and Colonel Monteith of the 35th Bengal Infantry, took out eleven hundred men at daybreak. The advance was covered by the guns which had been mounted on the walls, and their shrapnel soon drove the enemy into the open. The infantry pressed forward and scattered them, and the cavalry completed their rout. It was this defeat that so cowed them for a time, that I was able to fetch in grain, sheep, firewood, and other necessaries. I may mention that I took upon myself, as soon as we came in here, the post of commissariat officer. It was not until the end of the month that they again mustered in force sufficient to attack us; they contented themselves with hovering round and keeping up a desultory fire. "On the 1st of December, however, they gathered in great numbers, and seemed to threaten an attack. Colonel Dennie commanded this time, and he took out the greater portion of the garrison and a couple of guns. It was noon when he sallied out. Abbot's guns commenced the action by pouring a tremendous fire of grape into the thick mass. They fled in wild confusion; the cavalry cut them up terribly, and the infantry overtook and bayoneted many of them. It could scarcely be called a fight. The day was won directly the guns opened fire, and we did not lose a single man. Since that time they have not ventured to attack us. "News came day after day of the terrible mess at Cabul. The news was kept as far as possible from the troops, so as not to discourage them; but, of course, since Brydon came in, the truth of the terrible massacre had to be told. I am happy to say that, although filling them with wrath and indignation, it has in no way abated their spirit. During the six weeks' rest we have had since the battle of the 1st of December, we have, as you see, really done wonders in the way of fortification, and consider that we are in a position to repulse any attack however formidable." "When do you expect that a relief column will arrive from Peshawur?" "That is a grave question which I cannot answer. Our last news was that Brigadier-general Wyld was on the point of advancing, but from the tone in which he wrote he had evidently no great hope of success. His four Sepoy regiments had been corrupted by the Sikhs, who, having themselves a great repugnance to enter the passes, had endeavoured, and successfully, to inspire the Sepoys with the same feeling. The Sikhs, who were to co-operate with him, were themselves in a state of open mutiny, and threatened to kill General Avitable if he interfered with them. He intended, however, to advance, as the case was so urgent, but with little hope of success. He was without cavalry, and had but two guns on Sikh carriages, which would probably break down after a few rounds had been fired. It was the letter of a brave man surrounded with difficulties, but ready to attempt almost the impossible to bring aid to us. I fear, however, that there is little chance of our relief until reinforcements from India reach Peshawur." This opinion was justified when, on the 28th, news was brought that the movement had failed. On the 15th Colonel Moseley had started under cover of night with the 53rd and 64th native regiments to occupy the fortress of Ali Musjid, which had been held by a small corps of men of one of the native tribes under Mr. Mackeson. They had been true to their salt, and had resisted every attack of the Afridis. Moseley's force arrived there at daybreak, and met with but little opposition on the way. But it was discovered that, owing to some blunder, only fifty supply bullocks had been sent on instead of three hundred and fifty that should have accompanied the force. Therefore, instead of having a month's provisions, they had but enough for a few days. Brigadier Wyld started on the morning of the 19th to relieve them, but on the preceding day the Sikh troops refused to enter the pass and marched back to Peshawur. Nevertheless, Wyld determined to press forward with the two native regiments. As soon, however, as the enemy attacked them the Sepoys at the head of the column wavered and opened an aimless fire. In vain the Brigadier and the officers endeavoured to persuade them to advance. They would not move forward, nor would the rest of the troops advance to their assistance. The two guns broke down after a round or two, and what little spirit remained among the Sepoys evaporated at once, and the column had to fall back. One of the guns was spiked and left behind, the Sepoys refusing to make any effort to bring it off. The Brigadier, who with several of our officers was wounded, saw that it was impossible to persevere, and the force fell back beyond the pass. Moseley could obtain no news, and was unaware of the repulse of the relieving column. Although the troops were on half rations supplies were nearly exhausted. The water was bad, and numbers of the Sepoys fell ill, and on the 23rd he determined to evacuate the fortress. Two officers volunteered to hold it, but the Sepoys would not support them, and the former native garrison had lost heart; so, on the 24th, the force marched out. The Afridis mustered strongly to oppose the retreat. The Sepoys, animated now by the hope of safety, fought well. Two British officers were killed, most of the baggage lost, and some of the sick and wounded had to be abandoned, but the main body got through safely. Such was the news that was brought by a native in our pay, together with a letter from Brigadier Wyld saying that it would be impossible to renew the attempt until reinforcements of at least one British regiment with some guns arrived. But the news that help was still far distant in no way discouraged the garrison of Jellalabad, who redoubled their efforts to strengthen the fortifications and to prepare by their own unaided efforts for the worst. At Peshawur Wyld's repulse bore the natural consequences. The discontent among the Sepoy's increased, many deserted, and expressions of determination never to enter the pass again were common among them. Sickness broke out, and when on the 25th of February General Pollock, who had been selected to command the force gathered there, and invested with full authority on all other matters, arrived, he found a thousand men in hospital; a week later the number was increased to eighteen hundred. No better man than Pollock could have been chosen. He possessed at once great firmness, kindness of heart, and a manner calculated to inspire confidence. He declared to the central authorities at once that, even with the brigade which had come up with him, to advance up the pass would be to court another defeat. The four Sepoy regiments that had been engaged could, in their present state, not be counted on for service, and the force at his disposal was therefore no greater than that which Wyld had lost. He set to work in the first place to restore confidence. It was a difficult task. Many even among the officers had become affected with the spirit of defection, and did not hesitate to express their opinion that an advance through the Khyber Pass would involve a repetition of the Cabul disaster. The new Sepoy regiments were at once visited by emissaries from those of Wyld's brigade and from the Sikhs, who endeavoured in every way to persuade them also to refuse to enter the pass, and succeeded in the case of the 26th native regiment, who joined the four other battalions in refusing to advance. On the day after his arrival General Pollock visited all the hospitals, enquired into the ailments of the sick, and talked encouragingly to them. Then he went to the Sepoy regiments, enquired into the cause of their discontent, and exhorted them to return to their duty, and not to bring disgrace upon regiments that had so many times in the past proved their courage and loyalty. His task was a hard and difficult one, but his method of mildness and firmness combined gradually restored their spirits and discipline; and the knowledge that reinforcements were on their way, with a good proportion of European troops, including cavalry and artillery, greatly aided his efforts. Still, until these reinforcements arrived, Pollock could do nothing but reply to the urgent letters of Sale and Macgregor by pointing out his inability to move. On the 19th of February Angus was with Macgregor on the walls of Jellalabad. The men were as usual working hard and steadily, grateful in the thought that their long labour had borne its fruits, and that in a few days they would be able to lay by their picks and shovels, the work that they had been set to do having been accomplished. "Another week," Captain Havelock, who was acting as Persian interpreter to Macgregor, said to Angus, "and the whole work which Broadfoot traced out will be finished. In one respect I am sorry that it should be so, for there is nothing like active work for keeping men's spirits up and preventing them from feeling the effects of idleness. I think--" and he stopped abruptly. There was a sudden tremor of the earth and a deep sound like thunder, then they were both thrown off their feet. The walls, the houses, the whole city, swayed and shook. Then came the crash of falling houses, wild shouts of alarm and pain; the earth crumbled beneath them, and they rolled down together into the moat. On finding that they were unhurt they scrambled up the slope of earth. A terrible sight presented itself. A third of the buildings in the town had fallen. But this was not the worst. Several of the bastions had been destroyed; almost all the parapets were thrown down; several great breaches were made in the wall, one of them eighty feet in length; and the moat had in many places been filled up with the debris of the wall and parapet. The soldiers were extricating themselves or helping their comrades from the earth that had almost overwhelmed them; others were standing gazing with a dazed air at the destruction that had been wrought. "We had better go to head-quarters," Havelock said, "and see what has happened there." They made their way with difficulty through the ruins that blocked the streets. The movements of the earth still continued, and they had all they could do to keep their feet. On reaching head-quarters they found to their satisfaction that all was safe. The general and Macgregor had both been occupied in writing despatches to Peshawur, and had rushed out into the little courtyard of the house. The offices round it fell in ruins at their feet, but the dwelling-house, although it swayed to and fro, did not fall. Enquiries were at once set on foot, when it was found that no lives had been lost among the garrison, although two natives had been killed by the fall of their houses. No time was lost. The whole of the garrison were told off into working parties, and in half an hour were diligently at work repairing the wall at the most important points. They worked until late at night, by which time the breaches were scarped, the rubbish all cleared away, and the ditches dug out again, while a parapet of gabions was erected along the great breach. A parapet was erected on the remains of the bastion which flanked the approach to the Cabul gate, that had been entirely ruined, a trench had been dug, and a temporary parapet raised on every bastion round the place. Never, probably, was so much work accomplished by an equal number of men in the same time. Day after day the work was continued, until by the end of the month the parapets were restored, the breaches built up, the rampart increased in thickness, every battery re-established, and the gates entrenched; and yet the troops were in hourly anxiety that their work might be again destroyed, for during the month succeeding the great earthquake fully a hundred shocks were felt. So extraordinary was the vigour with which the repairs had been accomplished, that when Akbar Khan moved down with his forces early in March and saw the formidable defences, he and his followers were unable to understand it, and declared that the preservation of Jellalabad from destruction must have been the result of witchcraft, for no other town or village had escaped. While at work the garrison had been in constant expectation of attack, for Akbar's army lay but a few miles from the town. But the success of the two sorties had shown the Afghan leader that he had very different foes to deal with from the dispirited force that had been annihilated in the passes. Here were men ready to work and to fight, while those at Cabul had done neither; and he resolved to attempt to starve them out, hoping for the same success as had attended a similar step at Cabul. He kept on, therefore, drawing in more closely, harassing the foraging parties, and having occasional skirmishes with the bodies of cavalry sent out to protect the grass-cutters. On the night of the 10th the enemy threw up sangars, small defences of earth or stone, at many points round the town, and from behind them opened a brisk fire. There was a report that behind these shelters they were mining towards the walls, and a strong party of infantry and cavalry, with two hundred of Broadfoot's sappers, commanded by Colonel Dennie, were sent out. As they poured out through the gate, Akbar advanced with his forces; but the guns on the ramparts received them with a heavy fire, and although they came on several times as if prepared to give battle, they eventually drew back, unable to withstand the storm of shot and shrapnel. The working parties of sappers set to work to destroy the sangars, and in doing so discovered that there was no foundation for the report that the enemy were mining. When the work was done, the troops began to fall back to the town, as ammunition was beginning to run short. On seeing their retirement the Afghans again advanced; but on our troops halting and facing them, they at once turned and fled, having lost considerably by our artillery and musketry fire. Dennie's force sustained no loss in killed, but Broadfoot was wounded, and the loss of his services as engineer was serious. Time passed quietly. The whole of the ground had been cleared of trees, houses, and walls for some distance round the town, and the Afghans were no longer able to crawl up under shelter and keep up a galling fire on our men. Early in April a messenger brought in news that Pollock had now received his reinforcements, and would advance in a day or two, the Sepoys having recovered their health and spirits. His force had been joined by the 9th Foot, the 3rd Dragoons, nine guns, and the 1st Native Cavalry. On the 5th these started from Jumrood. Brigadier Wyld commanded the advance guard, General M'Caskill the rear. Two columns of infantry were to scale the height on either side of the pass, Major Davis in command of that on the right, Colonel Moseley of that on the left. At three o'clock in the morning they started. The heights on either side and the pass were crowded with the enemy, who were always well informed of the British movements by the natives in the town. They expected that the force would all move along the road, and anticipated an easy success. The two flanking parties moved off so quietly in the dim light of the morning that they were not perceived by the enemy until they began to scale the heights. Then a lively combat began, and the Afghans learned for the first time that even among their own hills the British could beat them. The difficulties of the ascent were great, but the _moral_ of the Sepoys was now completely restored, and they stormed the heights on either side with great gallantry, driving the Afghans before them. While this was going on, the main column in the valley had cleared away a formidable barricade that had been erected at the mouth of the pass, and which could not have been destroyed without much loss had the Afghans maintained their position on the hills. Pollock now advanced, and the Afghans, who had assembled in large numbers at the mouth of the pass, bewildered at finding themselves outflanked, fell back, and the column with its great convoy of animals moved forward. The number of draught animals was very large, although the baggage of the advancing force had been cut down to the narrowest dimensions, in order that provisions and ammunition for the garrison at Jellalabad might be taken on. The march occupied the greater part of the day. The heat was great, and the troops suffered from thirst; but animated by their success, they thought little of this, and before nightfall bivouacked round Ali Musjid, whose garrison had evacuated the place when they saw that the day had gone against them. All night long the Afghans kept up a fire from among the hills, but did not attempt an attack. The Sikhs had joined the main body, as the general, doubtful as to their fidelity, had sent them by another pass. The general's estimate of them was not a mistaken one. They were left to occupy Ali Musjid and guard the pass, but shortly after the army had moved on they quitted the position and marched away, seizing some of the baggage animals on their way up, and, throwing their loads on the ground, employing them to carry their own baggage. The crushing and altogether unexpected defeat that the tribesmen had suffered had its effect. They had found themselves beaten at their own game and withdrew at once to their fastnesses, and Pollock's force marched on without meeting with any serious opposition. CHAPTER XVIII THE ADVANCE ON CABUL The garrison of Jellalabad found themselves pressed for provisions at the end of March, and on the 1st of April made a gallant sortie, and swept into the town a flock of five hundred sheep and goats. On the 5th Macgregor's spies brought in news from Akbar's camp that it was reported there that Pollock had been beaten with great loss in the Khyber Pass, and on the following morning Akbar's guns fired a royal salute in honour of the supposed victory. Sale, now confident of the fighting powers of his men, determined to make a great effort to break up the blockade; as if Pollock had really been defeated it would be some time before relief could come to them, and they could not hope again to make such a capture as that which they had effected on the 1st. A council of war was held, and action was decided upon, as success would not only free them from all apprehensions of being starved out, but would effect a diversion in favour of Pollock. The force was but a small one for the enterprise which they moved out to undertake. The centre column, consisting of the 13th Regiment, mustering five hundred bayonets, was under the command of Colonel Dennie; the right, consisting of some three hundred and fifty men of the two native regiments and a detachment of sappers, was commanded by Captain Havelock; the left column was about the same strength, under Lieutenant-colonel Monteith; the light field battery and a small cavalry force were to support them. They advanced from the city at daylight on the 7th. Akbar Khan drew up his force, six thousand strong, before his camp, his right resting on a fort, and his left on the Cabul river. Havelock's column commenced the fight by attacking the enemy's left, while Dennie advanced to the assault of the fort, which was vigorously defended. Dennie himself fell mortally wounded by an Afghan ball, but his men captured the place in gallant style. A general attack now took place on Akbar's camp. The artillery advanced at a gallop, and poured their fire into the Afghan centre, the 13th and Colonel Monteith's column pierced their right, while Havelock drove back their left from the support afforded by the river. The Afghans fought sturdily, their musketry keeping up a heavy fire, and large bodies of horse again and again threatened Havelock's column, while three guns from a hidden battery opened fire. The struggle, however, was a short one. Their cannon were taken, every position held by them was captured, and by seven o'clock they were in full retreat. Two cavalry standards were taken, four guns lost by the Cabul and Gundamuck forces were recaptured, a vast quantity of ordnance stores destroyed, and the whole of the enemy's tents burnt. The loss of the Afghans had been heavy, and several chiefs were among the fallen. The loss of the victors was small indeed. Colonel Dennie and ten Sepoys were killed, three officers and some fifty men wounded. A day or two later Pollock's force reached Jellalabad, and the joy of both parties was great. Indeed, no stronger contrast can be found than that between the leading and conduct of the force at Cabul and that at Jellalabad. The one showed the British leader and the British soldier at their worst, the other the British commander and men at their best. It may be confidently affirmed that had Sale been in the place of Elphinstone, with full power of action, the fight in the passes would never have taken place, and within three days of the murder of Burnes the Afghan host would have been a mob of fugitives, and Cabul would have been in our hands. The British soldier is always best in the attack. He is ready and eager to fight against any odds, but when kept in a state of inaction, under a commander in whom he has lost all confidence, he speedily deteriorates. Happily there are few examples in our military history such as those of Cabul and Walcheren, where the British soldier has been placed in such a position. While Pollock was forcing the Khyber Pass the reign of Shah Soojah came to a sudden end. After the departure of the British no hostility was shown towards him by the Afghans, and he continued at the Bala Hissar in the position of nominal sovereign of Afghanistan the Nawab having willingly resigned the difficult and dangerous post and accepted that of wuzeer. He himself had his troubles. Most restless and dangerous of these Afghan leaders was Aneen-oollah-Khan, who had played fast and loose with the British while secretly working against them. He demanded the surrender to him of the hostages. The Nawab steadily refused, and as threats of force were used against him, raised a body of three thousand men for their protection. These, however, were corrupted by Aneen, but the Nawab remained faithful to his trust. On the 4th of April Shah Soojah left the Bala Hissar with his retinue to go down to join Akbar Khan. An ambush was laid for him by one of the sons of the Nawab. These poured in a volley, and Shah Soojah fell dead, shot through the head. The Nawab was filled with horror at the deed, and swore an oath never again to see his son beneath his roof or suffer him to be named in his presence. While Jellalabad was being besieged, the situation at Candahar had been precarious. Ghuznee had been captured by the tribesmen after a gallant defence, and its garrison had been massacred. Kelat-i-Ghilzye was besieged, and without hope of succour. Candahar was surrounded by the insurgent Dooranees, but these had been twice defeated by General Nott. During one of these expeditions the city was in imminent danger, for the enemy, gradually retiring, drew the sortie-party a considerable distance from the walls, and then at night slipped away and attacked the place. One of the gates was destroyed by fire, and for many hours the issue of the contest was doubtful. At last, however, the assailants were beaten off with very heavy loss. A force marching up to the relief of the town, under General England, being very badly handled, were opposed on their way up from Quettah, and fell back and remained there until Nott sent a peremptory order for them to advance again. He himself marched to meet them, and on the united force arriving at Candahar, the town was placed beyond all risk of capture. Nott was preparing to march on Cabul, while Pollock advanced on Jellalabad; but, to the stupefaction and disappointment of all, an order arrived from Calcutta for the abandonment of Candahar and the return of the force to India. There had been a change of governors. Lord Ellenborough had succeeded Lord Auckland, and immediately set to work to overthrow the whole policy of his predecessor. Similar orders were sent to Pollock. The latter, however, mindful of the honour of his country, and the safety of the hostages and ladies, replied that, being almost without carriage, it would be impossible for him to retire at once, thus gaining time, which he utilized by entering into negotiations with Akbar Khan for the release of their prisoners. Both generals wisely kept the order they had received a secret from the troops, who would have been profoundly disheartened. However, no secret had been made as to the orders issued in Calcutta, and the news soon spread all over India, and reached Pollock's camp, that the army was to be withdrawn. Pollock did his best to throw doubts upon the truth of the reports by marking out a new camp two miles in advance, and arranging with the natives to bring in supplies there, so as to give grounds for a belief that, so far from leaving the town, he was preparing for an advance. In the meantime he had written an urgent letter pointing out the evils and difficulties of an immediate withdrawal, and the immense advantage that would arise by striking a heavy blow before retiring, and so to some extent retrieving the reputation of the British army. The letter had its influence, and the governor wrote: _It would be desirable undoubtedly, before finally quitting Afghanistan, that you should have an opportunity of striking a blow at the enemy, and since circumstances seem to compel you to remain there till October, the governor-general earnestly hopes that you will be able to draw the enemy into a position in which you may strike such a blow effectually._ This was good news. Every effort was being made to collect carriage cattle in Hindostan for the purpose of the withdrawal, and Pollock determined to turn these to account. If there was carriage enough to enable him to fall back upon Peshawur, there would be carriage enough for him to advance on Cabul. In the meantime negotiations were going on for the release of the captives. The married families had, on the day of their arrival at Akbar's camp, been placed in a small fort with Pottinger, Lawrence, and Mackenzie. Two days later they were taken down to Jugduluk, where they found General Elphinstone, Brigadier Shelton, and Captain Johnson, and thence travelled down to a fort, the property of the father of Akbar's wife. The party consisted of nine ladies, twenty officers and fourteen children; seventeen European soldiers, two women and a child were confined in another part of the fort. Here they remained three months. Two more officers were brought in, and a month after their arrival two other survivors, Major Griffiths and Captain Souter, were added to the party. On the day after Akbar's defeat they were hastily taken away and carried to Tezeen, and thence to a place called Zanda, far up in the hills. General Elphinstone had been bed-ridden for some weeks, and was left behind at Tezeen, where he died. Akbar Khan sent in his remains to Jellalabad. Civil war was raging in Cabul. Shah Soojah's second son had succeeded him, but he was altogether without power. Some of the chiefs supported him, others opposed; but finally the Bala Hissar was stormed by Akbar, who was now the most powerful chief in Afghanistan. Pollock was still harassed by letters from Lord Ellenborough insisting upon his retiring; but public opinion throughout India was so opposed to a course that would bring the deepest disgrace upon the British power, that at last, in August, he wrote to Nott saying that he must withdraw his force from Afghanistan, but that if he chose he might take the route through Ghuznee and Cabul. He similarly issued his orders for Pollock to retire, but added that "you will be at liberty to first march to Cabul to meet Nott." Both had been preparing for the movement. Pollock had sent several expeditions against hostile tribesmen, and had recovered one of the captured guns. On the 20th of August he left Jellalabad with eight thousand troops, and on the 23rd reached Gundamuck. The next day the village was cleared of a strong body of the enemy. While concentrating his troops there and waiting intelligence from Nott, the British force remained at Gundamuck till the 7th of September. On the 1st, Futteh Jung, who had succeeded his father, rode into camp. Akbar Khan had stripped him of all power and all his wealth, and imprisoned him in the Bala Hissar, from which he had now escaped, and with much difficulty made his way to Pollock's camp to seek the protection of the British government. On the 7th the first division of the army, under the command of Sale, moved forward; the second division, under General M'Caskill, marched on the following day. Sale found the hills commanding the roads through the Jugduluk Pass occupied by large bodies of the enemy, who opened a heavy fire. The guns replied, and the infantry then in three columns dashed up the hills and drove the Ghilzyes from them. One strong body had taken refuge at an apparently inaccessible point, but the British storming party scaled the height, and the enemy fled without waiting for the assault at close quarters. Thus on the hills where the Afghans had massacred Elphinstone's troops they were now taught that, if well led, the British soldier could defeat them in a position they had deemed impregnable. At Tezeen the second division joined the first. The force halted for a day, and the Afghans, believing that this betokened indecision, mustered their forces for a final engagement. Akbar had, as he had threatened to do if they advanced, sent off the captives to the Bamian Pass, with the intention of selling them as slaves to the Turkomans. On the 13th the two armies were face to face. The valley of Tezeen was commanded on all sides by lofty hills, and these now swarmed with men. The enemy's horse entered the valley, but the British squadrons charged them, drove them in headlong flight, and cut down many. The infantry climbed the hills on both sides under a terrible fire from the Afghan guns. To these they made no reply, well knowing that their muskets were no match for the long firearms of the enemy. As soon, however, as they reached the summit, they fixed bayonets and charged with a mighty cheer. Only a few of the enemy stood their ground, and fell, the rest fled. All day firing was kept up, until at last the enemy occupying the highest ridges were, in spite of a sturdy resistance, driven off, fairly beaten on their own ground and in their own style of warfare. Our troops fought with extraordinary bravery. They were animated by a desire to wipe out the disgrace that had fallen on our arms, and were maddened by the sight of the numerous skeletons of their comrades in the Jugduluk. Akbar Khan saw that all was up, and fled, while the tribesmen scattered to their homes, and the army marched forward without opposition to Cabul. In the meantime, Nott had been busy. On the 29th of May he inflicted a decisive defeat upon the Dooranees outside the walls of Candahar. On the 7th of August the army evacuated that city, and on the 27th arrived at Mookoor. Up to this point no opposition whatever had been offered. The inhabitants had been friendly, and supplies were obtained without difficulty. But the Afghan governor of Ghuznee had raised all the country, and had taken up a very strong position near the source of the Turnuck. On the 28th the forces met. The position of the enemy was unknown, as a thick mist covered the country. The cavalry rode forward to reconnoitre, cut up a party of Afghan infantry in the plain, and pursuing them hotly came upon hills crowded by the enemy, who opened a heavy fire. They fell back in an orderly manner, when a body of the enemy's horse appeared on the hill above them. A squadron of native cavalry charged them, but were cut up by the fire of a body of Afghan foot who had hitherto been hidden. The enemy's horse poured down, and the troopers, already suffering from the infantry fire, turned and fled. The panic spread, and the whole of the cavalry were soon in flight. Two British officers had been killed and three wounded, and fifty-six men disabled. Nott, on hearing the loss, marched out with his infantry, but on reaching the scene of the fight found that the enemy had retired. On the afternoon of the next day Nott, marching forward, came upon a fort held by the enemy. Our artillery opened upon it with little effect. The Afghan army, some ten thousand strong, had been watching us, and now opened an artillery fire from the heights, and its foot men moved forward to the attack; but as they neared us our infantry charged with a cheer and they broke and fled. Two of their guns, and their tents, magazines, and stores were captured. On the 5th of September Nott encamped before Ghuznee, and began to prepare for the assault. The enemy, however, were in no humour for fighting; the greater portion of the tribesmen had scattered to their homes after their defeat. The garrison lost heart altogether and evacuated the city, and the governor set off with a few followers for Cabul. The next morning the British entered the town without firing a shot. On the following day, however, the governor returned with a large number of the tribesmen who had just arrived, and on the 14th Nott attacked them. A hard battle was fought, but it was indecisive. On the following morning the enemy disappeared; they had received the news of the defeat of Akbar at Tezeen. The column, however, was again harassed when the troops advanced, but they cleared the way in good style. The tribesmen here had been actively engaged in the Cabul insurrection, and twenty-six of their forts were burned as punishment. On the 17th the army encamped four miles from the city, and learned that Pollock had occupied Cabul two days previously. Angus Campbell had taken no part in the operations of that advance. On the 26th of August news had arrived at Gundamuck by a messenger from the moonshee, Mohun Lal, who had throughout kept the force at Jellalabad well supplied with news of what was passing at Cabul; he now sent to say that on the previous day Akbar had despatched all the captives under an escort of three hundred horse to Bamian, and that they were to be taken on to Khooloom, and there handed over to the governor. Once there, it was certain that they would remain in captivity among the tribes until death released them. As soon as he heard the news Angus went to Macgregor. "I am going to ask," he said, "if you will allow me to go on an expedition on my own account. I was thinking that it was just possible that the captives might be overtaken. It is probable that they will halt some time at Bamian, and certainly we could come up to them there. With so many women and children it will be impossible for the convoy to move fast, and they may stay at Bamian until the result of our operations here are known. You have already promised me that the part taken by Sadut Khan shall be forgiven, seeing that he did his best to persuade Akbar to give protection to the retreating army, and also because he showed great kindness to me when I was in his hands. If you can obtain permission from the general I will start at once in disguise for his fort in the mountain. I cannot but think that he will aid me, and I might, with four of his followers, who have come from Bamian, and are personally well known to me, succeed in some way in rescuing at least a few of the captives. Eldred Pottinger, Captain Boyd, and Captain Johnson are all dear friends of mine, and I would willingly run any risk in the endeavour to save them. Possibly, if we overtake the party, we may in some way cause a delay which would enable any rescue party sent off when you reach Cabul to get up in time." "It is a brave offer, Campbell, but the enterprise seems to me an almost desperate one. However, I don't think that I should be justified in refusing it, and I am sure that if anyone could succeed, you will do so. When will you start?" "In ten minutes, sir, if you will furnish me with an authority to offer a bribe to the officer in command of their escort." "I will go and see the general at once. He is well aware, from the report that I have made, of the kindness Sadut showed you, and of his efforts to save our army. I have no doubt that the chief has fought against us in the last battle, but that was only natural. I feel sure that above all things Pollock would embrace any offer that promises the slightest chance of rescuing the hostages, but the risk would be terrible, Campbell." "Of course there would be risk," Angus agreed, "but I do not see how it would be exceptionally great. I have journeyed as an Afghan two or three times already without detection, and I could just as well do so again. At any rate, I am willing to undertake the enterprise. It would, of course, be useful for me to take a considerable sum of money to win over the guard; still more useful if the general would authorize me to offer terms that would tempt the cupidity of the commander, as we have always found that the Afghans are ready to do almost anything for bribes." "I will take you at once with me to the general. He is well acquainted with the services you rendered Pottinger at Herat, and have rendered the army ever since it began its march from the Indus, and he knows the favourable report that has been sent in by Pottinger and Burnes." Angus had, indeed, been introduced by Sir Robert Sale to General Pollock on his arrival at Cabul. On reaching his tent they found him for the moment unoccupied. He listened gravely to Macgregor's statement of the offer that Angus had made. "It is a noble proposal, Mr. Campbell," he said, in his usual kindly and courteous way, "but the risk seems to me terrible, and should anything happen to you, the service would be deprived of one of its most promising and meritorious officers. At the same time, there seems a fair possibility that you may succeed in rescuing one or more of the captives. Of course it would be quite out of the question that any of the ladies could escape. There would be a hot pursuit, and only horsemen well mounted could hope to get off. However, I do not feel justified in refusing any offer that affords a shadow of hope of saving such men as Pottinger, and will do all that Mr. Macgregor suggests to facilitate your operations. You will doubtless pass through Cabul, and I will at once write a letter to Mohun Lal, requesting him to give you authority, in his name as well as mine, for payment to the leader of the prisoners' escort of any sum in reason. At present native opinion is strong that we shall not be able to force the passes, and the name of the moonshee may have greater effect than any promise on my part; but at the same time, until you can get into communication with the captives and learn something of the officer and his disposition, it would be madness to attempt to bribe him. The difficulties of the journey appear to me to be great, but not insuperable. The real difficulty will only begin when you overtake the captives' escort." "I feel that, sir, but I rely greatly upon the men I hope to obtain from Sadut. Although not of his tribe, they have attached themselves most strongly to him. They are strong, resolute men, and as one of them was a petty chief near Bamian, he may be able to gather a few others to aid me. I shall, of course, be very glad to have authority to offer a bribe to the officer in command of the party, but I rely chiefly upon these men and my own efforts, at any rate as far as Pottinger is concerned. Captains Boyd and Johnson can hardly leave their families. Possibly, by the aid of these men, I may be able to collect a sufficient number of fighting men to make a sudden attack upon the escort, and to carry off all the captives to some hiding-place among the hills, and there keep them until you send on a force to bring them in. Of course I must be entirely guided by circumstances, but it is impossible for me to have any fixed plan until I see how matters stand." "I can quite see that, Mr. Campbell, and that, greatly as you may desire to rescue the whole party, it is Eldred Pottinger who is the first object of your expedition." "That is so, colonel. He was most kind to me in Herat, and it is to him I owe my present position; therefore he is my first object. If I can free him it will be a great step gained towards rescuing the others. I feel sure that he would not think for a moment of leaving his companions to their fate. But his name as the defender of Herat is known to every Afghan, and he would be able to bring a great influence to bear upon the tribesmen round Bamian, whose interests must lie quite as much with Herat as with Cabul." The general nodded approvingly. "I see that you have thought matters over well. If you will call here again in half an hour the letter for the moonshee shall be ready for you, and a thousand pounds in gold." At the appointed time Angus called upon the general, and received the money and letter; then returning to his own tent, he rode out with Azim. When fairly away from the camp they dismounted and put on their Afghan disguises. They had brought an orderly with them, who took back the clothes they had discarded and Angus's sword to Macgregor's tent, he having undertaken to have them brought up to Cabul with his own baggage. They had no difficulty as to the way, as the path they had followed with Sadut had come down close to Gundamuck. They had little fear of being interfered with on the road. The Afghans would have gathered in the passes, and should they meet any they would only have to say that their village near Gundamuck had been burnt by the British, and they were now on their way to join Sadut and fight under his orders. Although they saw several parties in the distance making their way towards the pass, they did not encounter any within speaking distance, and just at sunset reached Sadut's fort. They had passed through the village unnoticed. Tribesmen were frequently coming and going, and there was nothing to distinguish them from others. They dismounted in front of the fort. A man was sitting at the top of a ladder, and Angus held up his hand to him, and Hassan--for it was the man who had twice captured him--at once waved his hand in welcome, and stood up. "You have come willingly this time," he said with a smile, as Angus reached him. "Of course you wish to see Sadut Khan. He is within. It is lucky that you have arrived to-day, for to-morrow he sets out." Sadut greeted him with pleasure mingled with surprise. "I did not expect to see you here, my friend." "No, I suppose not, chief; but I am on a mission with which I am sure you will sympathize, and in which I hope you will aid me, so far as to spare me Hassan and his four men." "What is its nature?" the chief asked. "I know that you would not come and offer me English money to abstain from fighting again." "I should not think of such a thing, Sadut. I know that you are a fair and open enemy, and I think the better of you for fighting for your country. I may say that General Pollock has been informed of your kindness to me, and that you did your utmost to make Akbar keep his word to grant protection to the retiring army, and I can assure you that, in any event, no harm will happen to you or yours. I will tell you what I have come for. Do you know that all the hostages, ladies and children, have been sent away by Akbar from Cabul, that they are to be taken over the Bamian Pass to Khooloom, and handed over to the governor there, and that, doubtless, they will be sold as slaves to the Turkomans?" "I had not heard it," Sadut said angrily. "It is a disgrace to us. They were delivered up trusting to our word and honour, and it is a foul deed of Akbar to harm them in any way after taking his oath for their protection. It is infamous! infamous!" and he walked up and down the room in fierce indignation. "What should we say," he burst out, "if the families of Dost Mahomed and Akbar himself were to be sold by your people as slaves to some barbarous race? Could we complain if, when the news of this treatment of the hostages becomes known in India, Dost Mahomed's family should be treated in a similar way?" Then he stopped abruptly. "What is it that you have come to ask of me? The thing is done, and cannot be undone. Akbar and I are ill friends now, for I have bearded him in the council and denounced his conduct. Certainly I have no influence that could assist you. I am an Afghan, and am pledged to join the force that will oppose the march of your troops up the passes, and I am a man of my word. But even were I free to help you, I could be of little assistance. I have here not more than thirty or forty fighting men, and I doubt if even these would obey me on such an enterprise. I might ride to my own fort and summon the Momunds, whom I have so far kept quiet; but the enterprise would be a desperate one, we should set all the other tribes against us, and they would not risk destruction merely for the sake of rescuing a few white men and women. Their sympathies are all with the tribes round Cabul, and they share in their hatred of the infidel invaders. It would be as much as I could do to keep them quiet, and certainly I should fail if I called upon them to embark on such an enterprise." "I have no intention of asking it of you, chief. I am going myself to see what can be done to save my friends, and have come to ask you to allow Hassan and his men to go with me. They are from Bamian, and at Bamian it is likely that the captives will be kept for some time. I should, of course, pay them well for their aid." "You can take them," the chief said at once. "They are good men and faithful to me, and I rely upon them as I could not do on any of my own tribesmen. I will call them in at once." Hassan and his four men entered the room a minute later. "Hassan," Sadut said, "you and your men have proved yourselves true and faithful followers from the day when you left your homes to carry me over the passes, although you all thought that there was no hope of our getting through. You have fought by my side in Kohistan; you twice at my orders carried off my friend here. He appreciates the service you did him, and is in sore need of five men upon whom he can rely to the utmost. He has come to ask me to let you go with him. A sore disgrace has fallen upon our nation. Akbar Khan has sent the men who placed themselves in his hands as hostages, and the women whom he swore to protect, over the Hindoo Koosh to be sold as slaves to the Usbegs. My word has been given to fight against the army of Gundamuck if it attempts to ascend the passes, and I at least will keep faith. This British officer is going to attempt to free some of the captives. How he will do so I know not, but my best wishes will go with him. He thinks it likely that the escort of the prisoners will halt for some little time at Bamian, and you more than any others might therefore be able to help. I do not order you to go, but I ask you to do so. It is a good work, and concerns the honour of every Afghan." "And moreover," Angus said, "I will pay a thousand rupees to you, and five hundred to each of your followers. I will hand them over to you at once, and if we are successful I will pay you as much more." The sum was a huge one in their eyes. It would suffice to settle them in comfort for the rest of their lives. Hassan looked at his men, and saw by the expression of their faces that they were more than willing to accept the offer. He held out his hand to Angus, "We are your servants," he said, "and will serve you truly, and if needs be, lay down our lives for you, not only for the sake of the money you offer us, but because Sadut Khan has told us that for the honour of the nation these people ought to be released. We have been comrades in danger before, and were nigh dead when you rescued us when buried in the snow. I see not how this enterprise can be carried out; but we will do what you tell us, and men cannot do more. When do we start?" "Every hour is of consequence," Angus replied. "Can you find your way across the mountains in the dark? if so, we will start at once." "I certainly can find the way." "You must all have a meal first," Sadut said. "Besides, you will need horses. They shall be brought in and got ready for you in an hour. See that the English officer's horses have a good feed, and that his servant eats with you. The food will be ready in half an hour." No time was lost, and in an hour and a half after the arrival of Angus at the fort the party set out. Fortunately the moon was nearly full, and Hassan had so frequently gone down to Cabul from the fort that he had no difficulty whatever in following the track. This in many places was so steep that all had to dismount and lead their horses down. However, they reached Cabul an hour before sunrise, and all lay down in an empty hut for three or four hours' sleep. Then Angus, with Hassan and three of his men, entered the town, leaving Azim and the other man to look after the horses. As there were numbers of tribesmen in the streets, they attracted no attention whatever. Proceeding to the house of the moonshee, Angus enquired if Mohun Lal was in. "He is busy. He does not grant audiences till ten o'clock." Angus moved away and returned at half-past nine. Already five or six persons were waiting to see the moonshee, and by ten the number had considerably increased. It was eleven before Angus's turn arrived. The moonshee was alone. Angus took out his letter and handed it to him. He knew Mohun Lal well, having often taken communications to him from Burnes. The Afghan read the letter, and looked up in surprise. "You are well disguised indeed, sahib," he said, rising, "for, often as I have seen you before, I did not recognize you in the slightest, but thought it was, as usual, an Afghan peasant with complaints to make against plunderers. So you have undertaken the dangerous mission of endeavouring to rescue some of the prisoners. Truly you English have courage thus to thrust yourself into the midst of enemies, and on such a mission. However, I will do what I can to help you. I do not say that it is altogether hopeless, for I know my man; the commander of the escort is Saleh Mahomed. He is an adventurer, and has served under many masters. He was at one time a subaltern in one of your native regiments, but deserted with his men to Dost Mahomed just before the fight at Bamian. Such a man might be bought over, but not cheaply." "General Pollock said he left the sum to be offered to him entirely to you." Mohun Lal thought for some time, and then said: "I should say that a pension of a thousand rupees a month, and a present of thirty thousand would tempt him as much as a larger sum. It would, I think, be best for you to disguise yourself now as a Cashmerian. You know Syud Moorteza?" "I know him well," Angus said; "he helped Captain Johnson to collect grain from the villages." "It would be as well for you to use his name. As an Afghan, Saleh might doubt you. Altogether, it would be more likely that a man who may be considered a neutral should be employed on such a mission, and the offer to sell goods would make an opening. Of course you could take the dress you now wear with you in case of necessity. It would be too dangerous for me to give you a letter, for if Saleh, when you opened the subject to him, at once ordered you to be arrested, it would certainly be found on you, and would cost me my life. You will require to take a small escort with you, or you might be robbed at the first place you come to." "I have five men with me," Angus replied. "They come from Bamian; one of them is a petty chief there, and might, if I find that Saleh cannot be approached, persuade or bribe some of the people there to aid." "I fear you would not succeed in that way. Saleh had, I believe, two hundred and fifty men with him. I suppose you will start at once?" "Our horses are outside the town, and we shall mount as soon as I return to them." "I wish you good fortune. There are many Afghans who feel deeply the disgrace Akbar has brought upon himself, and upon all of us, by breaking his plighted word." Taking leave of the moonshee, Angus joined his companions, and after having bought in the bazaar a costume suitable for a trader from Cashmere, and two bales of goods from that country, left the city. CHAPTER XIX THE BRITISH CAPTIVES "Why are you going as a Cashmerian?" Hassan asked. "I thought that you were going in the disguise that you now have on." "I had intended to, Hassan; but Mohun Lal suggested that as a trader I should have more chance of going among the escort than as an Afghan, and I see that this would be so. And, moreover, as Afghans can enter into fellowship with the men of the escort better than I can, and as you come from Bamian, no doubt would arise as to the truth of your story, namely that, having been absent for more than two years from home, you were anxious to get home, and that as this trader had offered you money to serve as his escort it was a good opportunity for you to return." Hassan nodded. "That makes a good story of it, certainly." The change of disguise was made, two ponies were purchased to carry the bales of goods and provisions for the journey, and they then started. In buying his goods Angus had only purchased two costly shawls, which he intended as a present for Saleh, or, if he failed with him, for one of the officers under him. With this exception, the bales were filled with trifles such as might tempt the soldiers, and with stuffs which would, he was sure, be very welcome to the ladies, who must, naturally, be in a sore plight for garments, as what baggage they had started with must have been lost in the passes, and they could have had little opportunity of replenishing their wardrobe during their captivity. They travelled rapidly, halting only for a few hours when it was necessary to give their horses a rest. As the ladies were carried in litters, and there was no reason why they should be hurried on their journey, Angus knew that he must be gaining fast upon the captives and their escort, and indeed he reached Bamian only a few hours after them. He put up at a little khan, while Hassan and his men went off to their village to see the families from whom they had been so long separated. Hassan found his wife in undisturbed possession of the little fort, and there was great joy in the village when it was found that he and his men had returned with funds that would enable them to pass the coming winter in comfort, and largely to increase their stock of animals. That evening two or three sheep were killed, and a general feast was held in honour of the return of the chief and his followers. As nothing was talked of in the little town but the arrival of the British captives, Angus had no difficulty in learning that these had been lodged in a little fort close to the place. He did not attempt to open his bales of goods, although several of the people came to him to ask him to do so, for so few traders had visited the place since the troubles began, that the stores had long been empty. There had, too, been a good deal of plundering since the British force there had retired. Angus was obliged to explain that he had only brought a few trifles with him, as his purpose was to buy Turkoman carpets and other goods at Khooloom, and that he had sold off almost all the stock he had brought from Cashmere at Cabul. Leaving Azim at the khan to see that his goods were not stolen, he strolled out. The place was full of the men of the escort, who showed much discontent on finding that neither fruit nor any other of the little luxuries to which they were accustomed could be bought at Bamian. Angus had no difficulty in entering into conversation with some of them. He had brought with him a considerable quantity of good tobacco, and when he produced a pouch and invited them to fill their pipes he at once won their good-will. "How quickly have you come from Cabul? Was there any news when you left there?" "We have travelled fast," he said. "You have had three days' start of us, and I arrived here this afternoon. No, there was no news. They say that the infidels are halting at Gundamuck. The chiefs are gathering in the passes with all their forces, but have not yet moved." "I should have thought that they would have had enough of our passes; they will meet with the same fate as those who tried to go down them." "It should be so," Angus replied. "Who can withstand your people when they are fighting among your own hills? You must have travelled slowly, since we gained three days upon you." "We made very short journeys," the man said. "You see, we were encumbered with these women and children, for whom it must have been rough work, for the nights are already cold. I shall be glad when we get to Khooloom and hand them over to the governor there. But I will say for them that they have borne up bravely. I can tell you that we are all disgusted at having to be making this journey with them instead of taking our share of the spoil that will be gathered in the passes." "Yes, it must be annoying to brave men to be thus wasting their time when great things are being done, to say nothing of losing their share of the booty to be gathered. Have you a good commander?" "Yes, we have no cause to grumble on that account. Saleh Mahomed is a bold soldier and a cheerful fellow, is not unduly harsh, and as long as we keep our arms in good order, and obey his orders, he asks no questions when one of us comes in with a sheep fastened to his saddle. But there has been no chance of getting anything to help out our rations, for the two or three little villages we have passed since we left the valley are for the most part deserted. There are women there, but the men have not yet come down from the hills with the flocks, and none of us have tasted meat since we started. Saleh Mahomed is a man who has travelled much and seen many things. He was an officer in the English army, but he would not fight against us, and two years ago, when Dost Mahomed with his army came here, he went over to him with his company of Sepoys. He was not a chief, but was a tribesman near the frontier. There are many of them, they say, in the service of the infidels; and he had done well for himself." "I suppose the captive women must be in want of warm clothes. I have not a large stock of goods, but among them are several warm robes, which I would sell cheaply to them, for I wish to clear away my remaining stock, as I intend to buy Turkoman carpets at Khooloom and Balkh; and besides these I have some stuff which doubtless the women here would buy to make garments for the children. Think you that Saleh would let me traffic with them?" "That I could not say; but if you have anything in your pack that would please him he might perhaps let you do so. You seem a good fellow, if you like I will take you to him to-morrow morning." "Thank you for your offer. When I meet you I will have a pound of good tobacco, which I shall beg you to accept." "I will be here. I shall be one of the guards to-night round the fort, but shall be free in the morning." "Does Saleh Mahomed sleep there?" "No, it is a miserable and dirty place. He lodges at the house of the headman there." Early in the morning Hassan came down to the khan. "Now, sahib, you have only to tell us what you want us to do, and you can rely upon us." "For the present there is nothing. I am going to see Saleh Mahomed this morning, and try to get permission to sell some of my goods to the captives. I may then be able to learn something of his disposition towards them, and how he behaved to them during the journey. It is important that I should know this before giving him the message from the moonshee." "It would be well to do so, master; but from what I hear the moonshee has been negotiating with many of the chiefs, who are willing enough to take his money, but who do not carry out their part of the bargain. However, I have not heard that any of them have denounced him. He is always considered to be the chief agent of the English, but as he spends English gold freely, and as it is well to have some one in Cabul through whom negotiations could be entered into with them, no one interferes with him." "The only thing that you can do for the present is to go round among your friends, talk to them about the captives, and say that it is a disgrace that they should be sent as captives among the Usbegs after having received promises of protection, and having willingly submitted themselves as hostages. Of course you will do it carefully; but if you can create a feeling in their favour, and make them afterwards win over a portion of the escort, something might be done. Of course you can say, and truly, that Sadut Khan, Dost Mahomed's nephew by marriage, is most indignant at this breach of faith, and that you believe that many other chiefs share his feeling." "I will set about it at once. The tribesmen here have not the same animosity against the English as those at Cabul. The English troops when they were here behaved well; they took no man's goods without payment, and the tribesmen got better prices for their sheep and cattle than they had ever got before. They care little who rules at Cabul, and it is nothing to them whether it is the Barukzyes or a Dooranee." The next morning Angus met the Afghan soldier. "Here is the tobacco I promised you; it is good stuff." "If it is like that you gave me yesterday, I shall be very content. Now, come with me to Saleh; he is a good fellow if you find him in the humour." The officer was alone when they entered. "Saleh Mahomed," the soldier said, "this is a trader from Cashmere, Syud Moorteza; he will tell you his business. He seems to be a good fellow, and has some excellent tobacco." Having thus introduced Angus he left the room. "What is it that you want with me?" Saleh asked in Persian. Angus replied in the same language, "I am a trader, my lord, and wish to get rid of some of the wares I am carrying. They are but few, as I am going north to purchase and not to sell. I would willingly rid myself of a part of them. Among them are warm dresses and stuffs. I am told that the persons in your charge are but thinly clad, and I doubt not that they would willingly buy these goods of me." The Afghan laughed. "They would willingly have them, no doubt; but as to buying, they are altogether without money. Those who were in charge of them saw to that before they were handed over to me." "I should not mind that, my lord. I have had dealings with Englishmen who have come up to Cashmere, and they generally take a store of shawls and other things back with them to India. We always find that they are true to their word, and we take their orders as willingly as gold--more so, indeed, because the shroffs in India take them anywhere, and it saves our having to send money there for the purchase of goods in India. Thus, then, if they gave me orders on their people at Calcutta or Bombay, I would more willingly accept them than gold, which is a dangerous commodity to carry." "But you say that you are going to purchase goods." "That is so, my lord, but I do not carry money to do so. I pay for them with orders upon a merchant at Herat to whom I am well-known, and who acts as my agent, and buys for me such goods as I require from Persia. I have not come empty-handed to you, my lord. It is right that if you do me the favour of allowing me to trade with your prisoners, you should share in the benefit. I have with me here a cashmere shawl. I do not say that it is worthy of your acceptance, but it is handsome and of the best wool, and will make a warm girdle." Saleh was fond of finery. "Let me look at it," he said. Angus undid the parcel and held the shawl up, and closely watched the Afghan as he examined it. He saw that he was pleased with it. However, the chief said, "I say not that it is not a good shawl, but it is not of the best quality. I have been at Srinagar." "'Tis not of the best, my lord--I would not try to deceive one like yourself--but it is the best I have, and I can hardly hope to make more than its value from these people." "It is worth about two hundred rupees," Saleh said. "Your lordship is not to be deceived, that is the very sum I gave for it; but it is worth much more here." "You seem to be an honest man," Saleh said, throwing the shawl down on the divan from which he had risen. "And in truth I should be well content that the prisoners were better supplied with garments in the cold weather that is setting in. I am ordered to conduct them safely to Khooloom, but nought was said against my providing them with such comforts on the way as they could obtain. To-day I am busy; I have to see that the men are well quartered and fed. To-morrow if you come here with your goods I will myself take you to the place where they are confined; but mind that no word is said to them save concerning your merchandise." "What words should I say, my lord? But doubtless one of your men will be present and see that I confine myself to my business." "Then come at this hour to-morrow." Angus bowed deeply and then left, delighted that he had obtained permission to see the captives. That day the prisoners were taken to another fort, Saleh being moved by their complaints of the dirt and want of accommodation in the little fort in which they were crowded. The place was but a little better than the one they had left, but there was somewhat more room. Hassan came to Angus in the evening. "I have seen many of my friends," he said, "and have spoken as you told me. They are indignant. I told them that Dost Mahomed and his family, and that of Akbar, are honourably treated in India, and are allowed a large income by the government there, and live with every comfort and luxury, and it is a disgrace to our nation that such treatment should be meted out to the officers who are hostages, and the ladies and their families. I do not say that they will be disposed to hazard their own safety by taking any active measures, but if the soldiers were to show any disposition favourable to the captives, they would assuredly take no hostile steps against them." "I have strong hopes that I may succeed with Saleh. He has taken a bribe from me to permit me to sell goods to the prisoners, and he may be willing to take a vastly greater one to release them." "My men have been going about among the soldiers, sahib. They are discontented at this journey they have taken, and at the prospect of a still farther one, and if their commander gave them the order to return, they would not, I think, hesitate to obey." "Let your men continue at that work, but let them be careful not to appear to be too warmly interested. Let them avoid at present all mention of captives, and simply inflame the men's minds by talking of the hardships of their being sent on such a journey when so much booty is likely to be picked up in the passes. It is not likely that if Saleh orders them to proceed on their journey they will refuse to do so, but if he learns from his officers that the men would gladly obey him if he ordered them to return, it may help him to decide to accept the offer I have to make him. I shall put off doing so till the last moment, because at any time news may come that Pollock and Nott are both beating back all opposition and advancing on Cabul, and in that case he may see that his interest lies in siding with them rather than with Akbar." In the morning Angus rode with Saleh to the fort, Azim following with the pony carrying the bales of goods. Two men stood as sentries on the platform on the top of the plain, half a dozen others were posted round it. The officer in charge came out. "Have you anything to report, Suleiman?" "No, captain, except that the prisoners complain that this place is little better than the last they were confined in." "They are particular, these ladies and gentlemen," Saleh said with a laugh. "The place might be better, no doubt, but they will be lucky if they do not find themselves very much worse lodged when they get among the Usbegs." "Major Pottinger was asking, captain, that a few blankets should be given them for the use of the women and children." "We will see about it. However, this trader here has some warm robes to sell, and they may just as well pay for the things themselves as that I should put my hand into my pocket, for my instructions said nothing about buying things of this sort for them; and from the manner in which Prince Akbar gave me my orders, I should say that the more they suffered the better he would be pleased. However, I am sorry for them, and have given permission to this Cashmerian to see them and try to sell his goods to them." The officer looked doubtful. "I do not think there is a rupee among them." "No, but the trader has faith that if they give him notes for his goods, their people will assuredly cash them." "He must be a very confiding fellow," the officer said. "No; by what he says the shroffs of all the large cities in India are always ready to take the notes of English officers, and that he himself has done so in Cashmere. "At any rate you can take him up to their apartments, but remain in the room while he bargains with them. I do not mind his carrying on his trade, but see that he in no way communicates with them save in the matter of his business." Saleh went up with Angus, followed by the officer and Azim, who was assisted by the soldiers to carry up the goods. A sentry was sitting before the door at the top of the stairs with his musket across his knee. As Saleh came up, he rose and took a key hanging on a nail on the wall beside him and opened the door. "I hear that you are still not content with your lodging, Captain Johnson," Saleh said as he entered. "Well, what would you have? These towers are all alike, and do not come up to our ideas of comfort in Cabul; and as glass is scarcely known in Bamian, no doubt you feel it cold at night." [Illustration: ANGUS SHOWS HIS GOODS TO THE PRISONERS.] "If we had a few blankets to hang across the windows the ladies would not feel it so much, Saleh." "That is so; and as I am anxious that they should not, while under my charge, feel greater discomfort than necessary, I have permitted this trader, Syud Moorteza, to enter. He has, he tells me, some warm robes and other things which he is ready to sell, and as I told him that before you came into my charge all your money had been taken away, he is ready to take your notes upon a banker at Calcutta or Bombay in payment." Captain Johnson knew the Cashmerian, as he had rendered invaluable assistance in obtaining grain. Angus, who was acquainted with him, had the more willingly adopted his name because the man was about his own height and build, and there was even some resemblance in feature. Captain Johnson therefore looked with interest at the trader, who was standing a little behind Saleh. For a moment he seemed puzzled but Angus had his hand on his chin and suddenly moved two fingers across his lips and very slightly shook his head. Johnson understood the gesture, and replied to Saleh: "The man is right; he may be sure that whatever happens to us our friends will see that he is paid for any goods we may buy of him. We will write a letter in Persian, which you can read to our friends, saying that this man has trusted us and that our orders are to be honoured." The ladies, who were in the next room, were called in. The Afghan commander, who had nothing to do, remained with his officer, being interested in the contents of the trader's bales. Azim opened them, and spread the articles out on the floor for inspection. Angus was greatly concerned at the appearance of the ladies, to all of whom he was known. His disguise, however, had so completely changed his appearance that none of them recognized him. His face was darkened, his eyebrows and hair had been stained black, and by the assistance of some false hair the latter was arranged in the fashion worn by the man he represented. Syud Moorteza was of the Hindoo religion, and Angus had imitated his caste marks on the forehead, which alone greatly altered his appearance. But the ladies scarcely looked at him. Their delight at seeing the warm robes and woollen cloths was great indeed. Here was a prospect that their sufferings from cold would be alleviated, and that their children could now be warmly clad. Among the smaller articles in his bale Angus included a good supply of needles and thread, buttons, and other small necessaries. The ladies saw at once that from the soft woolen cloths they would be able to make an abundance of warm clothing for the children. Angus expatiated after the manner of a trader on the quality of his goods. Holding up a warm robe to Captain Johnson, he said: "This would suit you, my lord; it will keep you warm in the coldest night." "You have not more than enough for the ladies," Captain Johnson said. "If there is anything over after they have made their purchases, we shall be glad to take the rest of your cloth. We can wind it round us." "But feel the quality of this robe, my lord," Angus urged, with a wink that was understood by the officer, who at once took hold of it. As he did so Angus slipped a note, which he had folded to the smallest possible dimensions, into his hands. "Yes, it is good material," he said quietly; "but, as I have just said, these must be for the ladies." And he turned away as if unwilling to be tempted, and presently sauntered into the next room. In order to keep up his character Angus asked fully five times the proper value for his goods. But the captives had no thought of bargaining; for these goods would be of the greatest comfort to themselves and their children, as coverings for the night, and as wraps during the passage of the passes, for in addition to the clothes and cloth, there were silk mufflers for the neck, and warm jackets lined with astrakhan fur. Nor were the needles and thread less prized. Their clothes and those of the children were in rags, and they would be most useful for mending, as well as the making of new clothes. Some of them almost cried with joy at the thought of the comfort that this would be to their little ones. In a few minutes the greater portion of the contents of the bales was disposed of. "The best way," Pottinger said, "will be for Lawrence, Mackenzie, and myself, as the three political officers, to give this man an order signed by the three of us on our agent at Calcutta, and I will write an open letter to accompany it, authorizing any British officer or banker to cash the note when it is presented, and to send it on to my agent. The man has done us an inestimable service, and it will facilitate his getting the money. Where are you thinking of cashing this?" he asked. "At Herat." "Then I will also give you a note to a trader there. He has a shop in the great bazaar, and is a friend of mine. He has relations with business men in India, and will, I am sure, cash it for you at once should you desire cash, or will furnish you in exchange with bills on some merchant in Candahar." He then mentioned the trader's name. "That will suit me well," Angus said. "I know the man by name, having been myself at Herat. He is of good repute, and I am sure that he or any other merchant having dealings in India would gladly cash the order, as it would be far safer to send than money." It was not until the purchases had all been made that Captain Johnson re-entered the room, came and stood by Angus, asking a few questions as to the goods; when the two Afghans were looking another way he passed a note into the pretended merchant's hand. Presently he said: "But we have no pen and ink to write this order?" "I have them, sahib," Angus said, taking an ink-bottle and pen, such as were always carried by traders, from his pocket, together with several sheets of paper. The price of all the goods was added up; then Pottinger wrote an order for the amount, which was signed by himself, Lawrence, and Mackenzie. Then Johnson took Pottinger aside as if to discuss the terms of the letters. "That man is not Syud Moorteza at all," he said. "Don't turn round and look at him. He has given me a note, and I am answering it. Who do you think it is?" "I have been a little puzzled, not by his face, but by his voice. I have it now--it is Angus Campbell." "You have guessed right. He has come up by himself through the passes to try and overtake us. He bears a message from Mohun Lal to Saleh, saying that he shall be given a pension of a thousand rupees a month and a present of thirty thousand if he will hand over the captives to the British general when he reaches Cabul. He has asked my opinion as to whether it would be safe to make the proposition to the man, or whether he had better wait until news comes that Pollock has defeated Akbar in the passes. I have told him that I have already sounded Saleh, and that though he passed the matter off, I believe he is open to take a bribe if he hears that Nott and Pollock are making their way up. He says that if bad news comes--and I think it would then be useless to approach Saleh--he will make an attempt with some men he has with him to effect your escape, and also mine, and that of Mackenzie and Lawrence. Boyd, of course, would not leave his wife and family, and it would be impossible to take the women and children with us." "Campbell is a splendid fellow!" Pottinger said. "He behaved wonderfully well at Herat, and I was sure that in time he would make a very fine officer. It is a noble thing, his undertaking such a tremendous risk." The letters were now written and handed to Angus. Saleh, however, took them from his hands and read them, and then handed them back, after assuring himself that there was nothing written but what had been agreed upon. Then he and the officer went downstairs with Angus and Azim, the latter carrying easily enough the one small bale that sufficed for the goods unsold. "You have made a nice sum out of this," Saleh said. "I have had a long journey with my goods," Angus replied humbly; "but they were well contented, and paid without bargaining the prices I asked. I feel, my lord, that I am greatly indebted to you for the opportunity. I have not money with me--we traders never carry cash, and I shall have to wait many months before I receive the price of the goods--nevertheless, my lord, I will willingly give you in token of my gratitude another shawl equal to the last; I have brought with me only two. And you can select any goods you like from those remaining. There are many silk things among them, for they only bought such as were needed for wear." Saleh was well satisfied, and telling Angus that he might call round in the evening with some of the silk embroidered scarfs, he allowed him to return to the camp. Two days passed, and then a horseman rode in with the news that Akbar had been defeated at Tezeen, but would fight another battle, and, as he was being joined by many chiefs, would doubtless overthrow the infidels. The news spread rapidly and caused much excitement in the camp, which was heightened by the fact that the man said that there was a report that Ghuznee had been captured by the British force that was marching from Candahar. Angus went in the evening and requested a private interview with Saleh. As Johnson had told him in his note, the Afghan had already been revolving in his mind whether he could not do better for himself by halting at Bamian until he knew how affairs would turn out at Cabul. Johnson, who had become very intimate with him on the journey, had said casually that the British government would assuredly pay a large sum for the return of the captives. He had taken no notice of the remark at the time, but had thought a good deal of it. He knew that money had been lavishly spent among the chiefs, and it seemed to him that he too might have a share in the golden flood. He was a shrewd man as well as an unscrupulous one. He had three times before deserted his employers when better offers had been made to him, and it seemed to him that he had it now in his power to procure a sum that would make him rich for life. He had been told by his sub-officers that there was a growing disaffection among the men, that many of them openly grumbled at the prospect of the journey to Khooloom, and that some of the Bamian petty chiefs had been going among them, and, they believed, stirring up a feeling against the journey. He had from the first entertained some suspicion of this Cashmerian trader. Why should he not have bought a larger store of Indian goods to exchange with the Turkomans? His doubt as to the best course to pursue had been heightened at the news that he had received that afternoon. What would happen if the British again settled down at Cabul? They would doubtless send a force to endeavour to rescue the captives. And although he might be at Khooloom before they did so, his situation would then be a most unpleasant one. Akbar, as a fugitive, could no longer pay him and his troops; they would, of course, leave him, and he would not dare to return to Cabul. He was thinking over these matters when Angus was ushered in. The latter had already decided that he would for the present maintain the character that he had assumed. If Saleh knew that he was a British officer he would assuredly, if he remained faithful to his charge, arrest him also; but as merely the agent of Mohun Lal, one of the most influential men in Cabul, the Afghan would probably allow him to depart unharmed, even if he refused the offered bribe. "I have not come to you this evening to talk of merchandise, Saleh Mahomed," Angus began. "I have come upon a more important matter. As you know, the troops from Jellalabad have defeated Akbar, and are making their way up through the passes. They will defeat him again if he fights them. The troops from Candahar have reached Ghuznee, and assuredly there is no force that can arrest their progress to Cabul. I have only waited for this to speak openly to you. I am sent here by Mohun Lal. He authorizes me to promise you, in his name and that of General Pollock, a pension of a thousand rupees a month, and a gift of thirty thousand rupees, if you will hold the prisoners here until a British force arrives to carry them back to Cabul." The Afghan showed no surprise. "I suspected," he said, "all along that you had come here for some other motive than trade. What guarantee does Mohun Lal offer that these terms shall be fulfilled?" "It would not have been safe for him to have entrusted such a message to paper," Angus said, "but he gives you his word." "Words are no guarantee," Saleh said, "especially the word of a chief." "I would suggest, Saleh Mahomed, that you have it in your power to obtain a guarantee that even you will acknowledge to be a binding one. You have in your hands three men whose names are known throughout Afghanistan and through India as those of men of honour. You have Major Pottinger, Captain Lawrence, and Mr. Mackenzie, all men whose word would be accepted unhesitatingly to whatever promise they might make. They and the other officers would, I am sure, give you a written guarantee that the offer made by Mohun Lal shall be confirmed and carried out by the government of India." "What should I do with money without employment?" "If you desire employment, I have no doubt that you would be granted, in addition to the money payment, the command of a native regiment raised among the Pathans of the lower hills." "I will think the matter over," the Afghan said, and with a wave of the hand dismissed Angus. But the latter had seen, by the expression of Saleh's face when he mentioned the terms, that these were far higher than he had himself ever thought of, and he had no doubt whatever that they would be accepted. The first thing in the morning he received a message from Saleh Mahomed requesting him to accompany him to the tower. The Afghan, beyond the usual salute, was silent during the ride. On dismounting Saleh told him to follow him. On entering the prisoners' apartments the officer said: "You are aware that Prince Akbar's orders are that I am to take you to Khooloom. I had certainly intended to do so, but I have received news that leads me to doubt whether he may be in a position to support you if I carry out the orders. Yesterday afternoon I heard that he had been defeated at Tezeen. He will fight again with a stronger force than before, still the issue is doubtful. I may tell you that the messenger also brought to the fort news that the force from Candahar had taken Ghuznee." An exclamation of joy broke from the prisoners. "Another thing has happened," the Afghan went on. "This trader last night informed me that he really came here on a mission from Mohun Lal. He promises me, in General Pollock's name, that if I release you and carry you to Cabul I shall be granted a pension of a thousand rupees a month and thirty thousand as a present. I know nothing of General Pollock, and have no great faith in Mohun Lal, but seeing that Akbar may be even now a fugitive and your two armies in Cabul, if you gentlemen will swear by your God to make good to me what Syud Moorteza states he is authorized to offer, I will hand you over to your own people." The offer was joyfully accepted. Angus was requested by Saleh to draw out a bond to that effect in Persian, and this was signed by Pottinger, Lawrence, Johnson, and Mackenzie. Another agreement was then drawn up by Johnson, by which all the officers bound themselves to pay as many months' pay and allowances, in accordance with their rank, as should be necessary to carry out the terms of the agreement, thus satisfying Saleh that, should the English general refuse to ratify the first agreement, he would receive the money from them. To this all the prisoners and the ladies signed their names, Brigadier Shelton heading the list; while Lady Macnaghten and Mrs. Sturt, who were widows, bound themselves in a codicil to pay such sums as might be demanded from them by Major Pottinger and Captains Lawrence and Johnson. "You are no longer my prisoner, sahibs," Saleh said when the two documents were handed to him, and he on his part had given a bond to perform his share of the conditions. "Now, I should like your counsel as to how I had best proceed. I believe that my men will gladly obey me in this matter, because they are discontented at being sent so far away, and I feel sure that a very slight inducement on your part to them will settle the matter. If I could offer them in your name a gratuity of four months' pay when we arrive at Cabul, it would settle matters." To this the officers willingly agreed. "I have been thinking over the affair all night," he went on. "Which, think you, would be best--to travel straight for Cabul when you hear that the British have arrived there, or to wait here? I hear that many of the petty chiefs in the neighbourhood are indignant that Akbar Khan should have broken all the promises he made, and have treated so badly those who placed themselves under his protection, while at the same time his father, together with his own family, are receiving most honourable treatment in India. Doubtless you would rather go straight down to Cabul, but we must remember that if defeated, Akbar with a very large number of his followers may again fly by this route and make for Khooloom, as he and Dost Mahomed did when the British first marched to Cabul. Should they meet us on our way down they would assuredly attack us, and their numbers might be so great that we should be overwhelmed. On the other hand, if we stay here we can occupy the largest of these little forts and set to work to strengthen it, and might then resist any force Akbar could bring against us until the British troops arrive to our assistance." The officers were silent for a minute, and then Pottinger said: "What do you think, Brigadier? This is a military matter." "I should say the last proposition is the safest," Shelton replied. "We may be sure that the moment Pollock reaches Cabul he will send off a body of cavalry to rescue us. Akbar would have at best only forty-eight hours' start, perhaps not half that, and he would scarcely venture to stop here to undertake a siege. He will certainly have no guns with him, and the three hundred men of our escort, with ten or twelve of us to lead them, could be trusted to withstand any hurried assault he might make upon us." The others all agreed that this would be the safest plan. "Very well," Saleh said. "I will go now and harangue my men, and in the meantime you can prepare to move. I will select the largest and most defensible of these forts. We will move quietly in there, and then I will summon the Bamian chiefs, and proclaim that I have abandoned the cause of Akbar, and now with my British allies summon them to invite their men to join me, so that when an English force arrives here they will be free from all molestation, and will receive presents in accordance with the number of men they furnish." So saying he left the room, and the joy of the captives broke out in general congratulations among the men, and tears of joy from the women. Pottinger, Johnson, and Boyd gathered round Angus and poured forth their thanks to him. Nothing had hitherto been said to the ladies as to the real character of the supposed trader, for it was felt that if this enterprise failed the disappointment would to them be terrible. As soon as they learned who he was and what he had done, they too crowded round, and Angus was for a time quite confused with the expressions of gratitude showered upon him. "I see," Pottinger said, when the din of voices had quieted down, "that you have not informed Saleh Mahomed of your real character." "I thought it better not to do so. I really came from Mohun Lal, and if he thought I had not done so, he might have doubted whether I had any authority to make such a proposal; therefore, I thought it would be well to keep up my present character to the end." "Perhaps it is best so," Pottinger agreed. "These Afghans are always suspicious, and a man who has several times betrayed his employers would be more suspicious than other people. I quite agree with you that it is best you should keep up your present character. I suppose Mohun Lal really did give you the assurance about the ransom?" "Yes, General Pollock told me that he would give any sum Mohun Lal might think it desirable to offer, and that was the figure fixed upon as being high enough to tempt Saleh, and yet not excessive for such a service. Besides, he thought that he might ask more, in which case I should of course have bargained with him." "It is a sum that would tempt any Afghan chief," Pottinger said, "and to a mere military adventurer like Saleh would appear prodigious. Well, we will hear of your adventures afterwards. He may return at any moment, and it might put him out of humour if he found that we were not ready. Not, indeed, that there is much to do. Even the ladies will be able to pack up their scanty belongings in a few minutes. There would, in fact, be nothing at all to pack had it not been for the things they bought of you. The next room is all in confusion, for every one of them is hard at work making clothes for the children." It was half an hour before Saleh Mahomed returned. "All is well," he said; "the men did not hesitate for a moment. They are delighted at the prospect of returning to Cabul, and declare they will fight till the last if they are attacked. I set them to work at once to clear out the largest of the forts here. The chief, when I told him what it was required for, refused his consent, so I at once turned him out, and have appointed another favourable to us in his place. We will move there at once." The news infused fresh strength into the ladies, several of whom were suffering from sickness, and all from long-continued anxiety and the hardships of the journey; they were able to proceed on foot to the fort. Hassan was the first to come in with ten followers to give in his adherence to the new order of things. Many others followed the example; and as Angus was able to supply money, strong parties were soon at work throwing up entrenchments round the tower. Pottinger, convinced that audacity was the best policy, at once issued a proclamation calling upon the people of the town and the chiefs of all the surrounding villages to come in at once and pay their respects, and it was not long before they began to arrive. The next day still larger numbers were set to work, and by evening the earthworks were so advanced that they were in a position to offer a very strong resistance. Late that evening a friendly chief brought in the news that General Pollock was within a day's march of Cabul, that all resistance had ceased, and that Akbar had fled no one knew whither. It was immediately decided that a start should be made for Cabul on the following morning. It was evident that Akbar had not retired by that route--had he done so he would have arrived before the news of his flight--and that therefore the risk of meeting any strong force on the road was very slight. They set out at eight o'clock in the morning. Horses had been procured for the whole party; the officers took the children before them, the ladies rode. That night all slept on the rocks within shelter, but at midnight they were awakened by the arrival of a horseman. He brought a letter from Sir Richmond Shakespere, General Pollock's military secretary, saying that he was on the point of starting with six hundred native horse for Bamian. At daybreak the party were astir again, pressing their horses eagerly, their sufferings all forgotten in the hope of speedily meeting their friends. At noon a cloud of dust was seen to rise from the road far ahead; then some straggling horsemen were made out, and behind them a body of cavalry. It was still possible that this might be a body of the enemy, and preparations were at once made for defence. The drums were beat, a line formed, and muskets loaded. Soon, however, it could be made out that an officer riding at the head of the party was in British uniform, and in a few minutes Shakespere rode up, followed by his men. The joy of the meeting was almost beyond words. A few days before a hopeless captivity among wild tribesmen seemed to be their certain lot; now they were among friends again. They learned from Sir Richmond that General Sale himself was to set out at the head of a brigade to support the advanced party. The next morning they started again, and on the 20th met Sale's column. That evening they passed near the camp of the Candahar force, and the next day rode through Cabul on their way to Pollock's camp, where their arrival excited unbounded delight, for it had generally been felt that the victories that they had won would be incomplete indeed unless their fellow countrymen and women had been rescued. General Pollock thanked Angus publicly that evening for the service that he had rendered, and the manner in which he had carried out the perilous scheme he had volunteered to perform, and he received innumerable congratulations from all the officers with whom he had shared in the defence of Jellalabad. The army remained but a few days at Cabul, for the winter was at hand. It was at first proposed to destroy the Bala Hissar, but the idea was given up, as it was represented that no ruler of Afghanistan would be able to maintain his position unless he had that fortress to rely upon. Instead of this the great bazaar, through which Macnaghten's body had been carried in triumph, was destroyed, and in spite of the efforts of their officers many of the troops entered the city and punished the treachery of its inhabitants by sacking a considerable portion of it. The united army then marched down the passes and retired to India. Pollock's division met with no resistance whatever; that of Nott, which followed it, was more than once attacked by large bands of plunderers. The report that General Pollock had sent in to the Governor-general on the day the captives reached the camp gave full credit to Angus for the courage and devotion that he had shown, and stated that had he not succeeded in bringing Saleh Mahomed over to our side, the latter would probably have reached Khooloom with the captives before they could have been overtaken, and in that case they might have been sent far away on the approach of Sale's brigade and been lost for ever to their friends. The consequence was that he was at once appointed political officer to one of the Rajput states. Henceforth his promotion was rapid. Six years later he went to England on three years' leave. On the ship on which he sailed were four officers of his acquaintance, some of whom were accompanied by their wives. From several of these he received the most pressing invitations to stay with them at their country houses. These he gladly accepted, for except among military men who had returned home, he was without friends. Feeling at a loss for employment after a life of such activity as he had led, he threw up his leave at the end of the year, and took back with him to India a wife, the daughter of a colonel who had sailed with him from India. At the end of another ten years he returned home for good. His pay had been large. He had laid by a considerable sum before he first went home, and this he had placed in the hands of the firm to whom he had sent his money before leaving Teheran for Herat. It had been well employed by them, and at the age of forty he returned home with a considerable fortune, besides a pension, after twenty-three years of service. He had been reluctant to quit his work, but his wife's health had suffered from the climate. His three children had been sent home to her family, and he now bought a place near her people. At first he felt altogether out of his element, but he gradually fell into the ways of country life, and no longer regretted that his work in India had come to an end. THE END. "Wherever English is spoken one imagines that Mr. Henty's name is known. One cannot enter a schoolroom or look at a boy's bookshelf without seeing half-a-dozen of his familiar volumes. Mr. Henty is no doubt the most successful writer for boys, and the one to whose new volumes they look forward every Christmas with most pleasure."--_Review of Reviews._ A LIST OF BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE ... By ... G.A. HENTY G.M. FENN S. BARING-GOULD KIRK MUNROE F. FRANKFORT MOORE GORDON STABLES ROBERT LEIGHTON HARRY COLLINGWOOD ROSA MULHOLLAND ALICE CORKRAN, ETC. Published by CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 153 to 157 Fifth Avenue New York G.A. HENTY'S NEW STORIES FOR 1901-1902 "His books have at once the solidity of history and the charm of romance."--_Journal of Education._ WITH ROBERTS TO PRETORIA A Story of the Boer War. By G.A. Henty. With 12 Illustrations. $1.25 net. The Boer War gives Mr. Henty an unexcelled opportunity for a thrilling story of present-day interest which the author could not fail to take advantage of. Every boy reader will find this account of the adventures of the young hero most exciting, and, at the same time, a wonderfully accurate description of Lord Roberts's campaign to Pretoria. Boys have found history in the dress Mr. Henty gives it anything but dull, and the present book is no exception to the rule. AT THE POINT OF THE BAYONET A Story of the British Conquest of India. By G.A. Henty. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25 net. One hundred years ago the rule of the British in India was only partly established. The powerful Mahrattas were unsubdued, and with their skill in intrigue, and great military power, they were exceedingly dangerous. The story of "At the Point of the Bayonet" begins with the attempt to conquer this powerful people. Harry Lindsay, an infant when his father and mother were killed, was saved by his Mahratta ayah, who carried him to her own people, and brought him up as a native. She taught him as best she could, and, having told him his parentage, sent him to Bombay to be educated. At sixteen he obtained a commission in the English Army, and his knowledge of the Mahratta tongue combined with his ability and bravery enabled him to render great service in the Mahratta War, and carried him, through many frightful perils by land and sea, to high rank. TO HERAT AND CABUL A Story of the First Afghan War. By G. A Henty. With Illustrations. 12mo. $1.25 net. The greatest defeat ever experienced by the British Army was that in the Mountain Passes of Afghanistan. Angus Cameron, the hero of this book, having been captured by the friendly Afghans, was compelled to be a witness of the calamity. His whole story is an intensely interesting one, from his boyhood in Persia; his employment under the Government at Herat; through the defense of that town against the Persians; to Cabul, where he shared in all the events which ended in the awful march through the Passes, from which but one man escaped. Angus is always at the point of danger, and whether in battle or in hazardous expeditions shows how much a brave youth, full of resources, can do, even with so treacherous a foe. His dangers and adventures are thrilling, and his escapes marvellous. NEW VOLUMES FOR 1900-1901. Mr. Henty, the most popular writer of Books of Adventure in England, adds three new volumes to his list this fall--books that will delight thousands of boys on this side who have become his ardent admirers. WITH BULLER IN NATAL Or, A Born Leader. By G.A. Henty. With 10 Illustrations by W. Rainey. 12mo, $1.50. The breaking out of the Boer War compelled Chris King, the hero of the story, to flee with his mother from Johannesburg to the sea coast. They were with many other Uitlanders, and all suffered much from the Boers. Reaching a place of safety for their families, Chris and twenty of his friends formed an independent company of scouts. In this service they were with Gen. Yule at Glencoe, then in Ladysmith, then with Buller. In each place they had many thrilling adventures. They were in great battles, and in lonely fights on the Veldt; were taken prisoners and escaped; and they rendered most valuable service to the English forces. The story is a most interesting picture of the War in South Africa. OUT WITH GARIBALDI A Story of the Liberation of Italy. By G.A. Henty. With 8 Illustrations by W. Rainey, R.I. 12mo, $1.50. Garibaldi himself is the central figure of this brilliant story, and the little-known history of the struggle for Italian freedom is told here in the most thrilling way. From the time the hero, a young lad, son of an English father and an Italian mother, joins Garibaldi's band of 1,000 men in the first descent upon Sicily, which was garrisoned by one of the large Neapolitan armies, until the end, when all those armies are beaten, and the two Sicilys are conquered, we follow with the keenest interest the exciting adventures of the lad in scouting, in battle, and in freeing those in prison for liberty's sake. IN THE IRISH BRIGADE By G.A. Henty. 12mo, $1.50. Desmond Kennedy is a young Irish lad who left Ireland to join the Irish Brigade in the service of Louis XIV. of France. In Paris he incurred the deadly hatred of a powerful courtier from whom he had rescued a young girl who had been kidnapped, and his perils are of absorbing interest. Captured in an attempted Jacobite invasion of Scotland, he escaped in a most extraordinary manner. As aide-de-camp to the Duke of Berwick he experienced thrilling adventures in Flanders. Transferred to the Army in Spain, he was nearly assassinated, but escaped to return, when peace was declared, to his native land, having received pardon and having recovered his estates. The story is filled with adventure, and the interest never abates. BY G.A. HENTY. "Surely Mr. Henty should understand boys' tastes better than any man living."--_The Times._ WON BY THE SWORD A Tale of the Thirty Years' War. With 12 Illustrations by Charles M. Sheldon, and 4 Plans. 12mo, $1.50. The scene of this story is laid in France, during the time of Richelieu, of Mazarin and Anne of Austria. The hero, Hector Campbell, is the orphaned son of a Scotch officer in the French Army. How he attracted the notice of Marshal Turenne and of the Prince of Conde, how he rose to the rank of Colonel; how he finally had to leave France, pursued by the deadly hatred of the Duc de Beaufort--all these and much more the story tells with the most absorbing interest. NO SURRENDER The Story of the Revolt in La Vendée. With 8 Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood. 12mo, $1.50. The revolt of La Vendée against the French Republic at the time of the Revolution forms the groundwork of this absorbing story. Leigh Stansfield, a young English lad, is drawn into the thickest of the conflict. Forming a company of boys as scouts for the Vendéan Army, he greatly aids the peasants. He rescues his sister from the guillotine, and finally, after many thrilling experiences, when the cause of La Vendée is lost, he escapes to England. A ROVING COMMISSION Or, Through the Black Insurrection at Hayti. With 12 Illustrations by William Rainey. 12mo, $1.50. This is one of the most brilliant of Mr. Henty's books. A story of the sea, with all its life and action, it is also full of thrilling adventures on land. So it holds the keenest interest until the end. The scene is a new one to Mr. Henty's readers, being laid at the time of the Great Revolt of the Blacks, by which Hayti became independent. Toussaint l'Overture appears, and an admirable picture is given of him and of his power. AT ABOUKIR AND ACRE A Story of Napoleon's Invasion of Egypt. With 8 full-page Illustrations by William Rainey, and 3 Plans. 12mo, $1.50. The hero, having saved the life of the son of an Arab chief, is taken into the tribe, has a part in the battle of the Pyramids and the revolt at Cairo. He is an eye-witness of the famous naval battle of Aboukir, and later is in the hardest of the defense of Acre. BY G.A. HENTY "Mr. Henty is the king of story-tellers for boys."--_Sword and Trowel._ UNDER WELLINGTON'S COMMAND A Tale of the Peninsular War. With 12 Illustrations by Wal Paget. 12mo, $1.50. The dashing hero of this book, Terence O'Connor, was the hero of Mr. Henty's previous book, "With Moore at Corunna," to which this is really a sequel. He is still at the head of the "Minho" Portuguese regiment. Being detached on independent and guerilla duty with his regiment, he renders invaluable service in gaining information and in harassing the French. His command, being constantly on the edge of the army, is engaged in frequent skirmishes and some most important battles. BOTH SIDES THE BORDER A Tale of Hotspur and Glendower. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Ralph Peacock. 12mo, $1.50. This is a brilliant story of the stirring times of the beginning of the Wars of the Roses, when the Scotch, under Douglas, and the Welsh, under Owen Glendower, were attacking the English. The hero of the book lived near the Scotch border, and saw many a hard fight there. Entering the service of Lord Percy, he was sent to Wales, where he was knighted, and where he was captured. Being released, he returned home, and shared in the fatal battle of Shrewsbury. ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S EVE A Tale of the Huguenot Wars. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by H.J. Draper, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero, Philip Fletcher, has a French connection on his mother's side. This induces him to cross the Channel in order to take a share in the Huguenot wars. Naturally he sides with the Protestants, distinguishes himself in various battles, and receives rapid promotion for the zeal and daring with which he carries out several secret missions. REDSKIN AND COW-BOY A Tale of the Western Plains. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Alfred Pearse. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The central interest of this story is found in the many adventures of an English lad, who seeks employment as a cow-boy on a cattle ranch. His experiences during a "round-up" present in picturesque form the toilsome, exciting, adventurous life of a cow-boy; while the perils of a frontier settlement are vividly set forth in an Indian raid. BY G.A. HENTY "No country nor epoch of history is there which Mr. Henty does not know, and what is really remarkable is that he always writes well and interestingly."--_New York Times._ WITH FREDERICK THE GREAT A Tale of the Seven Years' War. With 12 full-page Illustrations. 12mo, $1.50. The hero of this story while still a youth entered the service of Frederick the Great, and by a succession of fortunate circumstances and perilous adventures, rose to the rank of colonel. Attached to the staff of the king, he rendered distinguished services in many battles, in one of which he saved the king's life. Twice captured and imprisoned, he both times escaped from the Austrian fortresses. A MARCH ON LONDON A Story of Wat Tyler's Rising. With 8 full-page Illustrations by W.H. Margetson. 12mo, $1.50. The story of Wat Tyler's Rebellion is but little known, but the hero of this story passes through that perilous time and takes part in the civil war in Flanders which followed soon after. Although young he is thrown into many exciting and dangerous adventures, through which he passes with great coolness and much credit. WITH MOORE AT CORUNNA A Story of the Peninsular War. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Wal Paget. 12mo, $1.50. Terence O'Connor is living with his widowed father, Captain O'Connor of the Mayo Fusiliers, with the regiment at the time when the Peninsular war began. Upon the regiment being ordered to Spain, Terence gets appointed as aid to one of the generals of a division. By his bravery and great usefulness throughout the war, he is rewarded by a commission as colonel in the Portuguese army and there rendered great service. ON THE IRRAWADDY A Story of the First Burmese War. With 8 full-page Illustrations by W.H. Overend. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero, having an uncle, a trader on the Indian and Burmese rivers, goes out to join him. Soon after, war is declared by Burmah against England and he is drawn into it. He has many experiences and narrow escapes in battles and in scouting. With half-a-dozen men he rescues his cousin who had been taken prisoner, and in the flight they are besieged in an old, ruined temple. BY G.A. HENTY "Boys like stirring adventures, and Mr. Henty is a master of this method of composition."--_New York Times._ AT AGINCOURT A Tale of the White Hoods of Paris. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Walter Paget. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The story begins in a grim feudal castle in Normandie. The times were troublous, and soon the king compelled Lady Margaret de Villeroy with her children to go to Paris as hostages. Guy Aylmer went with her. Paris was turbulent. Soon the guild of the butchers, adopting white hoods as their uniform, seized the city, and besieged the house where our hero and his charges lived. After desperate fighting, the white hoods were beaten and our hero and his charges escaped from the city, and from France. WITH COCHRANE THE DAUNTLESS A Tale of the Exploits of Lord Cochrane in South American Waters. With 12 full-page Illustrations by W.H. Margetson. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero of this story accompanies Cochrane as midshipman, and serves in the war between Chili and Peru. He has many exciting adventures in battles by sea and land, is taken prisoner and condemned to death by the Inquisition, but escapes by a long and thrilling flight across South America and down the Amazon, piloted by two faithful Indians. THE TIGER OF MYSORE A Story of the War with Tippoo Saib. With 12 full-page Illustrations by W.H. Margetson, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Dick Holland, whose father is supposed to be a captive of Tippoo Saib, goes to India to help him to escape. He joins the army under Lord Cornwallis, and takes part in the campaign against Tippoo. Afterwards he assumes a disguise, enters Seringapatam, and at last he discovers his father in the great stronghold of Savandroog. The hazardous rescue is at length accomplished, and the young fellow's dangerous mission is done. THROUGH RUSSIAN SNOWS A Story of Napoleon's Retreat from Moscow. With 8 full-page Illustrations by W.H. Overend, and 3 Maps. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero, Julian Wyatt, after several adventures with smugglers, by whom he is handed over a prisoner to the French, regains his freedom and joins Napoleon's army in the Russian campaign. When the terrible retreat begins, Julian finds himself in the rear guard of the French army, fighting desperately. Ultimately he escapes out of the general disaster, and returns to England. BY G.A. HENTY "Here we have Mr. George Henty--the Boys' Own Author."--_Punch._ A KNIGHT OF THE WHITE CROSS A Tale of the Siege of Rhodes. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Ralph Peacock, and a Plan. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Gervaise Tresham, the hero of this story, joins the Order of the Knights of St. John, and proceeds to the stronghold of Rhodes. Subsequently he is appointed commander of a war-galley, and in his first voyage destroys a fleet of Moorish corsairs. During one of his cruises the young knight is attacked on shore, captured after a desperate struggle, and sold into slavery in Tripoli. He succeeds in escaping, and returns to Rhodes in time to take part in the defense of that fortress. WULF THE SAXON A Story of the Norman Conquest. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Ralph Peacock. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero is a young thane who wins the favor of Earl Harold and becomes one of his retinue. When Harold becomes King of England Wulf assists in the Welsh wars, and takes part against the Norsemen at the Battle of Stamford Bridge. When William of Normandy invades England, Wulf is with the English host at Hastings, and stands by his king to the last in the mighty struggle. BERIC THE BRITON A Story of the Roman Invasion. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by W. Parkinson. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. This story deals with the invasion of Britain by the Roman legionaries. Beric, who is a boy-chief of a British tribe, takes a prominent part in the insurrection under Boadicea; and after the defeat of that heroic queen (in A.D. 62) he continues the struggle in the fen-country. Ultimately Beric is defeated and carried captive to Rome, where he is trained in the exercise of arms in a school of gladiators. At length he returns to Britain, where he becomes ruler of his own people. WHEN LONDON BURNED A Story of the Plague and the Fire. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by J. Finnemore. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero of this story was the son of a nobleman who had lost his estates during the troublous times of the Commonwealth. During the Great Plague and the Great Fire, Cyril was prominent among those who brought help to the panic-stricken inhabitants. BY G.A. HENTY "Ask for Henty, and see that you get him."--_Punch._ THE DASH FOR KHARTOUM A Tale of the Nile Expedition. By G.A. Henty. With 10 full-page Illustrations by John Schönberg and J. Nash. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. In the record of recent British history there is no more captivating page for boys than the story of the Nile campaign, and the attempt to rescue General Gordon. For, in the difficulties which the expedition encountered, in the perils which it overpassed, and in its final tragic disappointments, are found all the excitements of romance, as well as the fascination which belongs to real events. BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The adventures of the son of a Scotch officer in French service. The boy, brought up by a Glasgow bailie, is arrested for aiding a Jacobite agent, escapes, is wrecked on the French coast, reaches Paris, and serves with the French army at Dettingen. He kills his father's foe in a duel, and escaping to the coast, shares the adventures of Prince Charlie, but finally settles happily in Scotland. UNDER DRAKE'S FLAG A Tale of the Spanish Main. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. A story of the days when England and Spain struggled for the supremacy of the sea. The heroes sail as lads with Drake in the Pacific expedition, and in his great voyage of circumnavigation. The historical portion of the story is absolutely to be relied upon, but this will perhaps be less attractive than the great variety of exciting adventure through which the young heroes pass in the course of their voyages. WITH WOLFE IN CANADA Or, The Winning of a Continent. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Mr. Henty here gives an account of the struggle between Britain and France for supremacy in the North American continent. The fall of Quebec decided that the Anglo-Saxon race should predominate in the New World; and that English and American commerce, the English language, and English literature, should spread right round the globe. BY G. A HENTY "Mr. Henty is one of the best of story-tellers for young people."--_Spectator._ BY PIKE AND DYKE A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic. By G.A. Henty. With 10 full-page Illustrations by Maynard Brown, and 4 Maps. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. This story traces the adventures of an English boy in the household of William the Silent. Edward Martin, the son of an English sea-captain, enters the service of the Prince as a volunteer, and is employed by him in many dangerous and responsible missions, in the discharge of which he passes through the great sieges of the time. BY ENGLAND'S AID Or, The Freeing of the Netherlands (1585-1604). By G.A. Henty. With 10 full-page Illustrations by Alfred Pearse, and 4 Maps. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The story of two English lads who go to Holland as pages in the service of one of "the fighting Veres." After many adventures by sea and land, one of the lads finds himself on board a Spanish ship at the time of the defeat of the Armada, and escapes, only to fall into the hands of the Corsairs. He is successful in getting back to Spain, and regains his native country after the capture of Cadiz. IN THE HEART OF THE ROCKIES A Story of Adventure in Colorado. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by G.C. Hindley. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero, Tom Wade, goes to seek his uncle in Colorado, who is a hunter and gold-digger, and he is discovered, after many dangers, out on the plains with some comrades. Going in quest of a gold mine, the little band is spied by Indians, chased across the Bad Lands, and overwhelmed by a snow-storm in the mountains. BY RIGHT OF CONQUEST Or, With Cortez in Mexico. By G.A. Henty. With 10 full-page Illustrations by W.S. Stacey, and 2 Maps. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. With the Conquest of Mexico as the groundwork of his story, Mr. Henty has interwoven the adventures of an English youth. He is beset by many perils among the natives, but by a ruse he obtains the protection of the Spaniards, and after the fall of Mexico he succeeds in regaining his native shore, with a fortune and a charming Aztec bride. THROUGH THE SIKH WAR A Tale of the Conquest of the Punjaub. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Hal Hurst, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Percy Groves, a spirited English lad, joins his uncle in the Punjaub, where the natives are in a state of revolt. Percy joins the British force as a volunteer, and takes a distinguished share in the famous battles of the Punjaub. BY G.A. HENTY "No living writer of books for boys writes to better purpose than Mr. G.A. Henty."--_Philadelphia Press._ TRUE TO THE OLD FLAG A Tale of the American War of Independence. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. A graphic and vigorous story of the American Revolution, which paints the scenes with great power, and does full justice to the pluck and determination of the soldiers during the unfortunate struggle. THE LION OF ST. MARK A Tale of Venice in the Fourteenth Century. By G.A. Henty. With 10 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. A story of Venice at a period when her strength and splendor were put to the severest tests. The hero displays a fine sense and manliness which carry him safely through an atmosphere of intrigue, crime, and bloodshed. THE LION OF THE NORTH A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus and the Wars of Religion. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page illustrations by John Schönberg. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. In this story Mr. Henty gives the history of the first part of the Thirty Years' War. The issue had its importance, which has extended to the present day, as it established religious freedom in Germany. The army of the chivalrous King of Sweden was largely composed of Scotchmen, and among these was the hero of the story. IN GREEK WATERS A Story of the Grecian War of Independence (1821-1827). By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by W.S. Stacey, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Deals with the revolt of the Greeks in 1821 against Turkish oppression. Mr. Beveridge and his son Horace fit out a privateer, load it with military stores, and set sail for Greece. They rescue the Christians, relieve the captive Greeks, and fight the Turkish war vessels. WITH LEE IN VIRGINIA A Story of the American Civil War. By G.A. Henty. With 10 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne, and 6 Maps. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The story of a young Virginia planter, who serves under Lee and Jackson through the most exciting events of the struggle. He has many hairbreadth escapes, is several times wounded and twice taken prisoner; but his courage and readiness bring him safely through all difficulties. BY G.A. HENTY "Mr. Henty's books never fail to interest boy readers."--_Academy._ WITH CLIVE IN INDIA Or, The Beginnings of an Empire. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The period between the landing of Clive in India and the close of his career was eventful in the extreme. At its commencement the English were traders existing on sufferance of the native princes; at its close they were masters of Bengal and of the greater part of Southern India. The author has given a full account of the events of that stirring time, while he combines with his narrative a thrilling tale of daring and adventure. THE YOUNG CARTHAGINIAN A Story of the Times of Hannibal. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by C.J. Staniland, R.I. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. There is no better field for romance-writers in the whole of history than the momentous struggle between the Romans and Carthaginians for the empire of the world. Mr. Henty has had the full advantage of much unexhausted picturesque and impressive material, and has thus been enabled to form a striking historic background to as exciting a story of adventure as the keenest appetite could wish. FOR THE TEMPLE A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem. By G.A. Henty. With 10 full-page Illustrations by S.J. Solomon, and a colored Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Mr. Henty here weaves into the record of Josephus an admirable and attractive story. The troubles in the district of Tiberias, the march of the legions, the sieges of Jotapata, of Gamala, and of Jerusalem, form the impressive setting to the figure of the lad who becomes the leader of a guerrilla band of patriots, fights bravely for the Temple, and after a brief term of slavery at Alexandria, returns to his Galilean home. THROUGH THE FRAY A Story of the Luddite Riots. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by H.M. Paget. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The story is laid in Yorkshire at the commencement of the present century, when the high price of food induced by the war and the introduction of machinery drove the working-classes to desperation, and caused them to band themselves in that wide-spread organization known as the Luddite Society. There is an abundance of adventure in the tale, but its chief interest lies in the character of the hero, and the manner in which he is put on trial for his life, but at last comes victorious "through the fray." BY G.A. HENTY "The brightest of all the living writers whose office it is to enchant the boys."--_Christian Leader._ CAPTAIN BAYLEY'S HEIR A Tale of the Gold Fields of California. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by H.M. Paget. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. A frank, manly lad and his cousin are rivals in the heirship of a considerable property. The former falls into a trap laid by the latter, and while under a false accusation of theft foolishly leaves England for America. He works his passage before the mast, joins a small band of hunters, crosses a tract of country infested with Indians to the Californian gold diggings, and is successful both as digger and trader. IN FREEDOM'S CAUSE A Story of Wallace and Bruce. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Relates the stirring tale of the Scottish War of Independence. The hero of the tale fought under both Wallace and Bruce, and while the strictest historical accuracy has been maintained with respect to public events, the work is full of "hairbreadth 'scapes" and wild adventure. A JACOBITE EXILE Being the Adventures of a Young Englishman in the Service of Charles XII. of Sweden. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Paul Hardy, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Sir Marmaduke Carstairs, a Jacobite, is the victim of a conspiracy, and he is denounced as a plotter against the life of King William. He flies to Sweden, accompanied by his son Charlie. This youth joins the foreign legion under Charles XII., and takes a distinguished part in several famous campaigns against the Russians and Poles. CONDEMNED AS A NIHILIST A Story of Escape from Siberia. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero of this story is an English boy resident in St. Petersburg. Through two student friends he becomes innocently involved in various political plots, resulting in his seizure by the Russian police and his exile to Siberia. He ultimately escapes, and, after many exciting adventures, he reaches Norway, and thence home, after a perilous journey which lasts nearly two years. BY G.A. HENTY "Mr. Henty is one of our most successful writers of historical tales."--_Scotsman._ IN THE REIGN OF TERROR The Adventures of a Westminster Boy. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by J. Schönberg. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Harry Sandwith, a Westminster boy, becomes a resident at the chateau of a French marquis, and after various adventures accompanies the family to Paris at the crisis of the Revolution. Imprisonment and death reduce their number, and the hero finds himself beset by perils with the three young daughters of the house in his charge. After hairbreadth escapes they reach Nantes. There the girls are condemned to death in the coffinships, but are saved by the unfailing courage of their boy-protector. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, $1.50. No portion of English history is more crowded with great events than that of the reign of Edward III. Cressy and Poitiers; the destruction of the Spanish fleet; the plague of the Black Death; the Jacquerie rising; these are treated by the author in "St. George for England." The hero of the story, although of good family, begins life as a London apprentice, but after countless adventures and perils becomes by valor and good conduct the squire, and at last the trusted friend of the Black Prince. A CHAPTER OF ADVENTURES Or, Through the Bombardment of Alexandria. By G.A. Henty. With 6 full-page Illustrations by W.H. Overend. Crown 8vo, $1.25. A coast fishing lad, by an act of heroism, secures the interest of a ship-owner, who places him as an apprentice on board one of his ships. In company with two of his fellow-apprentices he is left behind, at Alexandria, in the hands of the revolted Egyptian troops, and is present through the bombardment and the scenes of riot and bloodshed which accompanied it. HELD FAST FOR ENGLAND A Tale of the Siege of Gibraltar. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. This story deals with one of the most memorable sieges in history--the siege of Gibraltar in 1779-83 by the united forces of France and Spain. With land forces, fleets, and floating batteries, the combined resources of two great nations, this grim fortress was vainly besieged and bombarded. The hero of the tale, an English lad resident in Gibraltar, takes a brave and worthy part in the long defence, and it is through his varied experiences that we learn with what bravery, resource, and tenacity the Rock was held for England. BY G.A. HENTY "Among writers of stories of adventures for boys Mr. Henty stands in the very first rank."--_Academy._ FOR NAME AND FAME Or, Through Afghan Passes. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. An interesting story of the last war in Afghanistan. The hero, after being wrecked and going through many stirring adventures among the Malays, finds his way to Calcutta and enlists in a regiment proceeding to join the army at the Afghan passes. He accompanies the force under General Roberts to the Peiwar Kotal, is wounded, taken prisoner, carried to Cabul, whence he is transferred to Candahar, and takes part in the final defeat of the army of Ayoub Khan. ORANGE AND GREEN A Tale of the Boyne and Limerick. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The record of two typical families--the Davenants, who, having come over with Strongbow, had allied themselves in feeling to the original inhabitants; and the Whitefoots, who had been placed by Cromwell over certain domains of the Davenants. In the children the spirit of contention has given place to friendship, and though they take opposite sides in the struggle between James and William, their good-will and mutual service are never interrupted, and in the end the Davenants come happily to their own again. MAORI AND SETTLER A Story of the New Zealand War. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Alfred Pearce. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The Renshaws emigrate to New Zealand during the period of the war with the natives. Wilfrid, a strong, self-reliant, courageous lad, is the mainstay of the household. He has for his friend Mr. Atherton, a botanist and naturalist of herculean strength and unfailing nerve and humor. In the adventures among the Maoris, there are many breathless moments in which the odds seem hopelessly against the party, but they succeed in establishing themselves happily in one of the pleasant New Zealand valleys. A FINAL RECKONING A Tale of Bush Life in Australia. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by W.B. Wollen. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero, a young English lad, after rather a stormy boyhood, emigrates to Australia and gets employment as an officer in the mounted police. A few years of active work on the frontier, where he has many a brush with both natives and bush-rangers, gain him promotion to a captaincy, and he eventually settles down to the peaceful life of a squatter. BY G.A. HENTY "Mr. Henty's books are welcome visitors in the home circle."--_Daily News._ THE BRAVEST OF THE BRAVE Or, With Peterborough in Spain. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by H.M. Paget. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. There are few great leaders whose lives and actions have so completely fallen into oblivion as those of the Earl of Peterborough. This is largely due to the fact that they were overshadowed by the glory and successes of Marlborough. His career as General extended over little more than a year, and yet, in that time, he showed a genius for warfare which has never been surpassed. THE DRAGON AND THE RAVEN Or, The Days of King Alfred. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by C.J. Staniland, R.I. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. In this story the author gives an account of the fierce struggle between Saxon and Dane for supremacy in England, and presents a vivid picture of the misery and ruin to which the country was reduced by the ravages of the sea-wolves. The hero, a young Saxon thane, takes part in all the battles fought by King Alfred. He is driven from his home, takes to the sea, and resists the Danes on their own element, and being pursued by them up the Seine, is present at the long and desperate siege of Paris. FACING DEATH Or, The Hero of the Vaughan Pit. A Tale of the Coal Mines. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. "Facing Death" is a story with a purpose. It is intended to show that a lad who makes up his mind firmly and resolutely that he will rise in life, and who is prepared to face toil and ridicule and hardship to carry out his determination, is sure to succeed. The hero of the story is a typical British boy, dogged, earnest, generous, and though "shamefaced" to a degree, is ready to face death in the discharge of duty. BY SHEER PLUCK A Tale of the Ashanti War. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the details of the Ashanti campaign, of which he was himself a witness. His hero, after many exciting adventures in the interior, is detained a prisoner by the king just before the outbreak of the war, but escapes, and accompanies the English expedition on their march to Coomassie. BY G.A. HENTY "Mr. Henty might with entire propriety be called the boys' Sir Walter Scott."--_Philadelphia Press._ THE CAT OF BUBASTES A Story of Ancient Egypt. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. A story which will give young readers an unsurpassed insight into the customs of the Egyptian people. Amuba, a prince of the Rebu nation, is carried with his charioteer Jethro into slavery. They become inmates of the house of Ameres, the Egyptian high-priest, and are happy in his service until the priest's son accidentally kills the sacred cat of Bubastes. In an outburst of popular fury Ameres is killed, and it rests with Jethro and Amuba to secure the escape of the high-priest's son and daughter. ONE OF THE 28TH A Tale of Waterloo. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by W.H. Overend, and 2 Maps. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero of this story, Ralph Conway, has many varied and exciting adventures. He enters the army, and after some rough service in Ireland takes part in the Waterloo campaign, from which he returns with the loss of an arm, but with a substantial fortune. STURDY AND STRONG Or, How George Andrews made his Way. By G.A. Henty. With 4 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.00. The history of a hero of everyday life, whose love of truth, clothing of modesty, and innate pluck, carry him, naturally, from poverty to affluence. George Andrews is an example of character with nothing to cavil at, and stands as a good instance of chivalry in domestic life. TALES OF DARING AND DANGER By G.A. Henty. With 2 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 75 cents. Containing five stories, varied in scene and character, but all of adventurous interest and telling of youthful heroism under dangerous and trying circumstances on land and on sea. YARNS ON THE BEACH By G.A. Henty. With 2 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 75 cents. This book should find special favor among boys. The yarns are spun by old sailors, and are admirably calculated to foster a manly spirit. DROLL DOINGS Illustrated by Harry B. Neilson, with verses by the Cockiolly Bird. 4to, decorated boards. $2.00. A new, original, and very amusing book of animal pictures in color. BY CARTON MOORE PARK A BOOK OF BIRDS Profusely Illustrated with full-page plates, vignettes, cover design, &c., &c. Demy 4to (13 inches by 10 inches). $2.00. No artist has caught more thoroughly the individualities of the bird world, or has reproduced them with more lifelike vivacity and charm. AN ALPHABET OF ANIMALS With 26 full-page Plates, a large number of vignettes, and cover design by Carton Moore Park. Demy 4to (13 inches by 10 inches), $2.00. A strikingly artistic alphabet book. Mr. Park's drawings are marked by extraordinary boldness and vigor of treatment; but they display in addition a rare appreciation of the subtler characteristics of the animal world. Of these individual traits Mr. Park has an intuitive perception, and his pictures may almost be said to live upon the page. BRIGHT AND ORIGINAL FAIRY TALES THE PRINCESS OF HEARTS By Sheila E. Braine. With 70 illustrations by Alice B. Woodward, and Frontispiece in Colors. Square 8vo, gilt edges, $2.00. GO TELL THE KING THE SKY IS FALLING By Sheila E. Braine. With 85 Illustrations by Alice B. Woodward. Square crown 8vo, $1.75. THE LITTLE BROWNS By Mabel E. Wolton. With 80 Illustrations by H.M. Brock, and a Colored Frontispiece. Square 8vo, gilt edges, $2.00. The little Browns are a delightful set of youngsters, more than usually individual and self-reliant. During their parents' absence they extend hospitality to a stranger, under the belief that he is their uncle from Australia. The supposed uncle is really a burglar, and by their courage and childish resource they outwit him. _The Little Browns_ is the work of a true child-lover. BY PROFESSOR A.J. CHURCH LORDS OF THE WORLD A Story of the Fall of Carthage and Corinth. By Professor A.J. Church. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Ralph Peacock. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The scene of this story centres in the destruction of Carthage by the Romans. The young hero is captured by the Romans, but wearing the dress of his twin sister, escapes death. Entering the army of Carthage he is in the thick of the long conflict and passes through many thrilling adventures. He is present at the final scene, and that awful catastrophe is most vividly told. The story is full of valuable historical details and the interest never flags. TWO THOUSAND YEARS AGO Or, The Adventures of a Roman Boy. By Professor A.J. Church. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Adrien Marie. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero is a young Roman who has a very chequered career, being now a captive in the hands of Spartacus, again an officer on board a vessel detailed for the suppression of the pirates, and anon a captive once more, on a pirate ship. BY S. BARING-GOULD GRETTIR THE OUTLAW A Story of Iceland. By S. Baring-Gould. With 10 full-page Illustrations by M. Zeno Diemer, and a Colored Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. No boy will be able to withstand the magic of such scenes as the fight of Grettir with twelve bearserks, and the wrestle with Karr the Old in the chamber of the dead. BY F. FRANKFORT MOORE HIGHWAYS AND HIGH SEAS Cyril Harley's Adventures on Both. By F. Frankfort Moore. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Alfred Pearse. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The story belongs to a period when highways meant post-chaises, coaches, and highwaymen, and when high seas meant privateers and smugglers. UNDER HATCHES Or, Ned Woodthorpe's Adventures. By F. Frankfort Moore. With 8 full-page Illustrations by A. Forestier. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. In rescuing another lad from drowning, Ned Woodthorpe is taken on board a convict ship. After a series of exciting events the convicts and crew obtain the mastery. Ultimately the ship is recaptured and Ned and his friends escape from their troubles. CAPT. F.S. BRERETON WITH RIFLE AND BAYONET A Story of the Boer War. With 8 Illustrations by Wal. Paget. Crown 8vo, olivine edges. $1.50. Jack Somerten, the hero of _With Rifle and Bayonet_, is an English boy who chances to be spending a vacation at the home of a school friend in the Transvaal just before the outbreak of the Boer war. Jack is the first Uitlander to find actual evidence that the Boers are importing arms and ammunition in large quantities, but the Boers soon learn that he has discovered their secret and from that time his life is in constant danger. The account of his adventures and escapes during this time and throughout the war makes one of the best war tales of many years. The story gives also the most interesting details of Transvaal history, who the Boers were, how they came to settle the Transvaal, and the Government and customs that have arisen among them. IN THE KING'S SERVICE A Tale of Cromwell's Invasion of Ireland. With eight page Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood. Crown 8vo, olivine edges. $1.50. Dick Granville is the son of a Royalist who is driven from his home in Cheshire and takes refuge at Castle Driscoe, in Ireland. When the Parliamentary army crosses to Ireland young Dick Granville and his cousin join a body of Royalist horse. They take part in the defense of Drogheda, only escaping from the slaughter there by a miracle, and afterwards go through a series of thrilling adventures and narrow escapes in which Dick displays extraordinary skill and resource. WITH SHIELD AND ASSEGAI A Tale of the Zulu War. With 6 Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood. Crown 8vo. $1.25. Donald Stewart, the son of an English missionary in Zululand, when at school in England, is wrongfully accused of theft. He runs away, enlists in the British army, and is sent to Africa. There he learns that his sister and a friend are in the hands of Cetewayo. Disguised as a Zulu, he rescues the two girls; and after the attack upon Ulundi, he hears from a dying officer a confession of the theft of which he was accused. FIGHTING THE MATABELE By J. Chalmers. With 6 Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood. 12mo. $1.25. A STOUT ENGLISH BOWMAN Being a Story of Chivalry in the Days of Henry III. By Edgar Pickering. With 6 illustrations. Price, $1.25. IN PRESS-GANG DAYS By Edgar Pickering. With 6 full page Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Crown 8vo. $1.25. BY ROBERT LEIGHTON "Mr. Leighton's place is in the front rank of writers of boys' books."--_Standard._ THE GOLDEN GALLEON Illustrated, crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. This is a story of Queen Elizabeth's time, just after the defeat of the Spanish Armada. Mr. Leighton introduces in his work the great sea-fighters of Plymouth town--Hawkins, Drake, Raleigh, and Richard Grenville. OLAF THE GLORIOUS By Robert Leighton. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Ralph Peacock. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. This story of Olaf, King of Norway, opens with his being found living as a bond-slave in Esthonia, and follows him through his romantic youth in Russia. Then come his adventures as a Viking, his raids upon the coasts of Scotland and England, and his conversion to Christianity. He returns to Norway as king, and converts his people to the Christian faith. WRECK OF "THE GOLDEN FLEECE" The Story of a North Sea Fisher-boy. By Robert Leighton. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Frank Brangwyn. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero is a parson's son who is apprenticed on board a Lowestoft fishing lugger. The lad suffers many buffets from his shipmates, while the storms and dangers which he braved are set forth with intense power. THE THIRSTY SWORD A Story of the Norse Invasion of Scotland (1262-63). By Robert Leighton. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Alfred Pearse, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. This story tells how Roderic MacAlpin, the sea-rover, came to the Isle of Bute; how he slew his brother in Rothesay Castle; how the earl's eldest son was likewise slain; how young Kenric now became king of Bute, and vowed vengeance against the slayer of his brother and father; and finally, how this vow was kept, when Kenric and the murderous sea-rover met at midnight and ended their feud in one last great fight. THE PILOTS OF POMONA A Story of the Orkney Islands. By Robert Leighton. With 8 full-page Illustrations by John Leighton, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Halcro Ericson, the hero, happens upon many exciting adventures and hardy experiences, through which he carries himself with quiet courage. The story gives a vivid presentation of life in these far northern islands. BY KIRK MUNROE MIDSHIPMAN STUART Or, the Last Cruise of the Essex. A Tale of the War of 1812. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25 IN PIRATE WATERS A Tale of the American Navy. Illustrated by I.W. Taber. 12mo, $1.25. The hero of the story becomes a midshipman in the navy just at the time of the war with Tripoli. His own wild adventures among the Turks and his love romance are thoroughly interwoven with the stirring history of that time. THE "WHITE CONQUERORS" SERIES WITH CROCKETT AND BOWIE Or, Fighting for the Lone Star Flag. A Tale of Texas. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Victor Pérard. Crown 8vo, $1.25. The story is of the Texas revolution in 1835, when American Texans under Sam Houston, Bowie, Crockett and Travis, fought for relief from the intolerable tyranny of the Mexican Santa Aña. The hero, Rex Hardin, son of a Texan ranchman and graduate of an American military school, takes a prominent part in the heroic defense of the Alamo, and the final triumph at San Jacinto. THROUGH SWAMP AND GLADE A Tale of the Seminole War. By Kirk Munroe. With 8 full-page Illustrations by V. Pérard. Crown 8vo, $1.25. Coacoochee, the hero of the story, is the son of Philip the chieftain of the Seminoles. He grows up to lead his tribe in the long struggle which resulted in the Indians being driven from the north of Florida down to the distant southern wilderness. AT WAR WITH PONTIAC Or, The Totem of the Bear. A Tale of Redcoat and Redskin. By Kirk Munroe. With 8 full-page Illustrations by J. Finnemore. Crown 8vo, $1.25. A story when the shores of Lake Erie were held by hostile Indians. The hero, Donald Hester, goes in search of his sister Edith, who has been captured by the Indians. Strange and terrible are his experiences; for he is wounded, taken prisoner, condemned to be burned, but contrives to escape. In the end all things terminate happily. THE WHITE CONQUERORS A Tale of Toltec and Aztec. By Kirk Munroe. With 8 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.25. This story deals with the Conquest of Mexico by Cortes and his Spaniards, the "White Conquerors," who, after many deeds of valor, pushed their way into the great Aztec kingdom and established their power in the wondrous city where Montezuma reigned in splendor. BY DR. GORDON STABLES COURAGE TRUE HEART A Brilliant New Story of Danger and Daring on the Sea. By Gordon Stables, M.D., C.M. Illustrated, crown 8vo, $1.25. A NAVAL CADET A Story of Adventure by Sea. By Gordon Stables, M.D., C.M. Illustrated, crown 8vo, $1.25. FOR LIFE AND LIBERTY A Story of Battle by Land and Sea By Gordon Stables, M.D., C.M. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Sidney Paget. 12mo, $1.50. The story of an English boy who runs from home and joins the southern army in the late Civil War. His chum enters the navy, and their various adventures are set forth with great vigor and interest. TO GREENLAND AND THE POLE A Story of Adventure in the Arctic Regions. By Gordon Stables, M.D., C.M. With 8 full-page Illustrations by G.C. Hindley, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The author is himself an old Arctic voyager, and he deals with deer-hunting in Norway, sealing in the Arctic Seas, bear-stalking on the ice-floes, the hardships of a journey across Greenland, and a successful voyage to the back of the North Pole. WESTWARD WITH COLUMBUS By Gordon Stables, M.D., C.M. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Alfred Pearse. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero of this story is Columbus himself. His career is traced from boyhood onward through the many hazardous enterprises in which he was at various times engaged. The narrative deals chiefly, however, with the great naval venture which resulted in the discovery of the American continent. 'TWIXT SCHOOL AND COLLEGE A Tale of Self-reliance. By Gordon Stables, M.D., C.M. With 8 full-page Illustrations by W. Parkinson. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. BY HARRY COLLINGWOOD THE LOG OF A PRIVATEERSMAN By Harry Collingwood. With 12 full-page Illustrations by W. Rainey, R.I. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. In the war between Napoleon and the British, many privateers were sent out from England to seize and destroy the French merchant vessels. On one of these George Bowen went as second mate. Long distance duels at sea, fights at close quarters, fierce boarding attacks, capture and recapture, flight and pursuit, storm and wreck, fire at sea and days without food or water in a small boat on the ocean, are some of the many thrilling experiences our hero passed through. THE LOG OF "THE FLYING FISH." A Story of Aerial and Submarine Peril and Adventure. By Harry Collingwood. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, $1.00. In this story the aim of the author has been, not only to interest and amuse, but also to stimulate a taste for scientific study. THE MISSING MERCHANTMAN. By Harry Collingwood. With 6 full-page Pictures by W. H. Overend. Crown 8vo, $1.00. A fine Australian clipper is seized by the crew; the passengers are landed on one deserted island, the captain and a junior officer on another; and the young hero of the story is kept on board to navigate the ship, which the mutineers refit as a private vessel. After many adventures Ned succeeded in carrying off the ship, and in picking up the captain and the passengers. THE CONGO ROVERS A Tale of the Slave Squadron. By Harry Collingwood. With 8 full-page Illustrations by J. Schönberg. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The scene of this thrilling tale is laid on the west coast of Africa among the slavers. THE ROVER'S SECRET A Tale of the Pirate Cays and Lagoons of Cuba. By Harry Collingwood. With 6 full-page Illustrations by W.C. Symons. Crown 8vo, $1.00. The hero of "The Rover's Secret," a young officer of the British navy, narrates his peculiar experiences in childhood and his subsequent perils and achievements. THE PIRATE ISLAND A Story of the South Pacific. By Harry Collingwood. Illustrated by 8 full-page Pictures by C.J. Staniland and J.R. Wells. Olivine edges. Crown 8vo, $1.50. This story details the adventures of a lad who was found in his infancy on board a wreck, and is adopted by a fisherman. Going to sea, he forms one of a party who, after being burned out of their ship, are picked up by a pirate brig and taken to the "Pirate Island," where they have many thrilling adventures. BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN "Mr. Fenn is in the front rank of writers for boys."--_Liverpool Mercury._ DICK O' THE FENS A Romance of the Great East Swamp. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Frank Dadd. Crown 8vo, $1.50. BROWNSMITH'S BOY With 6 page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.00. YUSSUF THE GUIDE Being the Strange Story of Travels in Asia Minor. With 8 full page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.00. THE GOLDEN MAGNET A Tale of the Land of the Incas. With 12 full-page Pictures by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, $1.50. NAT THE NATURALIST A Boy's Adventures in the Eastern Seas. Illustrated by 8 full-page Pictures by George Browne. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. QUICKSILVER Or, A Boy with no Skid to his Wheel. With 10 full-page Illustrations by Frank Dadd. Crown 8vo, $1.25. DEVON BOYS A Tale of the North Shore. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, $1.50. MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKEN Her Voyage to the Unknown Isle. With 8 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.00. BUNYIP LAND The Story of a Wild Journey in New Guinea. With 6 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, $1.25. IN THE KING'S NAME Or, The Cruise of the _Kestrel_. Illustrated by 12 full-page Pictures by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, $1.50. MENHARDOC A Story of Cornish Nets and Mines. With 6 full-page Illustrations by C.J. Staniland. Crown 8vo, $1.00. PATIENCE WINS Or, War in the Works. With 6 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo. $1.00. STORIES OF ADVENTURE BY SEA AND LAND PARIS AT BAY A Story of the Siege and the Commune. By Herbert Hayens. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. THE TURKISH AUTOMATON A Tale of the Time of Catharine the Great of Russia. By Sheila E. Braine. With 6 full-page Illustrations by William Rainey, R.I. Crown 8vo, $1.25. A MYSTERY OF THE PACIFIC By Oliphant Smeaton. With 8 Illustrations by Wal Paget. 12mo, olivine edges, $1.50. GOLD, GOLD, IN CARIBOO A Story of Adventure in British Columbia. By Clive Phillipps-Wolley. With 6 full-page Illustrations by G.C. Hindley. Crown 8vo, $1.25. HIS FIRST KANGAROO An Australian Story for Boys. By Arthur Ferres. With 6 Illustrations by P.B.S. Spener. Crown 8vo, $1.25. SOU'WESTER AND SWORD By Hugh St. Leger. With 6 full-page Illustrations by Hal Hurst. Crown 8vo, $1.50. WITH THE SEA KINGS A Story of the Days of Lord Nelson. By F.H. Winder. With 6 full-page Illustrations by W.S. Stacey. Crown 8vo, $1.50. THE WIGWAM AND THE WAR-PATH Stories of the Red Indians. By Ascott R. Hope. Illustrated by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, $1.00. "Mr. Hope's 'Wigwam and War-path' is notably good; It gives a very vivid picture of life among the Indians."--_Spectator._ THE SEVEN WISE SCHOLARS By Ascott R. Hope. Illustrated by Gordon Browne. Square 8vo, $1.50. YOUNG TRAVELLERS' TALES By Ascott R. Hope. With 6 full-page Illustrations by H.J. Draper. Crown 8vo, $1.25. WULFRIC THE WEAPON THANE The Story of the Danish Conquest of East Anglia. By Charles W. Whistler. With 6 Illustrations by W.H. Margetson. Crown 8vo, $1.25. A tale in which is set forth:--How Wulfric saved the Danish warrior's life; how he fought in the Viking ship; how he was accused falsely; how he joined King Eadmund, as his weapon-thane; how he fought for the king; and how he won the lady Osritha and brought her to his home. TOMMY THE ADVENTUROUS The Story of a Brother and Sister. By S.E. Cartwright. With 3 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.00. SILAS VERNEY A Tale of the Time of Charles II. By Edgar Pickering. With 6 full-page Illustrations by Alfred Pearse. Crown 8vo, $1.25. AN OCEAN OUTLAW A Story of Adventure in the good ship _Margaret_. By Hugh St. Leger. With 6 page Illustrations by Wm. Rainey, R.I. Crown 8vo, $1.25. This is a breezy sea-yarn in which the reader is made acquainted with Jimmy Ducks, a tiptop sailor-man and a hero at cutlass work; and all his cleverness was needed when he and his messmates came to tackle the Ocean Outlaw. THE LOSS OF JOHN HUMBLE What Led to It, and what Came of It. By G. Norway. With 8 full-page Illustrations by John Schönberg. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. HAL HUNGERFORD Or, The Strange Adventures of a Boy Emigrant. By J.R. Hutchinson. With 4 full-page Illustrations by Stanley Berkeley. Crown 8vo, $1.25. "There is no question whatever as to the spirited manner in which the story is told; the death of the mate of the smuggler by the teeth of the dog is especially effective."--_London Spectator._ SIR WALTER'S WARD A Tale of the Crusades. By William Everard. Illustrated by Walter Paget. Crown 8vo, $1.25. "A highly fascinating work, dealing with a period which is always suggestive of romance and deeds of daring."--_Schoolmaster._ HUGH HERBERT'S INHERITANCE By Caroline Austin. With 6 full-page Illustrations by C.T. Garland. Crown 8vo, $1.25. "A story that teaches patience as well as courage in fighting the battles of life."--_Daily Chronicle._ JONES THE MYSTERIOUS By Charles Edwardes. With 3 Illustrations by Harold Copping. 12mo, 75 cts. A bright story of English schoolboy life, with mysterious happenings to the hero, who has a secret and weird "power," bestowed upon him by his East Indian bearer. THE HISTORY OF GUTTA-PERCHA WILLIE The Working Genius. By George Macdonald. With 8 Illustrations by Arthur Hughes. New Edition. 12mo, 75 cts. "Hallowe'en" Ahoy! Or, Lost on the Crozet Islands. By Hugh St. Leger. With 6 page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.50. The Search for the Talisman A Tale of Labrador. By Henry Frith. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.25. Famous Discoveries by Sea and Land Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.00. From the Clyde to the Jordan By Hugh Callan. With 30 Illustrations and a Map. Crown 8vo, $1.50. Jack O'Lanthorn A Tale of Adventure. By Henry Frith. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.00. Tales of Captivity and Exile By W.B. Fortescue. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.00. HISTORICAL STORIES A Thane of Wessex Being a Story of the Great Viking Raids into Somerset. By Charles W. Whistler. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.25. A Prisoner of War A Story of the Time of Napoleon Bonaparte. By G. Norway. With 6 full-page Illustrations by Robert Barnes, A.R.W.S. Crown 8vo, $1.25. SOME BOOKS FOR GIRLS THE REIGN OF THE PRINCESS NASKA By Amelia Hutchison Stirling. With 55 Illustrations by Paul Hardy. 12mo, $1.00. THE WHISPERING WINDS And the Tales that they Told. By Mary H. Debenham. With 25 Illustrations by Paul Hardy. Crown 8vo, $1.00. "We wish the winds would tell us stories like these."--_London Academy._ THINGS WILL TAKE A TURN By Beatrice Harraden, author of "Ships that Pass in the Night." Illustrated. 12mo, $1.00. It is the story of a sunny-hearted child, Rosebud, who assists her grandfather in his dusty, second-hand bookshop. NAUGHTY MISS BUNNY Her Tricks and Troubles. By Clara Mulholland. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, 75 cents. "This naughty child is positively delightful."--_Land and Water._ UNLUCKY A Fragment of a Girl's Life. By Caroline Austin. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, 75 cents. A touching story of an unlucky girl at odds with her stepmother. LAUGH AND LEARN The Easiest Book of Nursery Lessons and Nursery Games. By Jennett Humphreys. Charmingly Illustrated. Square 8vo, $1.25. "One of the best books of the kind imaginable, full of practical teaching in word and picture, and helping the little ones pleasantly along a right royal road to learning."--_Graphic._ ADVENTURES IN TOYLAND By Edith King Hall. With 8 Colored Plates and 72 other Illustrations by Alice B. Woodward. Square 8vo, $2.00. The story of what a little girl heard and saw in a toy shop. SOME BOOKS FOR GIRLS. A NEWNHAM FRIENDSHIP By Alice Stronach. With 6 Illustrations by Harold Copping. Crown 8vo. $1.25. In _A Newmham Friendship_ we have a description of life at Newnham College. Carol Martin, a third-year student, befriends a "fresher," Elspeth Macleod, a shy, sensitive Highland girl, who has worked her way from a board school to college. The enmity of a fellow-student and a mystery about some parodies cloud Elspeth's happiness for a time. But the clouds clear. Men students play their part in the story, and the closing chapters describe the work of some of the girls as "social settlers" in the east of London. THREE FAIR MAIDS Or, The Burkes of Derrymore. By Katharine Tynan. With 12 Illustrations by G.D. Hammond. Crown 8vo, olivine edges. $1.50. A story of Irish country life. The three fair maids are the daughters of an impoverished Irish lady. Their father had been disinherited by his uncle for marrying against his wish. Sir Jasper's disinheritance obliged them to give up their great house, Derrymore, but the family is ultimately reconciled with Uncle Peter, who makes Elizabeth his heiress. QUEEN CHARLOTTE'S MAIDENS By Sarah Tytler, author of "Girl Neighbors." With 3 Illustrations by Paul Hardy. 12mo. 75 cts. GIRL NEIGHBORS Or, The Old Fashion and the New. By Sarah Tytler. With 8 full-page Illustrations by C.T. Garland. Crown 8vo. $1.00. "_Girl Neighbors_ is a pleasant comedy, not so much of errors as of prejudices got rid of, very healthy, very agreeable, and very well written."--_London Spectator._ THE HEIRESS OF COURTLEROY By Anne Beale. With 8 page Illustrations by T.C.H. Castle. Crown 8vo, cloth; elegant, olivine edges. $1.50. "Miss Anne Beale relates how the young 'Heiress of Courtleroy' had such good influence over her uncle as to win him from his intensely selfish ways in regard to his tenants and others."--_London Guardian._ SOME BOOKS FOR GIRLS THE LADY ISOBEL A Story for Girls. By Eliza F. Pollard. With 4 Illustrations by W. Fulton Brown. 12mo, $1.00. A Tale of the Scottish Covenanters. A GIRL OF TO-DAY By Ellinor Davenport Adams. With 6 page Illustrations by Gertrude Demain Hammond, R.I. Crown 8vo, $1.25. The boys and girls of Woodend band themselves together, and that they have plenty of fun is seen in the shopping expedition to purchase stores for their society, and in the successful Christmas entertainment. Max Brenton's fight with Joe Baker, the bully, shows that their work has its serious side as well. A DREADFUL MISTAKE By Geraldine Mockler. With 4 page Illustrations by William Rainey, R.I. Crown 8vo, $1.25. The mistake occurs at the very beginning of the book, gradually rights itself during the course of the story, and at the end is found to be the very best thing that could have happened. A very amusing character is an eccentric aunt. HER FRIEND AND MINE A Story of Two Sisters. By Florence Coombe. With 3 Illustrations by Wm. Rainey. 12mo, $1.00. THE EAGLE'S NEST By S.E. Cartwright. With 3 Illustrations by Wm. Rainey. 12mo, $1.00. MY FRIEND KATHLEEN By Jennie Chappell. With 4 Illustrations by John H. Bacon. 12mo, $1.00. A DAUGHTER OF ERIN By Violet G. Finny. With 4 Illustrations. Price, $1.00. Under False Colors A Story from Two Girls' Lives. By Sarah Doudney. With 6 full-page Illustrations by G.G. Kilburne. Crown 8vo, $1.25. A story which has in it so strong a dramatic element that it will attract readers of all ages and of either sex. BY M. CORBET-SEYMOUR A Girl's Kingdom Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.00. Olive and her story will receive welcome from all girls. Dulcie King A Story for Girls. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.00. SOME BOOKS FOR GIRLS BY ALICE CORKRAN Down the Snow Stairs Or, From Good-night to Good-morning. By Alice Corkran. With 60 character Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Square crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.25. "A gem of the first water, bearing upon every one of its pages the signet mark of genius.... All is told with such simplicity and perfect naturalness that the dream appears to be a solid reality. It is indeed a little Pilgrim's Progress."--_Christian Leader._ Margery Merton's Girlhood By Alice Corkran. With 6 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, $1.25. The experience of an orphan girl who in infancy is left by her father, an officer in India, to the care of an elderly aunt residing near Paris. Joan's Adventures At the North Pole and Elsewhere. By Alice Corkran. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, 75 cts. A beautiful dream-land story. Adventures of Mrs. Wishing-to-Be By Alice Corkran. With 3 full-page Pictures in colors. Crown 8vo, 75 cts. BY MRS. R.H. READ Dora; Or, A Girl without a Home. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.25. Nell's School Days A Story of Town and Country. By H.P. Gethen. With 4 Illustrations. Price, $1.00. Violet Vereker's Vanity By Annie E. Armstrong. With 6 Illustrations by G. D. Hammond. Crown 8vo, $1.25. Three Bright Girls A Story of Chance and Mischance. By Annie E. Armstrong. With 6 full-page Illustrations by W. Parkinson. Crown 8vo, $1.25. "Among many good stories for girls this is undoubtedly one of the very best."--_Teachers' Aid._ A Very Odd Girl Life at the Gabled Farm. By Annie E. Armstrong. With 6 full-page Illustrations by S.T. Dadd. Crown 8vo, $1.25. White Lilac Or, the Queen of the May. By Amy Walton. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.00. BY MARGARET PARKER For the Sake of a Friend A Story of School Life. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.00. CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 153-157 Fifth Ave., New York. 
38764	----	A ROVING COMMISSION [Illustration: "I HAVE HEARD A GREAT DEAL OF YOU, MR. GLOVER," THE ADMIRAL SAID.] A ROVING COMMISSION OR _THROUGH THE BLACK INSURRECTION AT HAYTI_ BY G. A. HENTY Author of "With Frederick the Great," "The Dash for Khartoum" "Both Sides the Border," etc. _WITH TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS BY WILLIAM RAINEY, R.I._ NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1904 _Copyright_, 1899, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. PREFACE Horrible as were the atrocities of which the monsters of the French Revolution were guilty, they paled before the fiendish outrages committed by their black imitators in Hayti. Indeed, for some six years the island presented a saturnalia of massacre, attended with indescribable tortures. It may be admitted that the retaliation inflicted by the maddened whites after the first massacre was as full of horrors as were the outrages perpetrated by the blacks, and both were rivalled by the mulattoes when they joined in the general madness for blood. The result was ruin to all concerned. France lost one of her fairest possessions, and a wealthy race of cultivators, many belonging to the best blood of France, were annihilated or driven into poverty among strangers. The mulattoes, many of whom were also wealthy, soon found that the passions they had done so much to foment were too powerful for them; their position under the blacks was far worse and more precarious, than it had been under the whites. The negroes gained a nominal liberty. Nowhere were the slaves so well treated as by the French colonists, and they soon discovered that, so far from profiting by the massacre of their masters and families, they were infinitely worse off than before. They were still obliged to work to some extent to save themselves from starvation; they had none to look to for aid in the time of sickness and old age; hardships and fevers had swept them away wholesale; the trade of the island dwindled almost to nothing; and at last the condition of the negroes in Hayti has fallen to the level of that of the savage African tribes. Unless some strong white power should occupy the island and enforce law and order, sternly repress crime, and demand a certain amount of labour from all able-bodied men, there seems no hope that any amelioration can take place in the present situation. G. A. HENTY. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A FIGHT WITH A BLOODHOUND 1 II. REJOINED 21 III. A SLAVE DEPOT 38 IV. A SHARP FIGHT 58 V. A PIRATE HOLD 76 VI. THE NEGRO RISING 93 VII. IN HIDING 112 VIII. A TIME OF WAITING 132 IX. AN ATTACK ON THE CAVE 152 X. AFLOAT AGAIN 172 XI. A FIRST COMMAND 191 XII. A RESCUE 211 XIII. TWO CAPTURES 232 XIV. THE ATTACK ON PORT-AU-PRINCE 253 XV. THE ATTACK ON PORT-AU-PRINCE 273 XVI. TOUSSAIT L'OUVERTURE 293 XVII. A FRENCH FRIGATE 311 XVIII. ANOTHER ENGAGEMENT 331 XIX. HOME 352 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE "I HAVE HEARD A GREAT DEAL OF YOU, MR. GLOVER," THE ADMIRAL SAID _Frontispiece_ "HEADED BY NAT, THE CREW OF THE GIG LEAPT DOWN ON TO THE DECK" 40 THE GUNS ON THE RAMPART SEND A SHOWER OF GRAPE INTO THE PIRATE 64 "IT WAS NOT LONG BEFORE HE CAME ACROSS THE FIGURE OF A PROSTRATE MAN" 122 "HE FELL LIKE A LOG OVER THE PRECIPICE" 164 THE JOURNEY TO THE COAST 178 THE RESCUE OF LOUISE PICKARD 212 "FOUR SHOTS WERE FIRED AND AS MANY NEGROES FELL" 226 "THE CAPTAIN OF THE PIRATES SHOOK HIS FIST IN DEFIANCE" 246 A MESSAGE FROM TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE 294 "DROP IT!" NAT REPEATED 308 "NAT SPRANG ON TO THE RAIL" 318 A ROVING COMMISSION CHAPTER I A FIGHT WITH A BLOODHOUND "Now, look here, Nathaniel--" "Drop that, Curtis, you know very well that I won't have it. I can't help having such a beast of a name, and why it was given me I have never been able to make out, and if I had been consulted in the matter all the godfathers and godmothers in the world wouldn't have persuaded me to take such a name. Nat I don't mind. I don't say that it is a name that I should choose; still, I can put up with that, but the other I won't have. You have only just joined the ship, but if you ask the others they will tell you that I have had at least half a dozen fights over the name, and it is an understood thing here that if anyone wants a row with me he has only got to call me Nathaniel, and there is no occasion for any more words after that." The speaker was a pleasant-faced lad, between fifteen and sixteen, and his words were half in jest half in earnest. He was a general favourite among his mess-mates on board H. M. frigate _Orpheus_. He was full of life and fun, exceptionally good-tempered, and able to stand any amount of chaff and joking, and it was understood by his comrades that there was but one point that it was unsafe to touch on, and that sore point was his name. It had been the choice of his godmother, a maiden aunt, who had in her earlier days had a disappointment. Nat had once closely questioned his father as to how he came by his name, and the latter had replied testily: "Well, my boy, your Aunt Eliza, who is, you know, a very good woman--no one can doubt that--had a weakness. I never myself got at the rights of the matter. Anyhow, his name was Nathaniel. I don't think there was ever any formal engagement between them. Her own idea is that he loved her, but that his parents forbade him to think of her; for that was at a time before her Aunt Lydia left all her money to her. Anyhow, he went abroad, and I don't think she ever heard of him again. I am inclined to think it was an entire mistake on her part, and that the young fellow had never had the slightest fancy for her. However, that was the one romance of her life, and she has clung to it like a limpet to a rock. At any rate when we asked her to be your godmother she said she would be so if we would give you the name of Nathaniel. I own it is not a name that I like myself; but when we raised an objection, she said that the name was very dear to her, and that if you took it she would certainly make you her heir, and more than hinted that if you had any other name she would leave her money to charitable purposes. Well, you see, as she is worth thirty thousand pounds if she is worth a penny, your mother and I both thought it would be folly to allow the money to go out of the family for the sake of a name, which after all is not such a bad name." "I think it beastly, father, in the first place because it is long." "Well, my boy, if you like we can shorten it to Nathan." "Oh, that would be a hundred times worse! Nathan indeed! Nat is not so bad. If I had been christened Nat I should not have particularly minded it. Why did you not propose that to aunt?" His father shook his head. "That would never have done. To her he was always Nathaniel. Possibly if they had been married it might some day have become Nat, but, you see, it never got to that." "Well, of course, father," the boy said with a sigh, "as the thing is done it cannot be helped. And I don't say that aunt isn't a good sort--first-rate in some things, for she has always tipped me well whenever she came here, and she says she is going to allow me fifty pounds a year directly I get my appointment as midshipman; but it is certainly hard on me that she could not have fallen in love with some man with a decent name. Nathaniel is always getting me into rows. Why, the first two or three years I went to school I should say that I had a fight over it once a month. Of course I have not had one lately, for since I licked Smith major fellows are more careful. I expect it will be just as bad in the navy." So when he first joined Nat had found it, but now that he was nearly sixteen, and very strong and active, and with the experience of many past combats, the name Nathaniel had been dropped. It was six months since the obnoxious Christian name had been used, as it was now by a young fellow of seventeen who had been transferred to the _Orpheus_ when the frigate to which he belonged was ordered home. He was tall and lanky, very particular about his dress, spoke in a drawling supercilious way, and had the knack of saying unpleasant things with an air of innocence. Supposing that Glover's name must be Nathaniel, he had thought it smart so to address him, but although he guessed that it might irritate him, he was unprepared for an explosion on the part of a lad who was proverbially good-tempered. "Dear me," he said, in assumed surprise, "I had no idea that you objected so much to be called by your proper name! However, I will, of course, in future use the abbreviation." "You had better call me Glover," Nat replied sharply. "My friends can call me Nat, but to other people I am Glover, and if you call me out of that name there will be squalls; so I warn you." Curtis thought it was well not to pursue the subject further. He was no coward, but he had the sense to see that as Nat was a favourite with the others, while he was a new-comer, a fight, even if he were the victor, would not conduce to his popularity among his mess-mates. The president of the mess, a master's mate, a good-tempered fellow, who hated quarrels, broke what would have been an awkward silence by saying: "We seem to be out of luck altogether this trip; we have been out three weeks and not fired a shot. It is especially hard, for we caught sight of that brigantine we have been in search of, and should have had her if she hadn't run into that channel where there was not water enough for us to follow her." "Yes, that was rough upon us, and one hates to go back to Port Royal without a prize, after having taken so many that we have come to be considered the luckiest ship on the station," another said. "Still, the cruise is not over yet. I suppose by the way we are laying our course, Marston, we are going into Cape François?" The mate nodded. "Yes; we want fresh meat, fruit, and water, and it is about the pleasantest place among these islands. I have no doubt, too, that the captain hopes to get some news that may help him to find out where those piratical craft that are doing so much mischief have their rendezvous. They are all so fast that unless in a strong breeze a frigate has no chance whatever of overhauling them; there is no doubt that they are all of Spanish build, and in a light breeze they sail like witches. I believe our only chance of catching them is in finding them at their head-quarters, wherever that may be, or by coming upon them in a calm in a bay. In that case it would be a boat affair; and a pretty sharp one I should think, for they all carry very strong crews and are heavily armed, and as the scoundrels know that they fight with ropes round their necks they would be awkward customers to tackle." "Yes, if we happened to find them all together, I don't think the captain would risk sending in the boats. One at a time we could manage, but with three of them mounting about fifty guns between them, and carrying, I should say, from two hundred to two hundred and fifty men, the odds would be very great, and the loss, even if we captured them, so heavy that I hardly think the captain would be justified in attempting it. I should say that he would be more likely to get out all the boats and tow the frigate into easy range. She would give a good account of the whole of them." "Yes, there is no doubt about that; but even then we should only succeed if the bay was a very narrow one, for otherwise their boats would certainly tow them faster than we could take the frigate along." It was Glover who spoke last. "I don't think myself that we shall ever catch them in the frigate. It seems to me that the only chance will be to get hold of an old merchantman, put a strong crew on board and a dozen of our guns, and cruise about until one of them gets a sight of us and comes skimming along to capture us." "Yes, that would be a good plan; but it has been tried several times with success, and I fancy the pirates would not fall into the trap. Besides, there is very little doubt that they have friends at all these ports, and get early information of any movements of our ships, and would hear of what we were doing long before the disguised ship came near them. It can hardly be chance, that it matters not which way we cruise these fellows begin their work in another direction altogether. Now that we are here in this great bay, they are probably cruising off the west of Cuba or down by Porto Rico or the Windward Islands. That is the advantage that three or four craft working together have: they are able to keep spies in every port that our ships of war are likely to go into, while a single vessel cannot afford such expenses." "I don't think that the expenses, Low, would be heavy; the negroes would do it for next to nothing, and so would the mulattoes, simply because they hate the whites. I don't mean the best of the mulattoes, because many of them are gentlemen and good fellows; but the lower class are worse than the negroes, they are up to any devilment, and will do anything they can to injure a white man." "Poor beggars, one can hardly blame them; they are neither one thing nor the other! These old French planters are as aristocratic as their noblesse at home, and indeed many of them belong to noble families. Even the meanest white--and they are pretty mean some of them--looks down upon a mulatto, although the latter may have been educated in France and own great plantations. The negroes don't like them because of their strain of white blood. They are treated as if they were pariahs. Their children may not go to school with the whites, they themselves may not sit down in a theatre or kneel at church next to them, they may not use the same restaurants or hotels. No wonder they are discontented." "It is hard on them," Glover said, "but one can't be surprised that the whites do fight shy of them. Great numbers of them are brutes and no mistake, ready for any crime and up to any wickedness. There is lots of good in the niggers; they are merry fellows; and I must say for these old French planters they use their slaves a great deal better than they are as a rule treated by our planters in Jamaica. Of course there are bad masters everywhere, but if I were a slave I would certainly rather be under a French master than an English one, or, from what I have heard, than an American." "Very well, Glover, I will make a note of that, and if you ever misbehave yourself and we have to sell you, I will drop a line to the first luff how your preference lies." Early the next morning the frigate dropped anchor at Cape François, the largest and most important town in the island, with the exception of the capital of the Spanish portion of San Domingo. The _Orpheus_ carried six midshipmen. Four of these had been ashore when on the previous occasion the _Orpheus_ had entered the port. Nat Glover and Curtis were the exceptions, Curtis having at that time belonged to the frigate for but a very few weeks, and Nat having been in the first lieutenant's bad books, owing to a scrape into which he had got at the last port they had touched at. After breakfast they went up together to the first lieutenant, whose name was Hill. "Please, sir, if we are not wanted, can we have leave for the day?" The lieutenant hesitated, and then said: "Yes, I think the other four will be enough for the boats. You did not go ashore last time you were here, I think, Mr. Glover," he added with a slight smile. "No, sir." "Very well, then, you can go, but don't get into any scrape." "I will try not to, sir," Nat said demurely. "Well, I hope your trial will be successful, Mr. Glover, for if not, I can tell you that it will be a long time before you have leave again. These people don't understand that sort of thing." "He is a nice lad," Mr. Hill said to the second lieutenant as the two midshipmen walked away, "and when he has worked off those animal spirits of his he will make a capital officer, but at present he is one of the most mischievous young monkeys I ever came across." "He does not let them interfere with his duty," the other said. "He is the smartest of our mids; he is well up in navigation, and has any amount of pluck. You remember how he jumped overboard in Port Royal when a marine fell into the water, although the harbour was swarming with sharks. It was a near touch. Luckily we threw a bowline to him, and the two were hauled up together. A few seconds more and it would have been too late, for there was a shark within twenty feet of them." "Yes, there is no doubt about his pluck, Playford, and indeed I partly owe my life to him. When we captured that piratical brigantine near Santa Lucia I boarded by the stern, and she had such a strong crew that we were being beaten back, and things looked very bad until he with the gig's crew swarmed in over the bow. Even then it was a very tough struggle till they cut their way through the pirates and joined us, and we went at them together, and that youngster fought like a young fiend. He was in the thick of it everywhere, and yet he was as cool as a cucumber. Oh yes, he has the making of a very fine officer. Although I am obliged to be sharp with him, there is not a shadow of harm in the lad, but he certainly has a genius for getting into scrapes." The two midshipmen went ashore together. "I don't know what you are going to do, Curtis, but after I have walked through the place and had a look at it, I shall hire a horse and ride out into the country." "It is too hot for riding," the other said. "Of course I shall see what there is to be seen, and then I shall look for a seat in some place in the shade and eat fruit." "Well, we may as well walk through the town together," Nat said cheerfully. "From the look of the place I should fancy there was not much in it, and I know the fellows who went on shore before said that the town contained nothing but native huts, a few churches, and two or three dozen old French houses." Half an hour indeed sufficed to explore the place. When they separated Nat had no difficulty in hiring a horse. He had been accustomed, when in England, to ride a pony, and was therefore at home in the saddle; he proceeded at a leisurely pace along the road across the flat plain that surrounded Cape François. On either side were plantations,--sugar-cane and tobacco,--and he occasionally passed the abode of some wealthy planter, surrounded by shady trees and gardens gorgeous with tropical plants and flowers. He was going by one of these, half a mile from the town, when he heard a loud scream, raised evidently by a woman in extreme pain or terror. He was just opposite the entrance, and, springing from his horse, he ran in. On the ground, twenty yards from the gate, lay a girl. A huge hound had hold of her shoulder, and was shaking her violently. Nat drew his dirk and gave a loud shout as he rushed forward. The hound loosed his hold of the girl and turned to meet him, and, springing upon him with a savage growl, threw him to the ground. Nat drove his dirk into the animal as he fell, and threw his left arm across his throat to prevent the dog seizing him there. A moment later the hound had seized it with a grip that extracted a shout of pain from the midshipman. As he again buried his dirk in the hound's side, the dog shifted his hold from Nat's forearm to his shoulder and shook him as if he had been a child. Nat made no effort to free himself, for he knew that were he to uncover his throat for a moment the dog would seize him there. Though the pain was terrible he continued to deal stroke after stroke to the dog. One of these blows must have reached the heart, for suddenly its hold relaxed and it rolled over, just as half a dozen negroes armed with sticks came rushing out of the house. Nat tried to raise himself on his right arm, but the pain of the left was so great that he leant back again half-fainting. Presently he felt himself being lifted up and carried along; he heard a lady's voice giving directions, and then for a time he knew no more. When he came to himself he saw the ship's doctor leaning over him. "What is the matter, doctor?" he asked. "You are badly hurt, lad, and must lie perfectly quiet. Luckily the messenger who was sent to fetch a doctor, seeing Mr. Curtis and me walking up the street, ran up to us and said that a young officer of our ship was hurt, and that he was sent in to fetch a doctor. He had, in fact, already seen one, and was in the act of returning with him when he met us. Of course I introduced myself to the French doctor as we came along together, for we fortunately got hold of a trap directly, so that no time was lost. The black boy who brought the message told me that you and a young lady had been bitten by a great hound belonging to his master, and that you had killed it. Now, my lad, I am going to cut off your coat and look at your wounds. The Frenchman is attending to the young lady." "Mind how you touch my arm, doctor! it is broken somewhere between the elbow and the wrist; I heard it snap when the brute seized me. It threw me down, and I put my arm across over my throat, so as to prevent it from getting at that. It would have been all up with me if it had gripped me there." "That it would, Glover. I saw the dog lying on the grass as I came in. It is a big bloodhound; and your presence of mind undoubtedly saved your life." By this time he had cut the jacket and shirt up to the neck. Nat saw his lips tighten as he caught sight of the wound on the shoulder. "It is a bad bite, eh, doctor?" "Yes, it has mangled the flesh badly. The dog seems to have shifted his hold several times." "Yes, doctor, each time I stabbed him he gave a sort of start, and then caught hold again and shook me furiously. After the first bite I did not seem to feel any pain. I suppose the limb was numbed." "Very likely, lad. Now I must first of all see what damage was done to the forearm. I am afraid I shall hurt you, but I will be as gentle as I can." Nat clenched his teeth and pressed his lips tightly together. Not a sound was heard as the examination was being made, although the sweat that started out on his forehead showed how intense was the pain. "Both bones are broken," the surgeon said to his French colleague, who had just entered the room and came up to the bedside. "The first thing to do is to extemporize some splints, and of course we shall want some stuff for bandages." "I will get them made at once," the doctor replied. "Madame Demaine said that she put the whole house at my disposal." He went out, and in a few minutes returned with some thin slips of wood eighteen inches long and a number of strips of sheeting sewn together. "It is very fortunate," the surgeon said, "that the ends of the bone have kept pretty fairly in their places instead of working through the flesh, which they might very well have done." Very carefully the two surgeons bandaged the arm from the elbow to the finger-tips. "Now for the shoulder," the doctor said. They first sponged the wounds and then began feeling the bones again, giving exquisite pain to Nat. Then they drew apart and consulted for two or three minutes. "This is a much worse business than the other," Dr. Bemish said when he returned to the bedside; "the arm is broken near the shoulder, the collar-bone is broken too, and the flesh is almost in a pulp." "Don't say I must lose the arm, doctor," Nat said. "Well, I hope not, Glover, but I can't say for certain. You see I am speaking frankly to you, for I know that you have pluck. The injury to the collar-bone is not in itself serious, but the other is a comminuted fracture." "What is comminuted, doctor?" "It means that the bone is splintered, lad. Still, there is no reason why it should not heal again; you have a strong constitution, and Nature works wonders." For the next half-hour the two surgeons were at work picking out the fragments of bone, getting the ends together, and bandaging the arm and shoulder. Nat fainted under the pain within the first few minutes, and did not recover until the surgeons had completed their work. Then his lips were wetted with brandy and a few drops of brandy and water were poured down his throat. In a minute or two he opened his eyes. "It is all over now, lad." He lay for sometime without speaking, and then whispered, "How is the girl?" "Her shoulder is broken," Dr. Bemish replied. "I have not seen her; but the doctor says that it is a comparatively simple case." "How was it the dog came to bite her?" "She was a stranger to it. She is not the daughter of your hostess. It seems her father's plantation is some twelve miles away; he drove her in and left her here with Madame Demaine, who is his sister, while he went into town on business. Madame's own daughter was away, and the girl sauntered down into the garden, when the hound, not knowing her, sprang upon her, and I have not the least doubt would have killed her had you not arrived." "Are you going to take me on board, doctor?" "Not at present, Glover; you need absolute quiet, and if the frigate got into a heavy sea it might undo all our work, and in that case there would be little hope of saving your arm. Madame Demaine told the French doctor that she would nurse you as if you were her own child, and that everything was to be done to make you comfortable. The house is cool, and your wound will have a much better chance of getting well here than in our sick-bay. She wanted to come in to thank you, but I said that, now we had dressed your arm, it was better that you should have nothing to disturb or excite you. When the girl's father returns--and I have no doubt he will do so soon, for as yet, though half-a-dozen boys have been sent down to the town, they have not been able to find him--he must on no account come in to see you at present. Here is a tumbler of fresh lime-juice and water. Doctor Lepel will remain here all night and see that you have everything that you require." The tumbler was held to Nat's lips, and he drained it to the bottom. The drink was iced, and seemed to him the most delicious that he had ever tasted. "I shall come ashore again to see you in the morning. Dr. Lepel will go back with me now, and make up a soothing draught for you both. Remember that above all things it is essential for you to lie quiet. He will put bandages round your body, and fasten the ends to the bedstead so as to prevent you from turning in your sleep." "All right, sir; I can assure you that I have no intention of moving. My arm does not hurt me much now, and I would not set it off aching again for any money." "It is a rum thing," Nat thought to himself, "that I should always be getting into some scrape or other when I go ashore. This is the worst of all by a long way." A negro girl presently came in noiselessly and placed a small table on the right-hand side of the bed. She then brought in a large jug of the same drink that Nat had before taken, and some oranges and limes both peeled and cut up into small pieces. "It is lucky it was not the right arm," Nat said to himself. "I suppose one can do without the left pretty well when one gets accustomed to it, though it would be rather awkward going aloft." In an hour Dr. Lepel returned, and gave him the draught. "Now try and go to sleep," he said in broken English. "I shall lie down on that sofa, and if you wake up be sure and call me. I am a light sleeper." "Had you not better stay with the young lady?" "She will have her mother and her aunt with her, so she will do very well. I hope that you will soon go to sleep." It was but a few minutes before Nat dozed off. Beyond a numbed feeling his arm was not hurting him very much. Once or twice during the night he woke and took a drink. A slight stir in the room aroused him, and to his surprise he found that the sun was already up. The doctor was feeling his pulse, a negro girl was fanning him, and a lady stood at the foot of the bed looking at him pitifully. "Do you speak French, monsieur?" she asked. "A little," he replied, for he had learned French while at school, and since the frigate had been among the West Indian islands he had studied it for a couple of hours a day, as it was the language that was spoken in all the French islands and might be useful to him if put in charge of a prize. "Have you slept well?" she asked. "Very well." "Does your arm hurt you very much now?" "It hurts a bit, ma'am, but nothing to make any fuss about." "You must ask for anything that you want," she said. "I have told off two of my negro girls to wait upon you. Of course they both speak French." Half an hour later Dr. Bemish arrived. "You are going on very well, Glover," he said after feeling the lad's pulse and putting his hand on his forehead. "At present you have no fever. You cannot expect to get through without some, but I hardly expected to find you so comfortable this morning. The captain told me to say that he would come and see you to-day, and I can assure you that there is not one among your mess-mates who is not deeply sorry at what has happened, although they all feel proud of your pluck in fighting that great hound with nothing but a dirk." "They are useless sort of things, doctor, and I cannot think why they give them to us; but it was a far better weapon yesterday than a sword would have been." "Yes, it was. The room is nice and cool, isn't it?" "Wonderfully cool, sir. I was wondering about it before you came in, for it is a great deal cooler than it is on board." "There are four great pans full of ice in the room, and they have got up matting before each of the windows, and are keeping it soaked with water." "That is very good of them, doctor. Please thank Madame Demaine for me. She was in here this morning--at least I suppose it was she--and she did not bother me with thanks, which was a great comfort. You are not going to take these bandages off and put them on again, I hope?" "Oh, no. We may loosen them a little when inflammation sets in, which it is sure to do sooner or later." Captain Crosbie came to see Nat that afternoon. "Well, my lad," he said cheerfully, "I see that you have fallen into good hands, and I am sure that everything that is possible will be done for you. I was talking to the girl's mother and aunt before I came in. Their gratitude to you is quite touching, and they are lamenting that Dr. Bemish has given the strictest orders that they are not to say anything more about it. And now I must not stay and talk; the doctor gave me only two minutes to be in the room with you. I don't know whether the frigate is likely to put in here again soon, but I will take care to let you know from time to time what we are doing and where we are likely to be, so that you can rejoin when the doctor here gives you leave; but mind, you are not to dream of attempting it until he does so, and you must be a discontented spirit indeed if you are not willing to stay for a time in such surroundings. Good-bye, lad! I sincerely trust that it will not be very long before you rejoin us, and I can assure you of a hearty welcome from officers and men." Three days later, fever set in, but, thanks to the coolness of the room and to the bandages being constantly moistened with iced water, it passed away in the course of a week. For two or three days Nat was light-headed, but he woke one morning feeling strangely weak. It was some minutes before he could remember where he was or how he had got there, but a sharp twinge in his arm brought the facts home to him. "Thank God that you are better, my brave boy," a voice said in French, as a cool hand was placed on his forehead; and turning his head Nat saw a lady standing by his bedside. She was not the one whom he had seen before; tears were streaming down her cheeks, and, evidently unable to speak, she hurried from the room, and a minute later Doctor Lepel entered. "Madame Duchesne has given me the good news that you are better," he said. "I had just driven up to the door when she ran down." "Have I been very bad, doctor?" "Well, you have been pretty bad, my lad, and have been light-headed for the past three or four days, and I did not for a moment expect that you would come round so soon. You must have a magnificent constitution, for most men, even if they recovered at all from such terrible wounds as you have had, would probably have been three or four times as long before the fever had run its course." "And how is the young lady?" "She is going on well, and I intended to give permission for her to be carried home in a hammock to-day, but when I spoke of it yesterday to her mother, she said that nothing would induce her to go until you were out of danger. She or Madame Demaine have not left your bedside for the past week, and next to your own good constitution you owe your rapid recovery to their care. I have no doubt that she will go home now, and you are to be moved to Monsieur Duchesne's house as soon as you are strong enough. It lies up among the hills, and the change and cooler air will do you good." "I have not felt it hot here, doctor, thanks to the care that they have taken in keeping the room cool. I hope now that there is no fear of my losing my arm?" "No; I think that I can promise you that. In a day or two I shall re-bandage it, and I shall then be able to see how the wounds are getting on; but there can be no doubt that they are doing well, or you would never have shaken off the fever so soon as you have done." "Of course the _Orpheus_ has sailed, doctor?" "Yes. She put to sea a week ago. I have a letter here that the captain gave me to hand to you when you were fit to read it. I should not open it now if I were you. You are very weak, and sleep is the best medicine for you. Now, drink a little of this fresh lime-juice. I have no doubt that you will doze off again." Almost before the door closed on the doctor Nat was asleep. A fortnight later he was able to get up and sit in an easy-chair. "How long shall I have to keep these bandages on, doctor?" "I should say in another fortnight or so you might take them off the forearm, for the bones seem to have knit there, but it would be better that you should wear them for another month or six weeks. There would indeed be no use in taking them off earlier, for the bandages on the shoulder and the fracture below it cannot be removed for some time, and you will have to carry your arm in a sling for another three months. I do not mean that you may not move your arm before that, indeed it is desirable that you should do so, but the action must be quiet and simple, and done methodically, and the sling will be necessary at other times to prevent sudden jerks." "But I shall be able to go away and join my ship before that, surely?" "Yes, if the arm goes on as well as at present you may be able to do so in a month's time; only you will have to be very careful. You must remember that a fall, or even a lurch against the rail, or a slip in going down below, or anything of that kind, might very well undo our work, for it must be some time before the newly-formed bone is as strong as the old. As I told you the other day, your arm will be some two inches shorter than it was." "That won't matter a rap," Nat said. That afternoon Nat had to submit to what he had dreaded. The doctor had pronounced that he was now quite convalescent, and that there was no fear whatever of a relapse, and Monsieur and Madame Duchesne therefore came over to see him. He had seen the latter but once, and then only for a minute, for she found herself unable to observe the condition on which alone the doctor had allowed her to enter, namely, to repress all emotion. Madame Demaine came in with them. Since her niece had been taken away, she had spent much of her time in Nat's room, talking quietly to him about his English home or his ship, and sometimes reading aloud to him, but studiously avoiding any allusion to the accident. Monsieur Duchesne was a man of some thirty-five years of age, his wife was about five years younger, and they were an exceptionally handsome couple of the best French type. Madame Duchesne pressed forward before the others, and to Nat's embarrassment bent over him and kissed him. "You cannot tell how we have longed for this time to come," she said. "It seemed so cold and ungrateful that for a whole month we should have said no word of thanks to you for saving our darling's life, but the doctor would not allow it. He said that the smallest excitement might bring on the fever again, so we have been obliged to abstain. Now he has given us leave to come, and now we have come, what can we say to you? Ah, monsieur, it was our only child that you saved, the joy of our lives! Think of the grief into which we should have been plunged by her loss, and you can then imagine the depth of our gratitude to you." While she was speaking her husband had taken Nat's right hand and pressed it silently. There were tears in his eyes, and his lips quivered with emotion. "Pray do not say anything more about it, madam," Nat said. "Of course I am very glad to have saved your daughter's life, but anyone else would have done the same. You don't suppose that anyone could stand by and see a girl mauled by a dog without rushing forward to save her, even if he had had no arm of any kind, while I had my dirk, which was about as good a weapon for that sort of thing as one could want. Why, Harpur, our youngest middy, who is only fourteen, would have done it. Of course I have had a good deal of pain, but I would have borne twice as much for the sake of the pleasure I feel in having saved your daughter's life, and I am sure that I have had a very nice time of it since I have begun to get better. Madame Demaine has been awfully good to me. If she had been my own mother she could not have been kinder. I felt quite ashamed of being so much trouble to her, and of being fanned and petted as if I had been a sick girl. And how is your daughter getting on? The doctor gave me a very good account of her, but you know one can't always quite believe doctors; they like to say pleasant things to you so as not to upset you." "She is getting on very well indeed. Of course she has her arm in a sling still, but she is going about the house, and is quite merry and bright again. She wanted to come over with us to-day, but Dr. Lepel would not have it. He said that a sudden jolt over a stone might do a good deal of mischief. However, it will not be long before she sees you, for we have got leave to have you carried over early next week." CHAPTER II REJOINED Four days later Monsieur Duchesne came down with six negroes and a cane lounging chair, on each side of which a long pole had been securely lashed. Nat's room was on the ground floor, and with wide windows opening to the ground. The chair was brought in. Nat was still shaky on his legs, but he was able to get from the bed into the chair without assistance. "I shall come over to see you to-morrow," Madame Demaine said, as he thanked her and her husband for their great kindness to him, "and I hope I shall find that the journey has done you no harm." Four of the negroes took the ends of the poles and raised them onto their shoulders, the other two walked behind to serve as a relay. Monsieur Duchesne mounted his horse and took his place by Nat's side, and the little procession started. The motion was very easy and gentle. It was late in the afternoon when they started, the sun was near the horizon, and a gentle breeze from the sea had sprung up. In half an hour it was dusk, and the two spare negroes lighted torches they had brought with them, and now walked ahead of the bearers. It was full moon, and after having been so long confined in a semi-darkened room, Nat enjoyed intensely the soft air, the dark sky spangled with stars, and the rich tropical foliage showing its outlines clearly in the moonlight. Presently Monsieur Duchesne said: "I have a flask of brandy and water with me, Mr. Glover, in case you should feel faint or exhausted." Nat laughed. "Thank you for thinking of it, monsieur, but there is no fatigue whatever in sitting here, and I have enjoyed my ride intensely. It is almost worth getting hurt in order to have such pleasure: we don't get such nights as this in England." "But you have fine weather sometimes, surely?" Monsieur Duchesne said. "Oh yes, we often have fine weather, but there are not many nights in the year when one can sit out-of-doors after dark! When it is a warm night there are sure to be heavy dews; besides, the stars are not so bright with us as they are here, nor is the air so soft. I don't mean to say that I don't like our climate better; we never have it so desperately hot as you do, and besides, we like the cold, because it braces one up, and even the rain is welcome as a change, occasionally. Still, I allow that as far as nights go you beat us hollow." The road presently began to rise, and before they reached the end of the journey they were high above the plain. As they approached the house the negroes broke into a song, and on their stopping before the wide verandah that surrounded the house, Madame Duchesne and her daughter were standing there to greet them as the bearers gently lowered the chair to the ground. The girl was first beside it. "Ah, monsieur," she exclaimed as she took his hand, "how grateful I am to you! how I have longed to see you! for I have never seen you yet; and it has seemed hard to me that while aunt and the doctor should have seen you so often, and even mamma should have seen you once, I should never have seen you at all." "There is not much to see in me at the best of times, mademoiselle," Nat said as he rose to his feet, "and I am almost a scarecrow now. I wanted to see you, too, just to see what you were like, you know." He took the arm that Monsieur Duchesne offered him, for although he could have walked that short distance unaided, he did not know the ground, and might have stumbled over something. They went straight from the verandah into a pretty room lighted by a dozen wax candles. He sat down in a chair that was there in readiness for him. The girl placed herself in front of him and looked earnestly at him. "Well," he said with a laugh, "am I at all like what you pictured me?" "You are not a scarecrow at all!" she said indignantly. "Why do you say such things of yourself? Of course you are thin, very thin, but even now you look nice. I think you are just what I thought you would be. Now, am I like what you thought I should be?" "I don't know that I ever attempted to think exactly what you would be," Nat said. "I did not notice your face; I don't even know whether it was turned my way. I did take in that you were a girl somewhere about thirteen years old, but as soon as the dog turned, my attention was pretty fully occupied. Madame Demaine said your name was Myra. I thought that with such a pretty name you ought to be pretty too. I suppose it is rude to say so, but you certainly are, mademoiselle." The girl laughed. "It is not rude at all; and please you are to call me Myra and not mademoiselle. Now, you must get strong as soon as you can. Mamma said I might act as your guide, and show you about the plantation, and the slave houses, and everywhere. I have never had a boy friend, and I should think it was very nice." "My dear," her mother said with a smile, "it is not altogether discreet for a young lady to talk in that way." "Ah! but I am not a young lady yet, mamma, and I think it is much nicer to be a girl and to be able to say what one likes. And you are an officer, Monsieur Glover!" "Well, if I am to call you Myra, you must call me Nat. Monsieur Glover is ridiculous." "You are very young to be an officer," the girl said. "Oh, I have been an officer for more than two years," he said. "I was only fourteen when I joined, and I am nearly sixteen now." "And have you been in battles?" "Not in a regular battle. You see England is not at war now with anyone, but I have been in two or three fights with pirates and that sort of thing." "And now, Myra, you must not talk any more," her father said. "You know the doctor gave strict orders that he was to go to bed as soon as he arrived here." At this moment the door opened and a slave girl brought in a basin of strong broth. "Well, you may stop to take that." Nat spent a delightful month at Monsieur Duchesne's plantation. For the first few days he lay in a hammock beneath a shady tree, then he began to walk, at first only for a few minutes, but every day his strength increased. At the end of a fortnight he could walk half a mile, and by the time the month was up he was able to wander about with Myra all over the plantation. Monsieur Duchesne, on his return one day from town, brought a letter for him. It was from the captain himself: _Dear Mr. Glover,--I hope you are getting on well, and are by this time on your legs again. As far as I can see, we are not likely to be at Cape François again for some time, therefore, when you feel quite strong enough, you had better take passage in a craft bound for Jamaica, which is likely to be our head-quarters for some time. Of course if we are away, you will wait till our return. I have spoken to a friend of mine, Mr. Cummings--his plantation lies high up among the hills--and he has kindly invited you to make his place your home till we return, and it will be very much better for you to be in the pure air up there than in this pestilential place._ Nat would have started the next day, but his host insisted upon his staying for another week. "You are getting on so well," M. Duchesne said, "that it would be folly indeed to risk throwing yourself back. Every day is making an improvement in you, and a week will make a great difference." At the end of that week the planter, seeing that Nat was really anxious to rejoin his ship, brought back the news that a vessel in port would sail for Port Royal in two days. "I have engaged a cabin for you," he said, "for although we shall be sorry indeed to lose you, I know that you want to be off." "It is not that I want to be off, sir, for I was never happier in all my life, but I feel that I ought to go. It is likely enough that the ship may be short of middies, one or two may be away in prizes, and it will be strange if no one falls sick while they are lying in Port Royal. It would be ungrateful indeed if I wanted to leave you when you are all so wonderfully kind to me." M. Duchesne drove Nat down to the port the next morning. The midshipman as he left the house felt quite unmanned, for Myra had cried undisguisedly, and Madame Duchesne was also much moved. They passed M. Demaine's house without stopping, as he and his wife had spent the previous evening at the Duchesnes', and had there said good-bye to him. "It is quite time that I was out of this," Nat said to himself as he leaned on the rail and looked back at the port. "That sort of life is awfully nice for a time, but it would soon make a fellow so lazy and soft that he would be of no use on board ship. Of course it was all right for a bit, but since I began to use my arm a little, I have wanted to do something. Still, it would have been no good leaving before, for my arm is of no real use yet, and the doctor said that I ought to carry it in a sling for at least another month. But I am sure I ought to feel very grateful to our doctor and Lepel, for I expect I should have lost it altogether if they hadn't taken such pains with it at first. Well, it will be very jolly getting back again. I only hope that the captain won't be wanting to treat me as an invalid." To Nat's delight he saw, as he entered Port Royal, the _Orpheus_ lying there, and without landing he hailed a boat and went on board. As soon as he was made out there was quite a commotion on board the frigate among the sailors on deck and at the side, while those below looked out of the port-holes, and a burst of cheering rose from all as the boat came alongside. As he came up on to the deck the midshipmen crowded round, shaking him by the hand; and when he went to the quarter-deck to report his return, the lieutenants greeted him as heartily. The captain was on shore. Nat was confused and abashed at the warmth of their greeting. "It is perfectly ridiculous!" he said almost angrily, as he rejoined the midshipmen; "as if there was anything extraordinary in a fellow fighting a dog!" "It depends upon the size of the dog and the size of the fellow," Needham, the senior midshipman, said, "and also how he got into the fight." "The fact is, Needham, if I had killed the dog with the first stroke of my dirk nobody would have thought anything about the matter, and it is just because I could not do so, and therefore got badly mauled before I managed it, that all this fuss is made! It would have been much more to the point if you had all grumbled, when I came on board, at my being nursed and coddled, while you had to do my duty between you, just because I was such a duffer that I was a couple of minutes in killing the dog instead of managing it at once." "Well, we might have done so if we had thought of it, but, you see, we did not look at it in that light, Nat," Needham laughed; "there is certainly a good deal in what you say. However, I shall in future look upon my dirk as being of more use than I have hitherto thought; I have always considered it the most absurd weapon that was ever put into anyone's hand to use in action. Not, of course, that one does use it, for one always gets hold of a cutlass when there is fighting to be done. How anyone can ever have had the idea of making a midshipman carry about a thing little better than a pocket-knife, and how they have kept on doing so for years and years, is most astonishing! For the lords of the admiralty must all have been midshipmen themselves at one time, and must have hated the beastly things just as much as we do. If they think a full-sized sword too heavy for us--which it certainly isn't for the seniors--they might give us rapiers, which are no weight to speak of, and would be really useful weapons if we were taught to use them properly. "Well, we won't say anything more about your affair, Nat, if you don't like it; but we sha'n't think any the less, because we are all proud of you, and whatever you may say, it was a very plucky action. I know that I would rather stand up against the biggest Frenchman than face one of those savage hounds. And how is the arm going on? I see you still have the arm of your jacket snipped open and tied up with ribbons, and you keep it in a sling." "Yes; the doctor made such a point of it that I was obliged to promise to wear it until Bemish gives me permission to lay it aside." He took it out of the sling and moved it about. "You see I have got the use of it, though I own I have very little strength as yet; still, I manage to use it at meals, which is a comfort. It was hateful being obliged to have my grub cut up for me. How long have you been in harbour here?" "Three days; and you are in luck to find us here, for I hear that we are off again to-morrow morning. You have missed nothing while you have been away, for we haven't picked up a single prize beyond a little slaver with a hundred niggers on board." When the captain came off two hours later with Dr. Bemish he sent for Nat. "I am heartily glad to see you back again, Mr. Glover, and to see you looking so vastly better than when I saw you last; in fact, you look nearly as well as you did before that encounter." "I have had nothing to do but to eat, sir." "Well, the question is, how is your arm?" "It is not very strong yet, sir, but I could really do very well without this sling." "Well, you see I have to decide whether you had better go up to the hills until we return from our next cruise or take you with us." "Please, sir, I would much rather go with you." "Yes; it is not a question of what you like best, but what the doctor thinks best for you. You had better go to him at once, he will examine your arm and report to me, and of course we must act on his decision." Nat went straight to the doctor. "Well, you are looking better than I expected," the latter said, holding the lad at arm's-length and looking him up and down; "flesh a good deal more flabby than it used to be--want of exercise, of course, and the result of being looked after by women. Now, lad, take off your shirt and let me have a regular examination." He moved the arm in different directions, felt very carefully along each bone, pressing rather hard at the points where these had been broken, and asking Nat if it hurt him. He replied "No" without hesitation, as long as the doctor was feeling the forearm, but when he came to the upper-arm and shoulder he was obliged to acknowledge that the pressure gave him a bit of a twinge. "Yes, it could hardly be otherwise," the doctor said; "however, there is no doubt we made a pretty good job of it. Stretch both arms out in front of you and bring the fingers together. Yes, that is just what I expected, it is some two and a half inches shorter than the other; but no one will be likely to notice it." "Don't you think, doctor, that I can go to sea now? The captain said that you would have to decide." "I think a month up in the hills would be a very desirable thing, Glover. The bones have knit very well, but it would not take much to break them again." "I have had quite enough of plantations for the present, doctor, and I do think that sea air would do me more good than anything. I am sure I feel better already for the run from Cape François here." The doctor smiled. "Well, you see, if you did remain on board you would be out of everything. You certainly would not be fit for boat service, you must see that yourself." "I can't say that I do, sir; one fights with one's right arm and not with one's left." "That is so, lad, but you might get hit on the left arm as well as the right. Besides, even on board, you might get hurt while skylarking." "I would indeed be most careful, doctor." "Well, we will see about it, and talk it over with the captain." All that evening Nat was in a state of alarm whenever anyone came with a message to any of his mess-mates; but when it was almost the hour for lights out he turned into his hammock with great satisfaction, feeling sure that if it had been decided that he must go ashore next morning a message to that effect would have been sent to him. The sound of the boatswain's whistle, followed by the call "All hands to make sail!" settled the question. He had already dressed himself with Needham's assistance, but had remained below lest, if the captain's eye fell on him, he might be sent ashore. As soon, however, as he heard the order he felt sure that all was right, and went up on deck. Here he took up his usual station, passing orders forward and watching the men at work, until the vessel was under sail. The want of success on the last cruise made all hands even keener than usual to pick up something worth capturing. "I suppose there is no clue as to the whereabouts of those three pirates," he said to Needham as the latter, after the vessel was fairly under weigh, joined him. "No; twice we had information from the captains of small craft that they had seen suspicious sail in the distance, but there is no doubt that the niggers had been either bribed or frightened into telling us the story, for in each case, though we remained a fortnight cruising about, we have never caught sight of a suspicious sail. When we returned here we found to our disgust that they must have been at work hundreds of miles away, as several ships were missing, and one that came in had been hotly chased by them, but being a fast sailer escaped by the skin of her teeth. That is the worst of these negroes, one can never believe them, and I think the best way would be when anyone came and told a yarn, to go and cruise exactly in the opposite direction to that in which he tells us he has seen the pirates." "It is a pity we cannot punish some of these fellows who give false news," Nat said. "Yes; but the difficulty is proving that it is false. In the first place, one of these native craft is so much like another that one would not recognize it again; besides, you may be sure that the rascals would give Port Royal a wide berth for a time. On our last cruise we did take with us the negro who brought the news, but that made the case no better. He pretended, of course, to be as anxious as anyone that the pirates should be caught, and as he stuck to his story that he had seen a rakish schooner where he said he did, there was no proof that he was lying, and he pretended to be terribly cut up at not getting the reward promised him if he came across them. "I have no doubt that he was lying, but there was no way of proving it. You see, the idea of getting hold of a trader and fitting her up with a few guns and some men is all well enough when you have only got to deal with a single schooner or brigantine, but it would be catching a tartar if these three scoundrels were to come upon her at once. Of course they are all heavily armed and carry any number of men, nothing short of the frigate herself would be a match for them. And one thing is certain, we can't disguise her to look like a merchantman. Do what we would, the veriest landlubber would make her out to be what she is, and you may be sure the pirates would know her to be a ship of war as soon as they got a sight of her topsails." "You have not heard, I suppose, where our cruising ground is going to be this time?" Nat asked. "No, and I don't suppose we shall know for a few hours. You may be sure that whatever course we take now will not be our real course, for I bet odds that after dark some fast little craft will sneak out of harbour to take the pirates news as to the course we are following, and to tell them that we have not taken a negro this time who would lead us a dance in the wrong direction. I should not be surprised if we are going to search the islands round Cuba for a change. We were among the bays and islets up north on our last cruise, and the captain may be determined to try fresh ground." Needham's guess turned out to be correct, for after darkness fell the ship's course was changed, and her head laid towards Cuba. After cruising for nearly three weeks without success, they were passing along the coast of the mainland, when Nat, who had now given up his sling, went aloft with his telescope. Every eye on deck was turned towards the island, but their continued failures had lessened the eagerness with which they scanned the shore, and, as there was no sign of any break in its outline, it was more from habit than from any hope of seeing anything that they looked at the rugged cliffs that rose forty or fifty feet perpendicularly above the water's edge, and at the forest stretching up the hillsides behind them. "You have seen nothing, I suppose, Tom?" he asked the sailor stationed in the main-top. "Not a thing, Mr. Glover." Nat continued his way up, and took his seat on the yard of the topsail. Leaning back against the mast, he brought his telescope to bear upon the land, and for half an hour scanned every rock and tree. At last something caught his eye. "Come up here, Tom," he called to the sailor below. "Look there, you see that black streak on the face of the cliff?" "I see it, yer honour." "Well, look above the first line of trees exactly over it: isn't that a pole with a truck on the top of it?" "You are right, sir! you are right!" the sailor said, as he got the glass to bear upon the object Nat had indicated, "that is the upper spar of a vessel of some sort, sure enough." "On deck there!" Nat shouted. "What is it, Mr. Glover?" the first lieutenant answered. "I can make out the upper spar of a craft in among the trees over there, sir." "You are sure that you are not mistaken?" "Quite sure, sir. With the glass I can make out the truck quite distinctly. It is certainly either the upper spar of a craft of some kind or a flag-staff, of course I cannot say which." The first lieutenant himself ran up the ratlines and joined Nat. The breeze was very light, and the _Orpheus_ was scarcely moving through the water. Nat handed his telescope to Mr. Hill. "There, sir, it is about a yard to the west of that black streak on the rock." "I see it," the lieutenant exclaimed after a long gaze at the shore. "You are right, it must be, as you say, either the spar of a ship or a flag-staff; though how a ship could get in there is more than I can say. There, it has gone now!" "The trees were rather lower at the point where we saw it, and the higher trees have shut it in." He descended to the deck followed by Nat. "Well, what do you make of it, Mr. Hill?" enquired the captain, who had come out of his cabin on hearing Nat's hail. "There is no doubt that Mr. Glover is right, sir, and that it is the upper spar of a craft of some kind, unless it is a flag-staff on shore, and it is hardly the sort of place in which you would expect to find a flag-staff. It is a marvel Mr. Glover made it out, for even with his glass I had a great difficulty in finding it, though he gave me the exact bearing." "Thank you, Mr. Glover," the captain said. "At last there seems a chance of our picking up a prize this cruise. The question is, how did she get there?" "I am pretty sure that we have passed no opening, sir. I have been aloft for the past half-hour, and have made out no break in the rocks." "That is quite possible," the captain said, "and yet it may be there. We are a good three-quarters of a mile off the shore, and some of these inlets are so narrow, and the rocks so much the same colour, that unless one knows the entrance is there, one would never suspect it. At any rate we will hold on as we are for a bit." The hail had set everyone on deck on the _qui vive_, and a dozen telescopes were turned upon the shore. "Unlikely as it seems, Mr. Hill," the captain said, after they had gone on half a mile without discovering any break in the line of rock, "I am afraid that it must have been a flag-staff that you saw. There may be some plantation there, and the owner may have had one put up in the front of his house. However, it will be worth while to lower a boat and row back along the foot of the cliff for a mile or so, and then a mile ahead of us; if there is an opening we shall be sure to find it. Tell Mr. Playford to take the gig; Mr. Glover can go with him as he is the discoverer." The boat was lowered at once, and as soon as the officers had taken their place the six men who composed the crew bent their backs to the oars, the coxswain making for a point on the shore about a mile astern of the frigate, which was lying almost becalmed. The men had taken muskets and cutlasses with them, for it was probable enough that a watch might have been set on the cliff, and that, should there be an inlet, a boat might be lying there ready to pounce out upon them as soon as they reached it. Every eye was fixed upon the boat as she turned and rowed along within fifty yards of the foot of the rocks. "I thought I could not have been so blind as to pass the entrance without seeing it," one of the sailors who had been on watch aloft said, in a tone of satisfaction. "Now, I don't mind how soon the boat finds a gap." But when the boat had paddled on for another mile without a pause, a look of doubt and dissatisfaction showed itself on every face. "You are quite sure, Mr. Hill," the captain asked, "that it was a staff of some kind that you saw, and not, perhaps, the top of a dead tree whose bark had peeled off?" "I am quite certain, sir. It was too straight and even for rough wood; and I made out a truck distinctly: but it is certainly strange that no entrance should be discovered. I am afraid that 'tis but a flag-staff after all." "I can hardly imagine that," the captain said. "I have often seen flag-staffs in front of plantation houses, but never one so high as this must be to show over the trees. If it had been nearer to the edge of the cliff it might have been a signal-post, but they would hardly put it a mile back from the edge of the cliff and bury it among trees. At any rate, if we find no entrance I will send a landing-party ashore to see what it really is, that is to say if we can find any place where the cliff can be scaled." "What is it, Mr. Needham?" as the midshipman came up and touched his hat. "The boat is rowing in to shore, sir." The two officers went to the side. "They have either found an entrance or some point at which the rock can be scaled--Ah, there they go!" he went on, as the boat disappeared from sight, "though from here there is no appearance whatever of an opening." It was some minutes before the boat again appeared. It was at once headed for the frigate. "Mr. Playford has news for us of some sort," the captain said, "the men are rowing hard." In a few minutes the boat came alongside. The second officer ran up the accommodation ladder. "Well, Mr. Playford, what is your news?" "There is an inlet, sir, though if we had not been close in to those rocks I should never have noticed it. It runs almost parallel with the coast for a quarter of a mile. I thought at first that it ended there, but it makes a sharp angle to the south-east, and continues for a mile or so, and at the other end there is a large schooner, I have no doubt a slaver. I fancy they are landing the slaves now. There is a barracoon on the shore and some storehouses." "Did they see you?" "No, sir; at least I don't think so. Directly I saw that the passage was going to make a turn, I went close in to the rocks on the other side, and brought up at the corner where I could get a view without there being much fear of our being seen, and indeed I don't think that it would have been possible to make us out unless someone had been watching with a glass." "We shall soon know whether they saw you, Mr. Playford. If they did they will probably set all hands to work to tow the schooner out, for though there is not wind enough to give us steerage-way, these slavers will slip along under the slightest breath. They can hardly have made the frigate out. They probably thought the hiding-place so secure that they did not even put a watch on the cliffs. Of course if there was anyone up there they could have seen the boat leave our side, and would have watched her all along. "Did you see any place at which the cliff could be climbed?" "No, sir, and up to the turn the rocks are just as steep inside as they are here, but beyond that the inlet widens out a good deal and the banks slope gradually, and a landing could be effected anywhere there, I should say." "We will send the boats in as soon as it gets dark, Mr. Hill. If they saw us coming they would drive off the slaves into the woods before we could get there, so the best plan will be to land a strong party at the bend, so that they can get down to the barracoon at the same time that the others board the schooner. No doubt this is a regular nest of slave-traders. It has long been suspected that there was some depot on this side of the island. It has often been observed that slavers when first made out were heading in this direction, and more than once craft that were chased, and, as it seemed, certain to be caught in the morning, have mysteriously disappeared. This hiding-place accounts for it. "You did not ascertain what depth of water there was at the mouth of the creek, Mr. Playford?" "Yes, sir, I sounded right across with the boat's grapnel; there is nowhere more than two and a half fathoms, but it is just about that depth right across." "Then it is evident that we cannot take the frigate in. What is the width at the mouth?" "About thirty yards." An hour later the _Orpheus_ anchored opposite the mouth of the inlet, which, however, was still invisible. "I think that, as this may be an important capture, Mr. Hill, it would be as well for you to go in charge of the boats. Mr. Playford will take the command of the landing-party. I should say that twenty marines, under Lieutenant Boldero, and as many blue-jackets, would be ample for that. He had better take the long-boat and one of the gigs, while you take the launch, the pinnace, and the other gig. If they have made us out, we may expect a very tough resistance, and it may be that, although Mr. Playford saw nothing of them, they may have a couple of batteries higher up." "Likely enough, sir." "You had better let the landing-party have a start of you, so that if they should unmask a battery on the side on which they are, they can rush down at once and silence it." "Very good, sir." The sun was now approaching the horizon; as soon as it dipped behind it the boats were lowered, and the sailors, who had already made all preparations, at once took their places in them. Needham was in command of the gig that carried a portion of the landing-party, Nat was in charge of the other gig, and Low was in charge of the pinnace, Mr. Hill going in the launch. Nat had first been told off to the gig now commanded by Needham, but the captain said to the first lieutenant, "You had better take Glover with you, Mr. Hill, and let Needham go with Mr. Playford. Scrambling along on the shore in the dark, one might very well get a heavy fall, and it is as well that Glover should not risk breaking his arm again." CHAPTER III A SLAVE DEPOT Night fell rapidly as soon as the sun had set, and by the time the boats reached the mouth of the inlet it was already dark. The two boats under the second officer entered first, rowed up the inlet to the bend, and landed the marines and sailors on the opposite side; the boarding-party lay on their oars for five minutes and then followed. The oars were muffled, and the men ordered to row as noiselessly as they could, following each other closely, and keeping under the left bank. They were about half-way up when the word "Fire!" was shouted in Spanish, and six guns were simultaneously discharged. Had the Spaniards waited a few seconds longer, the three boats would all have been in line with the guns. As it was, a storm of grape sent the water splashing up ahead of the pinnace, which, however, received the contents of the gun nearest to them. It was aimed a little low, and fortunately for the crew the shot had not yet begun to scatter, and the whole charge struck the boat just at the water-level, knocking a great hole in her. "We are sinking, Mr. Hill," Low said. "Will you come alongside and pick us up?" Although the launch was but a length behind, the gunwale of the pinnace was nearly level with the water as she came alongside. Its occupants were helped on board the launch, which at once held on her way. Half a minute later six guns were fired from the opposite bank. The boats were so close under the shore that their position could not be made out with any certainty. Three men were hit by the grapeshot, but beyond this there were no casualties. "Keep in as much as you dare," Mr. Hill said to the coxswain; "the battery opposite will be loaded again in a couple of minutes, but as long as we keep in the shadow of the shore their shooting will be wild." The battery, indeed, soon began to fire again, irregularly, as the guns were loaded. The shot tore up the water ahead and astern of the boats, but it was evident that those at the guns could not make out their precise position. Another five minutes and the boats were headed for the schooner. "You board at the bow, Mr. Glover, I will make for her quarter. Now, lay out, lads, as hard as you can, the sooner you are there the less chance you have of being hit." A moment later a great clamour arose behind them. First came a British cheer; then rapid discharges of pistols and muskets, mingled with the clash of cutlasses and swords; a minute or two later this ceased, and the loud cheer of the marines and seamen told those in the boats that they had carried the battery. The diversion was useful to the boats. Until now the slavers had been ignorant that a party of foes had landed, and the fact that a barracoon full of slaves, and the storehouses, were already threatened, caused something like consternation among them. The consequence was that they fired hastily and without taking time to aim. Before they could load again the boats were alongside, unchecked for an instant by the musketry fire which broke out from the deck of the schooner as soon as cannon had been discharged. Boarding-nettings had been run up, but holes were soon chopped in these by the sailors. Headed by Nat, the crew of the gig leapt down on to the deck, for the greater part of the slaver's crew ran aft to oppose what they considered the more dangerous attack made by the occupants of the crowded launch. The defence was successfully maintained until the crew of the gig, keeping close together and brushing aside the resistance of the few men forward, flung themselves upon the main body of the slavers, and with pistol and cutlass hewed their way through them till abreast of the launch. The slavers attacked them furiously, and would speedily have annihilated them, but the crew of the launch, led by Mr. Hill, came swarming over the bulwarks, and, taking the offensive, drove the slavers forward, where, seeing that all was lost, they sprang overboard, striking out for the shore to the right. Severe fighting was now going on opposite the schooner, where the landing-party were evidently attacking the barracoon and storehouses. [Illustration: "HEADED BY NAT, THE CREW OF THE GIG LEAPT DOWN ON TO THE DECK."] "To the boats, men!" Mr. Hill shouted, "our fellows are being hard pressed on shore; Mr. Glover, you with the gig's crew will remain in charge here." Indeed, it was evident that the resistance on shore was much more obstinate than had been expected. Nat stood watching the boat. Just as it reached the shore one of the sailors shouted, "Look out, sir!" and he saw a big mulatto rushing at him with uplifted sword. His cutlass was still in his hand, and throwing himself on guard he caught the blow as it fell upon it, and in return brought his cutlass down on his opponent's cheek. With a howl of pain the man sprang at him, but Nat leaped aside, and his cutlass fell on the right wrist of the mulatto, whose sword dropped from his hand, and, rushing to the side, he threw himself overboard. In the meantime a fierce struggle was going on between the sailors and seven or eight of the slavers who, being unable to swim, had thrown themselves down by the guns and shammed death, as had Nat's antagonist, who was first mate of the schooner. The fight was short but desperate, and one by one the slavers were run through or cut down, but not before three or four of the sailors had received severe wounds. "Get a lantern, mate," one of these growled, "and see that there are no more of these skulking hounds alive." The sailors, furious at what they considered treachery, fetched a light that was burning in the captain's cabin, and without mercy ran through two or three unwounded men whom they found hiding among the fallen. It was soon clear that the reinforcement that had landed had completely turned the tables. Gradually the din rolled away from the neighbourhood of the storehouses, there was some sharp firing as the enemy fled towards the wood behind, and then all was quiet. Presently there was a shout in Mr. Hill's voice from the shore: "Schooner ahoy!" "Ay, ay, sir." "Load with grape, Mr. Glover, and send a round or two occasionally into that wood behind the houses; I am going to leave thirty men here under Mr. Playford, and to take the rest over to the opposite side and carry the battery there." "Ay, ay, sir." And as the guns pointing on that side had not been discharged, he at once opened fire on the wood. A minute later the launch and gig rowed past the schooner and soon reached the opposite side. Ten minutes passed without any sound of conflict being heard, and Nat had no doubt that the battery had been found deserted. It was not long before the boats were seen returning. They rowed this time to the schooner. "Mr. Glover," the first lieutenant said as he reached the deck, "do you lower the schooner's cutter, put all the wounded on board, take four of your men and row out to the frigate and report to the captain what has taken place. Tell him that Mr. Playford carried the battery on the right in spite of the guns, and that I have spiked those in the battery on the left, which I found deserted. Say that we have had a sharp fight on shore with a large number of negroes led by two or three white men and some mulattoes, and that I believe there must be some large plantations close at hand whose owners are in league with the slavers. You can say that we found a hundred and twenty slaves in the barracoon, evidently newly landed from the schooner, and that I intend to find the plantations and give them a lesson in the morning. How many wounded have you here?" "There are fourteen altogether, sir; ten of them were wounded in the first attack, and four have been wounded since by some of the slavers who shammed death." "There are eight more in the launch, happily we have only two men killed. You had better give all the wounded a drink of water; I have a flask, and I dare say you have one: empty them both into the bucket." There was a barrel half full of water on deck; a bucketful of this was drawn, and the two flasks of spirits emptied into it, and a mug of the mixture given to each of the wounded men. They were then assisted down into the schooner's boat; four of the gig's crew took their places in it, and Nat, taking the tiller, told them to row on. Half an hour later they came alongside the frigate. A sailor ran down the ladder with a lantern. Nat stepped out and mounted to the deck. The captain was standing at the gangway. "We have been uneasy about you, Mr. Glover. We heard a number of reports of heavier guns than they were likely to carry on board a slaver, and feared that they came from shore batteries." "Yes, sir, there were two of them mounting six guns each. Mr. Playford, with the landing-party, captured the one on the eastern side; Mr. Hill, after the schooner was taken and the enemy on shore driven off, rowed across and took the other, which he found unoccupied." "What is the loss?" "Only two killed, sir, but there are twenty-two wounded, two or three of them by musket-shots, and the rest cutlass wounds. They are all in the boat below, sir." A party was at once sent down to carry up such of the wounded as were unable to walk. As soon as all were taken below, and the surgeon had begun his work, the captain asked Nat to give him a full account of the proceedings. "I cannot tell you much of what took place ashore, sir," he said, "as Mr. Hill left me in charge of the schooner. After we had carried her, he went ashore with the crews of the launch and pinnace to help Mr. Playford." "Tell me all you know first." Nat related the opening of the two batteries, and how one had been almost immediately captured by Mr. Playford. "So the pinnace was sunk?" "Yes, sir, the enemy's charge struck her between wind and water, and she went down at once; her crew were picked up by the launch. I hear that none of them were injured." Then he told how they had kept under the shelter of the shore, and thus escaped injury from the other battery, and how the schooner had been captured. "It was lucky that your men got a footing forward, Mr. Glover. You did well to lead them aft at once, and thus assist Mr. Hill's party to board." Nat then related the sudden attack by the slavers who had been feigning death. "It was lucky that it was no worse," the captain said. "No doubt they were fellows who couldn't swim, and if there had been a few more it would have gone hard with you. And now about this fight on shore; it can hardly have been the crew of the schooner, for, by the stout resistance they offered, they must have been all on board." "Yes, sir." Nat then gave the message that Mr. Hill had sent. "No doubt, Mr. Glover; I dare say this place has been used by slavers for years. Probably there are some large barracoons where the slaves are generally housed, and planters who want them either come or send from all parts of the island. I will go ashore myself early to-morrow morning. There is no question that this is an important capture, and it will be a great thing to break up this centre of the slave-trade altogether. Now that their hiding-place has once been discovered, they will know that our cruisers will keep a sharp look-out here, and a vessel once bottled up in this inlet has no chance whatever of escape. You can go with me, it is thanks to the sharpness of your eyes that we made the discovery." The sun had not yet shown above the eastern horizon when the captain's gig passed in through the mouth of the inlet, and ten minutes later rowed alongside the wharf in front of the barracoon. "There is another wharf farther along," the captain said; "we may take that as proof that there are often two of these slavers in here at the same time. Ah, there is Mr. Hill! I congratulate you on your success," he went on, as the first lieutenant joined him; "there is no doubt that this has been a regular rendezvous for the scoundrels. It is well that you attacked after dark, for the cross fire of those batteries, aided by that of the schooner, would have knocked the boats into matchwood." "That they would have done, sir. I was very glad when I saw the boat coming, as I thought it was probable that you were on board her, and we are rather in a difficulty." "What is that, Mr. Hill?" "Well, sir, as soon as we had settled matters here we followed the enemy, and found a road running up the valley; and as it was along this that most of the fellows who opposed us had no doubt retreated, I thought it as well to follow them up at once. We had evidently been watched, for a musketry fire was opened upon us from the trees on both sides. I sent Mr. Boldero with the marines to clear them out on the left, and Mr. Playford with twenty seamen to do the same on the right, and then I pressed forward with the rest. Presently a crowd of negroes came rushing down from the front, shouting, and firing muskets. We gave them a volley, and they bolted at once. We ran straight on, and a hundred yards farther up came upon a large clearing. "In the middle stood a house, evidently that of a planter. A short distance off were some houses, probably inhabited by the mulatto overseers, and a few huts for his white overseers, and some distance behind these were four large barracoons. We made straight for these, for we could hear a shouting there, and had no doubt that the mulattoes were trying to get the slaves out and to drive them away into the wood. However, as soon as we came up the fellows bolted. There were about a hundred slaves in each barracoon. No doubt the fellows who attacked us were the regular plantation hands. I suppose the owner of the place made sure that we should be contented with what we had done, and should not go beyond the head of the inlet; and when the firing began again he sent the plantation men down to stop us until he had removed the slaves. I left Mr. Playford in command there, and brought twenty men back here; and I was just going to send off a message to you saying what had taken place, and asking for instructions. You see, with the slaves we found here, we have over five hundred blacks in our hands. That is extremely awkward." "Extremely," the captain said thoughtfully. "Well, I will go back with you and see the place. As to the houses--the plantation house and the barracoons--I shall have no hesitation in destroying them. This is evidently a huge slaving establishment, and, as the blacks and their overseers attacked us, we are perfectly justified in destroying this den altogether. If I could catch their owner I should assuredly hang him. The difficulty is what to do with all these unfortunate creatures; the schooner would not hold more than two hundred if packed as close as herrings. However, the other thing is first to be thought of." Nat followed his commander and the lieutenant to the plantation, or, it should rather be said, to the depot; for the clearing in the valley was but a quarter of a mile long and a few hundred yards wide. It was evident that if the owner had a plantation it was at some distance away, and that the men with whom they had fought were principally mulattoes and negroes employed about the place, and in minding the slaves as they were brought in. They passed straight on to the barracoons. The sailors had already brought the slaves out and knocked off their irons. The poor creatures sat on the ground, evidently bewildered at what had taken place, and uncertain whether they were in the hands of friends or enemies. "Some of the men have found the cauldrons in which food is cooked," Mr. Hill said, "and are now preparing a meal for them; and as we found some hogsheads of molasses and stores of flour and rice they will get a better meal than they are accustomed to. I have set some of the strongest slaves to pump water into those big troughs there; the poor beggars will feel all the better after a wash." "They will indeed. I don't suppose they have had one since they were first captured in Africa." In half an hour a meal was served. As an effort of cooking it could hardly be termed a success, but was a sort of porridge, composed of flour and rice sweetened with molasses. There was some difficulty in serving it out, for only a few mugs and plates were found at the barracoons. These were supplemented by all the plates, dishes, and other utensils in the houses of the owner and overseers. By this time the negroes had been taken in parties of twenties to the troughs, where they had a thorough wash. "This is all very well, Mr. Hill," the captain said, "but what are we to do with all these people? Of course we must move them down to the water, and burn these buildings, in the first place because the scoundrels who are at the bottom of all this villainy should be punished, and in the second place because in all probability they will collect a large number of negroes and mulattoes and make an attack. We cannot leave a force here that could defend itself; therefore, whatever we decide upon afterwards, it is clear that all the slaves must be taken down to the houses on the inlet. I should set the men to open all the stores, and load the negroes with everything that can be useful. I expect you will find a good deal of cotton cloth and so on, for no doubt the man here dealt in other articles besides slaves, and he would, moreover, keep cottons and that sort of thing for sending them up the country into market. However, take everything that is worth taking in the way of food or otherwise, and carry it down to the storehouses by the water, then set all the houses and sheds here on fire. When you see them well alight you can bring the men down to the shore; then we must settle as to our course. It is a most awkward thing our coming upon all these slaves. If there were only those who had been landed from the schooner there would be no difficulty about it, as we should only have to put them on board again, but with four hundred others on our hands I really don't know how to manage. We might stow a hundred in the frigate, though I own I should not like it." "No, indeed," Mr. Hill murmured; "and four hundred would be out of the question." The captain returned to the inlet and made an examination of the storehouses there. They were for the most part empty. They were six in number, roughly constructed of timber, and some forty feet long by twenty wide, and consisted only of the one floor. They stood ten feet apart. The barracoon was some twenty yards away. In a short time the slaves began to pour in, all--men, women, and children--carrying burdens proportionate to their strength. They had now come to the conclusion that their new captors were really friends, and with the light-heartedness of their race laughed and chattered as if their past sufferings were already forgotten. Mr. Playford saw to the storing of their burdens. These filled one of the storehouses to the roof. There was, as the captain had anticipated, a large quantity of cotton cloth among the spoil. Some of these bales were placed outside the store, twenty of the negroes were told off to cut the stuff up into lengths for clothing, and by mid-day the whole of the slaves were, to their delight, attired in their new wraps. Among the goods that had been brought down were a number of implements and tools--axes, hoes, shovels, and long knives. Captain Crosbie had, by this time, quite made up his mind as to the plan to be pursued. "We must hold this place for a time, Mr. Hill," he said as the latter came down with the last body of sailors, after having seen that all the buildings in the valley were wrapped in flames. "I have been thinking over the question of the slaves, and the only plan that I can see is to go for a two or three day's cruise in the frigate, in hopes of falling in with some native craft with which I can make an arrangement for them to return here with me, and aid in carrying off all these poor creatures. These five storehouses and the barracoon will hold them all pretty comfortably. Two of the storehouses had better be given up to the women and children. We will make a stockade round the buildings, with the ends resting in the water, and get the guns from those batteries and put them in position here. With the help of those on board the schooner, a stout defence can be made to an attack, however formidable. I shall leave Mr. Playford in command with forty men on shore; Mr. Glover will be in charge of the schooner with five-and-twenty more. The frigate will remain for a couple of days at her present anchorage, and I will send as many men as we can spare ashore to help in finishing the work before she sails. "In the first place there must be a barrack run up for the men on shore between the barracoon and the storehouses. It must be made of stout beams. I don't mean squared, but young trees placed side by side so as to be perfectly musket-proof. The palisades should be made of strong saplings, wattled together, say, ten feet high. A hundred and fifty sailors, aided by three hundred and fifty able-bodied negroes, should make quick work of it. The schooner's crew can see to the removal of the guns from the batteries and their establishment upon platforms behind the palisade. I should divide the twelve guns into four batteries, three in each. The armourer shall come off in the morning to get out the spikes, and the carpenters shall come with their tools." "There are a dozen cross-cut saws among the things that we have brought down, sir." "That is good. How many axes are there?" "Four dozen, sir." "Good! I will send all the hatchets we have on board. I think, Mr. Hill, that you had better take up your position on board the schooner until we sail. How about water? That is a most important point." "The slaves have brought down a large number of staves, sir. They are evidently intended for sugar hogsheads; they are done up in separate packets. I should say there were a hundred of them." "That is satisfactory indeed. I will send the cooper ashore, and with a gang of the black fellows he will soon get them all into shape. I see that they have relied upon the stream that comes down from the hills for their supply. One of the first moves of anyone attacking the place would be to divert its course somewhere up in the hills. However, with such a supply as these hogsheads would hold, we could do without the stream for weeks. The twenty marines who came ashore with Lieutenant Boldero will remain as part of the garrison." The work was at once begun. The sailors looked upon it as a pleasant change from the ordinary routine of life on board ship, and threw themselves into it vigorously, while the blacks, as soon as they understood what was wanted, proved themselves most useful assistants. Accustomed in their African homes to palisade their villages, they knew exactly what was required. Some, with their hoes, dug a trench four feet deep; others dragged down the poles as the sailors cut them, erected them in their places, and trod the earth firmly round them. Others cut creepers, or split up suitable wood, and wove them in and out between the poles; and, by the time darkness fell, a surprising amount of work had been accomplished. One of the storehouses was turned over to those who could not be berthed on board the schooner, most of the slaves preferring to sleep in the open air, which to them was a delightful change after being cooped up for weeks in the crowded hold of a ship, or in the no less crowded barracoons. Sentries were posted as soon as it became dark, but the night passed off without an alarm, and at daybreak all were at work again. The launch returned to the frigate when work was knocked off, and came back with a fresh body of men in the morning, and with the carpenters, coopers, and all the available tools on board. By the evening of the third day the work was completed. Four banks of earth had been thrown up by the negroes against the palisade, and on each of these three guns were mounted. The hut for the garrison had been completed. The hogsheads were put together and filled with water, and a couple of hundred boarding-pikes were put ashore for the use of the negroes. Nat had been fully employed, with the schooner's crew, in removing the guns from the batteries, and placing them on the platforms constructed by the carpenters on the top of the earthworks. "It is quite possible," the captain said to Mr. Playford, "that this creek is used by pirates as well as slavers. They may come in here to sell goods they have captured suitable for use in the islands, such as cotton cloths and tools, and which it would not pay them to carry to their regular rendezvous. It will be great luck if one or two of them should put in here while I am away. It would greatly diminish the difficulty we have of getting the slaves away." "That would be fortunate indeed, sir. Even if two came in together we could give a good account of them, for as the palisade is mostly on higher ground than the huts, we should only have to slue the guns round and give them such a warm welcome that they would probably haul down their flags at once." "Yes. You had better tell Mr. Glover to run up the Spanish flag if any doubtful-looking craft is seen to be making for the entrance, and I should always keep a couple of signallers up on the cliff, so as to let you know beforehand what you might have to expect, and to see that there is nothing showing that could excite their suspicions, until it is too late for them to turn back." Doubtless what was going on in the inlet had been closely watched from the woods, for in the evening of the day on which the frigate sailed away scattered shots were fired from the forest, and the sound of the beating of tom-toms and the blowing of horns could be heard in the direction of the plantation whose buildings they had destroyed. The lieutenant had gone off to dine with Nat, and they were sitting on deck smoking their cigars when the firing began. "I almost expected it," he said. "No doubt they have been waiting for the frigate to leave before they did anything, as they would know that at least half of those who have been ashore would re-embark when she left. I have no doubt the scoundrels whose place we burnt have sent to all the planters in this part of the islands to assemble in force to attack us. If they have seen us making the palisade and mounting the guns, as no doubt they have done, they certainly will not venture to assault the place unless they are in very strong force, but they can make it very unpleasant for us. It is not more than eighty yards to the other side of the creek, and from that hill they would completely command us. You will scarcely be able to keep a man on deck, and we shall have to stay in the shelter of the huts. Of course on this side they would scarcely be able to annoy us, for they would have to come down to the edge of the trees to fire, and as we could fire through the palisade upon them they would get the worst of it." "We might row across in the boats, sir, and clear the wood of them if they became too troublesome." "We should run the risk of losing a good many men in doing so, and a good many more as we made our way up through the trees and drove them out, and should gain nothing by it, for as soon as we retired they would reoccupy the position. No; if they get very troublesome I will slue a couple of guns round and occasionally send a round or two of grape among the trees. That will be better than your doing so, because your men at the guns would make an easy mark for them, while we are farther off, and indeed almost out of range of their muskets." The firing soon died away, but in the morning it was reopened, and it was evident that the number in the wood had largely increased. Bullet after bullet struck the deck of the schooner, and Nat was obliged to order the greater part of the crew to remain below, and to see that those who remained on deck kept under the shelter of the bulwark. Presently a sharp fire broke out from the trees facing the palisade, and this was almost immediately replied to by the blue-jackets and marines. The fire of the assailants soon slackened, and Nat thought that it had only been begun with the object of finding out how strong a force had been left behind. Presently two of the guns on shore spoke out, and sent a volley of grape into the wood in which his own assailants were lurking. It had the effect of temporarily silencing the fire from that quarter. This, however, was but for a short time. When it began again it was taken up on the other side also, the party which had made the demonstration against the palisade evidently considering that the schooner, which lay midway between the two shores, was a safer object of attack than the stockade. As the bulwark now offered no shelter, all went below. Two of the men were about to pull up the boat which was lying at the stern, and Nat went to the ladder to take his place in it, when he was hailed from shore. "You had better stay where you are, Mr. Glover, until it gets dusk. You would only be a mark for every man with a musket, up in the trees above us, and, so far as I can see, there is nothing we can do until they begin work in earnest." "Very well, sir," Nat shouted back, "I will come off after it gets dusk." Firing continued all day, but died away at sunset, and soon afterwards Nat went ashore. "This is very awkward," the lieutenant said. "It is most unpleasant being potted at all day by fellows who won't show themselves, but I can't see that we can help it. By the noise and jabbering that breaks out at times, I should think that there must be some hundreds of them on this side alone, and we shall have to wait till they begin in earnest. Their leaders must know that they can be doing us no harm by their distant fire, and they must sooner or later make an attack on us. You see they have a strong temptation. They must have seen that none of the slaves have been taken away, and as there are five hundred of them, and I suppose they are worth from twenty to forty pounds a head, it is a big thing, to say nothing of the stores. Then I have no doubt they are thirsting for revenge, and although they must see that they will have to fight very hard to take the place, they must try without delay, for they will know that the frigate will be back again before very long, and will probably bring some craft with her to carry away the slaves. So I think we must put up with their fire till they harden their hearts and attack us in earnest. They will make the attack, I expect, about the centre of the palisade, for your guns would cover both our flanks. If we are hard pressed I will light a port fire, and you had better land with twenty of your men, leaving five to take care of the ship and work a gun or two should they try to take us in flank." "I should not be surprised if they tried to-night. Shall I bring ten of the men on shore at once, sir?" "Well, perhaps it would be as well. Forty men are not a very large force for this length of palisade and to work some of the guns at the point where they may attack us, and I expect their first rush will be a serious one, and we shall have all our work cut out for us. There is one thing; we can rely, in case of their making a way in, on the slaves. By this time they quite understand that we are friends and that the people who had been firing on us are their enemies, and I believe they would fight like demons rather than fall into their hands again. I have torn up a bale of white calico and have given a strip of it to each man to tie round his head, so that we can tell friend from foe and they can recognize each other in the dark. The enemy won't reckon on that, and will think that they have only a small body of whites to deal with. Do you notice how silent the woods are now? I think we may take that as a sign that they are preparing for mischief." "The sooner it comes the better. Have you plenty of port fires, Mr. Playford?" "Yes, a large boxful came on shore with the last boat yesterday." Nat went off again, and picked out ten men to land with him. "Get the other boat down," he said to the petty officer. "You will understand that if any attack is made on the flanks of the work you are to open fire at once upon them with grape. If a blue light is burned at the edge of the water ten men are to land instantly. You will remain in charge of the other five. So far as we know they have no boats, but they may have made a raft, and may intend to try and take the schooner, thinking that the crew will probably be on shore. So you must keep a sharp look-out on the other side as well as this. Light a blue light if you see a strong party coming off, and we will rejoin you at once." He again landed with the ten men he had chosen. "I have six men on watch," the lieutenant said, "and have put one of the blacks with each. I fancy their ears are sharper than ours are, and they will hear them coming before our men do." Having nothing to do, Nat went into the barracoon and the other houses in which the slaves were placed. The contrast between their condition now and when he had seen them four days before, when they had first been found, was striking indeed. Now they were clean, and looked picturesque in their bright calico clothes. The look of dull and hopeless misery had passed away, and it seemed to him that with the good and plentiful food they had received they were already perceptibly plumper. They would have risen as he entered, but he signed to them to keep their places. They now had room to lie down in comfort, and while some sat chatting in groups others moved about. They were evidently proud of their arms, and some of them, seizing their pikes or hatchets, made signs how they would fight their enemies. A ship's lantern was burning in each hut. In the women's huts the scene was still more interesting. The little children ran up to Nat with a new-born confidence in white men. Some of the women brought up babies to show him, and endeavoured to make him understand that these would soon have died had it not been for the sailors. The windows and doors stood open, and the evening breeze cleared the huts of the effluvium always present where a number of negroes congregate together. The sight of the poor creatures enraged Nat still more against the slavers, and made him long for them to begin their attack. "It is quite pleasant to see them," he said as he joined Mr. Playford. "They are wonderfully changed in this short time. One would hardly have thought it possible. What will become of them?" "I expect we shall take them to Jamaica, and that there they will be let out as free labourers to the planters. You see there is no law against the slave-trade, though public opinion is so strong on the subject at home that I have no doubt such a law will be passed before long. So, of course, we have not captured the slaves because of their being slaves, but simply as we should capture or destroy other property belonging to an enemy. Then, too, many of the slavers act as pirates if they get the chance, and there can be little doubt that a considerable quantity of the goods we found are the proceeds of piracy. Besides, you must remember that they fired at us before we fired at them. So we have plenty of good reasons for releasing these poor beggars. You see these seas swarm with scoundrels of all kinds, and it is quite safe to assume that all ships that cannot show that they are peaceful traders are engaged in nefarious business of some kind or other." CHAPTER IV A SHARP FIGHT Mr. Playford and Nat were still talking when a sailor came up to him with one of the negroes. "What is it, Tomkins?" the lieutenant asked. "Well, sir, this 'ere black seems to hear something; he keeps pointing up into the wood and whispering something in his own lingo and looking very excited, so I thought I had better bring him here to you." "Quite right, Tomkins; no doubt he does hear something, their ears are a good deal better than ours are. I will go up with you." Accompanied by Nat, Mr. Playford went up on to the bank of earth that had been thrown up against the palisade, and found that the negroes there were all in a state of excitement, pointing in various directions and shaking their pikes angrily. "They are coming, there is no doubt of that," he said. "I should say, by the motions of the blacks, that they are scattered through the wood. Well, we are ready for them. You had better get your slow matches alight, my lads; don't take the covers off the vents until the last moment, the dew is heavy." They were joined now by Lieutenant Boldero. "I think I can hear them," he said. "Yes. I should not have noticed if it had not been for the blacks, but there is certainly a confused noise in the air." Listening attentively, they could hear a low rustling sound, with sometimes a faint crack as of a breaking stick. "As soon as we think that they have got to the edge of the trees we will throw a fireball out in that direction, and then let them have it. We must keep them from getting closer if we can; when they once get near the foot of the palisade we shall not be able to depress our guns enough to fire upon them." In a short time there was no question that a large number of men were making their way down through the wood. The blacks were now brought out from the houses and ranged along at the foot of the bank, where they were ordered to stay for the present, as were they to man the line they would be exposed to the assailants' bullets, while powerless to do any service until the latter began to attempt to scale the stockade. "They must be gathering at the edge of the trees now," the lieutenant said at last. "Now, Tomkins, light that fireball and heave it over." The ball, which was formed of old junk, was about the size of a man's head. The material had been smeared with tar mixed with sulphur, and Tomkins held in his hand the lanyard attached to it. He applied a slow match to it, and it broke into a blaze at once. Swinging it round his head, he hurled it far in front of him. By its light as it fell a crowd of figures could be seen gathered along the edge of the forest. A fierce yell broke from them, and loud shouts were raised by the leaders ordering them to charge, but before they could get into motion four guns poured a storm of grape among them, followed directly afterwards by the contents of four others. An appalling din of yells and shrieks was heard, but without an instant's hesitation a score of figures in European dress darted forward, followed by a mass of blacks, behind whom came another thirty or forty Europeans or mulattoes driving the negroes before them. "Pick off the whites!" Lieutenant Boldero shouted to the marines, and a dropping fire of musketry was at once opened. The distance, however, from the edge of the trees to the palisades was but some fifty yards; the light was dim and uncertain, and in a minute from the first shot being fired the assailants were swarming along the foot of the palisade. There was no hesitation, and it was evident that the men who led the attack had made every preparation. A number of the assailants carried ladders; these were placed against the wall, and the whites and mulattoes swarmed up, closely followed by the negroes. So sudden and unexpected was this assault that in several places they obtained a footing inside the palisades, but with a wild yell the slaves at once rushed up the bank and fell upon them. At the same moment the boom of the schooner's guns told that they had made out parties of the enemy advancing against the flanks of the works. The arrival of the slaves soon changed the position. The assailants were cut down, run through, or forced to leap down over the stockade that they had just crossed. In spite of the shouts of the lieutenant, the slaves, thirsting for vengeance, leapt down after them, and fell with such fury upon the assailants that these, seized with a panic, fled. At the edge of the trees, however, the efforts of the whites checked the flight. Guns and pistols were discharged for the first time, and a fierce fight presently raged. "We must go down and lend them a hand," the lieutenant said. "Keep your men here, Mr. Glover, to get the guns loaded again; I will take my blue-jackets and the marines. Light a port fire or two, else, in spite of their white head-gear, we shall be hurting our friends." The sailors and marines soon scrambled down the ladders, and, led by their officers, rushed forward with loud cheers. Their arrival at once decided the fortune of the fray. Rushing through their black allies, they fell with sword and cutlass, musket and bayonet, upon the Europeans, whose pistols had given them a decided advantage over the slaves, but who could not stand the charge of the marines and seamen. These pursued them for some little distance, but when beyond the range of the lights of the stockade Lieutenant Playford halted them. The slaves, however, continued the pursuit for some time, and then they, too, returned, having overtaken and killed many of their flying enemies. "There is nothing more to be done till daylight," Mr. Playford said. "Indeed, I do not think that we shall hear any more of these fellows, who, to do them justice, fought well. Our guns must have done a good deal of execution, though they would have done much more had they not been so close; the bullets had hardly begun to scatter. However, we shall see in the morning. It is lucky that we armed the slaves, or it would have gone very hard with us. You see, we had half our men at the guns, and the others were too thinly scattered along the line to be able to defend it against so determined an attack. I expect they never calculated on the slaves being armed, and thought that they had only forty or fifty men to deal with. After the lesson that they have had I don't think they will molest us again, unless there are any troops in the neighbourhood that they can bring up." The palisades were recrossed and sentries set; grog was served out to the seamen and marines; the slaves were mad with delight, and danced and sang songs of triumph for some time. As soon, however, as the lieutenant motioned them to return to their huts they did so at once. Many of them were wounded more or less severely, but they seemed to think nothing of this, being too much pleased with the vengeance they had taken to care aught for the pain. Nat prepared to return to the schooner with his men, none of whom were, however, seriously hurt, as they had been held in reserve. Altogether, three sailors and a marine had been killed and six severely wounded. "Are you going on board, Mr. Playford?" "No; I shall stay ashore till morning. I do not think that there is the remotest chance of the attack being renewed; however, it is clearly my duty to stay here." As soon as it was daylight Nat went on shore again, and with ten of his own men, ten marines, and a hundred of the slaves, went over the ground to collect the wounded, and learn the loss of the assailants. All the wounded sailors had been carried into the fort when the fight ceased. Six Spaniards and nine mulattoes lay dead either on the earthen rampart or at the foot of the palisade. All of them were pierced in several places by pikes, or mutilated with blows of axes. Round them lay some twenty plantation negroes, and thirty others had fallen at the edge of the wood, shattered by the discharges of the cannon or killed in the hand-to-hand conflict; among them were twelve of the released slaves. Not a single white or mulatto was found alive. The party pursued their way for a quarter of a mile into the wood. Here and there were scattered the bodies of the assailants who had been overtaken by their pursuers. The latter had done their work thoroughly, for not a single man was found to be breathing. When they came to a point beyond which the slaves by signs apprised them that they had not gone, they returned, collecting and carrying down the bodies of the dead as they went. They found on their return that two trenches, four feet deep and thirty feet long, had already been dug, at the edge of the forest and as far from the camp as possible. In one of these the bodies of the Spaniards and mulattoes were laid, and in the other that of the negroes. The earth was then filled in. "It has been an unpleasant job, but a necessary one," Lieutenant Playford said, when he knew that the work was done, and the whole party re-entered the fort. "In a climate like this the place would have been uninhabitable in a couple of days if we had not buried them all." In the afternoon two fresh graves were made, and the fallen sailors were reverently laid to rest in one, the dead slaves in the other. Water was brought up in buckets by the negroes from the edge of the creek, and all signs of the conflict on the rampart and at the foot of the palisade either washed away or covered with earth. Then matters resumed their former aspect. Early the next morning the look-out on the cliff ran down and reported that a large brigantine was just entering the inlet. Mr. Playford shouted the news to Nat. "I will send off the marines to you," he said. "I will remain here with the blue-jackets." The Spanish flag was at once run up to the peak. In two or three minutes the boat with the marines came alongside. They and the greater part of the sailors at once lay down on the deck, while the few who remained on foot took off their straw hats and white jumpers, tied handkerchiefs round their heads, and gave themselves as unseamanlike an appearance as possible. Ten minutes later the brigantine appeared round the point; there was scarce a breath of wind, and she had two boats towing her. A flag hung from her mast-head, and as Nat turned his glass upon it he exclaimed to Boldero, who, having removed his coat and cap, was standing by his side: "It is the black flag; the fellow must be pretty sure of his welcome or he would never venture to haul it up." In the meantime the guns ashore had been slued round, and were now pointed on a spot somewhat ahead of the schooner. She came slowly along until within some four or five lengths of the latter, then there was a sudden shout on board, followed by a tremendous hubbub. It was clear that the line of palisades surrounding the huts had been noticed and the guns seen. The brigantine was crowded with men. She carried twelve guns in her ports, and a long swivel eighteen-pounder in her bow. There was now no longer any motive for concealment, the marines and seamen leapt to their feet with a cheer, and a moment later the schooner's two foremost guns, which would alone bear on the boats, spoke out, while almost at the same moment two of those on the rampart sent a shower of grape into them. Both boats sank immediately, those of the crews who were uninjured swimming to the brigantine. Contradictory orders were shouted on board the pirate. One by one her guns on the port side answered those on the ramparts. "Get ready, my lads!" Nat shouted, "she will be alongside directly." The impetus of the schooner's way was indeed sufficient to take her slowly but surely forward, and the pirate slightly changed his course so as to bring her outside the schooner. Playford saw what his object was, and the remaining guns poured their charges of grape across the deck of the brigantine, committing terrible havoc. Before they could be loaded again she was alongside the schooner, and so covered by her from the fire of the guns on shore. As the vessels came abreast of each other at a distance of two or three feet only, Nat and the young marine officer leapt on to the pirate's deck followed by their men. The resistance of the pirates was desperate. Although they had suffered much loss from the fire of the guns, they were still numerically stronger than their assailants, and, fighting as they did with the desperation of despair, they not only held their ground, but pushed their assailants back towards the bulwark. [Illustration: THE GUNS ON THE RAMPART SEND A SHOWER OF GRAPE INTO THE PIRATE.] For three or four minutes the fight continued without any marked advantage to either party; the pistols of the seamen and pirates and the muskets of the marines were empty, and they were fighting hand to hand. Then slowly the advantage turned against the pirates, but the issue was still undecided when there was a loud cheer, and Mr. Playford with fifteen sailors leapt on the deck of the pirate from the other side, the approach of the boat having been unnoticed in the heat of the fray. The pirates now broke; their captain had fallen, and, outnumbered and hopeless, some threw down their arms, while others jumped overboard. Those who surrendered were at once bound and battened down in the hold of the schooner, some eight or ten only gained the opposite shore and took to the woods. The victory had not been a bloodless one. Five of the frigate's crew had been killed, and there were few among Nat's command who were not more or less severely wounded. "It was a sharp fight, Mr. Glover," Mr. Playford said. "It was indeed, sir. At one time they fairly drove us back, but I think that we should have beaten them even if you had not brought help to us." "I am sure you would," the lieutenant said warmly. "I could see as I boarded that although the men in front were fighting hard, those in the rear were hanging back as if they had had enough of it. Still, you might have lost more men than you did before you finished with them if we had not turned up. You see, fighting with pirates is quite a different thing from fighting with any other opponents. These fellows know well enough that there is no mercy for them, and that they have nothing before them but to fight until they die, or to be tried and hanged. The veriest coward would fight till the last with such an alternative as that before him. I would rather fight a hundred and fifty French or Spanish seamen than a hundred pirates. She is a fine roomy craft that we have taken, and I think we shall now be able to carry off all these blacks. No doubt it will be a close pack for them, but for a short voyage that will not matter. Now let us see to our wounded. After that is done we can get off the hatches and have a look round below. Of course she may have come in here for water, but it is likely that she has at least some booty in her hold." This proved to be the case. She was half full of goods of a more or less valuable kind, and these, by the marks on the bales and boxes, had evidently formed part of the cargoes of three ships. Two days later the _Orpheus_ was seen returning along the coast, and Nat was at once sent off by the lieutenant with his written report of what had taken place since she had sailed. The gig reached the side of the frigate just as the anchor was let go. "I see your right arm is in a sling, Mr. Glover," the captain said as he handed him the report, "so I suppose that you have had some fighting." "Yes, sir, we have had some pretty sharp fighting." "What is your wound?" "Only a chop with a cutlass, sir." "Oh, you came to hand-to-hand work, did you?" Nat gave no answer, for the captain had opened the report and was now running his eye down it. "Very satisfactory," he said, as he handed it to the first lieutenant. "An attacking force handsomely repulsed and a pirate captured. Very good work indeed, very good. I see Mr. Boldero was wounded, Mr. Glover." "Yes, sir, he was hit on the head with a pistol-shot. Fortunately the ball glanced off the skull. He was stunned for a time, but is now nearly himself again." "Here is some work for you, Dr. Bemish," the captain said. "Mr. Playford reports that ten of the cases are serious. I am going ashore in my gig at once, and will take you with me. You had better send the cutter at once, Mr. Hill, to bring off the wounded. You may as well return in your own boat, Mr. Glover, Mr. Curtis can go in charge of the cutter. Mr. Needham can go with me." Nat at once returned to his boat. He was overtaken by the captain's gig when half-way up the inlet. He rowed to the schooner, while the gig made straight for the landing-place where the lieutenant was standing. "I congratulate you, Mr. Playford," the captain said as he stepped ashore. "You seem to have had a pretty busy time of it since we have been away. I certainly did not think they would attempt to attack you when you had those guns in position, and I did not reckon on the pirate. She is a fine brigantine; the schooner looks quite small beside her." "Yes, sir, she is over three hundred tons. Her broadside guns are all twelve-pounders, and she carries an eighteen-pounder as a swivel. She had a crew of seventy men, of whom only eight or ten got ashore, the rest were all accounted for except twelve, who are in irons below. The credit of capturing her, sir, really belongs to Mr. Glover, for although I went off to his assistance he would have taken her without my aid, though the pirates were still fighting strongly." "Well, it has been a very successful business altogether, Mr. Playford. The capture of the brigantine is specially fortunate, as I have failed to come across any native craft as I had hoped to do, but with this extra accommodation we shall be able to manage to carry off all the slaves. I see by your account that Mr. Glover had the marines as well as his own twenty men." "Yes, sir, I sent Lieutenant Boldero and fourteen marines on board; he had lost six either killed or seriously wounded in the attack here. I own that I had hardly calculated upon the brigantine getting alongside the schooner. I thought that when we had smashed up her boats, which I made certain we should do, she would be so completely at our mercy that, being becalmed, she would haul down her flag; but she had sufficient way on her to take her alongside the schooner, and her captain put her there so cleverly that I could not fire at her except through the schooner. I saw at once that the whole position was changed, for if he had captured the schooner he might have put all his men into the boats and made a dash for shore; and as I had so few men fit for work it would have been awkward, though with the aid of the blacks I have no doubt I should have driven them off." "Then I suppose your discharge of grape did not do him very much harm?" "Not so much as it ought to have done, sir. You see the first two guns we fired destroyed his boats. The other guns were all too weakly handled to be trained on the pirate as he forged ahead, and as far as I could see not one of them did any serious execution among his crew. Yesterday I told off four negroes to each gun, and kept them at work all day learning how to train them under the direction of the sailors. If I had thought of that before we should have swept his decks with such effect that when she got alongside the schooner Mr. Glover's party would have had easy work of it." "You could hardly think of everything, Mr. Playford, and you certainly did right in sending the marines off to the schooner directly you had news that this brigantine was entering the inlet. No doubt if you had wished to sink her it would have been better to have kept them on shore to help work the guns, but as she is a valuable prize, and we wanted her badly to help carry away the slaves, you were quite right not to try to damage her. You say she is half full of plunder?" "Yes, sir, and there were nearly eight hundred pounds in money and thirty-four watches and some jewellery found in the captain's cabin." "She is a valuable capture, and I should think the admiral would buy her into the service. She is just the sort of craft that we want. The schooner would be too small to tackle one of these heavily-armed pirates with their crowds of men. So your slaves fought well?" "That they did, sir. If it had been daylight I doubt whether any of the whites who led the attack would have escaped. Of course they had no particular animosity against the negroes, but I believe that they would have followed the whites and mulattoes half across the island." "Well, do you think that the two craft will carry all the slaves?" "Hardly, sir; the schooner can stow a hundred and fifty. Of course it will be close work, but there will be room for that number to lie down, and with the hatches both open they will be all right. By rearranging the cargo a bit, two hundred could sleep in the hold of the brigantine. That would still leave rather over one hundred and fifty." "Well, we must give up part of the hold of the frigate to them," the captain said, "there is no help for it. There are about that number of women and children, are there not?" "Yes, sir." "They had better go off in the frigate, then. Of course, the prisoners will be sent off too--I will pay a visit to the brigantine, and then go off myself, and will send the boats in as soon as I get there. You may as well be getting the men on board at once. As soon as they are all off, you will, of course, set fire to all the sheds here, but you may as well send off a boat-load of stores suitable for them to the frigate, and will, of course, victual these two craft. I shall send you another forty men to fill up the vacancies that have been caused, and to furnish a crew for the brigantine, of which, of course, you will take the command. You and the schooner will keep in close company. The marines will return to the ship. Mr. Needham will be your second on the brigantine." "How about the guns, sir? They are all old pieces, and scarcely worth carrying away." "Yes, but I won't leave them here to be used for defending this place again. You had better take them off their carriages, spike them, get them into the boats, and heave them overboard, well out in deep water. Do you think that you will be able to get everything done before dark, Mr. Playford?" "Yes, sir, it is only nine o'clock now, and if you will send a strong working party, in addition to those who will be taking the slaves on board, to help with the stores and guns, I have no doubt that I shall be able to get the work done well before sunset." "Very well. Mr. Hill will come on shore as soon as I return to the frigate." The work went on without ceasing all day, and the pinnace, which had been recovered and repaired before the frigate sailed, and the launch, went backwards and forwards to the frigate with the women, children, and stores, while the boats of the brigantine and schooner carried the men to those craft, as soon as the stores for the voyage, and the bales of cotton and other goods that would be useful, had been taken off. When the two large boats had finished their work they were employed in carrying out the guns, which had, before the slaves embarked, been brought down by them to the edge of the water. By three o'clock all was finished, and the last boat-load of the sailors rowed out to the prizes, after having set fire to all the huts. These were soon in a blaze, to the delight of the negroes, who danced and shouted for joy. Half of these were sent below at once, as they crowded the decks to such an extent as to render it impossible for the sailors to work. Those who remained were ranged in rows by the bulwarks from end to end of the craft; then the anchors were got up, and the sails dropped and sheeted home. The wind was very light, but was sufficient to give steerage-way, and with the British ensign flying at the peak the two vessels sailed out of the inlet and joined the frigate, which began to make sail as soon as they were seen issuing from the narrow mouth. Glad indeed were all on board the three vessels when, after a voyage unmarked by any adventure, they entered Port Royal, for although the negroes, feeling confident that they were in good hands, had been docile and obedient, they were still terribly in the way. Though all had been made to take a bath every morning, the odour in the crowded prizes was almost overpoweringly strong. On arrival, the negroes were landed and lodged in some large government storehouses near the fort. Each was presented with ten yards of cloth on leaving for the shore, and they were, before being housed, permitted to sort themselves, so that families and friends might be together. Interpreters explained to them that it would be impossible to send them back to their friends in Africa, but that they would be apportioned out among the plantations of the island. The wages they were to receive were explained to them, and they were told that a government official would visit each plantation in turn, and would listen to any complaints that might be made as to their food and treatment, and at the end of three years all who wished it could either change masters or take up a piece of land, build a hut, and cultivate it on their own account. The poor creatures were well satisfied with this. They were overjoyed at being united to their relations and friends, and to know that they would still be together; and were assured that they would be well cared for, and in time be as much their own masters as if at their villages in Africa. The schooner was sold; the brigantine was, as the captain had expected, bought into the service; Mr. Playford was offered and accepted the command of her. Mr. Normandy took his place as second lieutenant of the _Orpheus_, and Mr. Marston received his promotion and the post of third officer. As the _Cerf_--which was the name of the brigantine--was to be considered as a tender of the frigate, those on board her were still borne on her books. Curtis and Glover were appointed to her, with a petty officer and forty men. The pirates were tried and executed, with the exception of one, who was a mere lad. He had, he asserted, been forced to join the pirates--being spared by them when the rest of his comrades had been murdered, as they had lost their cook's mate, and required someone to fill his place. This, however, would not have saved his life had he not promised to lead his new captors to the chief rendezvous of the pirates, which had so long eluded the search that had been made for it. He acknowledged, however, that he was not acquainted with its exact position. He had sailed in and out four or five times, and had only a general idea of its position, but asserted that he should certainly know the island if he saw it. A fortnight after reaching Port Royal, the frigate and brigantine sailed in company. The indications given by the boy pointed to an island lying a short distance off the northern coast of Venezuela. There were originally, he said, four vessels working together, three brigantines and a large schooner, one of which had arrived from France only a short time before the _Cerf_ sailed on her last voyage. The entrance to the pirates' stronghold was on the south side of the island, and was, he said, so well concealed that vessels might sail past the place a thousand times without noticing it. There were two batteries at the water's edge, inside the entrance, each mounting twelve eighteen-pounder guns that had been taken from prizes. The channel here was not more than fifty yards across. A very heavy boom was at all times swung across it just above the batteries, and this was opened only when one of the craft entered or left. There was, however, he said, a spot on the outer side of the island where a landing could be effected, at a little ravine that ran down to the shore. This was thickly wooded, and some large trees growing at its mouth almost hid it from passing vessels. At other points the shore was steep, but there was so much vegetation on every ledge where trees or bushes could obtain a foothold, that from the sea it would seem that the cliffs were not too steep to scale. The prisoner had been placed on board the _Cerf_, which, as soon as she was fairly at sea, was altered as far as possible in appearance by a white band with ports painted along her sides; a false stem of an entirely different shape from her own was fastened to her, her light upper spars sent down and replaced by stumpy ones, and other changes made that would help to alter her appearance. Were she recognized by the pirates as she sailed past their island it would at once be suspected that one of the men recently captured had revealed the rendezvous, and that she was cruising near it to obtain an exact idea of the best mode of attack before other craft came up to assist her. They had no doubt that the pirates had already received news of the surprise and capture of the brigantine. Some of the men who escaped would doubtless have made for the nearest port, and hired a negro craft to take them to their own island, which they would have reached before the _Orpheus_ arrived at Port Royal with her prizes. The pirates would therefore be on their guard, and would either have deserted their head-quarters altogether or have added to their defences. The sight of their late consort would confirm their fears that their whereabouts had become known, and it was therefore of importance that her identity should not be suspected. Changed as she now was, she might be taken for a man-of-war brigantine. Her height out of water had been increased by four feet by painted canvas fastened to battens. She had ten ports painted on each side, and looked a very different craft from the smart brigantine that had sailed away from the island. It had at first been suggested by Mr. Playford that she should be disguised so as to look like a trader, but Captain Crosbie had decided against this. "There are," he said, "three of these pirates, and even two of them might together be more than a match for you. By all accounts they are each of them as strong as you are in point of armament, and would carry at least twice as many men as you have. Even if you beat them off it could only be at a very great cost of life, and I certainly should not like you to undertake such an enterprise unless you had at least double the strength of men, which I could not spare you. By going in the guise of a vessel of war they would not care to meddle with you. They would know that there would be no chance of booty and a certainty of hard fighting, and of getting their own craft badly knocked about, so that it will be in all respects best to avoid a fight. They may in that case not connect you with us at all, but take you to be some freshly-arrived craft. You had best hoist the Stars and Stripes as you pass along the coast." When the changes were all effected the ships parted company. The brigantine was to sail east until within a short distance of Grenada, then to cruise westward along the coast of the mainland; thus going, there would be less suspicion on the part of those who saw her that she was coming from Jamaica. A rendezvous was appointed at the island of Oruba, lying off the mouth of the Gulf of Venezuela. Their prisoner was French, and he was very closely questioned by Lieutenant Playford, who spoke that language well. He said that they always sailed north to begin with, then sometimes they kept east, and certainly he heard the names of Guadeloupe and St. Lucia. At other times, after sailing north they steered north-west, and came to a great island, which he had no doubt was San Domingo. It was not in this craft that he sailed, he was only transferred to her with some of the others for that cruise only. After they had once made either the western islands or San Domingo, they cruised about in all directions. "The great point is," Mr. Playford said to the midshipmen after a long talk with the prisoner, "that at starting they generally hung about these islands, Guadeloupe, St. Lucia, and so on, for some time, and it was considered their best cruising ground, though also the most dangerous one, as we have always some cruisers in those waters. That would certainly place the island somewhere off the north coast of Caracas. He declared that the first day out they generally passed the western point of an island of considerable size with some high hills. The only island that answers to that account is, as you see in the chart, Margarita. Therefore I feel convinced that the pirate hold is in one of these groups, off Caracas, either Chimana, Borrshcha, or these two islets called Piritu Islands. Altogether, you see, there are over a dozen of these islands scattered along near the mainland. "It is quite out of the general course of trade, as nothing would go into that bay except a craft bound for San Diego, or this place marked Barcelona, lying a short distance up the river. They would take care not to molest any of the little traders frequenting these ports, and might lie in an inlet in one of these islands for years without their being ever suspected, unless perhaps by some of the native fishermen, who probably supply them with fish and fruit from the mainland. Anyhow, I don't suppose a British cruiser is seen along that coast once a year." CHAPTER V A PIRATE HOLD A fortnight later the _Cerf_ passed along under easy sail between the island of Margarita and the mainland. She was now getting very close to the spot where, if the prisoner was right, the pirates' hold lay. The Stars and Stripes was hanging from the peak, and with her high bulwarks and ten ports on each side no one would have suspected that she was not, as she seemed, an American man-of-war, heavily armed. Passing close to another island, they headed more south into the bay as they neared Caracas. Every foot of the islands was closely scanned. Five miles farther, they came abreast of the Chimana isles, and pointing to one of these that lay nearer the shore than the others, the prisoner exclaimed that he was certain that that was the island. "I am sure of it," he exclaimed, "both from the look of the island itself, and from that high range of mountains on the mainland to the south-east." "You are quite sure?" "Certain, captain; there are the large trees I spoke of growing down close to the water. It is behind them that there is a little ravine by which one can climb up." No alteration was made in the ship's course, but she continued her way until sunset, when she dropped anchor off the mouth of the river La Pasqua, some twenty miles west of the islands. As soon as it was dark Curtis was sent off in a gig manned by six rowers. The oars were muffled; the orders were to row round the island within an oar's length of the shore, and to find the entrance to the channel, which, if the prisoner was right as to the place, should be on the side facing the mainland. Pierre, the French lad, was taken with them. It was a long row to the island, but the gig was a fast one, and, at three o'clock in the morning, she returned with the news that Pierre's information had been correct. They had found the opening but had not entered it, as Mr. Playford had given strict orders on this point, thinking it probable that there would be a sharp look-out kept in the batteries, especially as the supposed cruiser would certainly have been closely watched as she passed. An hour later the anchor was got up and the _Cerf_ sailed for Oruba, off which she arrived three days later. There were no signs of the frigate, and indeed the _Cerf_ had arrived at the rendezvous before the time fixed. At daybreak on the third morning the topsails of the _Orpheus_ were made out from the mast-head, and four hours later she and the _Cerf_ met, and Mr. Playford went on board the frigate to report. "This is good news indeed," the captain said when he heard that the haunt of the pirates had been discovered. "Of course you have taken the exact position of the island, for we must, if possible, take them by surprise?" "Yes, sir; it lies as nearly as possible in 64° 30' west longitude and 10° 22' north latitude." "We will lay our course east, Mr. Playford, for, of course, you will keep company with us. The water is deep all along the coast, and there seems to be from thirty to thirty-eight fathoms to within a mile or two of the coast. I shall lay my course outside the Windward Islands as far as Blanquilla, thence an almost due south course will take us clear of the western point of Margarita and down to this island. We will discuss our plan of attack later on." On the morning of the third day after leaving Oruba the island of Blanquilla was sighted. The frigate made the signal for Mr. Playford to go on board, and on entering the captain's cabin he found him and Mr. Hill examining the chart. "You see, Mr. Playford, we are now as nearly as possible a hundred miles north of the island; with this wind we should pass the point of Margarita at about four o'clock in the afternoon; if it freshens we will take in sail, I want to be off the island say three or four hours before daybreak. You will send that French lad on board when you go back; as soon as we anchor he will go in the gig with Mr. Hill to reconnoitre and make sure that there is no mistake about the place. When he finds that it is all right he will come back. The boats will be in the water, and the men on board in readiness, and will at once start, so that the landing may, if possible, be effected just at daybreak at this ravine on the north of the island. At the same hour you will sail in and take up your place opposite the mouth of the harbour, and fight anything that tries to come out. "It is quite possible that as soon as our party attack the place on the land side any craft there may be there will cut their cables and try to make off. On no account try to enter; the batteries would blow you out of the water. You will start as soon as the boats leave the ship, and will therefore have light enough for you to go in and to avoid making any mistake, for you see there are half a dozen islands lying close together. There is no objection to their seeing you, and indeed I should be rather glad if they do, for in that case they are the less likely to discover the landing-party, and though they must see the frigate they will think that she is only lying there to cut them off if they try to escape. They will be manning their batteries and getting everything ready to give you a warm reception, and I hope that we shall drop upon them as if out of the clouds. "Mr. Hill will command the landing-party, which will consist of a hundred and fifty seamen and the thirty marines, which, with the advantage of surprise, ought to be sufficient. As you report that the island is less than a mile long and not much more than half a mile across, the landing-party will soon be at work. After they have landed, Mr. Hill will divide them into two parties, and will endeavour to make his way round the inlet, keeping up among the trees, and then rush down upon the batteries. When he has captured these he will fire three guns as a signal to you. You will have your boats in readiness, and will at once tow the schooner in, and, on reaching the boom, bring her broadside to bear upon any craft there, and generally aid the landing-party with your guns. If, by good luck, the three craft we have been so long looking for are all there you will have a strong force to tackle; you may certainly take it that their crews will together mount up to three hundred men, and it is likely that there may be a hundred others who form what we may call the garrison of the place when they are away." "Very well, sir." The two vessels headed south under easy canvas, passed the point of Margarita at the hour that had been arranged, and then taking in still more sail proceeded slowly on until, about one o'clock in the morning, the island could be made out with the night-glasses. Then both were laid to, Captain Crosbie having forbidden anchoring, in the first place owing to the great depth of water, and in the next because, although the island was three miles away, the chain-cable running out might be heard at night if the pirates had anyone on watch on the hill. Nat, whose watch it was, saw the gig shoot away from the side of the frigate. An hour later and there was a bustle and stir on board the _Orpheus_, and all her boats were lowered. At five bells the crew began to take their places in them, and soon afterwards the gig returned. The watch below were called up and sail was made, and at half-past three the boats started, and the _Cerf_ was headed towards the land. Dawn was just breaking when they reached the island. All was still. It had been arranged that, unless discovered, the attack on the batteries was not to be made until five o'clock, and just at that hour the _Cerf_ arrived off the narrow entrance to the port. Half an hour before, a musket had been discharged on the hill above them, and it was clear that their coming had been observed; but as no sound of conflict could be heard inland there was every reason to suppose that the pirates had no suspicion of a landing having been effected on the other side. "That is what I call being punctual," Nat said to Curtis as two bells rang out just as they opened the passage. A light kedge anchor was dropped, and as this was done a patter of musketry broke out from the hill above them. Their action showed that the arrival of the brigantine was no matter of chance, but that she was there expressly with the intention of attacking the pirates' stronghold, and those who had been watching her, therefore, saw that any further attempt at concealment was useless. In the night the canvas band had been taken down, as there was no longer any reason for concealing the identity of the brigantine. The musketry fire only lasted for a minute, for suddenly a roar of battle broke out within a hundred yards of the mouth of the entrance. The sailors burst into a loud cheer. It was evident that the landing-party had met with complete success so far, and had approached the batteries unobserved, and that a hand-to-hand fight was going on. Above the cracking of pistols the cheers of the seamen could be plainly heard, but in two or three minutes the uproar died away, and then three guns were fired at short intervals. The boats were already in the water, the kedge lifted, and the crews bending forward in readiness for the signal. "Take her in, lads!" the lieutenant shouted, and the schooner's head at once began to turn towards the inlet. A moment later two broadsides were fired. "There are two of their craft in there!" Curtis exclaimed. "Now our fellows have carried the batteries they have opened fire on them." As he spoke there was another broadside, which was answered by a hurrah from all on deck. It was clear that they had had the good luck to catch all the pirates at once. Three minutes' rowing and the boom was in sight. Mr. Playford called to one of the boats to take a rope from the stern to the battery on the right-hand side, and ordered the others to cease rowing. "We have way enough on her!" he shouted. "As soon as you get near the boom take her head round to port, and carry the rope to shore. You can fasten it to the chain at the end of the boom." As he gave the order a gun spoke out from the battery on the right, followed almost immediately by one on the left. "They are slueing the guns round!" Nat exclaimed. "We shall be having our share of the fun in another minute or two." They could now obtain a view into the piece of water inside the passage. It was nearly circular, and some three hundred yards across. Two brigantines and a schooner were lying in line, within fifty yards of the opposite shore. A large range of storehouses stood by the water's edge, while the hillsides were dotted with huts, and dwelling-places of larger size. By the time that the brigantine was got into position by the side of the boom the pirates had loaded again, and several shots struck her. Her guns were already loaded, and those on board poured a broadside into the brigantine at the end of the line. The sailors in the battery were working with might and main to slue all the guns round to bear upon the pirates. On the hillsides above them a scattered fire of musketry was being kept up, and Mr. Hill hailed the schooner. "Mr. Playford, will you land a party of fifteen men on each side to clear the hills of those rascals? I don't think there are many of them, but they are doing us a good deal of damage, for they can hardly miss us closely packed as we are here." "Ay, ay, sir. You hear the orders, gentlemen. Mr. Curtis, you land with fifteen men on the starboard side, and do you, Mr. Glover, take the party that lands to port. Clear the scoundrels out--give no quarter!" The boats had just returned. The two midshipmen leapt into them, and a few strokes took them ashore. "Up the hill, lads!" Nat shouted. "Don't fire until you are at close quarters. Give them one volley if they are together, then sling your guns, and go at them with the cutlass!" There was but little fighting, however, for there were only ten or twelve pirates on either side, as their main force was distributed between the batteries and the ships. They were therefore very easily driven off, five or six of them being killed and the rest flying with all speed towards their village, where those who had escaped from the batteries were already going off in boats to the ships. The two midshipmen therefore returned to the schooner. "Don't come on board!" Mr. Playford shouted. "See if you can free one end of the boom. If so we will go in and engage one of those craft." It was found that the boom was fastened at Nat's side, and the chain was soon unwound from the stump of a large tree. Then the two boats together got hold of the end of the boom and swung it round so that the schooner could pass. The enemy kept up a heavy fire upon them while they were doing this, and just as the job was completed, Curtis's boat was smashed to pieces by a round shot. The breeze was very light, but it was in the right direction. "Shall we tow, sir?" Nat called to his commander. "Certainly not. Get your men on board at once." The sails, which had been loosely furled, were dropped again, and the brigantine stole past the batteries, which saluted her with a rousing cheer, while the guns were worked with redoubled energy to keep down the fire of the pirates. The _Cerf_ was swept with round shot and grape by the guns of the three piratical craft, but the distance to be traversed was so small, and the fire from the battery to which the pirates working their guns were exposed was so heavy, that the men fired wildly, and the _Cerf_ suffered less than might have been expected while crossing the intervening two hundred yards of water. She was steered straight for the schooner, and as her bowsprit ran in between the pirate's masts the crew, who had been crouching forward, leapt down on to her deck, headed by their commander and the two midshipmen. The pirates, although they had suffered heavily, were still in sufficient force to offer an efficient resistance, but their courage had been shaken by the suddenness of the attack. They had lain down to sleep with the assurance that the port was unknown and unsuspected, that the batteries that guarded it could sink any hostile ship that attempted to enter, and their dismay when these batteries were attacked and carried by an enemy who seemed to spring out of the earth, and their only retreat cut off, was overwhelming. Already the heavy guns of the battery had done terrible execution. Two of the guns on that side had been dismounted, and a third of the crew killed; consequently, although a small portion of the number led by their captain fought desperately, and were killed to the last man, the majority leapt overboard at once and swam ashore. Leaving ten men in charge of the prize, the lieutenant called all the rest back on board the _Cerf_, which remained in the position in which she had run head on to the schooner, and she was now able to bring her broadsides into play upon the brigantines, the pieces forward raking them from stem to stern, while the batteries continued their terrible fire. In a few minutes the pirates began to take to the boats, which were lying by their sides just as they had come off from the shore. Once begun, the movement spread rapidly. The boats were soon crowded, and those who could not find places in them leapt overboard. "Take the boat and a dozen men, Mr. Curtis, and haul down the black flag of the craft to starboard; and you, Mr. Glover, take one of the prize's boats and do the same to the other brigantine." They turned to execute the order when all on board the _Cerf_ were hurled to the deck--one of the brigantines had blown up with a tremendous explosion, that brought most of the huts on the hillside to the ground, carried away both masts of the _Cerf_, and drove fragments of wreckage high into the air, whence they fell partly in the pool, partly on shore. Fortunately for the _Cerf_ only a few fragments of any size struck her deck, the pieces for the most part falling in a wider circle. Numbers of the pirates who had just landed from their boats were killed, and many more were injured by being hurled down on to the rocks, dazed and half-stunned. Those on board the _Cerf_ who had escaped severe injury rose to their feet. Not more than twenty-five did so. Lieutenant Playford lay dead, crushed under a mast; Curtis had been hurled against one of the guns and his brains dashed out; ten of the sailors had been killed either by the falling masts or by being dashed against the bulwarks; twelve had fallen under the enemy's fire as the _Cerf_ crossed the pool; twelve others were hurt more or less either by the enemy's missiles or by the shock. It was three or four minutes before the silence that followed was broken. Then Mr. Hill hailed across the water: "_Cerf_ ahoy! have you suffered much?" "Terribly," Nat shouted back; "Lieutenant Playford and Mr. Curtis are both killed. We have only twenty-five men in any way fit for service left." "If you have got a boat that will swim send it ashore." Nat looked over the side, the boat had been stove by a falling fragment; then he crossed to the prize, and found that one of the boats was uninjured. Four men were just getting into it, when Mr. Hill hailed again: "Let them bring a rope with them, Mr. Glover; we will tow you over here." The end of a hawser was put into the boat, and the men rowed with it to the battery. "Mr. Glover!" the lieutenant again hailed. "Yes, sir." "I am sending the boat back again. I think that had they put a slow match in the magazine of the other brigantine it would have exploded before this. However, you had better remain where you are for a quarter of an hour, to be sure; then, before you move, board the brigantine and flood the magazine. Otherwise, as soon as you have left, some of these desperadoes might swim off to her and put a match there." "Very well, sir, I will go at once if you like." "No, there is no use running any unnecessary risk. You had better flood the schooner's magazine first." "Ay, ay, sir." Taking half a dozen hands with buckets, Nat went on board the prize and soon flooded the magazine; then he and those who were able to help did all they could for the wounded, several of whom, who had only been stunned, were presently on their legs again. When the quarter of an hour had passed he asked for volunteers. All the survivors stepped forward. "Four men will be enough," he said. "Bring buckets with you." It was not without a feeling of awe that Nat and the four sailors stepped on to the deck of the brigantine, for although he was convinced that had a match been lighted the explosion would have taken place long before, as it was now five-and-twenty minutes since the crew had deserted her, neither he nor the men had entirely recovered from the severe shock of the explosion. He led the way below; all was quiet; the door of the magazine was open, but there was no smell of burning powder, and they entered fearlessly. "All right, lads; now as quick as you like with your buckets." An abundance of water was thrown in; then, to make quite certain, Nat locked the door of the magazine, and put the key in his pocket. A cheer broke from the men in the battery as he and his companions again took their places in the boat and rowed to the _Cerf_. He was hailed again by Mr. Hill. "I have changed my mind, Mr. Glover; now that I know there is no risk of another explosion, I think perhaps you had best remain where you are. We will give you a pull to get you free of the schooner, then you had better range the _Cerf_ alongside of her; keep your guns and those of the brigantine both loaded with grape; send your boat ashore to fetch off the wounded." "I have two boats now, sir; one of the brigantine's was left behind, and is uninjured." "Then send them both ashore, the sooner we get the wounded off the better. I am going to move forward with all my men; we have spiked the guns here, and if they should come down into the batteries again you can clear them out. You will, of course, help us, if we meet with strong resistance, with your guns on the shore-side." "Ay, ay, sir." The two boats were sent ashore, and the wounded came off with Dr. Bemish. As soon as they all came on board Nat said: "I will leave you with the wounded here, doctor, with four of my men to help you. We are so littered up that we could hardly work the guns, and as you see, three of them were dismounted by the explosion; besides, the prize alongside would hamper us, therefore I will take the rest of the men on board the brigantine." "I think that will be a very good plan, my lad," the doctor replied. "I quite agree with you, that with the spars and wreckage on one side and the prize on the other, you are practically helpless." The men were at once set to work bringing up powder cartridges from the magazine; grape and round-shot they would find on board the brigantine. In ten minutes the guns of that craft were reloaded. The two bodies of men from the batteries had by this time reached the storehouses. Not a shot had been fired, but a minute later there was a loud word of command, followed by a fierce yell, and in a moment both parties were engaged, a heavy fire being opened upon them from every spot of vantage on the hillside in front of them. "Now, my lads, give them a dose of grape!" Nat shouted. "I expect they are two to one to our fellows still. Train them carefully." Gun after gun sent showers of grape among the hidden foe, who were for the most part lying behind the cactus hedges of the gardens that surrounded the huts. The three forward guns assisted Mr. Hill's party, while the others aided that commanded by Needham. Although but four men to a gun, the sailors worked so hard that the pieces were discharged as rapidly as if they had been manned by a full complement, and their effect was visible in the diminution of the enemy's fire, and by the line of smoke gradually mounting the hill, showing that the pirates were falling back, while the cheers of the sailors and marines as they pressed steadily upwards, rapidly plying their muskets, rose louder and louder. Near the upper edge of the cleared ground the pirates made a stand, but the fire of the guns proved too much for them, and they took to the forest. Presently a sailor ran down to the shore. "The first lieutenant says, sir, will you please continue your fire into the forest. He is going to cut down all the hedges and fire the huts, so that they will have to pass over open ground if they attack again." "Tell Mr. Hill I will do so," Nat shouted back. It was not long after the fire had been turned in that direction before the puffs of smoke that darted out from the edge of the forest ceased altogether. The sailors could now be seen slashing away with their cutlasses at the lines of cactus hedge, while the huts that still stood were speedily in flames. Numbers of women and children now came down to the shore, where they were placed in charge of six of the marines and a non-commissioned officer. A quarter of an hour later, while Nat was watching what was going on on shore, one of the men touched him. "Look, sir, they are going down to the batteries!" The men were at once ordered across to the guns on the other side, and these opened with grape upon two bodies of pirates, each some seventy or eighty strong, who were rushing down to the batteries. The discharge of the six guns did terrible execution, but the survivors without pausing dashed down to the works. Cries of disappointment and rage broke out from them on finding the guns spiked, and before they could be reloaded they ran up the hill again, and were in shelter in the forest. "I fancy that is about the end of it," Nat said to the petty officer standing by his side. "I don't think that above fifty of either party got safely away." "Not more than that, sir. I expect it has taken the fight out of them." "It was a hopeless attempt, for although, if the guns had been loaded, they might have sunk us, our fellows on shore would soon have been upon them again, and it would have come to the same thing." "Yes, sir, the same thing to the pirates, but not the same thing to us." "No, you are right there; those twenty-four guns loaded with ball would have sent us to the bottom in no time. You see, our men only used grape before, and aimed at the decks." Mr. Hill now hailed from the shore again: "Mr. Glover!" "Ay, ay, sir!" "Have the goodness to send your boat ashore, I want to send a note off to the captain. On their way the men must stop at the boats on the other side of the island, and tell the boat keepers to bring them round here at once." Four men were sent ashore in the boat, and one of the petty officers took his place in the stern, with a hasty note which the first lieutenant had written in pencil stating that the loss had been very heavy, that the work of rooting out the pirates had not yet been completed, and that he should be glad of some more men to occupy the village while he searched the woods. The boat started at once, and twenty minutes later the captain's gig shot into the cove. As soon as the report of the first gun was heard on board the frigate, and there was no longer any motive for remaining at a distance, her head had been turned to the island, and the boat had met her but half a mile away from the entrance. After reading the note, Captain Crosbie sent one of the gigs to order the boats round to the inlet, and proceeded in his own boat to investigate the state of affairs, ordering the _Cerf's_ boat to row ahead of the frigate, which was to work in under very reduced sail, sounding as she went, and was, if the water was deep enough, to anchor off the mouth of the cove. "Then you found all the pirates here, Mr. Hill?" the captain said as he landed. "Yes, sir, but they blew up one of their craft when they left her." "Yes, of course we heard the report; it shook the frigate as if she had struck on a rock. It must have been tremendous here." "Yes, sir, she must have had an immense deal of powder in her magazine; the shock was something terrible. Although we were over there in that battery, every one of us was thrown to the ground and several were killed. Two of the guns were dismounted." "It was a veritable battle for a time, Mr. Hill. It sounded like a naval engagement on a large scale." "Yes, we had twenty-four guns in the batteries all at work, and the guns of the _Cerf_, while the three pirates had the same number in their broadsides, besides two heavy swivel-guns." "You say the loss is heavy. What does it amount to?" "I cannot tell you exactly, sir. There were twenty-five killed on board the _Cerf_, in addition to Mr. Playford and Mr. Curtis. The two officers and about half the men were, Mr. Glover reported, killed by the explosion, which, as you see, dismasted her." "Dear me! That is heavy indeed, and I most deeply regret the death of the two officers." "So do I indeed, sir. Mr. Playford was an excellent officer, and as good a fellow as ever walked. Mr. Curtis would have made, I am sure, a good officer in time. I hardly thought he would when he first joined, but he was improving greatly, and he showed great courage in working to remove the boom under a very heavy fire from the pirates, which sunk his boat under him." "Your division, Mr. Hill--what are your casualties?" "We took the batteries almost without loss, sir, but in the duel with the pirates we lost in the two batteries fourteen killed; nine more were killed by the explosion; we sent eighteen off to the _Cerf_ all seriously wounded; as to contusions and minor hurts, I should say that there is not a man who escaped them." "Well, well, that is a heavy bill indeed; forty-eight men killed and two officers--why, we should probably have lost less in an action against a frigate of our own size! However, we have destroyed this nest of pirates, and have captured three of their four ships, the other is blown up. Now, what is the state of things here?" "There are, I believe, some hundred and fifty or two hundred of the pirates still on the island. They are divided into two parties, and the last firing you heard was when they rushed down into the batteries, thinking, no doubt, to take revenge by sinking the brigantine and the two prizes. Mr. Glover opened fire upon them with grape with great effect. When they got into the battery they found that I had spiked the guns, which I did when I left them, thinking they might make just such a move. I sent off to you, sir, in order that the storehouses and buildings might be held while we cleared the wood on one side down to the mouth of the cove. When we have done that we can do the same on the other side." "Did you have any casualties in taking the village?" "Several wounded, sir, none killed. Mr. Glover drove them out with grape, and so rendered our work comparatively easy. I am sorry to say that almost the last shot fired by them hit Mr. Needham high up in the left arm. The doctor came ashore a few minutes ago, after attending to the wounded sent on board the _Cerf_. He examined the arm, and tells me that the bone is completely smashed, and that he must amputate it half-way between the elbow and shoulder." "That is bad indeed. However, it is better than if it had been his right arm. Mr. Harpur," said the captain to the midshipman who had come ashore with him, "take the gig off and meet the boats. Tell the launch and pinnace to go alongside the frigate, and request Mr. Normandy to send Mr. Marston ashore with fifty more men. What on earth are we to do with these poor creatures?" he went on to the first lieutenant as the gig rowed away. "Of course we must take them to Jamaica. Theirs is a terrible position. No doubt they have all been captured in the prizes the villains have taken, and most of them must have seen their husbands or fathers murdered before their eyes. Some of them may have been here long enough to become accustomed to their lot, many of them may have been captured lately. What is to become of them I don't know. "You have not opened any of the storehouses yet?" "No, sir, we have been pretty busy, you see. We cut down all the cactus hedges round the huts high up on the hill, so as to keep the pirates from working down and making a fresh attack upon us. As to the other houses, I have given strict orders that no one is to enter them. The men have piled arms and are lying down by them; many of them have not completely recovered from the shock of the explosion, and all are bruised more or less by being hurled on to the rocks or against the guns. I fancy the doctor will have his hands full for many a day." "Well, you must pick out twenty or so from those most fit for duty. They can join the men I sent for and finish the business. The rest can be on guard here, in case the party on the other side take it into their heads to make an attack." CHAPTER VI THE NEGRO RISING While waiting for the arrival of the reinforcements, Captain Crosbie went on board the _Cerf_. The wounded had all been carried below, where cots had been slung for them. After their wounds were dressed, he went round saying a few words to each, enquiring into the nature of their injuries. No attempt had been made to remedy the confusion on deck, except that the bodies of those that could be moved had been laid side by side. That of Mr. Playford and the others who had been crushed by the falling masts still lay beneath them, as the four men left on board were unable to do anything to extricate them until help arrived. The captain then went on board the prize. "Mr. Hill has spoken in the highest terms of the service that you have rendered, Mr. Glover, though I have not yet heard the full details. As the only surviving officer of the _Cerf_, you had better, when you have time, draw out a full report for me of the work done by her. It will be another half-hour before we again commence operations against the pirates, and I shall be obliged if you will go on board the _Cerf_ with your men and endeavour to get the body of Mr. Playford and the others from underneath the masts. Nothing more can be done at present, but it is painful that they should be lying there. I fancy that with hand-spikes you will have no very great difficulty in raising the butt of the mast high enough to draw the bodies from under it. As soon as you have done that, bring the men back here. When the advance begins you will shell the wood ahead of it." "We will put you ashore first, sir; this is the only boat we have that will float." Captain Crosbie on landing went among the women, who were between seventy and eighty in number. Some burst into tears when he spoke to them, others seemed dazed and quite unconscious that they were being addressed. Feeling almost unmanned by the moving spectacle, Captain Crosbie was relieved when the two boats filled with men entered the mouth of the cove. As soon as they came alongside, the men leapt out in high spirits at the prospect of having a share in the fray. Mr. Hill had already picked out twenty of his own party. "I will myself take the command here, Mr. Hill. I don't wish to interfere with the credit that you will gain by this affair, therefore I leave the arrangement of your party in your hands." Mr. Hill marched the seventy men straight up the hill. "You will march straight on, Mr. Marston, until you reach the edge of the cliff, then you will return. See that the men are placed at regular intervals. You will then face to the right and the line will advance. No quarter will be given, except to men who throw down their arms and beg for it. I do not suppose that many will do so, as they know what their fate will be if they are taken to Port Royal. We have reason to believe that there cannot be more than eighty or so on this side, but if they keep in a body and make a rush at the line they will no doubt be able to break through. However, that we must risk, and I hardly think that they will attempt it, for they know that they must sooner or later fall into our hands. They will only starve if they conceal themselves. Some may prefer death in that way, or may think that after we have left they may manage to get taken across to the mainland in native fishing-boats. However, search the ground closely. These men are steeped in blood; they have been the scourge of these seas for the past five or six years, and have never yet shown mercy." Mr. Hill then placed himself in the centre of the line, while Mr. Marston again took his place on the right. It was not until they had worked round nearly to the entrance that opposition was met with; then they came upon a spot where a mass of rock cropped up among the trees, and as they approached this a sharp fire of musketry broke out. Mr. Hill ordered the two ends of the line to advance so as to form a semicircle round the rock. When they were in position he gave the word to charge, and with a cheer the sailors dashed forward. Led by their officers, they scrambled up the rocks like cats, discharged their muskets into the pirates grouped on its summit, and then threw themselves upon them cutlass in hand. In three minutes all was over; not a man asked for mercy, but all died fighting desperately to the end. Four of the sailors were killed, several severely wounded. These were carried or helped down to the shore, and the rest of the party then scattered through the woods; but the closest search failed to discover a single man in hiding, although only some fifty of them had been accounted for. Returning to the point from which they had started, the party then proceeded to search the forest at the other side of the cove. Here, however, they met with no resistance. A few dead were found, but the forest was deserted. After searching in vain for some time it was concluded that the survivors had probably gone down the face of the cliff and hidden there in caves or in thickets in places that could only be reached by men well acquainted with the ground. After two hours' vain search, Mr. Hill led the party down to the shore again. While he had been away the captain had had the storehouses opened. These were filled with booty of all kinds, the plunder of at least fifty ships, as they judged by the chronometers, the marks on bales, and other articles. Here were thousands of cases of wine, ranges of barrels of rum, hogsheads of sugar, coffee, and other colonial produce, quantities of bales of cotton cloths used for the slaves, furniture of all kinds, enormous numbers of trunks and boxes containing wearing apparel, bales of silks and satins, and an immense amount of table-linen. In the centre of one of the storehouses was a chamber constructed of stone four feet thick with an arched roof. The entrance was closed by two iron doors, one within the other, and these were so strong that it was necessary to drag up a six-pounder cannon to batter them in. When at last an entrance was forced, the strong-room was found to contain upwards of seventy thousand pounds in coin, hundreds of watches, and a large amount of jewellery, much of which was of Spanish manufacture, and a great many church vessels and ornaments of silver. It was evident that, although no doubt a certain proportion of the spoil had been divided at the time of capture, the main bulk had been stored there for division some day when the haunt should be finally abandoned. The sailors now set about examining the bodies of the pirates who had been killed on the shore by the explosion. It was found that in almost every case they wore belts under their clothes, and that these contained from ten to a hundred pieces of gold. A systematic search was then made, and, in all, the money found upon the dead pirates amounted to six thousand pounds, which was added to the store taken from the treasury. The work of emptying the storehouses, getting up jury-masts on board the _Cerf_, and doing the absolutely necessary repairs to her and the prizes occupied three days. The women had been placed in the brigantine after the craft had been thoroughly washed down and scoured, and she had been taken out and anchored near the frigate, to which the wounded had all been conveyed as soon as the fight was over. On the evening of the third day the storehouses and other buildings still standing were all burned, the cannon were taken on board the frigate, and the next morning the four vessels got up sail and started in company for Jamaica. Nat was left in command of the _Cerf_ with fifteen men. Low was in command of the schooner with twelve men. Mr. Marston had charge of the captured brigantine with fifteen men, all that could be spared from the diminished crew of the frigate. Nat had had time, when the long day's work was over, to row off every evening to see Needham, whose arm had been amputated an hour after the fight was ended. He was, the doctor said, going on well, and was in very good spirits. "This is sure to give me my step," he said to Glover. "I shall have served my time in six months, and Marston's rank will of course be confirmed, now that poor Playford's death has made the vacancy permanent. You have another year to serve, have you not, Glover?" "Yes, rather more. However, of course this affair will help me too, as soon as I have passed." "It ought to, old fellow, considering you were the only officer left on board the _Cerf_, and that you unfastened the boom under that tremendous fire, to say nothing of carrying the schooner and running the risk of being blown up when you went on board the brigantine. You will get your swab as soon as you have passed. You see it has been a big thing; fifty-eight men killed and a hundred and four put down as wounded; and the breaking up of this pirate's nest makes it the most important affair there has been out here for years. The other ships on the station will all feel quite jealous of us. There will be a goodish bit of prize-money, too, which is not to be despised. Over eighty thousand pounds in gold and, I should say, over twenty thousand pounds in goods, makes even a midshipman's share something considerable. How is your arm, Glover?" "Well, it has been hurting me a bit. I am not conscious of having used it particularly, but I suppose when I was thrown down by that explosion it must have got wrenched somehow." "Well, if I were you I would ask Dr. Bemish to have a look at it." Glover did so. It was black and blue from the shoulder down to the elbow, and very tender to the touch. "I don't think anything is broken," the doctor said, "but it has been a very close shave. At any rate, it is just as well that I should put on splints and bandage it, and you must take to your sling again and keep to it for some time. It is not tender above the shoulder, is it?" "No, doctor; I think it is all right there." "That is lucky. You ought to go on the sick-list." "I cannot do that, sir. It would be giving up the command of the brigantine, and I would put up with anything rather than that." They had fine weather and a leading wind to Jamaica, and their arrival there with the two captured prizes and the news that the piratical haunt had been completely destroyed, created quite a sensation, which was heightened by the rescue of so many females from the hands of the pirates. Some fifteen of these found friends in the island, and the scene when they were handed over to them was painful in the extreme. A third of the number were French, and there were also some eighteen Spaniards. All were temporarily taken in and cared for by families at Port Royal, and were sent off as soon as opportunity offered either to the islands for which they had been bound when captured, or to their friends in Europe. Mr. Hill, in his report, had done full justice to the work done by the _Cerf_, and had mentioned Nat's going on board the brigantine to drown her magazine, and the great service that he had rendered in covering the advance of the sailors by the guns of that craft, and in inflicting such heavy punishment upon the two parties that had attempted to possess themselves of the batteries, and the admiral sent for him and personally congratulated him on his work. "I will see that as soon as you have passed, Mr. Glover, you shall have your commission as acting lieutenant. I have not forgotten what Captain Crosbie told me of your gallant action at Cape François." Mr. Hill was at once appointed to the command of a frigate whose captain had died of yellow fever, and received the rank of commander pending its confirmation from home; and Mr. Philpot, second lieutenant of that frigate, was appointed first lieutenant of the _Orpheus_ in his place. The schooner and the _Cerf_ were sold, for the latter had suffered so much damage forward by the fire concentrated upon her by the pirates' ships that she was considered unfit for further service. The other brigantine was bought into the service. The plunder taken was sold by auction, and the proceeds, together with the sum fetched by the three prizes, brought the total up to one hundred and five thousand pounds, a larger sum than had ever been captured by any vessel on the station. The new brigantine was re-christened the _Falcon_, and Mr. Low was placed in command, with two midshipmen from other ships on the station under him. She was not, like the _Cerf_, a tender to the _Orpheus_, as the frigate could no longer spare a crew for her, having, in addition to the loss in action, been obliged to send thirty men to hospital on shore. The brigantine was therefore manned by drafts from other ships of war on the station. Needham was also left on shore, being promoted at once to the rank of lieutenant, which left Nat for the time senior midshipman of the _Orpheus_, which was now directed to cruise in the neighbourhood of Hayti, where complaints had been received of vessels being missing. Two months after leaving Jamaica the _Orpheus_ again put in to Cape François. Nat was still wearing his arm in a sling. There had been a good deal of swelling and inflammation, but this had now abated, and in his opinion his arm was perfectly well again, but the doctor insisted that he should as a precautionary measure still use the sling. The frigate needed some repairs, having carried away some spars in a hurricane a week previously, and on the day of their arrival the captain sent for Nat, and said kindly: "We shall be here for a week, Mr. Glover, and the doctor thinks that another run among the hills will do you good, therefore you can go and stay with your friends there until we sail again. If you return this day week that will do. You have stuck to your work well, for Doctor Bemish said that for the first month at least you ought to have been on the sick-list, and at any rate you deserve a holiday for your share in that fight." On landing Nat went first to Monsieur Duchesne's office. The planter had but just driven in, and his horse and trap were still standing at the door. The negro driver gave a friendly grin as he saw him. "Glad to see you, sah, bery glad; eberyone will be glad. Hope you all well, sah?" "Thank you, Cæsar. All well at the plantation, I hope?" and he went into the office, where he was most warmly received by Monsieur Duchesne. "I had been told that your ship came into port at daybreak, my dear Monsieur Glover, and I should have come off to ask after you as soon as I had answered my letters, and to carry you off if the captain would give you leave. But I see your arm is still in a sling. You have not hurt it, I hope?" "I hurt it in that fight we had with the pirates. I dare say you heard of it." "Everyone has heard of it," the planter said. "It was splendid, and there is not one here who does not feel grateful indeed to your ship for having rid us of all those scoundrels, who have been doing us so much harm for years. You have not hurt it much, I hope?" "It was bad for a bit, but it is all right again now. The doctor orders me to keep to the sling for some time longer, though I am sure there is not the least necessity for it." "And now about your leave, shall I go off to the ship, think you?" "The captain himself gave me leave this morning for a week without my even asking for it." "That is good news indeed. My carriage is at the door; I fortunately told Cæsar to wait, as there are some things to take back. My wife and Myra will be delighted to see you, they talk of you always, and will be glad indeed to have you with them again. My boy has gone out to buy the matters required by madame, he will be back in a few minutes." A quarter of an hour later Nat was on his way out to the plantation, where he was received with a welcome of the warmest kind by Madame Duchesne and her daughter. Both were greatly concerned at finding that his arm had again been injured. "It is hard indeed," Myra said, "that I should be so well and strong again, and that you should still be suffering for what you did for me." "I do not think," he said, "that that business has really anything to do with the last one. A pirate ship blew up close to us; the shock was tremendous. The masts of the brigantine I was in snapped off as if they had been carrots, everyone on deck was thrown down, twelve were killed outright, and the rest of us were all a great deal bruised and hurt. The doctor said that he thought my arm might very well have been broken even had it not been for that accident, and as I came off better than most of the others, I certainly have no reason to complain. It is really quite well again now, and I can use it for almost all purposes. I consider it absurd that I should wear this sling, and would take it off at once, only the doctor made me promise that I would generally wear it; indeed, on board I always took my arm out when I wanted to use it, and he said himself that a certain amount of exercise was good for me." Monsieur Duchesne came home as usual just at sunset. Nat noticed that at dinner he was evidently preoccupied, though he endeavoured to join in the conversation as cheerily as usual. After the ladies had left the table he said: "You may have noticed that I am _distrait_, Monsieur Glover, but it is an anxious time for all of us on the island, and has been so, indeed, for some time. You see we are divided into three classes: there are the pure whites, the mulattoes, and the negroes, and even these are subdivided. There are the old settlers, men who, like myself, belong to noble French families, and who, I hope, keep up the best traditions of our country; there are the poor whites, landless men who are discontented with their position, and hate those who are better off, while they stand aloof from the mulattoes. These, again, are equally divided. Many of them are rich men with plantations. They send their sons and daughters over to France to be educated, and take it much amiss that we, who are of pure blood, do not associate with them. Then, again, there are the negroes, who number no fewer than five hundred thousand, while we whites are but forty thousand. We went on well enough together until the States General met in France. It was a bad affair that, for us as well as for France. From that time there has been a ferment. We sent over deputies, eighteen of them, but the Assembly only allowed six to take their seats, and while they snubbed us, the young mulattoes were treated with the greatest favour. "Then came the news that the Assembly had passed a declaration asserting all men to be free and equal. You may imagine what a shock this was to us. Some of the mulattoes, in their excitement, took up arms to show that they were free, but they were easily put down. However, when the National Assembly heard of the excitement and dissatisfaction caused among the French in all their colonies, they made another decree authorizing each colony to elect its own legislative assembly. Our assembly here lost their heads on finding power in their hands, and passed a constitution which practically renounced all allegiance to France. Some riots broke out, and things would have been very serious had not, on the eleventh of October last year (1790), a decree been passed by the National Assembly modifying the former one. However, on the fifteenth of May they passed another, declaring all people of colour in the French colonies, born of free parents, entitled to vote for members of the colonial assembly, and to be elected to seats themselves. "When the news came here six weeks ago, you can imagine the excitement. Meetings were held, and it was even proposed to throw off allegiance to France and to hoist the British flag instead of ours. Happily calmer thoughts came, and matters cooled down, but there can be no doubt that the state of affairs is critical. The mulattoes, who outnumber the whites, do not know how to contain themselves with joy, and disputes between them and the whites take place daily. Then there are the negroes. You see, the decree does nothing for them. It is hard to know what the negroes think, even whether they care that they are not to have a vote is not known to us. It is clear that it would be of little advantage to them, and, you see, no one who was not out of his mind could think of giving a vote to them, for their vote would be five times as large as that of the whites and mulattoes together. We should have an assembly composed entirely of slaves, and these slaves would at once vote that all the land and property in the island should be divided among themselves. What think you of that, Monsieur Glover?" "It would be madness indeed," Nat agreed. "Then, you see, even if they did not do that they would declare themselves free, and we should all be ruined. _Sapristi!_ it makes one's blood cold to think of such a thing. But, nevertheless, the negroes are like children, they can be led by a little talk, and among them there are men of some intelligence who could work the rest up to a state of madness. I do not say that this will come--Heaven defend us from such a calamity!--still, monsieur, you will comprehend that we all feel as if we were sitting on the edge of a volcano. Such strange things happen. What may not occur next? You will understand that I do not talk of these things before my wife and child. They, of course, know about the past, but as for the future they do not trouble themselves at all. I have spoken to some of my friends, and they laugh at the idea of the slaves rising. They say, truly enough, that they are far better treated here than in your British colonies. But then there has been no revolution in England. People have not been stirred up to a state of excitement. The nation has not lost its head, as in France. I say that it is possible there may be trouble with the slaves." "Not here, surely, monsieur? Your negroes seem to me to be contented and happy, and I am sure they are well treated." "That is undoubtedly so; but, as I told you, the negroes are like children, they will laugh one minute and scream with rage the next. There is never any saying what they may do. I can hardly bring myself to think that such a thing could happen, but I have taken to carrying pistols in my pockets, and I have stored some arms in that closet in the hall; at least I should have them handy, and I doubt not that the house servants will remain true, and I hope many of my slaves. It is for this that I have gathered the arms together." "But surely you would have warning?" "At the first whisper I should, of course, drive my wife and child down to the town, where we should be safe, for there the whites are strong, and we have no fear of an attack. However, we must trust that such a thing may never happen, or that if it does, it may be in the far distance. But come when it will, everyone should receive warning in plenty of time to make all preparations. It seems to me impossible that a plot of any magnitude could be passed from end to end of this island, and be known to so vast a number of negroes, without some of them warning their masters of the danger, for there are tens of thousands who are almost like members of their masters' families." "I should say it is quite impossible that any extensive plot could be hatched without its being known in a very short time to everyone," Nat agreed; "and in any case, although those who live far in the interior of the island might have reason to fear, should the negroes break out, I can hardly think that, within little more than an hour's drive from the city, you need feel any uneasiness whatever." "No, I feel that there ought to be no trouble here, at any rate unless there is a successful insurrection in other parts of the island; no doubt that would be infectious elsewhere. But the negroes near the town would be the last to join in such a movement, for they might be sure that the whites there would take speedy vengeance on all within their reach. However, let us think no more of it at present; my wife and Myra will be wondering what we can find to talk about so long." Nat lay awake for some time that night thinking of what Monsieur Duchesne had said. He had heard vaguely, while he was there before, of the manner in which the revolution in France had affected the island, but it was a subject that was little discussed at the planter's. Having all the feelings and prejudices of the old _noblesse_ of France, he had from the first been opposed to the popular movement in Paris, and had held himself altogether aloof from the demonstration on the island. The subject was painful to him, and he had seldom alluded to it in his family circle. It seemed to Nat inconceivable that any general movement could be planned among the blacks without warning being received by the planters. When he went out next day he looked with more attention than before at the slaves working on the plantations. It seemed to him that their demeanour was quieter than usual; the mulatto overseers seemed to pay less attention to them, and he was surprised to come upon three of them talking earnestly together, whereas, hitherto, he had always seen them on different parts of the estate. On the following morning, the 23rd of August, Monsieur Duchesne started as usual soon after seven o'clock, for the heat was now intense, and it was dangerous to be out after the sun had obtained its full power. An hour later Nat was sitting in the verandah behind the house with Madame Duchesne and Myra, when an old negress ran out; her eyes were wide open with terror and excitement, and her face was almost pale. "Madame and mam'selle must fly and hide themselves!" she exclaimed. "Nigger come in half an hour ago wid news dat slabes rise last night in many places all ober de country and kill all de whites. Dinah hear dat all people expect dat, only not for anober two days. Oberseers de leaders now. Dey come here quick wid all de field hands. Not a moment to be lost. Fly for your libes!" "Impossible!" Madame Duchesne exclaimed, as she and Myra sprang to their feet alarmed, but incredulous. "It may be true, madame," Nat exclaimed. "For God's sake run with Myra in among the shrubbery there; I will join you in a moment. If it is a false alarm all the better; but it may be true, and there is not a moment to lose. Do you hear those shouts?" A burst of yells and shouts rose in the air a short distance away. "Run! run!" Nat exclaimed as he dashed into the house, rushed to the closet in the hall, seized two brace of pistols, a sword, and half a dozen packets of cartridges for the pistols, and then ran out into the verandah just in time to see the white dresses of the ladies disappear into the shrubbery close to the entrance of the verandah. Some wraps which they sometimes put on to keep off the evening dew when they were sitting out of doors were hung up close by him. Hastily snatching these off their hooks, he dashed off at full speed, for the tumult was now approaching the front of the house. The ladies had stopped just within the cover of the bushes. "Run!" he cried; "there is not a moment to lose. They will be searching for us as soon as they find that we are not in the house." The belt of foliage extended all round the garden, and, keeping inside, they ran to the other end. Fortunately, adjoining the garden was a plantation of sugar-cane which had not yet been cut, for although the greater portion of the cane is cut in April, freshly made plantations planted at that time are not fit to cut until the autumn of the following year. The canes were ten feet high, and as the rows were three feet apart, there was plenty of room to run between them. Scarcely a word was spoken as they hurried along. The plantation was some four hundred yards across; beyond it stretched another of equal size, extending to the edge of the forest. The canes here, which had been cut four months before, were three feet high; at other times many negroes would have been at work hoeing the ground round the roots, but when Nat looked out cautiously from the edge of the higher canes not a soul was to be seen. "I think it is perfectly safe," he said; "but you had better put on the dark wraps, your light dresses would be seen a long distance away. We had better move a short distance farther to the right before we attempt to go straight on. If you will walk one after the other, treading in each other's steps, I will take off my shoes and follow you; that will destroy your traces, and the marks of my bare feet might be taken for those of a negro. Please do not lose a moment," he said, as he saw that Madame Duchesne was about to speak; "there will be time to talk when we get into the forest and settle what we had best do." They had gone but a few yards when Nat's eye caught sight of a hoe lying on the ground a short distance along one of the rows of the young canes. He ran and fetched it, the others stopping while he did so. Then as he went along he carefully obliterated his footsteps, and continued to do so until when, after walking thirty or forty yards farther, he turned into the young plantation. The surface of the ground was almost dust-dry, and between the rows of the growing canes a track had been worn by the feet of the slaves, who every two or three days hoed round the roots; here, therefore, there was no occasion to use the hoe, as the ground was so hard that his feet left no marks upon it. In a few minutes they entered the wood and went in some little distance; then they stopped. They could still hear the yells of the negroes, who, Nat doubted not, were engaged in plundering the house, after which he felt sure that there would be an eager search for the fugitives. The ground had been rising all the way. "I see you need a few minutes' rest," he said to Madame Duchesne, who was so much shaken that it was evident she could walk but little farther. "I will go back to the edge of the wood and see if there are any signs of their following us." Just as he reached the open ground there was a louder outburst than usual of exulting cries; he saw a column of smoke rising from the trees, and knew that the negroes had set the house on fire. He returned at once to the ladies. Madame Duchesne had sunk on the ground. Myra was kneeling beside her. "We must go on, madame," he said; "the scoundrels have fired the house." She rose to her feet. "I am better now," she said with a calmness that greatly pleased Nat. "It seemed a dream at first. What does it all mean, Nat?" for she as well as her daughter had come to address him by that name. "I fear it is a general rising of the blacks throughout the island," he replied. "Monsieur Duchesne told me last night that he thought such an event might possibly take place, but he made sure that if it occurred we should have ample warning. By what your old nurse said it must have been an arranged thing, to take place on the twenty-fifth, but something must have hurried it. I think, to begin with, we had better go half a mile farther into the forest. We can talk as we go." "Had we not better make straight for the town?" "I think not, though of course I will do whatever you believe to be best; but there are a score of plantations between us and the town, and I have no doubt that the slaves will have risen everywhere. Besides, if your own negroes fail to follow our track, they will make sure that we have gone in that direction, and will be on the look-out for us; therefore I think that for the present we had better remain in the forest." "But how can we live here?" she asked. "There will be no difficulty about that," he replied; "there are plenty of plantations of yams, and I can go down and dig them up at night. The young canes will quench your thirst if we fail to hit upon a spring, but we know that there are several of these among the hills, for we pass over five or six little streamlets on our way to the town." "I am sure Nat will look well after us," Myra said confidently; "besides, mamma, I am certain that you could not walk down there. You know you never do walk, and I cannot recollect your walking so far as you have done to-day." This indeed had been the chief reason why Nat had decided that they had better stay in the forest at present, although he had not mentioned it. Like all Creoles--as whites born in the islands were called in the French West Indies--Madame Duchesne was altogether unaccustomed to exercise, and beyond a stroll in the garden when the heat of the day was over, had not walked since her childhood. The heat, indeed, rendered a journey of any kind next to impossible during the greater part of the day. They had slaves to do their bidding, to wait on them, fetch and carry, and consequently even in the house they had no occasion for the slightest personal exertion. Madame Duchesne, being of a naturally more energetic temperament than are Creoles in general, was less indolent than the majority of the ladies of the island, but was wholly incapable of taking a walk of which English ladies would have thought nothing. She was already greatly exhausted by the excitement and the fatigue of their hasty flight, and to Nat it seemed at once that it was hopeless for her to think of attempting the journey of fifteen miles across a rough country. The forest grew thicker as they advanced, and after walking for half an hour Madame Duchesne declared that it was impossible for her to go farther. Nat was indeed surprised that she had held on for so long. She had been leaning on his arm, and he felt the weight becoming heavier and heavier every step. She was bathed in perspiration, her breath came in gasps, and he himself proposed a halt, feeling that she was at the end of her strength. CHAPTER VII IN HIDING "The first thing to do," Nat said, after he had seen that Madame Duchesne was as comfortably seated as possible, "is to find some sort of hiding-place. We may be sure that the negroes will search everywhere for you, and that, released from work and having nothing to do, they will wander about the woods, and one of them might come upon us at any moment. Therefore, unless we can find some sort of shelter, I dare not leave you for a minute." "But why should you leave us?" Myra asked. "We must eat and drink," he said. "I must endeavour to discover what is going on elsewhere; I must, if possible, obtain a disguise, and endeavour to find out what are the intentions of the blacks, and ascertain whether it will be possible to obtain help from the town; and I can begin to do nothing until I feel that you are at least comparatively safe. There is no doubt, Madame Duchesne, that our position is a very painful one, but we have a great deal to be thankful for. If the rising had taken place in the night, as no doubt it did at the plantations where the negroes began their work, we should all have been murdered without the chance of resistance. Now, we have escaped with our lives, and have the satisfaction of knowing that Monsieur Duchesne is safe in the town, and will assuredly do his best to rescue us; but that can hardly be yet. Cape François is no doubt in a state of wild panic, and will in the first place be thinking of how it can best defend itself." "There are, of course, many other planters there in the same position as your husband. Each will be thinking of his own people; nothing like a general effort will be possible. At any rate, it seems to me that it must be some time before any operations can take place to put down the insurrection. If one could but get hold of some messenger one could trust, and could let Monsieur Duchesne know that you are for the present safe, it would be an immense relief to him; but so far as we know at present that old nurse is the only one of your slaves who is faithful, and even if I could find her and get her to carry a note or a message, it is unlikely in the extreme that she would be permitted to pass on into the town. However, as I say, the first thing is to discover a hiding-place where you would be comparatively safe, and before I go to find a messenger I will look round for some clump of undergrowth where nothing but close search could find you. I think that those bushes we see across there would do for the moment. You cannot remain here, for you would be seen at once by anyone who came along within fifty yards of you. I will go and see at once whether it would do." Without waiting for an answer he hurried away. On examination he found that the place was more suitable than he had expected. A great tree had once stood there, and had been sawn off close to the ground. Round this a clump of bushes had sprung up, growing so thickly that it was impossible to see into the centre save by pushing aside the bushes and entering the little circle. He hastened back. "It will do excellently for our hiding-place for the present," he said, "and the sooner we are inside the better." He assisted Madame Duchesne to her feet, led her to the bushes, and then bent some of them very carefully aside. The ladies made their way in, and he followed them, seeing that each of the saplings fell back in its natural position. "There, madame," he said, "unless anyone took it into his head to push in as we have done we are absolutely safe. But it will be better that you should keep your dark cloaks on. I do not think that anyone could see through this thick screen of leaves, but it is as well to be on the safe side." "You won't leave us at present?" "Certainly not," he said. "After it gets dark I shall make my way down to the house. I must get a disguise of some sort; it does not matter much what it is, for I expect the slaves will be dressing up in the clothes they have stolen, no matter what they are. With some charred wood I can blacken my face and hands. No doubt anyone would see at once on looking at me closely that I was not a negro, but at a distance I should pass." "You would make a better mulatto than you would a negro," Myra said. "So I should; as they are all shades of colour, I should not have to be very particular." "If we had Dinah here with us," Myra said, "she could make you some dye. She knows all about berries and roots, and generally doctors any of the women who may be ill; she would know for sure of some berries that would stain your skin." "Well, I must see if I can find her, Myra. If not, I must use the charcoal, but certainly the other would be much the safer; and, you see, thanks to my long stay with you before, I have got to speak French very fairly now." The day passed slowly. Occasionally they heard shouts lower down in the forest, but these did not come near them, and after a time died away. "I thought they would hardly come up as far as this," Nat said; "negroes are not given to work unless they are obliged to, and they will find it so pleasant doing nothing that they are hardly likely to give themselves the trouble to search very far for us. Besides, doubtless they have other things to think about. They will know that their work has only begun when they have burnt their masters' houses, and killed all the white people they can lay their hands upon, and that until they have taken possession of the towns they are not masters of the island. No doubt, too, they carried out the wine before they burnt the house." "Besides," Myra said, "there is the rum store; there are at least a hundred barrels there." "Yes, I did not think of that. Well, I expect that before this the greater part of them are drunk, and I don't suppose there will be a sober man left to-night. That will make it an easy business for me to find out what they are doing, and to get hold of the things that will be useful to you. I am more afraid of the mulattoes than of the negroes." "Do you think that they would join the blacks?" "I have no doubt at all about it--I feel sure they have done so. I saw three of them talking together yesterday; they were paying no attention to the slaves, and I thought then that it was rather peculiar. Besides, we know that these lower class of mulattoes are as hostile to the whites as the negroes are, if not more so, and I have no doubt they have had a good deal to do with exciting the slaves to revolt. And now, Madame Duchesne, I will go down through the woods and get you some sugar-cane, and look for a stream." Madame Duchesne protested, but she was accustomed to have every want supplied as soon as expressed, and she was suffering much from thirst after the excitement and effort. "You really require something," Nat went on. "You see, if I go down after dark I may be away for two or three hours, and were you to wait till then you would be in a fever with thirst. It is evident that the negroes have all left the wood, therefore there can be no risk in my going down and cutting a dozen of the young canes." "If you go," she said firmly, sitting up as she spoke, "you must leave me two of your pistols--they are double-barrelled, are they not?" "Yes, madame." "Well, leave two. If the negroes come and begin to search this place I shall shoot Myra first and then myself, for death would be a thousand times preferable to falling into the hands of these wretches." "I think you are right there," Nat said gravely, "and if I thought that there would be the slightest fear of their coming I would not leave you. I shall not be away a quarter of an hour. I will leave my jacket and cap here, and tie a handkerchief round my head, so that should I by any chance come across a searcher, he will not recognize me until I am close enough to silence him. I shall take the sword as well as the other brace of pistols; it will be useful for cutting down the canes." Taking off his jacket and waistcoat, and tying his handkerchief round his head, he made his way through the bushes, and then started at a fast run down the hill, keeping, however, a sharp look-out as he went. As he expected, there were no signs of the blacks. As he reached the edge of the wood, and cut the canes, he could hear the sound of distant yells in the direction of the house. "The brutes have got at the rum," he said. "If I had but half a dozen blue-jackets, I believe I could clear the lot out. I do hope," he went on, as he started on his way back, "I shall be able to lay my hand on something to eat, and get hold of a bottle or two of wine. Madame will never be able to get on on yams and sugar-canes, accustomed as she has been to every luxury. Myra will be all right, she is a regular young brick." As he neared the clump of bushes he cried out cheerily: "All right, madame, I have got the canes, and have not caught sight of a negro." An exclamation of relief followed. Madame Duchesne and Myra were both standing as he entered, each with a pistol in her hand. "I was not alarmed by your footstep," she said, "for anyone who was searching for us would come along slowly and stealthily; but I thought you might be pursued." "If I had been," Nat laughed, "you may be very sure I should not have brought them this way, but would have given them a dance all over the place, and then slipped away and come back here." "I know that," she said earnestly, "but I am nervous and shaken." "Very naturally, too," Nat said: "you felt very much as I did when, after that explosion, I went on board the other pirate to drown the magazine. I believe that if anyone had given a shout close to me I should have tumbled headlong down on the deck. I think, now, we are perfectly safe till to-morrow. By the noises I heard down by the house I should say that most of the slaves are drunk already, and you may be sure that they will not think of starting to look for us till to-morrow. Now, if you will take my advice, you will try to sleep a bit." Accustomed to sleep for two or three hours during the heat of the day, Madame Duchesne was indeed feeling so drowsy that she could with difficulty keep her eyes open, and she now in the course of a few minutes was breathing quietly and regularly. "Now, Myra, do you watch by your mother while I go and look for water. That tiny stream that crosses the road a quarter of a mile above your house must come down not far from here, and it is essential that we should be near it." "But it is near water that they are most likely to look for us." "I did not think of that, Myra; of course it is. Well, then, we must move over this hill and hide up in the next little valley we come to. There is a road that turns off half a mile above your house. I never went far along it, but it seems to go right up into the heart of the hills." "I never went up it either, Nat, but I have heard my father say there were a good many small clearings up among the hills, some with twenty slaves, some with only two or three." "Then, when I come back from seeing how things are going on at the house, we had better make for that road, keeping along down at the end of the plantation until we come to it. It will be much better to keep straight along there till we pass some little valley where there is a stream, than to wander about in the wood; and we shall be farther away from those who may be looking after us. If your mother sleeps for two or three hours she will be able to go some little distance to-night." Myra shook her head doubtingly. "We must get her on," he added, "even if we have to carry her. It is all very well for us, because I am as hard as nails, and you do a lot of walking for a white girl here, but your mother is not strong. You saw how terribly exhausted she was when she got here, and it is quite likely that she may knock up altogether; therefore it is essential to get her into shelter. We are safe for to-day, but to-morrow we may have the negroes all over the hills, and it will have to be a wonderfully good hiding-place to escape their search." "But do you feel sure that they have risen on all the other plantations?" "I have not the least doubt that they have risen on every plantation in this neighbourhood. Your slaves were wonderfully well treated, and would not have joined unless they had known that it was a general rising. You know the old nurse said that it was to have been on the twenty-fifth, which means, of course, that it was a great plot all over the island. Of course in some places they may not have got the news yet, and may not rise for a day or two, but you may be sure that all around here it has been general." "But why should they want to kill us?" "Because they are really nothing but savages. Though they have in many cases been slaves for generations, still there are always fresh slaves arriving; and the others know that their fathers, like these, were captured and sold to the whites, that they had terrible times in the slave-ships, and are on some plantations treated like dogs, and are bought and sold just like cattle. I don't wonder at it that, now they have got a chance, as they think, they should take vengeance for all the ills they have suffered. When they are at war with each other in Africa they kill or enslave all who fall into their hands--men, women, or children--and you may be sure that they will show no mercy here. When I was down at the edge of the wood to cut those canes I could see smoke rising from a dozen points lower down. It is possible that some besides ourselves got warning in time, but I am afraid very few can have escaped; for you see, once beyond the line of wood, which does not go more than a mile or two further, there will be no hiding-places for them. There is only one comfort, and that is, the news must have got down to the town in a very short time, and there is no fear of your father driving out and being taken by surprise. My greatest hope lies in that old nurse of yours. She could do more in the way of helping us than we could do ourselves. She could go and get things, and hear what is going on. She is old, but she is a strong woman still, and could help to carry your mother, and attend to her if she is ill." "Do you think she is going to be ill?" Myra asked anxiously, looking at her mother. "I sincerely trust not, Myra, but I own that I am afraid of it. She is breathing faster than she did, and she has moved restlessly several times while we have been talking, and has a patch of colour on each cheek, which looks like fever. However, we must hope for the best. Anyhow, I shall bring Dinah up here if possible." So they talked till the sun went down. Madame Duchesne still slept, but her breathing was perceptibly faster. She occasionally muttered to herself, and scarcely lay still for a moment. "I will be going now," Nat said at last; "it will be pitch dark by the time I get down to the house; it is dark already here. You have the pistols, Myra, but you may be quite sure that no one will be searching now. I may have some difficulty in finding these bushes when I come back, but I will whistle, and when I do, do you give a call. I hope I shall bring Dinah back with me." "Oh, I do hope you will. She would be a comfort to us." Nat heard a quaver in her voice, which showed that she was on the point of breaking down. "You must not give way, Myra," he said. "You have been very plucky up to now, and for your mother's sake you must keep up a brave heart and hope always for the best. I rely upon you greatly. We may have many dangers to go through, but with God's help we may hope to rejoin your father. But we must be calm and patient. We have been marvellously fortunate so far, and shall, I hope, be so until the end. When I find out what the negroes intend to do we shall be able to decide upon our course. It may be that they will pour down from all the plantations within thirty or forty miles round and attack the town, or it may be that they will march away into the mountains in the interior of the island, in which case the road to the town will be open to us. Now, good-bye; I will be back as soon as I can." "Do not hurry," she said. "I will try to be brave, and I don't mind waiting, because I shall know that you are trying to get nurse, and of course it may be difficult for you to find her alone." "Good-bye, then," he said cheerfully, and passing through the bushes he went rapidly down the hill. On reaching the cane-field he again took off his shoes. He did not hurry now. It was a tremendous responsibility that he had upon his shoulders. He thought nothing of the danger to himself, but of how Madame Duchesne and her daughter were to be sheltered and cared for if, as he feared, the former was on the edge of an attack of fever, which might last for days, and so prostrate her that weeks might elapse before she would be fit to travel. "I must get Dinah at all costs," he said to himself. "She knows what will be wanted, and will be a companion to Myra when I have to be away." As he neared the place where the house had stood he heard sounds of shouting and singing coming from a spot near the storehouses, where a broad glow of light showed that a great bonfire was burning. He kept in the shrubbery until near the house, and then stepped out on to the grass. The house was gone, and a pile of still glowing embers alone marked where it had stood. Nat approached this, found a piece of charred timber that had fallen a short distance from it, and proceeded to blacken his face and hands. Then he turned towards the fire. As he had expected, it was not long before he came across the figure of a prostrate man, who was snoring in a drunken sleep. The stars gave sufficient light for him to see as he bent over him that he was a negro. He had attired himself in what when he put them on were a clean nankeen jacket and trousers, a part of the spoil he had taken in the sack of the house. Without ceremony Nat turned him over, and with some trouble removed the garments and put them on over his own. Then he took the red handkerchief that the negro had bound round his head and tied it on, putting his own bandana in his pocket. "Now," he said to himself, "I shall do, provided I keep away from the light of that fire. The first point is to find where Dinah has gone. I know she has a daughter and some grandchildren down at the slaves' huts. I should think I have most chance of finding her there." Turning off, he went to the huts, which lay two or three hundred yards away from the house. As he did so he passed near the houses in which the mulatto overseers lived. There were lights here, and he could hear the sound of voices through the open windows. "I will come back to them later on," he said, "I may hear something of their plans; but Dinah is the most important at present." He was soon among the slave huts. No one was about, the women being mostly up at the fire with the men. He looked in at the door of each hut he passed. As he was still without shoes his movements were noiseless. In a few of them women were cooking, or putting their children to bed. At the last hut of the first row which he visited an old negro woman was rocking herself in great grief, and two or three children were playing on the floor. Nat knew that he had come to the end of his search, by the blue cotton dress with large white spots that the woman wore. He went in and touched her. "Dinah," he whispered, "come outside!" She gave a little start of surprise, and then said to the children: "Now, you stop here, like good childer, Aunt Dinah is agoing out. If you keep quiet she tell you story when she comes in." [Illustration: "IT WAS NOT LONG BEFORE HE CAME ACROSS THE FIGURE OF A PROSTRATE MAN."] Then she went out with Nat without any appearance of haste. By long connection with the family she spoke French fairly well, whereas the negro patois, although mostly composed of French words, was almost unintelligible to him. "Tank de Lord dat you hab come back, Marse Glober. Dinah fret terrible all day. Am de ladies well? Whar you hide dem?" "They are up in the wood, Dinah. I am greatly afraid that Madame Duchesne is going to have fever, and you are sorely wanted there. Myra said she was sure that you would come when you knew where they were." "For suah me come, massa," she said. "What madame and Mam'selle Myra do widout Dinah? So you black your face?" "Yes, but I want some juice to make my face yellow like a mulatto. Anyone could see that I was not a negro in the daylight." "Dat so. Me bring 'tuff wid me. What you want beside?" "We shall want a bottle or two of wine if you can get them, and a jug of fresh water, and anything you can get in the way of eatables, and I should say a cooking pot. Those are the principal things." "Dere am plenty ob boxes of wine up near house. Dis black trash like rum better, leave wine for de mulattoes; dey bery bad man dose. Where you go now, Marse Glober? Me take some time to get de tings." "It would be a good thing, too, if you could get hold of enough cotton cloth to make dresses for them." The old woman nodded. "Plenty ob dat, sah. Storehouses all broke open, eberyone take what him like. Dis dreadful day, almost break Dinah's heart." "It has been a terrible day, Dinah, and I am afraid that the same bad work is going on everywhere." "So dey say, marse, so dey say. Where you go now, sah?" "I am going to the overseers' huts to hear what their plans are. Where shall I meet you, Dinah?" "Me take tings to bush just where you and de ladies ran in. Me make two or tree journeys, but me be as quick as can." "Do; it is anxious work for Myra there, and I want to get back as soon as I can. Her mother is asleep, and even if she wakes I do not think she will be able to talk much." "Me hurry, sah, but can't get 'tuff to stain you skin to-night. Find berries up in de wood to-morrow." "There is one other thing, Dinah. Can you tell me where to find a hand-barrow? I expect we shall have to carry your mistress." "Me know de sort ob ting dat you want, sah, dey carry tobacco leabes on dem. Dere are a dozen ob dem lying outside de end store." "All right, Dinah, I will take one as I go past. Now I will go." So saying, he turned and made his way to the overseers' house. He crept softly along to a lighted window. When in a line with it he stood up for a minute, knowing that those inside would not be able to see him, there being a screen of trees just behind him. The three mulattoes whom he had seen talking together in the field on the previous day were seated round a table. On it were placed two or three wine-glasses. All were smoking. "To-morrow we must get those drunken black hogs to work," one said, "and have a regular search through the woods. Everything has gone well except the escape of madame and her gal. Someone must have warned them. The house niggers all agree that they were in the verandah behind just before we came up, talking with that English lad. Of course they will be found sooner or later, there is nowhere for them to run to. The thing is, we want to find them ourselves. If anyone else came upon them they would kill them at once." "Yes, and you will have some trouble if you find them, Monti," one of the other men said. "These blacks have been told that every white must be killed. It is easy enough to work these fellows up into a frenzy, but it is not so easy to calm them down afterwards." "No, I am quite aware of that, Christophe, and that is why I did not press the search to-day, and why I was not sorry to find that they had got away." "You see, we have arranged that when the whites are all killed I am to marry madame, that Paul is to take the young one, and that we are to divide the place equally between the three of us." "If the negroes will let us," the one called Monti said. "I expect they will want to have a say in the business." "Yes, of course, that is understood. No doubt there will be trouble with them, and there is no saying how things will turn out yet. At any rate we will make sure of the women. I have gone into this more for the sake of getting the girl than for anything else." "We have made a good beginning everywhere, as far as we have heard, but you must remember that it is only a beginning. Even suppose the whites of the town do nothing, and I fancy we shall hear of them presently, they will send over troops from France." "They can do nothing against us up in the mountains," Christophe said scornfully. "That may be," the other said quietly; "but at any rate there are the blacks to deal with. They have risen against the whites, but when they have done with them we need not suppose for a moment that they are going to work for us. Luckily, here it has been the order that no slave is to be flogged without Duchesne's approving of it, and the result is that we are for the present masters of this plantation, but we have heard that at some of the other places the overseers as well as the whites have been killed. The order has gone through the island that all the whites, including women and children, are to be killed, and if we were to come across the women when we have forty or fifty of the blacks with us I don't think there would be a chance of our saving them. These negroes are demons when their blood is up. They know, too, that they have gone too far to be forgiven, and will believe that their safety depends upon carrying out the orders faithfully. It seems to me that we are in a rather awkward fix. If we don't take the blacks out to-morrow we sha'n't find them, if we do take them out they will be killed." "We ourselves may find them," Paul said. "Yes; and if you do, they will have that English lad with them." "We can soon settle him," Christophe growled. "Well, I don't say we couldn't; but you know how he fought that hound, and there was a report two days ago, from the town, that they have attacked the Red Pirate's stronghold, taken it, and destroyed his four ships. I grant that as we are three to one we shall kill him, but one or two of us may go down before we do so. Now, I tell you frankly that as I have no personal interest in finding those two women, I have no idea of running the risk of getting myself shot in what is your affair altogether. Any reasonable help I am willing to give you, but when it comes to risking my life in the matter I say, 'No, thank you.'" The others broke into a torrent of savage oaths. "Well," he went on calmly, "I am by no means certain that the English boy would not be a match for the three of us. We should not know where he was, but he would see us, and he might shoot a couple of us down before we had time to draw our pistols. Then it will be man against man; and I know that girl has practised shooting, so that the odds would be the other way. Now, I ask you calmly, is it worth it?" "What do you propose, then?" Paul asked sulkily, after a long silence. "I say that we had better wait till we can get hold of some of these blacks; a little money and a little flattery will go a long way with them. We can tell them that we have private orders that, although most of the whites have to be put to death, a few are to be kept, among them these two. We shall elect a president and generals, and it is right that they should have white women to wait on them, just as the whites have been having blacks. That is just the sort of thing that will take with these ignorant fools. Then with, say, ten men we might search the woods thoroughly, find the women, and hide them up somewhere under your charge; but we must go quietly to work. A few days will make no difference. We know that they can't get away. The men of the plantations lower down have undertaken to see that no whites make their way into the town. But it will not do to hurry the negroes, they are sure to be either sullen or arrogant to-morrow. Some of them, when they get over their drink, will begin to fear the consequences, others will be so triumphant that for a time our influence will be gone." "That is the best plan," Christophe said. "You have the longest head of us three, Monti. For a time it will be necessary to let the blacks have their own way." Nat, while this conversation went on, had been fingering his pistol indecisively. His blood was so fired by the events of the day, and the certainty that hundreds of women and children must have been murdered, that he would have had no hesitation in shooting the three mulattoes down. Indeed he had quite intended to do so, in the case at any rate of Paul and Christophe, when he learned their plans; the advice, however, of the other, who was evidently the leading spirit, decided him against this course. It was unlikely that he would be able to shoot the three, for at the first shot they would doubtless knock the candle over; besides, it was better that they should live. Evidently they would in some way persuade the great mass of the negroes not to trouble themselves to search the wood, and some days must elapse before they could get a party together on whom they could rely to spare the women and take them as prisoners. If they did so, and, as they proposed, put them in some hut in charge of Paul and Christophe, he would have a fair chance of rescuing them, if he succeeded in getting away at the time they were captured. At any rate, if they carried out their plans they would have some days' respite, and he could either take Madame Duchesne and Myra a good deal further into the hills, or might even be able to get them into the town. The mulattoes now began to talk of other matters--how quickly the insurrection would spread, the towns that were to be attacked, and the steps to be taken--and he therefore quietly made off, and waited for Dinah at the place agreed on. It was not long before she arrived with her first load. "I am here," he said as she came up. "Now, what can I do? I had better come and help you back with the other things. We can carry them in the hand-barrow." "Yes, sah. I'se got dem all together, de tings we talked of, and tree or four blankets, and a few tings for de ladies, and I'se taken two ob de best frocks I could find in de huts. I'se got de wine and de food in a big basket." "All right, Dinah; let us start at once, I am anxious to be back again as soon as possible." In ten minutes they returned with all the things. The basket of wine and provisions was the heaviest item. The clothes and blankets had been made up into a bundle. "Me will carry dat on my head," Dinah said, "and de barrow." "No, I can take that, Dinah, that will balance the basket; besides, you have that great jug of water to take. Now let us be off." After twenty minutes' walking they approached the spot where the ladies were in hiding, but it was so dark under the trees that Nat could not determine its exact position; he therefore whistled, at first softly and then more loudly. Then he heard a call some little distance away. He went on until he judged that he must be close, and then whistled again. The reply came at once some thirty yards away. "Here we are, Myra," he said; "nurse is with me." An exclamation of delight was heard, and a minute later he made his way through the bushes. "Mamma is awake," the girl said, "but she does not always understand what I say; sometimes I cannot understand her, and her hands are as hot as fire. I am glad Dinah is here." "You can't be gladder'n me, mam'selle. I hab brought some feber medicine wid me, and a lantern and some candles." "Would it be safe to light the lantern?" Myra asked. "Quite safe," Nat said; "there is no chance whatever of anyone coming along here; besides, we can put something round the lantern so as to prevent it from being seen from outside. You have brought steel and tinder, I hope, Dinah?" "Of course, marse, lamp no good widout; and I hab got sulphur matches, no fear me forget them." "Give them to me, Dinah, I will strike a light while you attend to your mistress." Dinah poured some water into a cup and then knelt down by Madame Duchesne. "Here, dearie," she said, "Dinah brought you water and wine and tings to eat. Here is a cup of water, I am sure you want it. Let me lift you up to drink it." She lifted her and placed the cup in her hands, and she drank it off eagerly. "Is that your voice, Dinah?" she said after a pause. "Yes, madame; I'se come up to help to take care ob you. Marse Glober come and tell me whar you were, so you may be suah that me lose no time, just wait to get a few tings dat you might want and den start up." "I think I am not very well, Dinah." "Jess a little poorly you be. Bery funny if you not poorly abter sich wicked doings. Now de best ting dat you can do is to go to sleep and not worry." "Give me another drink, Dinah." "Here it is, dis time a little wine wid de water and a little 'tuff to make you sleep quiet. Den me double up a blanket for you to lie on and put anober over you, and a bundle under your head, and den you go to sleep firm. No trouble to-night; to-morrow morning we go on." Madame Duchesne drank off the contents of the cup. She was made as comfortable as circumstances would permit, and it was not long before her regular breathing showed that the medicine that Dinah had administered had had the desired effect. "Now, Myra," Nat said, "we will investigate the contents of the basket. I am beginning to get as hungry as a hunter, and I am sure that you must be so too." "I am thirsty," the girl said, "but I do not feel hungry." "You will, directly you begin. Now, Dinah, what have you brought us?" "Dere am one roast chicken dar, Marse Glober. Dat was all I could get cooked. Dere are six dead ones. I caught dem and wrung their necks jest before I started. Dey no good now. Dere is bread baked fresh dis morning before de troubles began, and dere is two pine-apples and a big melon." "Bravo, Dinah! You have got knives?" "Yes, sah, four knibes and forks." "We could manage without the forks, Dinah, but it is more comfortable having them. Now we will cut the chicken up into three. It looks a fine bird." "I'se had my dinner, sah; no want more." "That is all nonsense, Dinah," he said. "I am quite sure that you did not eat much dinner to-day, and you will want your strength to-morrow." Dinah could not affirm that she had eaten much, and indeed she had scarcely been able to swallow a mouthful in the middle of the day. The meal was heartily enjoyed, and they made up with bread and fruit for the shortness of the meat ration. "Now you two lie down," Nat said after they had chatted for an hour. "I am accustomed to night watches and can sleep with one ear open, but I am convinced that there is not the slightest need for any of us keeping awake. When the lantern is out, which it will be as soon as you lie down, if all the negroes came up into the woods to search for us I should have no fear of their finding us." Dinah, however, insisted upon taking a share in watching, saying that she was constantly sitting up at night with sick people. Finding that she was quite determined, Nat said: "Very well, Dinah. It is ten o'clock now. I will watch till one o'clock, and then you can watch till four. We shall be able to start then." "It won't be like light till five. No good start troo wood before that. I'se sure to wake at one o'clock. I'se accustomed to wake any hour so as to give medicines." "Very well, Dinah; I suppose you must have your way." Myra and the nurse therefore lay down, while Nat sat thinking over the events of the day and the prospects of the future. He had said nothing to the negress of the conversation that he had overheard, as on the way from the house they had walked one behind the other and there had been no opportunity for conversation, and he would not on any account have Myra or her mother know the fate that these villains had proposed for them. He wondered now whether he had done rightly in abstaining from shooting one of them, but after thinking it over in every way he came to the conclusion that it was best to have acted as he did, for they clearly intended to do all in their power to save mother and daughter from being massacred at once by the negroes. "Even if the worst comes to the worst," he said to himself, "they have pistols, and I know will, as a last resource, use them against themselves." CHAPTER VIII A TIME OF WAITING Dinah woke two minutes before one o'clock, and Nat at once lay down and, resolutely refusing to allow himself to think any more of the situation, was soon fast asleep. "It am jess beginning to get light, Marse Glober," the negress said when, as it seemed to him, he had not been five minutes asleep. However, he jumped up at once. "It is very dark, still, Dinah." "It am dark, sah, but not so dark as it was. Bes' be off at once. Must get well away before dem black fellows wake up." "How is Madame Duchesne?" "She sleep, sah; she no wake for another tree or four hours. Dinah give pretty strong dose. Bes' dat she should know noting about it till we get to a safe place." "But is there any safe place, Dinah?" "Yes, massa; me take you where dey neber tink of searching, but good way off in hills." Myra by this time was on her feet also. "Have you slept well, Myra?" "Yes, I have slept pretty well, but in spite of the two blankets under us it was awfully hard, and I feel stiff all over now." "How shall we divide the things, Dinah?" "Well, sah, do you tink you can take de head of de barrow? Dat pretty heaby weight." "Oh, nonsense!" Nat said. "Madame Duchesne is a light weight, and if I could get her comfortably on my back I could carry her any distance." "Dat bery well before starting, Marse Glober, you tell anoder story before we gone very far." "Well, at any rate, I can carry a good deal more than one end of the barrow." "Well, sah, we put all de blankets on de barrow before we put madame on it, and put de bundle of clothes under her head. Den by her feet we put de basket and oder tings. Dat divide de weight pretty fair." "But what am I to carry, nurse, may I ask?" "You just carry yourself, dearie; dat quite enough for you. It am a good long way we hab to go, and some part of it am bery rough. You do bery well if you walk dat distance." "That is right, Myra," Nat agreed. "We don't want to have to carry both you and your mother, and though you have walked a good deal more than most of the girls of your own class you have never done anything like this." In a few minutes the preparations were completed. Madame Duchesne was laid on the barrow, and the basket and other things packed near her feet. Dinah took up the two front handles, Nat those behind, and, with Myra walking by the side, they started. "Which way are we going, Dinah?" "Me show you, sah. We go up for some way, den we come on path; two miles farder we cross a road, and den strike into forest again by a little valley wiv a tiny stream running down him. After walk for an hour we cross ober anoder hill all cohered wiv trees and find soon anoder stream, quite little dere; hab a mile we follow him, den we find a place where we 'top. We long way den from any plantation, dat quite wild country." "Then how do you know the place, Dinah?" "Me'se not been dere for thirty years, Marse Glober, me active wench den, twenty year old, me jest marry my husband, he dead and gone long ago. He hab a broder on anoder plantation; dere bery bad oberseer, he beat de slabes bery much. Jake he knock him down with hoe, and den take to de hills; my husband know de place where he hide, and took me to it one night, so dat I could find it again and carry food to him, cause he not able to get away, hab to work on plantation. Me had a little pickanniny and could 'teal away widout being noticed, and me went dere seberal times; den oberseer killed by anoder slabe, and de master, who was good man, he come out to enquire about it. When he heard how de slabe had been treated, he bery angry and say it sarbe oberseer right. When I heard dat I spoke to de ole marse, de grandfather ob dis chile you know, he bery good man, like his son, and he went to de plantation and got de marster to promise dat if Jake came back to work again he should not be punished. And he kept his word. Dat is how me came to know ob dis place. Since dat time me know dat many slabes hab hidden dere. Now dat de slabes are masters, for suah dey not want to go near dat place, and neber dream dat Madame and Mam'selle Myra know of dat place and go and hide dere." By the time that they reached the path daylight had fairly broken. "We are not likely to meet anyone here, I hope, Dinah?" "No, sah, de blacks in de plantations dey go down by the road we shall cross--suah to do dat to get quick the news ob what am going on in oder places. If one come along here, dey see you black, and tink you nigger like demselves. Mam'selle must slip into de bush, now she got dat gown on, no one s'pect her being white a little way off. Den if dere is only one or two, you shoot dem as soon as dey come up, if dar many of them--but dere no chance ob dat--must make up some story." "I am afraid that no story would be any good, Dinah; if they came close they would see at once that I am not a negro. However, we must hope that we sha'n't meet anyone." Nat felt his arms ache a good deal before they arrived at the road they had to cross, and he would have proposed a halt, but he was ashamed to do so while Dinah was going on so steadily and uncomplainingly, though he was sure that her share of the weight was at least as much as his. He was pleased when, as the path approached the road, she said: "Put de barrow down now, Marse Glober. You go down on de road and see dat no one is in sight, but me not tink dere am any danger. I know dat dey rose at all dese little plantations up here yesterday; dere is suah to be rum at some ob dem, and dey will all drink like hogs, just as dey did at our place, and won't be stirring till de sun a long way up." In a minute he returned. "There is no one in sight, Dinah." "Dat is all right, sah, now we hurry across; once into de wood on de ober side we safe, den we can sit down and rest for a bit." "I sha'n't be sorry, Dinah. You were quite right, my arms have begun to ache pretty badly." The negress laughed. "Me begin to feel him too; dese arms not so young as dey were. De time was I could hab carried de weight twice as far widout feeling it." When a few hundred yards in the wood they stopped for a quarter of an hour, had a drink of wine and water, and ate a slice of melon and a piece of bread. "Now we manage better," Dinah said as they stood up to continue the journey. "We hab plenty of blankets," and taking one she tore off a strip some six inches wide and gave it to Nat, and then a similar strip for herself. "Now, sah, you lay dat flat across your shoulders, den take de ends and twist dem tree or four times round de handle, just de right length, so dat you can hold dem comfor'ble. I'se going to do de same. Den you not feel de weight on your arm, it all on your shoulders; you find it quite easy den." Nat found, indeed, that the weight so disposed was as nothing to what it had been when it came entirely upon his arms. They soon descended into the little valley Dinah had spoken of, and she at once emptied the rest of the water out of the jug. "No use carry dat," she said, "can get plenty now wheneber we want it." "How are you feeling, Myra?" Nat asked presently. "I am beginning to feel tired, but I can hold on for a bit. Don't mind about me, please, I shall do very well." She was, however, limping badly. After going to the end of the little dip they crossed the dividing spur, and presently struck the other depression of which Dinah had spoken. "There is no water here, Dinah; I hope it has not dried up." "No fear ob dat, sah. In de wet season water run here, but not now; we find him farder down." The little valley deepened rapidly, the sides became rocky and broken, and to Nat's satisfaction they presently came to a spot where a little rill of water flowed out from a fissure in the rock. "How much farther, Dinah?" "A lillie quarter ob a mile." The sides of the valley closed in rapidly, and in a few minutes they entered a ravine where the rocks rose perpendicularly on each side, the passage between being but seven or eight feet wide. "We jest dere now, dearie," Dinah said to Myra, who was now so exhausted that she could scarce drag her feet along. Another three or four minutes and she stopped. "Here we are," she said. Nat looked round in surprise; there was no sign of any opening in the rock. "It up dere," Dinah went on, pointing to a clump of bushes growing on a ledge. "Up there, Dinah?" "Yes, sah; easy for us to climb up. You see where dere are little steps made?" A casual observer would not have noticed them. They were not cut but hammered out of the rock, and appeared like accidental indentations. "I see that we can climb up," he said, "but how we are to get the litter up I have no idea." "No, sah, dat difficult. I'se been tinking it ober. Only possible way is to take madame off de barrow and carry her up. You go up once or twice, and you see dat it am not so hard as it seems. Dese lower holes not deep, but dose higher up much deeper, can get foot well into dem." "I had better go up and have a look, Dinah," and Nat started to ascend. He found that, as she had said, it was much easier than it looked. The first four or five steps, indeed, were so shallow that he could not get much foothold, but above there were holes for the feet some six or eight inches deep, and three or four feet apart, these being hidden from the sight of anyone passing below by a projecting ledge beneath. The holes were much wider than necessary, the corners had been filled with earth and tufts of coarse grass planted there, and these completely hid the openings from sight. He soon reached the clump of bushes. Behind them was a fissure some three feet wide and four feet high. He crawled into this, and found that it widened into a cave. He was here able to stand up, remaining motionless for a minute or two until his eyes became accustomed to the dim light. Then he saw that it was of considerable height, some twelve feet wide and about twenty feet deep. This was indeed an admirable place of refuge, and he felt sure that no one, unless previously acquainted with its existence, would be likely to discover it. He went to the entrance and looked out. Myra was sitting down by the side of a little pool. She had taken her shoes and stockings off, and was bathing her blistered feet. "This is a splendid place, Myra," he said; "certainly nobody is ever likely to find us here. The only difficulty is to get your mother up." He at once rejoined them below. "The difficulty, Dinah, is that the face of the rock is so steep that one cannot stoop forward enough to keep one's balance with the weight on one's back. The only possible way that I can conceive is to fasten Madame Duchesne firmly to the barrow by these strips of blanket that we have been using. We can tear several more from the same blanket. It will want at least half a dozen lashings to keep her firmly down, then we must knot the other blankets to make a strong rope. I will go up with the end and pull when I get to the top. You can take the lower handles, and by holding them on a level with your shoulders you can steady the thing as it comes up. You won't want to lift, I can pull her weight up easily enough, all that you have to do is to steady it." "Dat will do bery well, sah." Six strips of blanket were wound round Madame Duchesne as she lay on the hand-barrow; one was across her forehead so as to prevent her head from dropping forward, one was under the arms, and two more round the body, the other two were over her legs. The baskets and other things had been taken from the barrow. It was now lifted on to one end to see if there was any sign of the body slipping. However, it remained firm in its upright position. The blankets had already been knotted by Nat, whose training enabled him to fasten them so securely that there was no risk of their slipping. Then he ascended to the top of the steps and took his place on the little platform on which the bushes were growing. "Now," he said, "I will raise it a few inches to see that it is properly balanced." He had already seen that the proposal that Dinah should steady it from below was not feasible. Although the first step was immediately below the bushes, the others varied considerably, some being almost in the same line as those next to them, so that two-thirds of the way up the holes were six feet to the right of the spot from which they had started, having evidently been so constructed that from below, had anyone noticed them, they appeared to go away from the bushes, to which, from the last hole that could be seen from below, there was no communication whatever. The ledge, however, although scarce noticeable from the bottom of the ravine, was really some eight inches wide, and from this but one step was necessary to gain a footing on the platform. Dinah, standing below, steadied the barrow as high as she could reach the ends of the handles, and Nat then, leaning over, managed to raise it to his level without doing more than scraping the face of the rock as it rose. Dinah was on the ledge to receive it and pass it up to him, and Nat had soon the satisfaction of seeing it laid safely down in the cave. Myra was then got up without any difficulty. She clapped her hands as she entered the cave. "This is splendid, Nat! I never dreamt that there could be such a safe hiding-place." "It had to be, mam'selle," Dinah said, "for dey hunt runaway slabes with blood-hounds. Slabes dat escape here keep all de way in de water. De bit between de pools is all bare rock, not nice to walk on, but bery good for scent, dat pass off in very short time, den walk down here in dis water dat you see below us. Eben blood-hounds cannot smell track in water. If dey came down here might smell de steps, but neber come here." "Could they come up the other way, Dinah?" "You go and look for yourself, sah, but mind you be careful." The wrappings had now been taken off Madame Duchesne, and the blankets replaced beneath her. She was still apparently sound asleep. Dinah took up the jug and went to the entrance, Nat followed her. "You have not given her too strong a dose I hope, Dinah?" "No, sah, no fear ob dat, she soon wake now. I shall sprinkle water in her face, and pour a lillie wine down her troat, you see she wake den." "Will she be sensible, Dinah?" "Not at first, sah. She 'tupid for a bit, abter dat it depend on feber. If feber strong, she no sensible, talk to herself just as if dreaming; if feber not very strong she know us, but more likely not know us for some time. Me got feber medicine, neber fear. Feber come on too quick to be bery strong. When feber come on slow, den it seem to poison all ober, take long time to get well; when it come on sudden like this, not like to be bery bad." "Well, we must have patience, Dinah, and hope for the best. Now I will go down with you and fetch all the things up." As soon as these were all housed in the cave, Nat said to Myra, "I will explore down the stream and see what chance there is of anyone coming up that way. Dinah evidently thinks that there is no fear of it, but I should like to see for myself." Fifty yards farther on there was a sharp widening of the ravine, and here some trees and thick undergrowth had taken root, and so overhung the little stream that Nat had difficulty in making his way through them. He remembered Dinah's warning, and advanced cautiously. Suddenly he stopped. The stream fell away abruptly in front of him, and, advancing cautiously to that point, he stood at the edge of an abrupt fall. A wall of almost perpendicular rock rose on each side, and the streamlet leaped sheer down fifty feet into a pool; as far as he could see the chasm remained unbroken. "Splendid," he said to himself; "no one coming up here would be likely to try farther. The bushes regularly interlace over the water, and there seems no possible way of climbing up, at any rate, within a quarter of a mile of this place, and for aught I know this ravine may go on for another mile. Any party coming up would certainly conclude that no slave could approach this way, and they would have to make a tremendous detour over the hills and get to the point where the valley comes down to the cave. It is certainly a grand hiding-place. I suppose when it was first discovered those bushes did not grow in front of it; likely enough they were planted on purpose to hide the entrance, and the place may have been used by escaped slaves ever since the Spaniards first landed on the island and began to persecute the unfortunate natives. Unless some of the negroes who know of it put the mulattoes up to the secret, they may search as much as they like but will never find us. I must ask Dinah whether there are many who know of it." On returning to the cave he found that Madame Duchesne had wakened from her long sleep. She was, however, quite unconscious; her eyes were opened, and she was muttering rapidly to herself. Myra was sitting beside her with the tears streaming down her cheeks. "You must not be alarmed," he said. "Dinah told me she would be so when she woke up, but she thinks that though the attack of fever will be a sharp one, it will not last very long. It is not, as is the case with new-comers on the island, the result of malaria, or anything of that sort, but of agitation and fatigue." "Hab you been down de stream, Marse Glober?" Dinah asked. "Yes, and you were quite right. There is no fear whatever of any one coming to look for us from that direction. Are there many negroes who know the secret of this place?" "Bery few," she said. "It am tole only to men who are going to take to de hills, and who can't go farder, 'cause perhaps dey been flogged till dey too weak to travel many miles. Each man who is tole has to take a great oath dat he suah tell no one except anober slabe running away, or someone who hab to go to take food to him; dat is how I came to know. Jake had been tole when dey knew he going to run away. He tole his broder, my husband, cause he had been flogged so bad he could not go to de mountains. Den my husband tole me, 'cause he could not get away wid de food. I neber tell anyone till now, cause dere no occasion for it; slabes treated too well at our plantation to want to run away. But dere am no doubt dat dere am slabes in oder plantations dat know of him, but me no tink dey tell. In de first place dey take big oath, and dey suah to die ef dey break dat; in de next place, because dey no tell dem mulattoes, because some day perhaps dese will be oberseers again, and den de secret of de cave be no longer ob use." "That is good, Dinah; those scoundrels I overheard talking the other night will no doubt ask if any of the negroes know of any place where we should be likely to hide, and if no one knows it but yourself they would be able to get no information, and it is hardly likely that they would ask the negroes of another plantation. Now, what is the first thing to be done, Dinah?" "De first ting, sah, is to gader sticks to make fire." "All right. I will go up the ravine and bring down a bundle of dry sticks from the forest. I will get them as dry as possible, so as not to make a smoke." "No fear of anyone see smoke, massa. We no want great fire, and smoke all scatter before it get to top of de trees up above." "Well, I will get them at once," he said. "I will pluck two of the fowls while you are away," Myra said. "I want to be doing something." "When you come back, sah, I will go out and gader berries to make colour for your face. When you hab got dat done, not much fear of your being known." "You will have to get something to colour my hair, too," Nat said. "I never could pass as a mulatto with this yellowish-brown hair." "Dat for true," Dinah assented. "I'se brought 'tuff to make dat, but had no time to look for berries for skin. When you come back we make fire first; me want boiling water for de med'cine me make for madame." "Yes, of course, that is the first thing," Nat said. "And when you go anywhere to get provisions, Dinah, it would be a good thing if you could get us a few yards of cord; it would be very handy for tying up faggots, and would be useful in all sorts of ways." "Me will see about dat, sah. Me forgot 'im altogeder when me came away, else would have brought a length; but you will find plenty ob creepers dat will do bery well to tie up faggots." "So I shall, Dinah; I forgot that," and Nat started at once. In an hour he was back again with a huge bundle of dry wood. "Where would you light it?" he asked. "Jest inside entrance, sah. Dis good wood dat you hab brought, make bery lillie smoke." After a little water had been boiled and Dinah had stewed some herbs and chips of wood she had brought up with her, the two fowls were cut up and the joints spitted on the ramrod of a pistol and grilled over the fire, as in this way they would cook much more rapidly than if whole. As soon as they were ready the party made a hearty meal. The medicine was by this time cool, and Madame Duchesne was lifted up and the cup held to her lips. She drank the draught without difficulty. Her face was now flushed, and her hands burning hot. "What will that do, Dinah?" "Dat most de bark of a tree dat will get de feber down, sah. I'se going to gib her dat ebery two hours; den when we see dat de feber abate, we give her oder stuff to trow her into great sweat; abter dat she get better. Now, while I am away, mam'selle, you boil water, cut up half ob one of dem pine-apples, and when de water boil take 'im off de fire and put de pine-apple in; and let 'im cool, dat make bery nice drink for her. Now me go and find dem berries." Dinah was away two hours, and returned with an apronful of brown berries; and with these, after Nat had washed all the black from his face and hands, he was again stained, as was Myra also. She had rather a darker tinge given to her than that which was considered sufficient for Nat. "It make you too dark, sah; yo' light eyes show too much. Mam'selle hab brown eyes and dark hair, and me make her regular little mulatto girl. When get handkerchief round her head, and wid dat spot gown on, no one 'spect her ob being white." "You have brought in a great supply of berries, Dinah?" "Yes, sah; put on stain fresh ebery two or tree days." When it became dusk the candle was taken out of the lantern, lighted, and stuck against the side of the cave. Dinah opened a bag and took out a handful of coffee berries, which she roasted over the fire in a small frying-pan which she had brought in addition to the pot. When they were pounded up between two stones, some sugar was produced, and had it not been for Madame Duchesne's state Myra and Nat would have really enjoyed their meal. Then Dinah took from the basket a bundle of dried tobacco leaves, rolled a cigar for Nat and one for herself. "Dat is what me call comfort," she said, as she puffed the weed with intense enjoyment. "Bacca am de greatest pleasure dat de slabes hab after their work be done." "It is a nasty habit, Dinah. I have told you so a great many times." "Yes, mam'selle, you tink so. You got a great many oder nice tings a slabe not got, many nice tings; but when dey got bacca dey got eberyting dey want. You no call it nasty, Marse Glober?" "No; I like it. I never smoked till after I got that hurt from the dog, but not being able to do things like other fellows, I took to smoking. I like it, and the doctor told me that it was a capital preventive against fever." "Do they allow smoking on board ship, Nat?" "Well, of course it is not allowed on duty, and it is not allowed for midshipmen at all; but of an evening, if we go forward, the officers on watch never take any notice. And now about to-morrow, Dinah. Of course I am most anxious to know what the news is, and whether this rising has extended over the whole of the island, and if it is true that everywhere they have murdered the whites." "Yes, sah, me understand dat." "Then I want, if it is possible, to send a line down to Monsieur Duchesne to let him know that his wife and daughter have escaped and are in a place of safety. He must be in a terrible state. The question is, how would it be possible to send such a note?" "Me tink dat me could manage it, sah. My grandson Pete bery sharp boy. Me tink he might manage to get down to de town, but de letter must be a bery lillie one, so dat he can hide it in him woolly head. He might be searched, and dey kill 'im for suah if dey find he take letter to white man. He sharp as a needle, and often take messages from one of our slabes to anoder on plantation eber so far away. Me quite suah dat he bery glad to carry letter for mam'selle--make him as proud as peacock. When dey in der senses all de slabes lobe her because she allus speaks kindly to dem. He go suah enough, and bring message back." "It is lucky that I have a pencil with me," Nat said, and drawing out a pocket-book he tore out a leaf. "Now, if you will tell me what to say, Myra, I will write in your name." He went over to the candle. "You must cut it very short, you know. I will write it as small as I can, but you must not send more than one leaf." _Dearest Papa_, Myra dictated, _we have got away. Dinah warned us in time, and mamma, Nat, and I ran up through the shrubbery and the cane-fields to the forest. When it got dark--"After dark_" Nat put in, "you must not use more words than is necessary "--_Nat went down, found Dinah, and brought her up, and they brought lots of things for us, and next morning carried mamma to this place, which is in the mountains and very safe. Mamma has got fever from the fright we had, but Dinah says she will not be ill long. We are both dressed up in Dinah's clothes, and Nat and I have been stained brown, and we look like mulattoes. Do not be anxious about us; the negroes may search everywhere without finding us. Nat has a brace of pistols, and mamma and I have one each, and he will take care of us and bring us down safe as soon as Dinah thinks it can be done. I hope to see you again soon._ _Your most loving_ _MYRA._ "That just fills it," Nat said as he rolled it up into a little ball. Dinah looked at it doubtfully. "I'se feared dat too big to hide in him wool," she said; "it bery kinky." "Never mind that. He must manage to straighten it out and sew it somewhere in his clothes. What time will you start, Dinah?" "Me start so as to get down to de plantation before it get light. Me can find de way troo de wood easy 'nuff. It bery different ting to walk by oneself, instead ob having to carry madame and to take 'tickler care dat she goes along smoove and dat de barrow doesn't knock against anyting. Best for me to be back before anyone wake up. Me don't suppose anyone tink of me yesterday. Me told my darter Chloe dat she say noting about me. If anyone ask her, den she say: 'Mover bery sad at house being burnt down and madame and mam'selle run away. I tink she hab gone away to be alone and hab a cry to herself, cause as she nurse both ob dem she bery fond of dem, and no like to tink dat perhaps dey be caught and killed.' But me no 'spect dat anyone tink about me; dey hab oder tings to tink of. If I had run into wood when you run dere, dey know dat I give you warning and perhaps show you some place to hide, but abter you had gone I ran in again and met dem outside wid de oder house servants. I top dere and see dem burn de house, and den walk down to Chloe's house and talk to oder women; so no one tink dat I know more 'bout you dan anyone else." "That was very wise, Dinah. Now mind, what we particularly want to know is not only what the negroes have done, but what they are going to do. Are they going to march away to the hills, or are they going to attack the town?" Dinah nodded. "Me see all about dat, sah. Now, mam'selle, don't you forget to gib your mamma de medicine ebery two hours!" "I sha'n't forget, Dinah." Dinah took up the basket. "Me bring up bread and more chicken, and more wine if dey hab not drunk it all. Now keep up your heart, dearie; eberyting come right in de end," and with a cheerful nod she started on her errand. "Your nurse is a trump, Myra," Nat said. "We should feel very helpless without her, though of course I should do what I could. When she comes back to-morrow I will go out myself. I hate to sit here doing nothing when all the island is in a blaze." "I wish I knew what has become of the family of Madame Bayou. Her daughter Julie is my greatest friend. You know them well, Nat, for we drove over there several times when you were with us, and Madame Bayou and Julie often spent the day with us. Of course they were not quite of our class, as Monsieur Bayou is only superintendent to the Count de Noe, who has been in France for some years; but he is a gentleman by birth, and, I believe, a distant relation of the count's, and as they were our nearest neighbours and Julie is just my age we were very intimate." "Yes, of course I remember them well, and that coachman of theirs. I generally had a talk with him when they were over at your place. He was a wonderfully intelligent fellow for a negro. He told me that he had been taught by another black, who had been educated by some missionaries. He could read and write well, and even knew a little Latin." "Yes, I have heard papa say that he was the most intelligent negro he had ever met, and that he was very much respected by all the negroes round. I know M. Bayou had the greatest confidence in him, and I can't help thinking that even if all the others broke out he would have saved the lives of the family." "If you like I will go down and see to-morrow evening. I agree with you that it is likely he would be faithful, but he may not have been able to be so. However much he may be respected by the other blacks, one man can do very little when a crowd of others half mad with excitement are against him; and I suppose after all that it would be only natural that his sympathies should be with men of his own colour, and being so exceptionally well educated and intelligent he would naturally be chosen as one of their leaders. However, he may have warned the family, and possibly they may be hiding somewhere in the woods just as we are. I should hope that a great many families have been saved that way." "Will it be necessary to keep watch to-night, Nat?" "No, I do not think there is any risk. Even the negroes who know of this cave will not think of looking for us here, as they would not imagine we could be acquainted with its existence. I think we can safely take a good night's rest, and we shall be all the better for it." It was not till nearly daylight on the second day after starting that Dinah returned. "Me not able to get away before," she said. "In de first place me hab to wait till boy come back wid answer. Here 'tis," and she pulled a small pellet of paper from her hair. Myra seized it and flattened it out. _Thank God for the good news. I have been nearly mad. At present can do nothing. We expect to be attacked every hour. God protect you both._ There was no signature. Monsieur Duchesne was evidently afraid that, were the note to fall into the hands of the revolting leaders, a fresh search would be instituted by them. "Dat boy bery nearly killed," Dinah said. "He creep and crawl troo de blacks widout being seen, and get close to de white men out guarding de place. Dey seize him and say he spy, and bery near hang him; den he took out de paper just in time, and said it for Massa Duchesne; den dey march him to town, woke up massa, and den, ob course, it was all right. It too late to come back dat night, but he crawl out and lie close to where dose black rascals were watching. Directly it get dark he get up, he crawl troo dem, and run bery hard back, and directly he gib me paper I start back here." "That was very good of him," Myra said; "when these troubles are over, Dinah, you may be sure that my father will reward him handsomely." "Me suah of dat, mam'selle. He offer him ten louis, but Jake say no, if he be searched and dat gold found on 'im dey hang 'm up for suah. Marse say bery good, do much more dan dat for him when dese troubles ober. And now, dearie, how is madame going on?" and she went to the side of Madame Duchesne, put her hand on her forehead, and listened to her breathing. She turned round with a satisfied nod. "Feber nearly gone," she said; "two or tree days she open eyes and know us." "And how did you get on, Dinah?" "Me hab no trouble, sah; most ob de black fellows drunk all de day long. Nobody noticed dat Dinah was not dere. Some of de women dey say, 'What you do all day yesterday, Dinah?' and me say, 'Me ill, me no like dese doings.' Dey talk and say, 'Grand ting eberyone be free, eberyone hab plenty ob land, no work any more.' I say, 'Dat so, but what de use ob land if no work? where dey get cloth for dress? where dey get meal and rice? Dey tink all dese things grow widout work. What dey do when dey old, or when dey ill? Who look after dem?' Some ob dem want to quarrel; oders say, 'Dinah old woman, she hab plenty sense, what she say she say for true.' Me tell dem dat me no able to 'tand sight ob house burnt, no one at work in fields, madame and darter gone, no one know where--perhaps killed. Dinah go and live by herself in de wood, only come down sometimes when she want food. She say dat to 'splain why she go away and come back sometimes." "A very good idea, very good," Nat said warmly; "the women were not wrong when they said you had plenty of good sense. And now, Dinah, what is the news from other parts of the island?" The old nurse was at the moment standing partly behind Myra, and she shook her head over the girl's shoulder to show that she did not wish to say anything before her, then she replied: "Plenty ob talk, some say one ting some anoder; not worf listen to such foolishness." CHAPTER IX AN ATTACK ON THE CAVE Dinah lay down for a short sleep. It was far too late for Nat to start for Count de Noe's plantation, and when it was broad daylight, he went down to the pool for a bathe. When he returned, Dinah was standing at the entrance. She held up her hand to signal to him to stay below. She came down the steps, and sat down with him on a stone twenty or thirty yards up the stream. "Mam'selle hab gone to sleep again," she said; "now we can talk quiet." "And what is your news, Dinah?" he asked. "Marse Glober, it am jest awful. It seem to Dinah dat all de black folk in dis island am turned into debils--from eberywhar de same story--eberywhar de white massas and de ladies and de childer all killed. Dat not de worst, sah, dey not content wid killing dem, dey put dem to horrible tortures. Me can't tell you all de terrible tings dat I'se heard; me jest tell you one, dat enough for you to guess what de oders are. Dey caught one white man, a carpenter, dey tied 'im between two planks and dey carry 'im to his saw-pit and dey saw 'im asunder. In one place de niggers march to attack town, and what you tink dey take for dere flag? A lilly white baby wid a spear run troo him. As to de ladies, me can no speak of de awful tings me hab heard. You quite right to gib pistol to madame and mam'selle, dey do well shoot demselves before dese yellow and black debils get hold of dem. Me neber tink dat me hab shame for my colour, now I hab shame; if me could lift my hands and ebery mulatto and black man in dis island all fall dead, me lift dem now, and me glad me fall dead wid de rest." "This is awful, indeed, Dinah; as you say the negroes seem to have become fiends. I could understand it in plantations where they are badly treated, but it is certain that this was quite the exception, and that, on the whole, they were comfortable and happy before this trouble began. I know they were on Monsieur Duchesne's estate, and on all those I visited when I was here before. I do not say they might not have preferred to be free." "What good dat do dem, sah? If free, not work; dey worse off dan when slabes. Where dey get close? where dey get food? what dey do when dey get old? Look at Dinah, she allus comfor'ble and happy. She could work now tho' she old, but she hab no work to do 'cept when she like to dust room; she get plenty ob good food, she know well dat howeber old she live, massa and madame make her comfor'ble. Suppose she like de oders, and stop down at de huts, what den? who gib de ole woman food? who gib her close? who gib her wine and medicine? No, sah, dis am bad business all troo--terrible bad for white men, terrible bad for black men, terrible bad for eberyone. "Next you see come de turn of de white man. Dey come out from de towns, plenty guns and powder, dey attack de blacks, dey shoot dem down like dogs, dey hunt dem troo de hills; dey show dem no mercy, and dey don't deserve none, massa. It would hab been better had big wave come swallow dis island up, better for eberyone; white man go to white man's heaben, good black man go to heaben, either de same heaben, or de black man's heaben. Now, suah enough, dere no heaben for dese black men who hab done dese tings, dey all shut out; dey no let dem in 'cause dey hab blood on dere hands, me heard priest say dat St. Peter he sit at de gate. Well, sah, you bery suah dat St. Peter him shake him head when black fellow from dis island come up and ask to go in. All dis dreadful, massa;" and the tears ran plentifully down the old nurse's cheeks. "It won't be as bad as that, Dinah," Nat said soothingly. "There must be a great many who have taken no part in this horrible affair, and who have only risen because they were afraid to hang back." "Don't you whisper word to Mam'selle Myra 'bout dese tings, Marse Glober." "You may be sure that I shall not do so, Dinah; but certainly I shall, whenever I leave her, tell her not to hesitate to use her pistol against herself." "If de negroes find dis cave, you trust to me," the negress said firmly. "I'se heard dat it bery wicked ting to kill oneself. Bery well, sah, me won't let madame and mam'selle do wicked ting. Dinah got long knife hidden, if dey come Dinah kill bofe ob dem, den dey no do wicked deed. As to Dinah, she poor ole negro woman. Better dat St. Peter say to her, 'You no come in, dere blood on hands,' dan dat he should say dat to de two white ladies she hab nursed." Nat's eyes were moist, and his voice shook at this proof of the old woman's devotion, and he said unsteadily: "St. Peter would not blame you, Dinah. He would know why there was blood on your hands, and he would say, 'Come in, you have rendered to your mistresses the last and greatest services possible.'" After breakfast Dinah washed his shirt, his white nankeen trousers, and jacket, and, as he had not a red sash to wind round his waist, he took the ornaments and slings from his sword-belt and put this on. "You pass bery well, sah, for mulatto man; de only ting am de hat. Dat red handkerchief bery well when you pretend to be negro, but not suit mulatto, and Dinah will go see what she find at dose plantation on de hills." "No, Dinah, you must not run risks." "No risk in dat, sah. Dinah known bery well at most of de plantations round. I'se got a name for hab good medicines for febers, and ointments for sores, and women dat hab childer ill bring dem down to me from all parts. Bery simple for me to go round and say dat now de house gone and de ladies and all, me not like to stay down dere and be trouble to my darters. Plenty for 'em to do to keep demselves and der childer. Me going to trabel round de country and nurse de sick and sell my medicines. Suah to meet some woman whose child me hab cured; ask her if she know anyone who hab got straw-hat--dere suah to be straw-hats in planters' houses--me say dat a mulatto hab lost his, and not able to go down to town to buy one, and told me would gib me dollar if I could get him good one. Me try to get someting for sash too." "That would be almost as difficult as the hat, Dinah." Dinah shook her head. "Plenty ob women got red shawl, sah; most all got red handkerchief. Buy one shawl or six handkerchief, bring dem home, cut dem up, and sew dem together; dat make bery good sash. You no trouble, massa; you keep quiet here all day and look abter madame. I'se sure to be back before it time for you to start." Dinah indeed returned just as the sun was sinking. She carried a small bundle in one hand, and a broad-brimmed straw-hat in the other. "Well done, Dinah!" Nat exclaimed as he returned after sitting for a couple of hours on the rocks near the fall, and found her in the cave. "How did you get the hat?" "Jess as I said, sah; me found one woman who allus bery grateful to me-for sabing her chile. I tell her I want straw-hat. She said she could get me one, two, or tree hats in de house ob mulatto oberseer. She 'teal one for me. Most of de men down in de plain, so she take basket and go up to de house garden--ebery one take what dey want now. She get some green 'tuff, as if for her dinner; den she go round by mulatto man's house, she look in at window and see hats; she take one, put 'im in basket and cober 'im ober, den bring um back to me. She had red shawl; she gib it me, but I make her take dollar for it. Me hide de hat under my dress till me get away into de woods again, den me carry um. Now, sah, put um on. Dat suit you bery well, sah; you pass for young mulatto man when I got dis shawl cut up and sewn togeder. You please to know dat madame open her eyes lillie time ago, and know mam'selle and Dinah. Me gib her drink ob pine-apple juice wid water in which me boil poppy seeds; she drink and go off in quiet sleep; when she wake to-morrow I 'spect she able to talk." "I don't like your going, Nat," Myra said when, the shawl having been converted into a sash, he put his pistols into it. "We have heard, you see, that the Bayous were not killed in the first attack, and I do not see that you can learn more." "I should not run the risk, such as it may be, merely to ask that question. But I think that their coachman, Toussaint, must have saved them. I want to see him; possibly he may have made some arrangements for getting them down to the coast, and he might be willing to allow you and your mother to go down with them. Of course she would have to be carried, but that might not add much to the difficulty." Receiving general instructions from Dinah as to the shortest route, he started, without giving time for Myra to remonstrate further. After two hours' walking he approached the plantation of Count Noe. The house was, of course, gone. Seeing a negro girl, he went up to her. "Which is the house of Toussaint?" he asked. She pointed to a path. "It am de first house you come to," she said; "he used to live at de stables, but now he hab de house ob one of de oberseers who was killed because he did not join us." On reaching the house indicated he looked in at the window, and saw the person he was looking for sitting at a table reading. He was now a man of forty-eight years old, tall in stature, with a face unusually intelligent for one of his race. His manners were quiet and simple, and there was a certain dignity in his bearing that bespoke a feeling that he was superior to the race to which he belonged and the position he occupied. Nat went round to the door and knocked. Toussaint opened it. "Have you a letter for me?" he asked quietly, supposing that his visitor had come with a message to him from one of the leaders of the rebellion. Nat entered and closed the door behind him. "Then you do not remember me, Toussaint?" The negro recognized the voice, and the doubtful accent with which his visitor spoke French. "You are the young English officer," he exclaimed, "though I should not have known you but for the voice. I heard that you were at Monsieur Duchesne's, and it was believed that you had fled to the woods with his wife and daughter. I am glad that they escaped." "I have come from them, Toussaint--at least from the daughter, for the mother has had an attack of fever. She heard that the family here had also escaped, and she said at once that she felt sure you had aided them." "I did so," the negro said quietly; "they were the family I served, and it was my duty to save them; moreover, they had always been kind to me. They are safe--I saw them down to the coast last night. I risked my life, for although the slaves round here respect me and look upon me as their leader, even that would not have saved me had they suspected that I had saved white people from death." "But you are not with them, Toussaint, surely?" The negro drew himself up. "I am with my countrymen," he said; "I have always felt their position greatly. Why should we be treated as cattle because we differ in colour from others? I did my duty to my employers, and now that that is done I am free, and to-morrow I shall join the bands under François and Biassou. I regret most deeply that my people should have disgraced their cause by murders. Of the two thousand whites who have fallen fully one half are women and children, therefore there could have been but one thousand men who, if they had been allowed to go free down to the town, could have fought against us; and what are a thousand men, when we are half a million? It has been a mistake that may well ruin our cause; among the whites everywhere it will confirm their opinion of our race that we are but savages, brutal and bloodthirsty, when we have the opportunity. In France it will excite those against us who were before our friends, and French troops will pour into the islands, whereas, had the revolution been a peaceful one, it would have been approved by the friends of liberty there. It is terrible, nevertheless it makes it all the more necessary that those who have some influence should use it for good. Now that the first fury has passed, better thoughts may prevail, and we may conduct the war without such horrors; but even of that I have no great hope. We may be sure that the whites will take a terrible vengeance, the blacks will retaliate; it will be blood for blood on both sides. However, in a case like this the lives of individuals are as nothing, the cause is everything. I have myself no animosity against the whites, but many of my countrymen have just cause for hatred against them, and were any to try to interfere to prevent them from taking the vengeance they consider their right, it would cause dissension and so prejudice our chances of success. You can understand, then, that I shall hold myself aloof altogether from any interference. I am sorry for the ladies, but now that I have done my duty to my late employers, I have a paramount duty to discharge to my countrymen, and decline to interfere in any way." "Then all I can say is," Nat said sternly, "that I trust that some day, when you are in the power of your enemies, there will be none to give you the aid you now deny to women in distress." So saying, he turned and went out through the door, and before morning broke arrived again at the cave. Not wishing to disturb the others, he lay down outside until the sun was up, then he went along the stream for some distance and bathed. As he returned, Myra was standing on the ledge outside the entrance. "Welcome back!" she called out. "What news have you brought?" "Good news as far as your friends are concerned. Toussaint has got them down to the coast, and sent them to Cape François in a boat." "That is good news indeed," she cried. "Oh, I am glad! Now, what is the bad news?" "The only bad news is that the negro declined to help you in the same way. He is starting this morning to join some bands of slaves up in the hills." "That is hardly bad news," she said, "for I never supposed that he would help us. There was no reason why he should run any risks for our sake." "I hoped that he would have done so, Myra; but at the same time, as he evidently regards the success of the blacks as certain, and expects to become one of their leaders, one can understand that he does not care to run any risk of compromising himself." "Mamma is better this morning," Myra said; "she has asked after you, and remembers what happened before her fever began." "That is good indeed. As soon as she gets strong enough to travel we will begin to think how we can best make our way down to the town." Four days later, Dinah, on her return from a visit to the plantations, said that there had just been some fighting between the whites coming out from Cape François and the slaves. They said that a ship had arrived with some French troops, and that all the white men in the town were coming out, and that they were killing every negro they found. The women and children from the plantations in the plains were all flying into the woods. "Then it strikes me, Dinah, that our position here is a very dangerous one. You may be sure that the slaves will not be able to stand against the whites and the soldiers, and that numbers of them will go into hiding, and it is very likely that some who know the secret of this place will come here." "Yes, sah, I'se not thought ob dat; but, sure enough, it am bery likely dat some ob dem may do so. What you tink had best be done? If de slabes all running into de wood de danger of passing troo would be much greater dan it hab been. And eben if madame could walk, it would be bery great risk to go down--great risk to 'top here too. What you tink?" "I don't know what to think, Dinah; there is one thing, it is not likely that many of them would come here." "No, sah; dose who know about de cave would know dat not more dan eight or ten could hide here--no use to bring a lot ob people wid dem." "That is what I think, Dinah; they will keep the secret to themselves. Now against eight or ten of them, I am sure that I could hold this place, but some of them, when they found they could not get in, would go back again and might lead a strong party here, or might keep watch higher up, and starve us out. And even if the whites beat them out of all the plantations, they would not know where to look for us, and would have too much on their hands to scatter all over the hills. If we are to join them it must be by going down." "Dinah might go and tell dem, sah." Nat shook his head. "I am afraid, Dinah, that their passions will be so much aroused at the wholesale murder of the whites that they will shoot every black they come across, man or woman, and you would be shot long before you could get close enough to explain why you had come. No, I think the only thing to be done, as far as I can see, is that you should go down from time to time to let us know how things are going. I do not think that the whites are likely to get very far along the road. You may be sure that when the troops started from the town news was sent at once to the leaders, and it is likely that they will move a great number of men down to oppose them, and will likely enough drive them back. However, the great thing for us is to know where they are and what they are doing. It is likely that now the whites have advanced there will no longer be any watch kept to prevent people, in hiding like ourselves, from going down to the town; if you find out that that is so, we will put madame on her barrow again, and carry her down. Of course we should have to chance being met when going through the forest, but we must risk that." "Yes, I tink dat de only plan, sah." Accordingly, Dinah started again the next morning. Nat felt very anxious, and took up his place near the entrance to the cave. Myra was busy seeing to the cooking and in attending upon her mother. About four o'clock he thought he heard voices, and, crawling cautiously to the mouth of the cave, he looked out through the bushes. Eight men were coming along; six of them were negroes, and the other two were the mulatto overseers whose conversation he had overheard. He called softly to Myra: "Don't be alarmed, Myra, we are going to have a fight, but I have no fear whatever of their taking us. Only one can attack at once, and he can only come slowly. There are eight of them; you may as well bring me the two other pistols. I would not take them if I thought there was the smallest chance of these fellows getting up here. Go and tell your mother not to be frightened, and then do you come and sit down behind me. I will hand the pistols to you to load. There are only eight of these fellows, and if there were eighty, we could hold the cave; even if they got up to the platform they could only enter, stooping, one at a time. Go at once to your mother, they will be here directly." "How much farther is this place?" the mulatto Christophe asked. "Right dar behind dat bush," the negro said; "you go up by dem steps." "It is a splendid hiding-place, Paul." "Yes. No one who did not know of it would have a chance of finding it. There is someone there now; don't you see a light smoke rising behind the bush?" "So there is! I should not be surprised if the woman Duchesne and her daughter are there. It is certain that someone must have helped them off, or we should have found them long ago." "Well, it will be a rare piece of luck if they are there." The negroes had already noticed the smoke, and were talking excitedly together. It had not occurred to them that any fugitives could have discovered the place, and they were only concerned at the thought that the cave might be already fully occupied. "Hullo, dar!" one of them shouted. "How many ob you up dar?" No answer was returned. He shouted again, but there was still silence. "I s'pect dar only one man," he said to his comrades. "Most likely him gone out to look for food. Bery foolish leab fire burning;" and he at once proceeded to climb the steps, followed by two others. Nat grasped the handle of his pistol. He determined that in the first place he would make sure of the two mulattoes. They were by far the most dangerous of his foes, and if they escaped they would, he had no doubt, keep watch higher up, capture Dinah on her return, and cut off all retreat from the cave. It was time to act at once, and, taking a steady aim at Paul, he fired. With a shriek the mulatto fell backwards. Before the others could recover from their surprise Nat fired again, and Christophe fell forward on his face in the water. He passed the pistol back to Myra, and grasped another. He had expected that the negroes would at once fly, and two of them had turned to do so, when the highest climber shouted down: "Come on, all ob you! what you want run away for? Perhaps only one man here, he want to keep de cabe all to himself; we soon settle with him. Dis cabe de only safe place." Nat could easily have shot the man, but he determined to direct his fire against those below. If he shot those climbing the others would escape, and it was of the greatest importance that no one should do so. The negroes had snatched the pistols from the belts of the fallen mulattoes, and several shots were fired at the bush. Nat drew back for a moment as the negroes raised their arms, and then discharged the two barrels of his pistol with as deadly an effect as before, and seized the third weapon. The remaining negro below dropped behind a fallen rock. At the same moment the man who was evidently the leader of them sprang on to the ledge. Nat's pistol was ready, and as the negro bounded forward he fired. The ball struck him in the chest, and he fell like a log over the precipice. In his fall he struck one of his comrades, and carried him down on to the rocks below. The other seemed paralysed with fear, and uttered a shriek for mercy as Nat, who from his position could not see him, sprang to his feet; but the tales that he had heard from Dinah of the atrocities perpetrated had steeled his heart to all thoughts of mercy, and taking a deliberate aim Nat shot him through the head. He had still a pistol left charged. Myra had not yet loaded the first he had handed to her, for it was but some twenty seconds from the time that the first shot had been fired. Nat caught up the sword, and at once made his way down the steps. He ran towards the rock behind which the last of the negroes had thrown himself. As he did so the man leapt to his feet, and the two pistols cracked at the same moment. Nat felt a sharp pain in his side. His own shot had missed, and a moment later the negro was rushing at him with uplifted knife. [Illustration: "HE FELL LIKE A LOG OVER THE PRECIPICE."] For the moment Nat forgot that he had another shot left, and, dropping the pistol, shifted his sword to the right hand, and before the negro's knife could fall he ran him through the body. There was now but one foe left. He lay stunned below his fallen comrade, and Nat saw from the manner in which one of his legs was doubled under him that it was broken. He could do no harm, but he would assuredly die if left there alone. Nat pressed his lips together, and having picked up his pistol, he put it close to the man's head and fired. Looking up, he saw Myra run out with a pistol in her hand. "It is all right, Myra. Thank God none of them have got away." "Are you hurt?" she asked, breathlessly. "I will come up," he said; "I am hit in the side, but I don't think that it is at all serious." He found, however, as he ascended the steps, that it gave him acute pain every time he moved. The girl was white and trembling when he joined her. "Don't be frightened, Myra," he said, "I am sure that it is nothing serious. It struck a rib and glanced off, I think, and at the worst it has only broken the bone. You go in and attend to your mother." "I shall not do anything of the sort," she said. "You come in, and I will look at it; it must want bandaging, anyhow." Nat felt that this was true, and, following her into the cave, he let her take off his jacket. The wound was a few inches below the arm. "It is lucky that it was not a little more to the right," he said; "it would have done for me. Don't look so white, Myra, a miss is as good as a mile. It is as I thought, is it not?--just a glancing wound." "Yes," the girl said. He felt along the rib. "Yes," he said, "there is no doubt that it is broken; I can feel the ends grate, and it hurts me every time I breathe. This is where it is, just where the cut begins; the wound itself is nothing." "What shall I do?" she asked quietly. "Tear a strip or two off the bottom of your petticoat, then sew the ends together to make a long bandage, and roll a little piece, so as to make a wad about an inch wide. Is the wound bleeding?" "Yes, very much." "Fold a piece four or five thick, and lay over that the other wad so as to go up and down across the rib. Now, if you will give me a little warm water and a piece of rag, I will bathe the wound while you are making the bandage." "I will bathe it," the girl said. "I am sure it would hurt you to get your hand round." In ten minutes the operation was completed. "I am so sorry that I cannot help," Madame Duchesne murmured, as Myra sat down to sew the strips together. "There is nothing that you could do, thank you," Nat said cheerfully. "Myra is getting on capitally. I shall soon be all right again." When everything was done, he said, "You are a trump, Myra, you have done it first-rate." Then the girl, who had gone on as quietly as if she had been accustomed to such work all her life, broke down, and, bursting into a fit of crying, threw herself down by the side of her mother. Nat would have attempted to soothe her, but her mother said, "Leave her to me, she will be all the better for a good cry." Nat went down again to the stream, picked up the four pistols the Creoles had carried and unwound their sashes, thinking that these would be better than the make-shift that he wore. As he did so two small bags dropped out. He opened them; both contained jewels, some of which he had seen Madame Duchesne wearing. "That is a bit of luck," he said to himself. "No doubt directly they entered the house these scoundrels made one of the women show them where madame's jewel-case was, and divided the contents between them. When Dinah comes we must get these bodies down the stream. I could do it myself were it not for this rib, but it would not be safe to try experiments. What a plucky girl Myra is! Most girls would have been ready to faint at the sight of blood. I will wait a few minutes before I go up so as to give her time to pull herself together." In ten minutes he went up again. "Madame," he said, "I have something that I am sure you will be very glad to get back again. I took off the sashes of those rascally mulattoes, and these two bags fell out of them. What do you think they contain? Some of your jewels." Madame Duchesne and Myra both uttered exclamations of pleasure. "They are family jewels," Myra said, "and my father and mother both prize them very much. How strange they should have been on these men!" "The two mulattoes were two of your overseers, and no doubt ran straight up and seized them directly they entered the house." She saw that her mother wished to speak, and leaned down over her, for Madame Duchesne could not as yet raise her voice above a whisper. "Turn them out," she said, "and see how many are missing." Although Nat had seen Madame Duchesne in full evening dress two or three times when parties of friends had assembled at the house, and had noticed the beauty of her jewels, he was surprised at the number of bracelets, necklaces, brooches, and rings that poured out from the bags. Some of the larger articles, which he supposed were ornaments for the hair, were bent and crumpled up so as to take up as little space as possible. Myra held them up one by one before her mother's eyes. "They are all there, every one of them," the latter whispered. "Your father will be pleased." "The greater part of these," Myra said to Nat, "were brought over when the Baron Duchesne, our ancestor, came over here first, but a great many have been bought since. I have heard mamma say that each successor of the name and estate has made it a point of honour to add to the collection, of which they were very proud, as it was certainly the finest in the island; and besides, it was thought that if at any time Hayti should be captured, either by the Spanish or your people, or if there should be trouble with the blacks, it would be a great thing to have valuables that could be so easily hidden or carried away." "Then they have thought all along that there might be a rising here some day?" "Yes. I have heard my father say that when he was a boy he has heard his grandfather talk the matter over with others, and they thought that the number of slaves in the island was so great that possibly there might some day be a revolt. They all agreed that it would be put down, but they believed that the negroes might do terrible damage before enough troops could be brought from France to suppress it." "They thought rightly," Nat said, "though it has been a long time coming; and the worst of it is that even if it is put down it may break out again at any time. It is hardly reasonable that, when they are at least ten to one against the whites and mulattoes together, men should submit to be kept in slavery." "But they were very well off," Myra said. "I am sure they were much better off than the poorer whites." "From what I have seen of them I think they were," Nat replied, "but you see people do not know when they are well off. I have no doubt that if the last white man left the island, and slavery were abolished for ever, the negroes would be very much worse off than they were before, and I should think they would most likely go back to the same idle, savage sort of life that they live in Africa. Still, of course, at present they have no idea of that. They think they will be no longer obliged to work, and suppose that somehow they will be fed and clothed and have everything they want without any trouble to themselves. You see it is just the same thing that is going on in France." "Well, now, what are you going to do next, Nat?" "I shall load the pistols. I have got four more now. Then I shall take my place at the mouth of the cave again. I hope that when Dinah comes she will bring us news that will enable us to move away. The fact that this party was coming here for refuge shows that the blacks are growing alarmed, and perhaps have already suffered a defeat, in which case the way will be clear for us. If not, I must get her to help me clear the place down below, it will not be difficult. What have you got on the fire?" "There is a fowl that I have been stewing down to make the broth for mother. I have another cut up ready for grilling." Two hours later Nat, to his surprise, saw Dinah hurrying down the ravine, for he had not expected her until evening. He stood up at once. She paused when she caught sight of the bodies lying below the cave. "It is all right, Dinah," he shouted. "We have had a bit of a fight, but it only lasted for a minute or two, and except that I got a graze from a pistol-ball, we are unhurt." "De Lord be blest, sah!" she said as she came up. "Eight ob dem, and you kill dem all, sah?" "Yes; one could hardly miss them at that distance. I am glad to say that none of them got away. You are back earlier than I expected." "Yes, sah; me found out all de news in good time, and den, as eberyone say hurricane come on, I hurry all de way to get here before he come." "Well, come up, Dinah. Madame is going on very well. You know those two mulattoes?" "Me know dem, sah; dey bery bad men, dey lead de black fellows to de attack." "Well, it is well that they came up here, for they had, hidden in their sashes, all madame's jewels." "Dat am good news, sah," the old woman said as she joined him, "dat powerful good news. Madame didn't say anyting about jewels, but Dinah tought of dem, and what a terrible ting it would be if she had lost dem! Dat good affair." "So you think that we are going to have a storm, Dinah?" "Sartin suah, sah; bery hot las' night, bery hot dis morning, and jest as me got to top of hill me saw de clouds coming up bery fast." "I didn't notice the heat particularly. Of course it is very shady in this deep gorge, and one does not see much of the sky." "Dis bery good place, sah--better dan house, much better dan forest. Me was despate frighted dat storm would come before me got here." "I was wanting you to help me put the bodies into the stream, Dinah." "No need for dat, sah; when storm come wash dem all down--no fear ob dat." She went into the cave, and Nat followed her. "Me hab good news for you, ma'am. De whites come out strong from de town wid regiment of troops and de sailors from English ship; de blacks hab a fight down in de plain, but dey beat dem easy. Den yesterday de bands of François come down from de mountains, get to our plantation in de evening; dey bery strong, dey say dar am ten thousand ob dem. Dey s'pect de whites to come and attack to-morrow. To-day dey clearing out all de plantations on de plain. De black fellows say dey cut dem all to pieces." "There is no fear of that," Nat broke in. "So you think that they will fight in the morning?" "No, sah, me no tink dat; me suah dat as soon as de whites see de hurricane coming dey march back fast to de town; no can stand hurricane widout shelter. You had better light de lantern, it am getting as dark as night." Nat went to the entrance. Looking up, he saw a canopy of black cloud passing overhead with extraordinary rapidity. Almost instantaneously there came a flash of lightning, nearly blinding him, accompanied by a tremendous clap of thunder. He turned hastily back into the cave. "It is lucky that you arrived in time, Dinah; if you had been ten minutes longer you would have been caught." He stopped speaking, for his voice was drowned in a tremendous roar. He was about to go to the mouth of the cave again, but Dinah caught hold of his jacket. "No, sah, you mustn't go; if you show your head out beyond de cabe, de wind catch you and whirl you away like leaf, nobody neber see you no more. We safe and comfor'ble in here. We just got to wait till it all over. Dat wind strong enough to trow down de strongest trees, blow down all de huts, take de roof off de strongest house. We not often hab hurricanes in dis island, but when dey come, dey come bery bad. Dose ten tousand black fellows down at de plantation dey hab a bery bad time ob it to-night, dey wish demselves dead afore morning." "It is very bad for the women and children too, Dinah." "Yes, sah, me hab not forgotten dat; but most ob dem will hab gone, dey run away when dey hear dat de whites coming out of town. Dey know bery well dat de whites hab good cause to be bery angry, and dat dey shoot eberyone dey catch." "But they will be just as badly off in the woods as they would be in their huts, Dinah. Have your daughter and her children got away?" "No, sah, dey wur going jest as I started, but I told dem dat hurricane coming, and dat dey better stay in de clearing; and dey agreed to hide up in de little stone hut at end of garden where dey keep de tools and oder tings. De roof blow off, no doubt, but de walls am low and strong. Dey hab bad time dere, but dey safe." With Dinah's assistance, Nat fixed a blanket at the point where the narrow entrance widened out, to keep out the swirls of wind which from time to time rushed in, propping it in its place by the hand-barrow on which Madame Duchesne had been brought up. Myra had finished cooking the fowls just as her nurse arrived, and they sat down to their meal heedless of the terrific tempest that was raging outside. CHAPTER X AFLOAT AGAIN "There will be no occasion to keep watch to-night, Dinah." "Not in de least, sah; de water six feet deep, no one could get in." As talking was out of the question, the party lay down to sleep soon after they had finished their meal. It was some time, however, before Nat closed his eyes. It seemed to him that as soon as the storm was over, and the water low enough for them to pass up the ravine, no time should be lost in attempting to make their way down into the town. The troops would no doubt set out again as soon as possible, and a battle might be fought before nightfall. That the negroes would be beaten he had no doubt, and in that case other parties of fugitives might make for the cave. It was likely that, until the battle was fought, there would be but few negroes in the forest; those who had remained there during the storm would go down into the full glare of the sun to dry and warm themselves. Doubtless, too, François, the negro leader, would have sent messengers off as soon as he arrived, ordering all able-bodied men in the plantations for miles round to come in to take part in the battle, and their chances of meeting with any foes as they descended to the plain would be slight. It would undoubtedly be a serious matter to carry Madame Duchesne for so long a distance; for they had ever since leaving the plantation been going farther away from the town, and he calculated that it must be at least twenty-five miles distant. He did not think that it would be possible to do the journey in a day; but once down on the plains they might find some building intact, in which they could obtain shelter for the night. At last he fell off to sleep. When he awoke the din outside had ceased, and the silence seemed almost oppressive. He got up, pushed aside the blanket, and looked out. The stars were shining, and the wind had entirely lulled. The bottom of the ravine was still full of water, but he felt sure that this would speedily drop; for the depression above the gorge was not an extensive one, and the water that fell there would speedily find its way down. He lit a fresh candle and placed it in the lantern, as the last, which had been renewed by Dinah early in the night, was burning low. He pulled down the blanket, for although the air was fresh and cool at the entrance, the cave was oppressively warm. It was two hours before day began to break; by this time the torrent had subsided and the stream ran in its former course, and it was clear that in another hour it would be possible to make their way along by the side. As he was turning to go in, Dinah joined him. "I tink, Marse Glober, de sooner we go de better." "That is just what I have been thinking. There are not likely to be many of the slaves about in the wood to-day; you see a number of trees have blown down from above, and just below, the ravine is almost choked with them." "No, sah, many will be killed in the forest, and de rest frighted 'most out of der lives. If de whites come out and fight to-day, and de black fellows are beaten, all dose who know of dis place suah to come to hide here." "That was just my idea." "How your side, sah?" "It seems rather stiff and sore, Dinah. However, that can't be helped. That sash you made me will come in very handy for carrying madame, and we sha'n't have the weight of the other things we brought up. I am afraid it will be impossible to do the journey in one day, but I dare say we shall light upon a shelter down on the plains." "Yes, sah. Me put de pot on de fire at once, and as soon as we hab breakfast we make a start; but before we go me must stain you all again--got glenty ob berries left." Madame Duchesne had already been consulted. She would much rather have remained until strong enough to walk, but on her old nurse's showing her that it would be at least a fortnight before she could walk even a mile, and pointing out the danger there was in delay, she agreed to start whenever they thought fit. The jewels were placed in Dinah's capacious pocket, as, if they fell in with any strong party of negroes, she would be less likely to be searched than the others. In an hour all the preparations were completed; one pistol was given to Madame Duchesne and another to her daughter. Dinah took charge of a brace, and Nat wore the other two brace in his sash. He still wore his uniform under his nankeen suit, and his naval cap was in the bundle that formed Madame Duchesne's pillow. She lay down on the hand-barrow, all the blankets being placed under her, with the exception of one which was thrown over her, and she was let down the precipice in the same way as she had been brought up. Dinah this time followed Nat's example, and used one of the mulattoes' sashes as a yoke to take the weight off her arms. Madame Duchesne was placed as far forward on the barrow as possible, so as to divide the weight more equally between her bearers. On raising her, Nat found to his satisfaction that it hurt him but little. In the week that had elapsed since she was seized with the fever, Madame Duchesne had lost a good deal of weight, the store of provisions had, too, greatly diminished, and the sash took so much of the weight off his arms, that as he walked in a perfectly erect position there was little strain thrown upon the broken bone. It was only when he came to a rough place and had to step very carefully that he really felt his wounds. Myra looked anxiously at him from time to time. "I am getting on capitally," he said. "Do not worry about me; at present I scarcely feel that unfortunate rib." "Mind, if you do feel it, Nat, you must give up. Dinah will take your place, and I will take hers. I am sure that I can carry that end very well for a time." "I will let you know when I want a change," Nat said. "Now, you go on ahead, and as soon as we get out of this hollow use your eyes sharply." They saw no one going up the valley or crossing the open ground. When, however, they entered the forest on the other slope, they saw for the first time how terrible had been the force of the hurricane. In some places over acres of ground every tree had fallen, in others the taller trees only had been levelled or snapped off, while others again had boughs wrenched off, and the ground was thickly strewn with fallen branches. All this added greatly to the fatigue of travelling. Detours had to be constantly made, and the journey down took them double the time that had been occupied in the ascent. When approaching the road they had to cross, they sat down and rested for half an hour. "You are looking very white, Nat," Myra said; "I am afraid that your side is hurting you terribly." "It certainly hurts a bit, Myra, but it is of no consequence. It was going on very well until I stumbled over a fallen branch that gave it rather a twist." "You let me bandage 'im again, Marse Glober. We will go off and set dis matter right." When a short distance away Nat stripped to the waist. Myra had done her best, but the old nurse possessed considerable skill in such matters, and strength enough to draw the bandage much tighter than she had done. "Better make it a bit longer," she said, and taking a pair of scissors from her pocket cut off a strip some fifteen inches wide from her ample petticoat, and wound this tightly round the other bandage. "Dere, sah, dat make you 'tiff and comf'able." "It does make me stiff," Nat said with a smile; "I almost feel as if I had got a band of iron round me. Thank you; I shall do very well now." The old nurse dressed him carefully again, and they rejoined the others. "That is ever so much better," Nat said to Myra; "the bandage had shifted a little, and Dinah has put it on fresh again, and added a strip of her own petticoat." The journey was then resumed, and, with an occasional halt, continued until late in the afternoon, by which time they were well down on the plain. During the latter part of the day they had heard at first scattered shots and then a roar of musketry about a couple of miles on their right. It continued for half an hour, and then the heavy firing ceased; but musket shots could be heard occasionally, and higher up on the hill than before. "The negroes have been beaten," Nat said, "and our men are pursuing them. Perhaps they will make another stand at the point where the road runs between two steep banks." This indeed seemed to be the case, for half an hour later a heavy fire broke out again. It was but for a short time--in ten minutes it died away, and no further sound was heard. Darkness was now falling, and they presently arrived at some buildings that had been left standing. They were storehouses, and had not been fired at the time when the planter's house was burned, but had probably been used by the negroes as a barrack, until the advance of the troops on the previous day had compelled them to take a hasty flight. The litter was now laid on the ground. Madame Duchesne had dozed off many times during the day, and was now wide awake. "Are you going to light a fire, Dinah?" "No, madame; Marse Glober and me tink it too dangerous. Not likely any ob dese black fellows 'bout, but dere might be some hiding, best to be careful. We hab a cold chicken to eat, and dere is some chicken jelly in de lillie pot for you, and we hab bread, so no need for fire to cook, and sartin no need for him afterward, we all sleep first-rate. Madame not heaby, but road bery rough, and little weight tell up by end ob de day. Dinah getting ole woman, Marse Glober got rib broken--both bery glad when journey done. Mamzelle she tired too; twelve mile ober rough ground a long journey for her." "My feet ache a little," Myra said, "but otherwise I do not feel tired. I felt quite ashamed of myself walking along all day carrying nothing, instead of taking turns with you." There was but little talking as they ate their meal in the darkness. Neither Nat nor the old nurse had said a word as to their feelings as they walked, but both felt completely exhausted, and it was not many minutes after they had finished their supper before they were sound asleep. At daybreak they were on their feet again, feeling better after the long night's rest, and happy at the thought that this day's walk would take them to home and safety. Nat now threw off his disguise, placed his cap upon his head, and appeared as a British officer, though certainly one of considerably darker complexion than was common; but he thought there was less danger now from slaves than from parties of maddened whites, who had been out to their former homes and might shoot any negroes they came upon without waiting to ask questions. Myra also discarded the negro gown. "I think that I looked more respectable in that," she said with a laugh, "than in this draggled white frock." "It has not been improved, certainly, by its week's wear, Myra; but just at the present moment no one will be thinking of dresses. Now let us be off. We shall be on the road soon, and in an hour or two will be in the town." [Illustration: THE JOURNEY TO THE COAST.] It seemed easy work after the toil of the previous day. They bore to the right until they fell into the main road, both because it would be safer, and because Nat hoped that he might meet someone who could inform Monsieur Duchesne--who he had no doubt would have gone out with the column--that his wife and daughter were in safety, and that he would find them at his house in the town. They had, indeed, gone but a short distance along the road when four men on horseback galloped up. They drew rein suddenly as they met the little party, astonished to see, as they thought, a mulatto girl in front, a negro woman carrying a litter on which was another mulatto woman, and which was carried behind by a young mulatto in the uniform of a British naval officer. Had they met them out in the country they would probably not have troubled to ask questions, but, travelling as they were along the road towards the town, and from the direction where the column had been fighting, it was evident that there must be some mystery about it. "Who are you?" one of them asked Nat in a rough tone. "I am an officer of his Britannic Majesty's frigate _Orpheus_, at present, I believe, in the port; this lady on the stretcher is Madame Duchesne; this young lady is her daughter, Mademoiselle Myra Duchesne; this negress, the faithful nurse of the two ladies, has saved their lives at the risk of her own." One of the horsemen leapt from his saddle. "Pardon me for not recognizing you, mademoiselle," he said to Myra, lifting his straw-hat; "but the change that you have made in your complexion must be my excuse for my not having done so. I trust that madame, your mother, is not seriously ill." "She has been very ill, Monsieur Ponson," she replied. "She has just recovered from an attack of fever, but is very weak indeed." "I saw your father three days ago. He had then just received your message saying that you were in safe hiding. He was, of course, in a state of the greatest delight. He went out with the troops yesterday." "If you see him, sir, will you be kind enough to tell him that you have met us, and that he will find us at his house in town?" "I will certainly find him out as soon as I reach the troops. Is there anything else that I can do?" "Nothing, thank you, sir. Is there, Nat?" "No, unless one of the gentlemen would ride back with us, so as to prevent us from being stopped by every party we meet and having to explain who we are." "I will do so, sir," the youngest of the horsemen said. "I dare say I shall be able to join our friends at the front before there is any more fighting, for the messenger who came in yesterday evening brought the news that the blacks had been so completely defeated, that it was thought likely they would make straight off into the mountains in the interior." "Thank you very much, sir; it will be a great comfort to us to go straight on. We are anxious to get Madame Duchesne into shelter before the sun gets to its full power. My name is Glover. May I ask yours?" "It is Laurent." The other three horsemen, after raising their hats in salute, had now ridden on. "How did you get on through the hurricane, Monsieur Glover?" "We scarce felt it. We were in a cave with a very small entrance, and after the first outburst slept through it in comfort." "It is more than any of us did in the town," the other said with a laugh. "It was tremendous. I should say that half the houses were unroofed, and in the poor quarters many of the huts were blown down, and upwards of twenty negroes were killed." "Do you think, Monsieur Laurent," Myra said, moving across to him, "that we are likely to meet any people on foot whom we could hire?" "No, I hardly think so, mademoiselle. All the gentlemen in the town who could get away rode out with the troops, and the rest of the whites are patrolling the streets armed, lest the negroes employed in the work of the port should rise during the absence of the troops. Why do you ask, mademoiselle?" "Because Monsieur Glover had a rib broken by a pistol-ball the day before yesterday, and I am sure it hurts him very much to carry my mother." The young man leapt from his horse. "Monsieur," he exclaimed, "pray take my horse. I will assist in carrying Madame Duchesne." "I do not like"--Nat began, but his remonstrance was unheeded. "But I insist, monsieur. Please take the reins. You can walk by the side of the horse or mount him, whichever you think will be the more easy for you." So saying, he gently possessed himself of the handles of the litter, placed the sash over his shoulders, and started. It was indeed an immense relief to Nat. The rough work of the preceding day had caused the ends of the bone to grate, and had set up a great deal of inflammation. He had been suffering acutely since he started, in spite of the support of the bandage, and he had more than once thought that he would be obliged to ask Myra to take his place. He did not attempt to mount in the young Frenchman's saddle, for he thought that the motion of the horse would be worse for him than walking; he therefore took the reins in his hand, and walked at the horse's head behind the litter. The pain was less now that he was relieved of the load, but he still suffered a great deal, and he kept in the rear behind the others, while Myra chatted with Monsieur Laurent, learning from him what had happened in the town, and giving him a sketch of their adventures. As they passed the house of Madame Duchesne's sister, the invalid said that she would be taken in there, as she had heard from Monsieur Laurent that their own house was partially unroofed. Myra ran in to see her aunt, who came out with her at once. "Ah, my dear sister," she cried, "how we have suffered! We had no hope that you had escaped until your husband brought us the joyful news three days ago that you were still in safety. Come in, come in! I am more glad than ever that our house escaped without much damage from the storm." Although the house was intact, the garden was a wreck. The drive up to the house was blocked by fallen trees, most of the plants seemed to have been torn up by the roots and blown away, the lawn was strewn with huge branches. Two of the house servants had now come out and relieved those carrying the litter. "Ah, Monsieur Glover," continued Madame Duchesne's sister, "once again you have saved my niece; my sister also this time! Of course you will come in too." "Thanks, madame, but if you will allow me I will go straight on board my ship. I am wounded, though in no way seriously. Still, I shall require some medical care, for I have a rib broken, and the journey down has not improved it." "In that case I will not press you, monsieur. Dr. Lepel has gone out with the column, and may not be back for some days." "Good-bye, Madame Duchesne!" Nat said, shaking the thin hand she held out to him. "I will come and see you soon, and hope to find you up by that time. Now that your anxiety is at an end you ought to gain strength rapidly." "May Heaven bless you," she said, "for your goodness to us!" "That is all right," he said cheerfully. "You see, I was saving my own life as well as yours; and it is to you, Dinah," he said, turning and shaking her hand, "it is to you that we really all owe our lives. First you warned us in time, then you took us to a place of safety, and have since got us food and news, and risked your own life in doing so. "Good-bye, Myra; I hope that when I see you again you will have got that dye off your face, and that you will be none the worse for what you have gone through." The girl's lip quivered. "Good-bye, Nat. I do so hope your wound will soon heal." "You are fortunate, indeed, in having escaped," Monsieur Laurent said as they turned away. "From all we hear, I fear that very few of the whites, except in plantations quite near the towns, have escaped. It is strange that the house servants, who in most cases have been all their lives with their masters and mistresses, and who have almost always been treated as kindly as if they were members of the family, should not have warned them of what was coming." "I should think that very few of them knew," Nat replied. "They were known to be attached to their masters and mistresses, and would hardly have been trusted by the others. I cannot think so badly of human nature as to believe that a people who have been so long in close connection with their masters should, in almost every case, have kept silent when they knew that there was a plot to massacre them." "Well, I will say good-morning," Monsieur Laurent said. "I want to be back with the troops. I was detained yesterday, to my great disgust, to see to the getting-off of a freight, and I should not like to miss another chance of paying some of the scoundrels off." Nat made his way slowly and carefully--for the slightest movement gave him great pain--to the wharf. One of the frigate's boats was ashore. The coxswain looked at him with surprise as he went down the steps to it. "Well, I'm jiggered," the man muttered, "if it ain't Mr. Glover!" Then he said aloud: "Glad to see you back, sir. The ship's crew were all glad when they heard the other day that the news had come as how you were safe, for we had all been afraid you had been murdered by them niggers. You are looking mighty queer, sir, if I may say so." "My face is stained to make me look like a mulatto. Whom are you waiting for?" "For Mr. Normandy." "Well, how long do you expect he will be?" "I can't say, sir. It is about a quarter of an hour since he landed, and he said he would be back in half an hour; but officers are generally longer than they expect." "Well it won't take you above ten minutes to row off to the ship and back. I will take the blame if he comes down before that. I have been wounded, not badly, but it is very painful. I want to get it properly dressed." "All right, sir, we will get you on board in no time." "Give me your arm. I must get in carefully." The men stretched to their oars, and in five minutes Nat was alongside the _Orpheus_. He had heard, as he expected, that Dr. Bemish had gone with the party that had been landed, but his assistant was on board. The first lieutenant was on deck. He saw by Nat's walk as he went up to report his return that something was the matter. "Are you ill or wounded, Mr Glover?" "I am wounded, sir. I had a rib broken by a pistol-ball, and I have had a long journey, which has inflamed it a good deal." "Go down at once and have it seen to; you can tell me your story afterwards. Have the ladies who were with you got safely down also?" "Yes, sir." The lieutenant nodded, and Nat then went below and placed himself in the hands of the assistant surgeon. "My word, Glover, you have got your wound into a state!" the latter said after he had examined him. "What on earth have you been doing to it? It seems to have been a pretty clean break at first, and it wouldn't have bothered you above three weeks or so, but the ends have evidently been sawing away into the flesh. Why, man alive, what have you been doing?" "I have been helping to carry a sick woman down from the hills," Nat said quietly. "If it had been level ground it would not have hurt so much, but on rough ground strewn with branches one could not avoid stumbling occasionally, and although it had been bandaged before I started the wad slipped and the thing got loose, and after that it was like walking with a red-hot needle sticking into me." "So I should say. Well, I will put you into a berth in the sick-bay at once. Fortunately we have some ice on board and I will put some of it on the wound and try to get the inflammation down." In a short time he returned with a basin of ice and a jugful of iced lime-juice. Nat took a long drink, and then turned so that the ice could be applied to the wound. "You must keep yourself as still as you can. I sha'n't attempt to bandage you at present, there is really nothing to be done till we have got the inflammation down." "I will lie quiet as long as I am awake, but I cannot answer for myself if I go off to sleep, which will not be long, for I am as tired as a dog. To-day's walk would have been nothing if I had been all right, it was the pain that wore me out." "I don't suppose you will move. You may be sure that that rib will act like an alarm, and give you warning at once if you stir in the slightest." Having seen Nat comfortable, the young surgeon went up on deck. "How do you find Mr. Glover?" the first lieutenant asked. "He says that it is only a broken rib." "Well, sir, it was only a broken rib at first, now it is a broken rib with acute inflammation round it. There is a flesh wound about four inches long where the bullet struck, broke the rib, ran along it, and went out behind. That would not have been anything if he had kept quiet; as it is, it is as angry as you could want to see a wound. But that is not the worst, the two ends of the bone have been rubbing against each other with enough movement to lacerate the flesh, with the natural result that a wonderful amount of inflammation has been set up round it." "But how did he manage it?" "It seems, sir, that he has been carrying, or helping to carry, a sick woman down from the mountains, and he says the ground was very rough and strewn with boughs, so that one can understand that he got some terrible shakes and jolts, which would quite account for the state of his wounds." "I should think so. When Monsieur Duchesne came off with the news that his wife was safely hidden, and that Glover was with her, he said that his daughter, who had written the note, reported that her mother was ill. No wonder he has got his wound in such a state if he has, as you say, aided to carry her down all that distance. He must have had a brush with the negroes." "That must have been before he started, sir; for he said that the bandage shifted, so his wound must have been bound up before he set out." "It was a gallant thing for a lad to undertake--a most gallant action! Why, it must have been torture to him." "It must indeed, sir." "He is not in any danger, I hope?" "Not unless fever intervenes, sir. No doubt with rest and quiet and the use of ice we shall succeed in reducing the inflammation; but it is likely enough that fever may set in, and if so there is no saying how it may go. I shall be glad to have Doctor Bemish back again to take the responsibility off my hands." Late that afternoon Monsieur Duchesne came on board to thank Nat. He was not allowed to see him, as the doctor said that absolute quiet was indispensable. He had had a full account from Myra of the adventures through which the little party had gone, and he retailed this to the lieutenant and doctor in the ward-room. "A most gallant business altogether," the first lieutenant said when he had finished, "and certainly the most gallant part of it was undertaking to carry Madame Duchesne when practically disabled. But I can understand, as you say, that directly the negroes were defeated by the force that went out against them, some of them would have made for that cave, and it was therefore absolutely necessary to get away before they came. However, I hope that we need not be anxious about him; he has gone through three or four scrapes, any of which might have been fatal. There was that fight with the dog; then he was in the thick of that business with the pirates, and was blown up by the explosion, and half his crew killed. He has had some marvellous escapes, and I think we may feel very hopeful that he will get over this without serious trouble. It was lucky indeed his finding your family jewels on two of those scoundrels that he shot." "It would have been a great loss, but it is such a little thing in comparison to the saving of my wife and daughter, that I have scarcely given it a thought. I shall do myself the pleasure of calling again to-morrow morning to know how he is." "Do so, monsieur; you will probably find Captain Crosbie here. I had a note from him an hour ago, saying that he was returning, and would be here by eight o'clock. The negroes having been defeated, and the safety of the town being ensured for a while, he does not consider that he would be justified in joining in the pursuit of the blacks among the hills." Nat was not aware of the return of the landing-party until the next morning, when on opening his eyes he saw Dr. Bemish by his side. "You young scamp," the latter said, shaking his finger at him, "you seem determined to be a permanent patient. As soon as you recover from one injury you are laid up with another. So here you are again." "It is only a trifle this time, doctor." "Umph, I am not so sure about that. Macfarlane tells me that, not content with getting a rib broken, you go about carrying one end of a stretcher with a woman on it across ground where it was difficult, if not impossible, to move without ricking and hurting yourself. So that not only have you set up a tremendous amount of inflammation round the wound, but you have so worn the ends of the bone that they will take three times as long knitting together as they would have done had they been left alone." "I am afraid that is all true, doctor," Nat replied with a smile; "but, you see, I thought it better to run the risk of inflammation, and even this terrible rubbing of the end of the bones you speak of, than of being caught by these fiendish negroes, and put to death by the hideous tortures with which they have in many cases slowly murdered those who fell into their hands." "It must have hurt you badly," Dr. Bemish said, as, after removing the dressing that had, late the evening before, been substituted for the ice, he examined the wound. "It did hurt a bit, doctor, but as four lives depended upon my being able to hold on, there was nothing for it but to set one's teeth hard and keep at it. How does it look this morning?" "What do you think, Macfarlane? you can form a better opinion than I can, as I have not seen it before." "The inflammation seems to have abated a good deal." "In any case we will syringe the wound thoroughly with warm water. There are doubtless some particles of bone in it, and until these are got rid of we can't hope that it will heal properly. I will get that large magnifying-glass from my cabin." For half an hour the wound was fomented and washed. "As far as I can see it is perfectly clean now," Dr. Bemish said, after carefully examining it with the glass. "We will put a compress on, with a wet cloth over it, which must be damped with iced water every half-hour. When we quite get the inflammation down, Glover, which will, I hope, be in two or three days, we will bandage it tightly, and I will buy you a pair of stays on shore, and lace you up so that there shall be no chance of your performing any more pranks with it, and then I fancy you will be able to come up on deck, if you will promise to keep yourself quiet there." "Well, that is better than I expected, doctor." "Have you any message to send to your friends? because I am going ashore now to see them. Monsieur Duchesne was off yesterday afternoon, but Macfarlane very properly refused to let him see you." "Tell him he can't see me for some days, doctor. I do so hate being made a fuss over." "I will keep him away for a day or two anyhow," the doctor laughed. "He gave the ward-room a full history of your affair, so you won't have the trouble of going over it again." "That is a comfort," Nat growled. "How long is the _Orpheus_ likely to stop here, doctor?" "Ah, that is more than I can say! At any rate the captain will not leave until he gets orders from Jamaica. The _Æolus_ has just come into port, and the captain will send her off at once with despatches to the admiral, saying what has taken place, and how he landed a force to protect the town, and went out with a party to attack the insurgent blacks. He will ask for instructions, as they have no French vessel of war here, and the land force is insufficient to defend the place if attacked in earnest, especially as there is a considerable negro population who would probably rise and join the insurgents if these made an assault upon the town. The general hope on board is that we shall get orders to stay here, or at least to cruise on the coast. Now that we have broken up that nest of pirates, things are likely to be dull here for some time, though I have little doubt that ere very long we shall be at war with the French. According to the last news, which arrived since you left us, that National Assembly of theirs is going farther and farther, and its proceedings are causing serious alarm throughout Europe, for they are altogether subversive of the existing state of things. It is to its measures that this terrible insurrection here is due, and the first consequence of what is really a revolution in France will be the loss of her most valuable colony. I suppose you have heard that something like two thousand whites have been murdered. I have no doubt that now they have recovered from the first shock, the French here will take a terrible vengeance; but though they may kill a great number of the negroes, I doubt if it will be possible to reduce half a million blacks to submission, especially in an island like this, with mountain ranges running through it where cannon would be absolutely useless, and the negroes could shelter in the almost impenetrable forests that cover a large portion of it." CHAPTER XI A FIRST COMMAND For another couple of days no one was permitted to see Nat, but at the end of that time the wound assumed a healthy aspect, and he was allowed to receive visits. Captain Crosbie himself was the first to come down. "I am very glad to hear so good an account of you, Mr. Glover," he said cordially; "you have done us credit again, lad, and have rendered an inestimable service to Monsieur Duchesne and his family. Although it can hardly be considered as in your regular course of duty, I shall certainly forward a narrative of your adventures to the admiral. The next time we go to Port Royal you had better go in for your examination, and if you pass I have very little doubt that acting rank will be given to you at once. Your aiding to carry down that lady, when yourself wounded, was really a very fine action, for Doctor Bemish tells me that you must have suffered intensely. Monsieur Duchesne is most anxious to see you, but the doctor has told him that it will be better for him to wait until you are well enough to go ashore, when you can go and see them all together." "Thank you, sir, I would much rather do that. But really the person to be thanked is the old negress who gave us warning in time to escape, went down and fetched food, despatched a message to Monsieur Duchesne, and got an answer back, and who did as much as I did in carrying her mistress down." "Doubtless she behaved very well, Mr. Glover, but that does not alter the fact that you did so also. And, as even you will admit, she had no hand in the fight in which you killed eight of these scoundrels." "It was not much of a fight, sir. I had such an advantage in position that I really did not like shooting them, in spite of what I had heard of their doings; but it was our lives or theirs, and I knew that if one of them got away he would bring down a score of others, and they would speedily have starved us out." "At the present time," the captain said sternly, "mercy to these villains would be misapplied; the lesson must be a terrible one, or there will speedily be an end to white rule in the island. Another thing is, that were this revolution to succeed, we might expect similar outbreaks in our own islands. Now I will leave you. Your comrades will come in to see you, but their visits must, for the present, be short." Nat progressed rapidly. In three days the water-dressings were given up and he was tightly bandaged, and over this, rather to his disgust, the doctor insisted upon his wearing a pair of stays. "It is all very well, Glover," Doctor Bemish said in answer to his remonstrances, "but we know what you are. You are as active as a cat, and would be constantly forgetting yourself, and springing to do something; but these things laced tightly on will act as a reminder, and will also bind you so closely together that, while you will have the free use of your limbs, your ribs will be held as if in a vice. You will have to keep them on until the bone has fairly knit, and you have every reason to be thankful that this is the only inconvenience you have to suffer from an expedition which might have cost you your life." Four days later Doctor Bemish said: "I think you can go ashore to-day. Of course you must be careful, especially, getting in and out of the boat, but if you do that and walk slowly, I do not think it will do you any harm. Madame Duchesne is up and going on nicely, and they are most anxiously expecting you, and indeed Duchesne said yesterday, that if I did not let you go on shore to-day, he would come on board to see you." "But I feel like a hog in armour in these stays, doctor." "Never mind that, lad, you would be almost as bad if you took them off, for I should have to put on twice as many bandages, and to pull them ever so much tighter. I have told the captain that I am letting you go ashore, and have also told Mr. Philpot, so that is all settled. I shall be going off myself in an hour, and will take you with me, and keep an eye over you until you get to their gate." "One would think that I was a small boy going to be taken to school," Nat laughed, stopping, however, abruptly. "There! you see," the doctor said, "that gave you a twinge, I know; you must be careful, lad, you must, indeed. There is no objection to your smiling as much as you like, but there is nothing that shakes one up more than a hearty laugh. That is why at other times laughing is a healthy exercise, but with a rib in the process of healing, it is better not to indulge in it." "Well, I shall be ready when you are." Nat accomplished the journey without pain. "Won't you come in, doctor?" he asked when they arrived at the gate. "No, Glover; this will be a sort of family party. I have warned Duchesne not to throw himself on your neck, and have told him that you are to be looked at and not touched." With an uneasy smile Nat left him at the gate and walked up the drive. They were evidently on the watch for him, for the door opened almost immediately, and Monsieur Duchesne ran down. "Mon cher!" he exclaimed, "the doctor has said that I must not touch you, but I can scarce refrain from embracing you. How can I thank you for all that you have done?" "But, monsieur, I have done next to nothing. I shot some negroes who had not a chance of getting at me, and I helped Dinah to carry madame down. We owe our safety to Dinah, who was splendid in her devotion, making journeys backwards and forwards, to say nothing of giving us the warning that enabled us all to escape in time." "Dinah was splendid!" Monsieur Duchesne admitted. "But I can do nothing for her. I have told her that she shall have a house and plenty to live on all her days, but she will not leave us. I have made out her papers of freedom, but she says, 'What use are these? I have been your servant all my life, and should be no different whether I was what you call a free woman or not.' What pleased her most was that I have given freedom to her grandson who brought the message down here, and am going to employ him in my stable, and that she has received a new black silk gown. She has got it on in honour of your visit, and if it had been a royal robe she could not be more proud of it." They had by this time arrived at the door, and Monsieur Duchesne led Nat to the drawing-room, where his wife was lying on a sofa, and Myra standing beside her. The yellow dye had now nearly worn off their faces. Madame Duchesne was still pale, but she looked bright and happy. Nat went up to her and took her hand. "I am truly glad to see you up again," he said. "It has all ended well," she replied with tears in her eyes. "It seems like a bad dream to me, especially that journey. How good and kind you were! and I know now how terribly you must have suffered." "It hurt a bit at the time, madame, but one gets accustomed to being hurt, and it all went on so well that it was not worth grumbling about." "Ah, you look more yourself now, Myra!" and he held out his hand to her. "Embrace him, my dear, for me and for yourself. Twice has he saved your life, and has been more than a brother to you." Myra threw her arms round Nat's neck and kissed him heartily twice, while her eyes were full of tears. "I have not hurt you, I hope," she said as he drew back. "Not a bit, and I should not have minded if you had," Nat said. Then he sat down, and they talked quietly for some time. "I am going out to-morrow again," Monsieur Duchesne said, "it is the duty of every white to join in punishing these ungrateful fiends. I hear that they have been beaten badly near Port-au-Prince. Some of the negroes are, we find, remaining quietly on the plantations, and these, unless they have murdered their masters, will be spared. No quarter will be given to those taken in arms. At any rate we shall clear all of them out of the plains near the bay, and drive them into the mountains, where we cannot hope to subdue them till a large number of troops arrive from home." So vigorously, indeed, did the whites pursue the negroes, that in a fortnight after the outbreak it was calculated that no fewer than ten thousand blacks had fallen, many of them being put to death by methods almost as cruel and ferocious as those they had themselves adopted. They were still in such vast numbers that it was evident that it would be impossible to overpower them until troops arrived from France; and, indeed, the farther the French columns penetrated into the mountains, the more severe was the resistance they met with, and on several occasions the whites were repulsed with heavy loss. A truce was therefore agreed upon, it being arranged that neither party should attack the other until its expiration. There being, therefore, no occasion for the _Orpheus_ to remain longer at Cape François, she sailed for Jamaica. Nat's wounds continued to go on well. He was still stiff, and felt the advantages of the encircling stays so much that he no longer objected to wear them. As it was likely that, until matters were finally settled, the _Orpheus_ would be constantly cruising on the coast of Hayti, and that he would ere long see his French friends again, the parting was not a sad one; and, indeed, Nat was by no means sorry to get under way again to escape the expressions of gratitude of Monsieur Duchesne and his wife. Two days after arriving at Port Royal, Nat received notice that a court, composed of three captains of vessels then in port, would, on the following day, sit to examine midshipmen who had either served their time or were within a year of completing it. He at once sent in his name. As he had read hard during the time he had been unfit for service, he had no fear of not passing the ordeal, and at the conclusion of his examination he was told by the president of the court that he had passed with great credit. On returning to the frigate, he found a note from the admiral requesting him to call upon him on his return from the court, and he at once proceeded to the flag-ship. "I have heard a great deal of you, Mr. Glover," the admiral said when he was ushered into his cabin. "First of all I heard the story from your captain of the gallant manner in which you, at the risk of your own, saved a young lady's life at Cape François, when attacked by a savage hound, and were seriously injured thereby. Then I received Captain Crosbie's official report of the share you took in the attack upon that formidable nest of pirates, the report being supplemented by his subsequent relation to me of the whole facts of the affair. Your conduct there also did you very great credit, and, had you passed, I should at once have given you acting rank. Now you have again distinguished yourself, though scarcely in a manner which comes under my official knowledge. I should be glad to hear from you a detailed account of the affair." When Nat had finished his narration, he said, "You have scarcely done justice to yourself. Your captain and Dr. Bemish were dining with me last night, and the latter said that, wounded as you were, the work of carrying that French lady down to the coast must have been an intensely painful one, as was shown by the state of your wound when he examined it. In all these matters you have shown courage and conduct, and as I hear that you have now passed, I shall take the first opportunity of giving you acting rank. You speak French fluently?" "I speak it quite fluently, sir, but as I have only picked it up by ear, I cannot say that I speak it well." "However, the fact that you speak it well enough to converse freely may be useful. Hayti is likely to be in a very disturbed state for some time. There can be little doubt that the negroes in the other islands are all watching what takes place there with close attention, and that there is a possibility of the revolt spreading. At present there is no saying what the course of events may be. Already the governor here has received letters from several French residents expressing their desire that we should take the island, as they believe that the French revolutionary government will make no serious effort to put down the rising. Of course, at present, as we are at peace with France, nothing whatever can be done. At the same time, it is important that we should obtain accurate information as to what is going on there, and what is the feeling of the negroes and of the mulatto population, and we shall probably have several small vessels cruising in those waters. The _Falcon_, under the command of Lieutenant Low, who also belonged to the _Orpheus_, has been for some weeks on the southern coast of the island. I intend to have three or four other craft at the same work soon, and on the first opportunity I shall appoint you to one of them." Nat expressed his warm thanks, and retired. Three or four days later he received an intimation that the prize _Arrow_, a schooner of a hundred and fifty tons, would at once be put into commission, and that the admiral had selected him for her command. This was far more than Nat had even hoped for. From the manner in which the admiral had spoken, he thought that he would be appointed to a craft of this description, but he had no expectation whatever of being given the command. With the intimation was an order for him to again call upon the admiral. "It is a small command," the admiral said when Nat expressed his thanks for the appointment. "We cannot spare you more than twenty-five hands, a quarter-master, and two midshipmen. You will have Mr. Turnbull of the _Leander_ as your first officer, and Mr. Lippincott of the _Pallas_. She has carried six guns hitherto, but you will only take four. These, however, will be twelve-pounders; before, she had only nines. Naturally, it is not intended that she shall do any fighting. Of course, if you are attacked you will defend yourself, but you are hardly a match for any of these piratical craft except quite the smaller class--native boats manned by bands of desperadoes. Your mission will be to cruise on the coast of Hayti, to take off white fugitives should any show themselves, and to communicate if possible with the negroes, find out the object they propose to themselves, and report on their forces, organization, and methods of fighting. In all this great care will be necessary, for they have shown themselves so faithless and treacherous that it is impossible to place any confidence in their promises of safe-conduct. In such matters it is impossible to give any advice as to your conduct, you must be guided by circumstances; be prudent and careful, and at the same time enterprising. The schooner is a very fast one. She has been a slaver, and has more than once shown her heels to some of our fastest cruisers. Therefore, if you come across any piratical craft too big to fight, you will at least have a fair chance of outsailing her." Greatly delighted, Nat returned to the _Orpheus_. "So, you are going to leave us, Mr. Glover," the captain said when he came on board. "I congratulate you, but at the same time we shall be very sorry to lose you, and I hope that when there is a vacancy we shall have you back again. You fully deserve your promotion, and have been a credit to the ship." The next day Nat moved his effects ashore. There was but little leave-taking between him and his comrades, for it was certain that they would often meet at Port Royal. He spent his time for the next fortnight in the dockyard seeing to the refitting of the schooner. The superintendent there had heard of the affair with the dog, and of the manner in which he had saved the lives of the French lady and her daughter, Dr. Bemish being an old friend of his. He was, therefore, much more complaisant than dockyard officials generally are to the demands made upon them by young lieutenants in command of small craft. Indeed, when the schooner was ready for sea Nat had every reason to be proud of her. She had been provided with a complete suit of new canvas, all her woodwork had been scraped and varnished, the running rigging was new, and the standing rigging had also been renewed wherever it showed signs of wear. Her ballast, which had before been almost entirely of iron ore, was now of pig-iron, and in view of the extra stability so given she had had new topmasts ten feet higher than those she had before carried. "I should advise you to keep your weather eye lifting, Mr. Glover," Captain Crosbie said when Nat paid his farewell visit to the frigate; "that craft of yours looks very much over-sparred. If you were caught in a squall with your topsails up the chances are you would turn turtle." "I will be very careful, sir," Nat said; "although, now she has iron ballast, I think that even with the slight addition in the height of the spars she will be as stiff as she was before in moderate breezes, while she will certainly be faster in light winds." "That is so," the captain agreed; "and of course it is in light winds that speed is of the most importance. There can be no doubt that in the hands of a careful commander a large spread of canvas is a great advantage, while in the hands of a rash one a craft can hardly be too much under-sparred." Turnbull, Nat's first officer, was a quiet young fellow, a few months junior to Nat. He was square in build, with a resolute but good-humoured face, and Nat had no doubt that the admiral had selected him as being likely to pull better with him than a more lively and vivacious young fellow would be. From the first day they met on board he was sure that he and Turnbull would get on extremely well together. The latter carried out his suggestions and orders as punctually as he would have done those of a post-captain, going about his work in as steady and business-like a way as if he had been accustomed for years to perform the duties of a first officer. One evening Nat had asked him and Lippincott to dine with him at an hotel, and ordered a private room. "I think," he said when the meal was over and the waiter had placed the dessert and wine on the table and had retired, "that we are going to have a very pleasant cruise. I am afraid we sha'n't have much chance of distinguishing ourselves in the fighting way, though we may pick up some of those rascally little craft that prey on the native commerce and capture a small European merchantman occasionally. With our small crew we certainly cannot regard ourselves as a match for any of the regular pirates, who would carry vastly heavier metal, and crews of at least four times our strength. The admiral expressly warned me that it was not intended that the _Arrow_ should undertake that sort of business. Our mission is rather to gain news of what passes in the interior, pick up fugitives who may be hiding in the woods, and act in fact as a sort of floating observatory. Any fighting, therefore, that we may get will be if we are attacked. In that case, of course, we shall do our best. I am sure we shall be a pleasant party on board. Of course in a small craft like this we shall mess together. It is necessary, for the sake of discipline, that when we are on deck we should follow the usual observances, but when we are below together we shall be three mess-mates without any formality or nonsense." The two juniors remained on their ships until the schooner was out of the hands of the dockyard men. According to custom, Nat did not join until they and the crew had gone on board and spent a day in scrubbing the decks and making everything tidy and ship-shape; then the gig went ashore to fetch him off. As he rowed alongside he could not help smiling at seeing the sentries at the gangway and the two young officers standing there to receive him. However, with an effort he recovered his gravity, mounted the short accommodation ladder, saluted the flag, and returned the salutes of his officers and men. On board the frigate he had been an inconsiderable member of the crowd, now he was monarch of all he surveyed. Then the crew were formed up, and according to custom he read his commission appointing him to the command, and the articles of war. "Now, my men," he said when he had brought the meeting to an end, "I have, according to rule, read the articles of war, a very necessary step when taking command of a vessel of war with hands collected from all parts, and many of them coming on board one of his majesty's ships for the first time; but it is a mere formality to a crew composed of men like yourselves, who will, I am perfectly sure, do your duty in storm and calm, and who will, should there be any occasion for fighting, show that, small as our number is, we are capable of taking our own part against a considerably larger force. I and my officers, will do all in our power to make the ship a comfortable and pleasant one, and I rely upon you to show your zeal and heartiness in the service." The men replied with a hearty cheer. Most of them belonged to the _Orpheus_. These had already told the others of their captain's doings in Hayti and in the attack on the pirate island, and said how popular he was on board. "I think we are going to have a good time," one of the others said as they went forward. "We ain't likely to capture anything very big in this cockle-shell, and I look upon it as a sort of pleasure ship." "You will see, if he gets a chance he will take it," one of the men from the _Orpheus_ said. "I was with him in that fight against the pirates, and I tell you I have never been in anything hotter. I was one of those who volunteered to go with him to drown the magazine of the brigantine next to us, and I tell you I never felt so scared in my life. He was just as cool as a cucumber, though he had been knocked silly by that explosion a quarter of an hour before. He is the right sort, he is; and though I expect he has got orders not to tackle anything too big for us--he is not the sort of chap to run away if he can find the smallest excuse for fighting." In the meantime Nat had gone below with the two midshipmen. The accommodation for officers was excellent. There was a large cabin aft which had been handsomely fitted up by the late captain. Off this on one side was his state-room, on the other those for the two officers; beyond these were the steward's cabin and pantry on one side, and a spare cabin which had been given to the quarter-master on the other. Nat had engaged a negro as cook, and his son, a lad of seventeen or eighteen, as cabin steward, and had sent on board a small stock of wines. He ordered the boy to open a bottle and to put glasses on the table, and they drank together to the success of the cruise. They had just finished when the quarter-master came down. "The admiral is signalling for us to send a boat to him, sir." "Lower the gig at once!" and he and the officers followed the quarter-master on deck. "Mr. Lippincott, you had better go with it." In half an hour the midshipman returned with a despatch. Nat broke the seal. It had evidently been dictated by the admiral to his clerk, his signature being at the foot. _News has just arrived that the French Assembly has cancelled the act placing the mulattoes on the same footing as the whites, and the former have in consequence risen and have joined the blacks. The situation must be most precarious for whites in the island. Get up sail at once and make for Cape François. Cruise between that port and the south-eastern limit of Hayti. Do what you can to aid fugitives._ "We are to be off at once," he said to Mr. Turnbull. "Please get up the anchor and make sail. There is fresh trouble in Hayti; the mulattoes have joined the blacks." The quarter-master's whistle sounded, and the crew sprang into activity. The capstan was manned, and the men ran to loosen the sails, and in ten minutes the _Falcon_ was on her way. "Matters were bad enough before," Nat said when, having seen that the sails were all set and everything in good order, his two officers came aft. "A few mulattoes, overseers and that class, rose with the negroes, but the great bulk of them, having got what they wanted, joined the whites or stood neutral; but now that they have thrown in their lot with the blacks the prospect seems almost desperate. However it turns out, there is no doubt that the island is ruined, and the whites who were lucky enough to escape with their lives will find that instead of being rich men they are penniless. It is a horrible business altogether. I shall be glad when we get to Cape François and can get news of what is really going on." Nat was delighted at the speed shown by the schooner. The breeze was light, and she felt the full advantage of her added spread of canvas. She was a very beamy craft of light draught, and scarcely showed a perceptible heel under the pressure of the wind, fully justifying his opinion as to the improvement to be effected by the substitution of iron ballast for that which she had before carried. Turnbull and Lippincott were no less pleased, and the whole crew felt proud of their little craft. "She can go, sir, and no mistake!" Turnbull said, as they stood aft looking upwards at the sails and down into the water glancing past her sides. "It would take a fast craft indeed to overhaul her; her sails are splendidly cut!" "Yes, I tipped the man who is at the head of the sail-making gang a five-pound note to take special pains with them, and the money would have been well laid out if it had been fifty times as much; for it will make the difference of a point at least when she is close-hauled, and that means getting away from a fellow too big for us, instead of being overhauled by him." "Yes," Turnbull said with a smile, "and might enable us to keep out of reach of his bow-guns, while we hammered him with our stern-chaser." "Yes, it might have that effect," Nat replied with an answering smile. "What is she going through the water now, quarter-master?" "A good seven knots, sir." "That is fast enough. The _Orpheus_ would not be making more than six in such a light breeze as this." Towards sunset the wind fell until it scarcely seemed that there was a breath on the water, but the schooner still crept along at two and a half knots an hour, although her sails scarcely lifted. The crew had already been divided in watches. Turnbull took the starboard, and Lippincott the larboard watch. "I hardly know myself," Nat laughed, as they sat together in the cabin after dinner. "Except when I was on the sick list, this is my first experience of not having a night watch to keep. However, I expect I shall be up and down, and at any rate call me if there is the slightest change in the weather. We know what she can do in a light wind now, but we won't risk anything until we have seen how she carries her sails in a sharp blow." Somewhat restless under the extent of his responsibility, Nat was on deck several times during the night. There was, however, no sign of change. The _Arrow_ was still stealing through the water with the wind abeam. The two midshipmen, equally impressed with the responsibility of being in command of a watch, were on the alert, and the look-out was vigilant. The wind freshened again when the sun rose. At noon there were white-heads on the water, and the schooner, heeling over a bit now, was doing nearly nine knots. The three officers all took an observation, and to their satisfaction found that they were within half a mile of each other. At the present moment, however, there was no doubt as to their situation, for the high land near Cape Dame Marie lay clearly in sight over the bowsprit, while behind them the hills over Morant Point lay like a dim haze. "If we had had this wind the whole way," Nat said regretfully, "we should have been well in the bay by this time. Still, we must not grumble; we have made a hundred knots. The mid-day gun fired just as we got under way, and, considering that for twelve hours we had no wind worth speaking of, I think we have done very well. Indeed, if the wind will hold like this, we shall be near port by noon to-morrow; but we can't reckon on that, it is sure to fall before sunset, and besides, the winds are generally baffling and shifty when we once get into the bay." By three o'clock the wind had already begun to fall, and by five they were lying almost becalmed off the westerly point of the island. For the next two days the wind was very light, and it was late in the afternoon of the second when they dropped anchor off Cape François. Nat at once went ashore, and as usual received a warm welcome from the Duchesnes. Madame had now quite recovered from the effect of her adventure, as also had Myra. "I did not know that the _Orpheus_ was in port, or else we should have been expecting you." "She is not in port, madame. I arrived in his majesty's schooner _Arrow_, which I have the honour to command." "Then you are Captain Glover now? I must be very respectful," and Myra made a deep curtsy. "It will be a good many years before I shall have the right to be addressed by that title. I have passed my examination as lieutenant, and have now acting rank, which will no doubt be confirmed by the authorities at home, and I may be addressed as lieutenant without any breach of etiquette. Still, of course, it is a grand thing to get a command, and so much greater chance of distinguishing oneself. However, as she is but a small craft, and carries only twenty-five men, we are not in a position to do any great thing in the way of fighting, though of course we may overhaul and capture some of these native craft that are nominally traders, but are ready to capture any small vessel they may come across. My mission really is to obtain news of what is passing in the island. We have received word at Kingston that the mulattoes have risen and joined the blacks, and I have been sent off at once to learn the real state of things." "Unhappily the news is true," Monsieur Duchesne said. "There have already been several fights, in some of which we have got the best of it, in others we have been driven back to the towns. It is impossible for the look-out to be darker than it is. It seems to us that our only hope is that England will consent to take over the sovereignty of the island, and send a force large enough to put down the insurrection. Some of the planters here have already lost heart, and have sailed for Jamaica, Bermuda, and other British ports. I have no intention of following their example at present. I am, as you know, a merchant as well as a planter, and although, of course, all trade is at an end now, it must spring up again in time. Fortunately, we feel confident that this town can resist any assault. The French man-of-war that came in after you sailed landed a dozen of her guns, and we have erected four batteries. There were, too, a good many old guns in the town, which have also been put into position; and as we have half a French regiment here, and fully five hundred whites who can be relied on, we have small fear of being overpowered. I am glad to say that before the man-of-war left, the great majority of the negroes were expelled from the town and their quarter burnt down, so that we have no fear of being attacked from within as well as from without. That was really our greatest danger, and has been hanging over us night and day ever since the beginning of the rising." "Are the mulattoes and negroes acting together?" "In some cases, but as a rule they keep apart. There is no love lost between them, and the only bond of union is hatred of us. The blacks, curiously enough, have declared against the republic, and call themselves the royalist army. They consider, and very naturally, that the republic, while giving rights to the mulattoes, has done nothing for them, and therefore, as the republic has declared against the king, they have declared for him. Do you think that the English government will accept our offer to transfer ourselves to British rule?" "I do not see that they could do so, sir. At present we are nominally at peace with France, although everyone sees that war must come before long, but until it is declared we could scarcely take over a French possession; nor do I think there are anything like troops enough in our islands to undertake such a serious operation as this would be. Your people could not give us much help. The negroes, though calling themselves royalists, are fighting only for liberty, and would gain nothing by a mere change of masters, knowing as they do that the slaves are certainly no better treated in our islands than in those of France." "That is what I thought," Monsieur Duchesne said. "Certainly nothing short of an army of thirty thousand strong could hope for success, and I doubt, indeed, whether in so large and mountainous an island even that number could do much. Of course fully half of it is Spanish, which complicates matters a great deal; but we may be sure that if the negroes of this end are successful, those under the Spaniards will very soon follow their example. If the worst comes to the worst, I shall of course leave the island. Whether I should settle in one of your islands or make England my residence I cannot say. Some of my countrymen have gone to America, but I should put that out of my mind. I think I should prefer England to remaining out here, for there might be similar risings in Jamaica and elsewhere; as to France, it is out of the question. "France has gone mad. I know that many of our good families have sought refuge in England, and we should at least find society congenial to us. Happily, we are in a condition to choose for ourselves; my ancestors have been wise men, and have long foreseen that what has actually occurred might possibly take place. Each in succession has impressed his views upon his son, and it has become almost a family tradition among us, and one upon which we have often been rallied. For with few exceptions all here seem to have regarded the state of things as being as unchangeable as Scripture says were the laws of the Medes and Persians. If this had been only a tradition, and had not been acted upon, it would not have benefited us now, but for six generations each of my ancestors has regarded it as a sacred duty to set aside nearly a tenth of his revenues as a provision when the troubles should come. This money has been chiefly invested in England and Holland, and the interest on the accumulations of all these years has been reinvested. I believe that, although I regard such investments as were made in France as lost, we shall, when we reckon up matters, find that our income will be fully as large as that which I have drawn from my property and trade here." "I am very glad to hear it, Monsieur Duchesne. I have indeed, while I have been away, thought very often of what would happen to you and your family if you were forced to finally abandon your estate and leave the island." "I have reason to be grateful indeed, Nat, to the forethought of those who have gone before me; it is strange that the same idea did not occur to others. One can see now that our people here have been living in a fool's paradise, totally oblivious of the fact that a volcano might at any moment open under their feet. Are you going to remain here?" "Oh, no! I am only making this a starting-place. My orders are to cruise along the southern coast, to render any assistance I can to the refugees, and if possible, to open communications with some of the chiefs of the insurgents and endeavour to find out what their plans are, and, should it be decided to accept the cession of the island when war with France breaks out, what the attitude of the blacks and mulattoes would be." "You will not be likely to pick up any refugees, for the whites are exterminated except in the towns; but should any of the smaller places be attacked you might render good service by receiving at least the women and children on board." That evening Monsieur Duchesne asked his brother-in-law, the doctor, and several other leading inhabitants, to his house, in order that Nat might gather their views. He found that these in the main agreed with those of his host, except that they were hopeful that France would, as soon as the news arrived, despatch an army of sufficient force to put down the insurrection. After the last of the guests had departed, Monsieur Duchesne shook his head. "France will ere long require every soldier to defend her own frontiers; the saturnalia of blood in which she is indulging will cause her to be regarded as the common enemy of Europe. I hear that already the emigrant nobles are pressing the various European courts to march armies into France to free the king and royal family from their imprisonment by the mob of Paris, and ere long there will assuredly be a coalition which France will need all her strength to resist. England is certain to join it; and even had France troops to spare, she would find a difficulty in sending them here. So you will not change your mind and stay with us for the night?" "It is already nearly eleven, and I ordered the gig to be alongside at that hour. I certainly should not like to sleep out of the ship, though I have no doubt that my two young officers would see that everything went on right." On reaching the schooner, Nat found that both Turnbull and Lippincott were still up. "It was such a lovely night that we have been smoking on deck until a few minutes ago; we were, of course, anxious to hear the news." At Nat's order the steward brought hot water and glasses; three tumblers of grog were filled, and they sat for a couple of hours discussing the strange situation in the island. CHAPTER XII A RESCUE The _Arrow_ was one morning lying at anchor in a small bay on the south coast, when one of the sailors called Nat's attention to a boy who had run down and was wildly waving his arms. Nat caught up his telescope. "It may be a white boy," he said. "Lower the gig! I will go myself in her. Quick! he may be pursued." It took but a very short time to cross the quarter of a mile of water. The lad rushed in up to his chin to meet them, and was quickly hauled into the boat. His hands and face had been blackened, but this had so worn off that he merely presented the appearance of a sooty-faced white boy. He burst into a fit of convulsive sobbing as he found himself among friends. Nat saw that it was useless to question him at the moment, so he told the men to row back at once to the schooner; then he half-carried him down to his own cabin, brought out a glass of wine, and gave it to him. "Drink that up, lad," he said, "then you can tell me something about yourself." The boy put the glass with shaking hands to his lips and drank it down. "That is right, lad; now tell me something about yourself. What is your name?" "I am a girl, monsieur; my name is Louise Pickard. We have been hiding in the forest for six weeks--my father and mother, my sister, and ten Frenchmen, who worked for us. We lived on fruit and what provisions the men could obtain by going down to the plantations at night. Two days ago the negroes found us; they killed one of the men at once, and the rest of us they took. My sister and I were dressed as boys. They were going to kill us one by one; they burnt one of the men to death yesterday, and tied us to trees round and made us look on. This morning they killed another; they cut off his arms at the elbows and his legs at the knees, and then cut him about with knives till he died. Then they shut us up together again. There was a little window, and my father pushed me through it. He had heard the negroes say that there was a vessel in the bay with white men in it. The hole was in the back of the house, and there were trees there, so that I managed to get off without being seen by the negroes. My father tried to get Valerie through the same window, but she was too big. She is two years older than I am, and I could not have squeezed through had not my father pushed me. He told me to come down to the shore and take refuge with you." "How many of these black scoundrels are there?" Nat asked. [Illustration: THE RESCUE OF LOUISE PICKARD.] "Two or three hundred. The negroes are going to attack you to-night--there are some fishermen's boats at a village a mile or two along the shore. Father told me to warn you. I did not like coming away, I would have liked to have died with the others; but it was so awful to look on at the tortures. If they would but have killed us at once, I would not have minded; but oh, monsieur, it was too terrible! Can you not do something for them?" And she again burst into tears. "I will see what can be done," Nat said, putting his hand kindly on her shoulder. "I am going up on deck now. This is my cabin," and he opened the door of his berth. "The steward will bring you some hot water, then you had better have a wash and get rid of that charcoal, for I suppose it is charcoal on your face. We can do nothing for you in the way of dress at present. But if you will take off your things and put them outside the door, I will get them washed at once, and you can lie down in my berth until they are dry. They won't take very long in this hot climate." The steward by his orders brought in a can of hot water. The girl retired with it to the cabin, and Nat went on deck and told Turnbull and Lippincott what he had heard from her. "It is awful," the latter said. "Can we do nothing, sir?" "That is the point, Mr. Lippincott. I feel that it is impossible for us to remain quiet while such devilry is being carried on among those woods. But you see the matter is rendered all the more difficult by the fact that we ourselves are going to be attacked to-night. Our crew is weak enough already. If three or four boat-loads full of blacks were to fall upon us, we could not spare a man; while if we were to land, we should need every man for the job, and even then should be terribly weak. Something has to be done, that is evident, and we have to hit upon a plan. Now, let us all set our wits to work." At this moment the black steward came up from the cabin with a bundle. "The boy am put dese things outside him door, sah. Wat am me to do wid dem?" "Bring them along to the galley, Sam. I must get your father to wash them. Pomp," he went on to the cook, "have you got plenty of hot water?" "Yes, sah; allus hab hot water." "Well, look here, I want you and Sam to set to work and wash these clothes at once. The boy I brought on board turns out to be a French girl, the daughter of a planter who is in the hands of the negroes up there. We must see to-morrow what we can do in the way of rigging her out properly, but for to-day we must manage with these things. Get them as white as you can, and then hang them up to dry. I want her on deck again as soon as possible to give us information as to where her friends are confined." "All right, sah, we soon gets dese clean." "And you may as well heat up a basin of that turtle-soup we had yesterday. I expect she has had little enough to eat of late." Then he went back to the quarter-deck. "It seems to me, sir," Turnbull said, "that if the girl would go ashore with us as a guide, we might succeed. After it gets dark, put me and one of the hands on shore, with a saw and a bottle of oil to make it work noiselessly. Then we could crawl up to this little window by which she got out, and cut away the wood--for no doubt it is a wooden hut--till the hole is large enough for all of them to get out." "That seems a good plan, Turnbull, certainly; the only drawback is that probably before it gets dark the negroes will have discovered that the boy, as they consider her, has escaped, and will keep a sharp look-out on the others. Then, too, although one or two might get out noiselessly and make their escape, the chances of ten people doing so would be much smaller, and if the attempt were detected you might only share their fate. If we had all the crew close at hand to cover their retreat it might be managed, great as would be the odds against us, but you see there is this boat attack to be guarded against. I don't think that I could allow you to run such a risk, Turnbull." "Still, something must be done, sir." "Yes, we are agreed as to that," Nat said, and going to the rail he stood there gazing at the shore for some minutes. "I have an idea," he said, suddenly turning round. "You see that point near the mouth of the bay, where the rock rises eight or ten feet straight out from the water's edge; there are trees behind it. It will be a dark night, and if we could get the schooner over there without their noticing it, as I think we could, we could probably lay her pretty close alongside, and when the boats came, the betting is that they would never find her. They would row about for a bit looking for us where we are anchored, and, not finding us, would come to the conclusion that we had got up sail and gone away after dark. In that way we could land our whole party." "I think that would do first-rate, sir." "Of course there is a certain amount of risk of their discovering her," Nat went on, "but we must chance that. We will send her topmasts down as soon as it is dark, so that they won't show against the sky-line, and boats might then row within twenty yards of her without noticing her, especially if we can get her in pretty close. It is just possible that we may be able to lay her right against the rock. The water is deep pretty close in, even opposite to us, for the girl was not more than four or five yards from the shore when she was up to her neck in water, and no doubt it is a good deal deeper than that, at the foot of those rocks. As soon as it is dark, Mr. Lippincott, you had better take the boat and sound along there. Of course you will muffle your oars. It would be a great thing if we could get alongside. In the first place, the nearer she gets in the less likely that she would be to be seen, and in the next place it would be very important, if we are hotly pursued, to be able to get on board without having to use boats." "Certainly," Turnbull agreed. "When we have got her in her place," Nat went on, "we will take a light anchor out fifty fathom or so, and put the hawser round the windlass, so that the instant we are on board, four men, told off beforehand, can run forward and set to work. Once we are three yards out we should be safe from boarding, however strong their force may be. We will have the guns on that side loaded with a double charge of grape before we land, and once out we will give them a dose they will remember for a long time. Now, we may as well tell the crew; they will be delighted at the prospect of a fight." The men were clustered together forward discussing whether anything was likely to take place, for the arrival of the boy, the fact that he had been taken down to the cabin aft and had not reappeared, and the evident anxiety of their officers, sufficed to show them that something unusual was on hand. When they came aft Nat said, "My men, we are about to undertake an enterprise that will, I am sure, be after your own heart. The apparent boy we brought on board is a young French lady. Her parents, sister, and seven white men are in the hands of the negroes, who each day murder one with horrible torture. Now we are going to rescue them." A cheer broke from the men. "The job will be a pretty tough one, men, but you won't like it any the worse for that. There are, I hear, two or three hundred of those murderous brutes up there. Of course, if we can get the prisoners out without a fight we shall do so, but I hardly think we shall be able to manage that. The matter is somewhat complicated by the fact that I hear that a boat attack is going to be made upon us to-night. Now, we are certainly not strong enough to carry off this party and at the same time to leave enough men on board to defend the schooner. After it is dark, therefore, I intend to take her across to that rock over there, moor her as close to it as I can, and strike the topmasts. In that way we may hope that on a moonless night, as this will be, the boats will not find her, but will suppose that we have sailed away. However, of that we must run the risk. I shall take every man with me. Of course, we shall batten the hatches down, and fasten them so that if they do find her it will give them as much trouble as possible, and we may possibly catch them at work as we return. "You will, of course, take muskets and a brace of pistols each, and your cutlasses. I have no doubt that we are being watched from the shore, therefore go about your work as usual. Do not gather together talking, or give them any cause to suppose that we are intending to do anything. It is not likely that the escape of the girl has yet been discovered, for if they were watching among the trees up there they would hardly have noticed that the boat took an extra person from the shore. Grease the falls of the gig, so that she can be lowered noiselessly, and muffle the oars. As soon as it is quite dark Mr. Lippincott will take soundings, in order to see how close into the rock it will be safe to take her." With another low but hearty cheer, expressing the satisfaction they felt at the prospect of a fight with the negroes, the crew went forward again. One of them set to work to grease the falls not only of the gig but of the other boats, in case these should also be required, two others cut up some old guernseys and lashed them round the gig's oars at the point where they would touch the thole-pins, others resumed their occupation of polishing the brass-work, while the rest sat down under the shelter of the bulwark and talked over the adventure on which they were about to engage. In an hour the girl's clothes were washed and dried. One of the crew who had served as an assistant sail-maker had at once, under Nat's instructions, set to work to sew half a dozen flags together, and with these he had constructed a garment which, if primitive in design, was at least somewhat feminine in appearance. Round the top was a deep hem through which was run a thin cord. By the aid of this it could be drawn together and gathered in at the neck. Six inches from the top, two of the seams between the flags were left open, these were for the arm-holes. This primitive pinafore was to be drawn in at the waist by a belt. The man had chosen from among the signal flags those whose colours went best together, and though the result was extremely motley, it was yet a very fair substitute for a dress. The three officers could not help laughing as he brought it aft to show them. "That is very well contrived, Jenkins," Nat said. "I have no doubt the young lady will greatly prefer it to going about dressed as a boy." As the clothes were by this time dry, Nat told Sam to take them below with the new garment, to lay them down outside his state-room door, and then to knock and tell the young lady that they were there in readiness for her, and that as soon as she was dressed lunch would be ready. When he had done this he was to come up on deck again. A quarter of an hour later Nat himself went down. The clothes had disappeared, and the girl, who was about thirteen years of age, came out. She had, with the exception of the coat, donned her former garments, and over these had put the flag pinafore. Her arms were covered by those of the light flannel shirt, and the dress hung straight down all round. "It is a queer-looking thing," he said with a smile, "but it is the best we can manage in the emergency. Here is a belt, if you strap that round your waist it will make the thing look more comfortable." The girl smiled wanly. Now that her face and hands were clean, Nat saw that she was a pretty little thing, and would have been prettier had not her hair been cut quite short. "We are going this evening," Nat went on, "to try to rescue your parents and sister from those black fiends." She clasped her hands before her. "Oh, sir, that is good of you!" "Not at all. You don't suppose that we are going to remain here quietly, knowing that close by there are white people in the hands of those scoundrels. We shall want you to act as our guide. We are going to take a saw with us and cut away the wood round that hole you escaped by, and hope to get your friends out without the negroes seeing us. If they do, so much the worse for them. Now, will you sit down while the steward lays the cloth for lunch?--it will be ready in two or three minutes; then I will bring the other two officers down to introduce them to you." He raised his voice: "Sam! luncheon as soon as possible." The young negro was expecting the order, and ran in at once with a table-cloth and a plate-basket, and in two or three minutes the table was laid; then he went out and returned with the plates. "Eberyting ready, sah; me bring down de soup when you gib de word." "Give my compliments to Mr. Turnbull and Mr. Lippincott, and ask them to come down to lunch." The girl looked anxious and shy as she heard the footsteps coming down the companion, but an expression of relief came over her face as she saw that they were even younger than the officer she had already seen. "These are my officers, mademoiselle--Mr. Turnbull and Mr. Lippincott. Their French is not of the best, but you must make allowance for them." The girl smiled and held out her hand to the two middies. The news that her parents and sister might yet be rescued had already greatly raised her spirits. "I do look funny, do I not?" she said. "I am sure you look very nice," Turnbull replied. "It is quite a novelty for us to have a lady on board." "And are you both going to help bring my friends down?" "Yes, we are all going. We will get them down, and I hope we shall have a chance of punishing some of the murderous niggers." "You mean you hope that there will be a fight?" she asked in a tone of surprise, as she took her seat on Nat's right hand. "That I do," Turnbull said heartily. "There is not a man on board who would not be sorry if we were to get down again without an opportunity of having a slap at the beggars." "Mr. Turnbull is a very bloodthirsty character," Nat said gravely. "I don't know whether you have in French a history of Jack the Giant Killer?" "I never saw such a book," she said, looking a little puzzled. "Did he really kill giants?" "Yes, Jack did; he was wonderful that way. Mr. Turnbull has never been able to find any giants, but he means to take it out of the blacks." "I am sorry to say, mademoiselle," Turnbull said, "that although when on the quarter-deck our captain's word may be received as gospel, he permits himself a very wide latitude of speech in his own cabin. The fact is, that whatever my disposition may be, I have never yet had any opportunity for performing any very desperate actions, whereas Lieutenant Glover has been killing his enemies by scores, fighting with wild beasts, attacking pirates in their holds, has been blown up into the air, and rescued ladies from slaughter by the negroes." The French girl turned her eyes wonderingly towards Nat. "You need not believe more than you like, mademoiselle," he said with a laugh. "I am afraid that we are all given to exaggerate very much, but Mr. Turnbull is the champion fabricator." "But is it quite true that you are going to try to get my father and mother and sister away from the negroes?" "That is quite true," Nat said earnestly. "We are certainly going to try to get them, and I think that we have a good chance of doing so. Much will depend, of course, upon whether we can reach the hut where they are confined before being discovered. You see, we have only twenty-five men, or, counting us all, including the quarter-master, steward, and cook, thirty-one. It is a small force, and though we might bring all the prisoners off in safety if we once got them into our hands, it would be a serious thing if the negroes had time to rally round the hut before we got there. How does it stand, is it surrounded by trees?" "No, it is at the edge of the forest. There is a large indigo field in front, and it is there most of the negroes are. There may be some in the forest, but I did not see any as I came down here." "That is good. How many do you say there are?" "Seven men, without counting my father." "We will tell eight of the sailors to carry up boarding-pikes, Turnbull. Unfortunately we have no spare firearms. However, boarding-pikes are not bad weapons, and as no doubt only a small portion of the negroes have guns, it will add a good deal to our strength if it comes to a hand-to-hand fight." "That it will," Turnbull agreed. "That will bring us up to thirty-nine, and thirty-nine whites ought to be able to fight their way easily enough through this black mob, especially as we shall take them by surprise, and they won't know how many of us there are." As soon as it became dark, Lippincott went off in the gig, and returned in half an hour with the news that there were six feet of water at the foot of the rock, and twelve feet ten yards away. "I think, sir," he said, "that we could get her in within three or four yards of the rock." "That would do excellently," Nat said. "The carpenter had better set to work at once and nail three planks--we have got some down below fifteen feet long--side by side. Let two of the hands help him. Tell him, if he does not think that it will be stiff enough, to nail one of the spare oars on each plank." He had learned from the girl that many of the negroes sat up by their fires nearly all night, and that therefore there was no advantage in delaying the landing, and he was anxious to move the schooner as soon as possible, as the boats might appear at any time. Everything was in readiness--the arms had been brought on deck, the muskets and pistols loaded, and as soon as the gangway was knocked together, which did not take many minutes, Lippincott went off in the gig with a long hawser. As soon as he returned and reported that he had fastened it to a tree above the rock, the crew tailed on, and the schooner was noiselessly towed to her place. Another hawser was taken on shore, and she was hauled broadside on until she lay, with only a few inches of water under her keel, within ten feet of the line of rock. The hatchways had all been securely fastened down, and an old chain was taken round the trunk of a large tree, and its ends shackled round the mainmast. This could be loosed almost instantaneously by the crew when they returned, but would much increase the difficulty that the negroes would encounter in getting the vessel away if they discovered her. The edge of the rock was but some three feet higher than the rail, and there was therefore no difficulty in ascending the gangway. When all had crossed, this was pulled up and pushed in among the bushes. They followed the shore till they reached the spot at which the girl had come down, as she would more easily find her way from there than from the place where they had landed. Telling the others to follow in single file, Nat took his place with the girl, at their head. "How far is it?" he said to her in low tones. "It is just at the top of the hill. We shall be there in less than a quarter of an hour." The sailors had been warned to walk with the greatest caution, and especially to avoid striking any of their weapons against the trees. They went slowly, for it was very dark in the forest. Beyond the fact that she had come straight down the hill when she escaped, she could give no information about the way. "I did not look," she said; "I ran straight down. But I am sure that if we go as straight as we can up from the water, we shall come upon the plantation, and then I shall be able to tell you exactly where the hut is." Keeping therefore upward, they went on until they reached level ground, and saw by the faint light ahead that they were nearing the edge of the forest. They stepped even more cautiously then until they arrived at the open ground. A dozen great fires blazed in various places in front of them, and they could hear the laughing and talking of the negroes. "It is more to the right," the girl said. "It is nearly in the corner of the field where you see that fire; that is close to the hut. They always keep a big fire there, and the leaders sleep round it. There are always two negroes on guard in front of the hut." "I expect they have got one behind now. Of course they have found out by this time that you have escaped, and they must have known that it could only have been by that window." Keeping well inside the line of trees, they crept along to the corner of the clearing. The two negroes had been instructed in the part they were to play, and as soon as they got well round behind the house the others halted, and knife in hand they crept through the trees, and then upon their hands and knees crawled forward. The others listened intently. The gabble of voices continued on the other side of the hut, and when a louder yell of laughter than usual broke out they saw a figure appear at one corner and look round, as if anxious to hear what was going on. Suddenly two arms appeared from the darkness behind him. He was grasped by the throat and disappeared suddenly from sight. Two minutes later Sam came through the trees. "Dat chile no gib de alarm, sah. Can go on now and cut him window." The carpenter and the man told off to assist him at once ran forward, accompanied by the girl and Nat, who went straight to the little window. He had told her that she must not speak, for her mother or sister might utter a sudden exclamation which would alarm the sentries on the other side. Putting his face to the window, he said in a low voice, "I pray you be silent, the slightest sound might cost you your lives. We are here to rescue you; your daughter is safe and sound with us. Now we are going to enlarge the window." Low exclamations of delight told him that he was heard. The carpenter at once set to work, the man with him oiling his saw very frequently; nevertheless it seemed to Nat to make even more noise than usual. Suddenly, however, one of the prisoners began to utter a prayer in a loud voice. "That is papa," the girl whispered; "he used to say prayers every night." "It was a very good idea to begin now," Nat said. "What with the row by the fires, and his voice inside, the guard are not likely to hear the saw." In ten minutes the window had been enlarged to a point sufficient for a full-sized person to get through. "Now, madam, will you come first," Nat said. "We will pull you through all right." One by one the captives were got out. There were still two men left when the door opened, and three or four negroes appeared with blazing brands. "We have come to fetch one of you out to give us a lillie fun. Bake 'im some ober de fire." Then he broke off with a shout of astonishment as he saw that the hut was almost untenanted, and he and the others were about to rush forward at the two men still there when Nat thrust his arm through the opening. Two shots cracked out, one after the other. The two leading negroes fell, and the others with a yell of terror rushed out of the hut. "Quick, for your lives!" he said to the two men, one of whom was already half through the window. "We shall have them all on us in a few minutes." In a few seconds the men were out, and Nat and the two seamen ran with them to the edge of the wood, to which the other captives had been passed on as soon as they were freed. By this time the air was ringing with yells and shouts. "Now, men, move along a little farther so as to get a view of the fire, and then we will give them a volley." The negroes were rushing forward, yelling and shouting, when twenty-five muskets rang out with deadly aim, for the blacks were not more than thirty yards away. "Load again, lads! that will sicken them for a bit," he shouted; and indeed the negroes with yells of astonishment and fear had run back, leaving some fourteen or fifteen of their number on the ground. "Are you all loaded?" "Ay, ay, sir." "Then down the hill you go. Have the three ladies gone on?" "Yes, sir; the two blacks went down with them." "Have the Frenchmen got their pikes? That is good; now keep as close as you can together. They are coming up by scores, and will make a rush in a minute or so." As fast as they could the sailors and the rescued men made their way down the hill, but owing to the thickness of the trees it was impossible to run. They had gone but a short distance when there was an outburst of yells round them, and, looking back, Nat saw a number of blazing brands. "You had better have kept in the dark," he muttered. "You would not have come so fast, but more of you would go back alive. Don't hurry, men," he said; "take it coolly. Take care of the trees. They are sure to come up to us, for they can see their way; but they won't be in such a hurry when we open fire again." They were half-way down the hill when he gave the order: "You four men next to me turn round and pick off some of those fellows with torches. The rest halt in case they make a rush." The four shots were fired one after the other. As many negroes fell. "Are you ready, lads? Four more fire!" The shots had an equal success. Many of the negroes at once took refuge behind trees. "That will do, men; on you go again! Don't make more noise than you can help. With all that yelling they won't be sure that we have moved." [Illustration: "FOUR SHOTS WERE FIRED AND AS MANY NEGROES FELL."] It was not, indeed, until they were down on the shore that the negroes again came up with them. Then they burst out at several points from the trees, being uncertain of the exact course the retreating party had taken. "Now, keep together in a body, men!" Nat shouted in English, and repeated the same order in French. "March steadily forward. We have got to fight our way through them." Now that the negroes saw how comparatively small was the number of their foes, they rushed upon them. "Don't throw away a shot!" Nat shouted. "Now, let them have it!" The men who had already fired had loaded again, and as the negroes came up, a crackling fire broke out from the little party. "Now, lads, at them with pistol, cutlass, and pike! We must get through these fellows ahead before others come up." With a loud cheer the sailors rushed upon the blacks, cutting and thrusting, the men who had been released fighting with desperate fury with their pikes, mad with the thirst for revenge for the horrible atrocities that they witnessed and the thought of the fate they had escaped. Pistols cracked out continually, and it was not long before the negroes lost heart; and the sailors, at Nat's order, flung themselves upon them and cut a way through. "Straight on now, men! Show them that you can run as well as fight. We shall have a hundred more of them down on us directly." There was no doubt of this; the yells that rose from the forest and the light of many brands showed that the whole of the negroes were hastening to join their comrades. Nat had previously begged the two officers and the quarter-master not to use their pistols, and he, with them, ran in the rear line. A few only of the negroes pressed closely behind them; the rest, dismayed by the slaughter that had taken place, awaited the arrival of their comrades. "Now, turn and let them have both barrels!" Nat said; and the four men, facing round, levelled their pistols, and six of the leading negroes fell, while the others halted at once. "Keep your other pistols," Nat said; "we shall want them at the gangway." There was a shout of satisfaction as the men in advance caught sight of the schooner. The two negroes had already placed the gangway in position, and had crossed it with the three ladies and Monsieur Pickard, who had accompanied them. "Over you go, men!" Nat shouted; "they are close behind us." Most of the men were across when a crowd of blacks came rushing along. Sam and Pomp had taken their station at the taffrail, and as the head of the mob came on their muskets flashed out, and the two leading men fell. Then they opened fire with their pistols, and at the same moment Nat and his three companions discharged their remaining pistols and then ran down the gangway, the sailors having by this time all passed over. The planks were at once pulled on board. "Now, unshackle the chain and round with the capstan!" Nat shouted. "The rest of you lie down behind the bulwarks." A moment later the chain was unshackled, and as the capstan rapidly revolved, the schooner's head receded from the shore. Yells of rage broke from the negroes, and a scattered fire of musketry was opened. "Now, Turnbull, do you and Lippincott each go to a gun, and when we are far enough off for them to bear on those rascals let them have it." A minute later the bow-gun was fired. It was too near for the shot to spread properly, but it cut a lane through the crowd, and half a minute later the second gun crashed out. By this time the sailors had all loaded their muskets again. "Now for a volley!" Nat shouted; "that will finish them; or I am mistaken." It was indeed decisive, and with yells of rage and pain the negroes darted into the forest behind them. As fast as the guns could be loaded, round after round of grape was fired among the trees. By this time the schooner was close to the kedge; this was hauled up and sail set, but the breeze was so light that the vessel scarcely moved through the water. The guns were again loaded with grape, and a keen watch was kept, as it was possible that the boats might not yet have arrived, having delayed putting off until it was thought that all on board would be asleep. In the meantime the wounds were examined. None of these was serious. Only a small proportion of the negroes were armed with muskets, and these being among the crowd had for the most part been unable to fire; consequently only one man had been hit in the arm by a ball, while six or eight had received gashes more or less deep from the knives and other weapons of the negroes. "Even if the boats have not been here," Nat said to Lippincott, "I don't think we shall have any trouble with them; they will have heard our guns, and, I dare say, the musketry firing, and will know that, now we are awake and on our guard, we should probably sink them before they reached us." Half an hour passed, and then, as they got beyond the shelter of the island, they caught a little breeze, and the schooner began to slip through the water. Nat called the men from the guns. "I don't think that we shall have any more fighting to-night," he said. "You have all done very well. We have certainly killed three times our own number, and we have successfully carried out the main object of our adventure. I have ordered the steward to serve out a good ration of rum all round, but I should advise you who have got wounds to keep your share for a few days." "It won't hurt us, sir," one old sailor said, and three or four other voices were raised in assent. "I did not suppose that my advice would be taken," Nat said with a laugh to Turnbull, "still, it was as well to give it; and I don't suppose that an extra allowance of grog will go far towards heating their blood." "Not it," the middy replied; "rum is cheap out here, and I don't suppose that half a bottle would be considered by them as an excessive drink. How are you going to stow our passengers away? Of course we will give up our cabins to the ladies." "I think the best plan will be for us to turn out altogether, Turnbull; there will be our three state-rooms for the ladies, and the father can sleep on the sofa of the main cabin. We will have a screen put up forward of the steward's cabin, and have cots slung for ourselves there. Of course we will take our meals with them aft. I don't think there are any spare hammocks, and the eight white men must make a shift to sleep on some old sails--it won't be for many days. Well, Sam, what is it?" "Supper am ready, sah." Leaving the quarter-master to take charge of the watch, they went below. They had not expected to see the ladies up, but they were all there. "Monsieur Pickard, I must introduce myself and my officers." "It needs no introductions, sir," the Frenchman, a tall, thin man some fifty years of age, said in a broken voice; "my daughter Louise has told me your names, and how good you have been to her. Ah, monsieur, no words can express our obligations to you all! It was not death we feared, but such a death. Even now we can scarce believe that this is all true, and that we have escaped from those fiends. In the name of my wife and my daughters and myself, I thank you with all my heart for what you have done for us. Little, indeed, did we think, when we helped Louise through that narrow window in order that she might warn you that you were going to be attacked, and with the hope that she might escape from the awful fate that awaited us there, that it would be the means of saving us all. We heard the negroes saying that the schooner was flying the British flag, but we had no idea that she was a vessel of war, thinking it was a small trader they were about to attack. But even had we known it, it would not have raised any hopes in our minds, for we should not have thought that, with so small a force as such a vessel could carry, her commander would think of attacking so great a number of men as, Louise would have told you, had us in their power." "We are only too glad to have an opportunity of being of service to you and your family, Monsieur Pickard. Indeed, had there been only these two officers and myself on board, I am sure that we should have made an attempt to release you; and should, I have no doubt, have succeeded in doing so without being discovered, as would have been the case to-night, had not they taken it into their heads to come into the hut just at that moment. And now, monsieur, for the sleeping arrangements. My cabin is at the service of madame, those of Mr. Turnbull and Mr. Lippincott, of the young ladies. We shall have cots slung for ourselves elsewhere; that sofa must serve for you, Monsieur Pickard. To-morrow, madame, we will place at your disposal whatever there is on board the ship for fabricating dresses for your daughters that will be less striking than that now worn by Mademoiselle Louise. We have a roll of white duck, from which, I have no doubt, they will be able to contrive a couple of white dresses." For the eldest girl, as well as Louise, was in boy's clothes, as the Pickards had fortunately had warning before the outbreak took place on their plantation, one of the men with them having overheard what was said at a meeting of the negroes, and in consequence they, the overseers, two white superintendents of the indigo works, a carpenter and mechanic, had during the night taken to the woods, Madame Pickard dressing her daughters in some clothes that they had in store, and which were cut down to fit them. "And now, ladies," Nat went on, "I know that you will above all things be longing for bed, but I hope that you will each take a basin of soup and a glass of wine before you turn in, you must need them sorely. The steward will get your cabins ready for you. I am sure that Mademoiselle Louise will set you a good example; she recovered her appetite as soon as she learned that we intended to get you out." CHAPTER XIII TWO CAPTURES The meal was a very short one, but the ladies, to please their rescuers, took a few spoonfuls of soup and a glass of wine. Madame Pickard and her elder daughter were too much worn out by anxiety and emotion to talk, Monsieur Pickard was no less moved, and the conversation was supported entirely by the three officers and Louise. The young men hurried through their meal, and then, saying good-night to the others, went up on deck. "Well, never did a thing turn out better," Nat said as he lit his pipe; "it is a tremendous satisfaction that we have not lost a single man in the affair." "And it is no less a satisfaction," Turnbull said, "that we have given a good many of those black brutes their deserts. It was a good fight for a bit." As they were smoking, the seven white men came up in a body. "We could not lie down, monsieur," one of them said, "till we had come to thank you for saving us from the most frightful deaths. We had given up all hopes even of obtaining a weapon and putting an end to ourselves, which we should certainly have done could we have got hold of a knife, after having been obliged to witness the tortures of two of our comrades. Had you been but ten minutes later another of us would have been their victim. Ah, monsieur! your voice, when you spoke at the window, seemed like that of an angel who had come to our relief." "How long had you been in the woods?" Nat asked. "Six weeks, monsieur, before the negroes found us. We had carried off some provisions with us, but these were all consumed, and we were obliged to go down to the plantation to search for food. We suppose that we were seen and followed, and the next night we were surrounded by the band you saw." "Well, we are all very glad to have got you out of their hands, and you rendered good service when the blacks came down on us." "We had our revenge to take," the man said, "and not one of us but would have fought until he was killed." "You have had something to eat, I hope?" "Yes, thank you, sir." "You had better turn in now. I don't suppose you have had much sleep of late." "Poor beggars," Turnbull said as the men walked away, "I wonder myself that they did not strangle each other, or hang themselves, or something. I am sure I should have done so rather than wait day after day till my turn came to be burnt alive, or to be cut to pieces gradually, or put to death by any other means of slow torture." "Yes, Turnbull, if one were quite sure that there was no possible hope of rescue or escape; but I suppose a man never does quite give up hope. This was an example, you see, of the unlikely happening." "What are you going to do next, Glover?" "I don't know, I have hardly thought it out yet. You see, we can manage with this lot we have on board without much difficulty, and I don't know that I should be justified in going round to Cape François on purpose to land them. So far we have not been able to bring any news of value, and at any rate I think we might as well cruise about here a little longer. There is one thing, if we should fall in with anyone bigger than ourselves and have to fight for it, those fellows who have just gone below will be a valuable addition to our strength. When it comes to a hand-to-hand fight seven stout fellows might turn the scale." "Yes, there is something in that, and I am glad you mean to keep them on board for a bit. I think the girls will be very good fun when they have a little got over what they have gone through. The young one is a jolly little thing, and her sister is very pretty, in spite of her short hair and boy's dress, though one had not much opportunity of forming an idea as to whether she had any fun in her." "I fancy it will be some time before she will feel inclined for a flirtation, Turnbull," Nat laughed. "What she has gone through, and what she has seen in the way of horrors, is enough to damp a girl's spirits for a very long time." In the morning the ladies did not appear at breakfast. "My wife is completely prostrated," Monsieur Pickard said, "and the two girls are shy and do not like showing themselves until they have made up a couple of dresses. Your steward gave them the roll of white cotton early this morning and needles and thread, and both are very hard at work. I hope you will excuse them, they will come out and have breakfast here after we have done. May I ask where we are sailing now?" "We are sailing east, monsieur. I hope that it will not inconvenience you to be a few days on board. My orders are to cruise up and down the coast, and I wish therefore to go east as far as the boundary between the French and Spanish portions of the island; after that I can go round into the bay of Hayti and land you at Port-au-Prince or Cape François, whichever you would prefer." "It will make no difference whatever to us, and indeed I am sure that a cruise on your beautiful little ship will be the very best thing for my wife and daughters. They will have perfect rest and sea air, and it will not be necessary for them to tell over and over again the stories of their sufferings; but I lament that we should be putting you to such personal inconvenience." "I can assure you, monsieur, that you are putting us to no inconvenience whatever. We sleep just as well in our cots as in our berths, and the society of the ladies and yourself will be a very great pleasure to us, for as a rule we have very small opportunity in that way." "You speak our language very fluently, Monsieur Glover." "I am afraid that I speak it more fluently than grammatically. I had the opportunity of picking it up by ear last year, when I was staying for six weeks at the house of Monsieur Duchesne at Cape François." "We know him well, and his charming wife and daughter," Monsieur Pickard said, "for we have a house there, and generally go there for three months every winter. Can it be that you are the officer who saved their daughter's life, when she was attacked by a fierce hound?" "Yes, I had that good fortune." "I fear that they have fallen in this terrible insurrection. We have had no direct news from Cape François, but we heard that in their district all the plantations have been destroyed and the owners murdered." "I am happy to be able to tell you that they were saved. I was staying there at the time when the revolt broke out We were warned just in time by an old nurse, Dinah." "I remember her," Monsieur Pickard broke in, "a tall old woman." "Yes, Monsieur Duchesne himself was in town, and madame, Myra, and I had just time to gain the forest. There we were joined by Dinah, who did everything for us. Madame was attacked by fever, but fortunately Dinah knew of a very safe place of refuge. She did everything for us, fetched up provisions, concocted medicine, and after being ten days in hiding, we were able to get them down to the town." Both the midshipmen had a fair knowledge of French, though they were not able to speak it with Nat's ease and fluency. When the latter had finished, Turnbull broke in: "Mr. Glover does not tell you, monsieur, that the cave they were in was attacked by six negroes, led by two mulattoes, and he shot them all, nor that he and the nurse carried Madame Duchesne down in a litter some twenty miles to the town, although he had one of his ribs broken by a pistol shot." "What is the use of talking about that?" Nat said angrily. "The thing was done and there was an end of it. There has been a lot too much said about it as it is." Monsieur Pickard smiled. "Monsieur Glover is like my daughters at present, he is shy. He should not be so. It is right that we, his friends,--for we are his friends, now and for the rest of our lives,--should know what he is. Ah, my wife and the girls will be pleased indeed to hear that their friends have escaped! They have often said how sorry they were that they had not seen the young officer who rescued their friend Myra from the dog. It is strange indeed that he should afterwards have saved her and her mother from the negroes, and should now have so rescued us." That evening the girls appeared on deck in snowy-white dresses, simply made, but fitting admirably. "We have always been accustomed to cut out our own dresses," Valerie said, laughing, when Nat complimented her on the work. "The slaves did the sewing, but we fitted each other. Of course at Cape François we had our dresses made for us, but on the plantation we were obliged to trust to ourselves." One morning, three days later, as they were at breakfast, Nat stopped as he was raising a cup to his lips. "That is a gun!" he exclaimed. "There is another!" and with the two middies he ran up on deck. "There is a fight going on somewhere," he said as the sound of firing was again heard. "It must be six or seven miles away, somewhere beyond that headland. At any rate we will hold on and have a look at them. With this light wind it will take us from an hour and a half to two hours before we are up with them, so we may as well finish our breakfast in comfort." "What is it, Monsieur Glover! Are those noises really the sound of guns?" "There is no doubt about it. There is a fight going on seven or eight miles away. We should hear the sound more plainly were it not that there is a headland between us and the vessels engaged." "Who can they be?" Madame Pickard said. "A pirate and a merchantman, no doubt. None of the European nations are at war, but the seas swarm with piratical craft of one kind or another. The small ones content themselves with plundering native coasting vessels, the larger ones attack ships from or to Europe. The _Orpheus_, to which I belonged at that time, last year rooted out one of their worst nests. They had no fewer than four ships. We were lucky enough to catch one of them, and learned where the rendezvous was, and fortunately found the other three at home, and destroyed them and their storehouses." "Are you going on in that direction now?" Valerie asked. "Yes, we are going to have a look at them. If the trader is making a good fight of it, our arrival may turn the scale; if we arrive too late and find the enemy too big for us, we can run away; in a light wind like this there are very few vessels that could catch us. It is probable that we should not interfere were it not for the possibility that we may be in time to save some of the passengers and crew of the merchantman. She must be a vessel of some size, judging from the sound of her guns. Even if she has surrendered before we get there, and we find that we are in any way a match for the pirate, we might, after defeating her, save at least some of the captives. As a rule, these scoundrels, when all opposition has ceased, confine the prisoners in the hold, and after emptying the prize of everything valuable, scuttle her, and of course drown all on board. In that way all traces of their crime are lost, whereas if they killed them some of the bodies might float inshore, or if they burnt the ship the smoke might bring down any cruiser that happened to be in the neighborhood. "I am sorry that you are on board, ladies." "Oh, do not think of us!" Madame Pickard exclaimed. "After the wonderful deliverance that we have had, I am sure that none of us would mind any risk if there is a chance of saving others in as dire peril as we were." The two girls and Monsieur Pickard warmly agreed. "Please put us altogether out of consideration," the latter said. "Even if we knew that it was probable we should all lose our lives we should not hesitate. We are not, I hope, any of us, afraid of death. It was the kind of death that we were terrified at." "I thank you all," Nat said gravely. "I shall not fight unless I think that there is at any rate a fair chance of victory." On going on deck when breakfast was finished, Nat ordered the magazine to be opened and ammunition brought up. The wind had freshened a little, and the schooner was going faster through the water; and in three quarters of an hour after hearing the first gun they neared the promontory. "I am afraid it is all over," Nat said to the ladies, who had also come on deck; "there has not been a gun fired for the past two or three minutes. However, we shall soon see." On rounding the point they saw two vessels lying side by side, a mile and a half distant, and about a mile from shore. One was a barque, evidently a large merchantman; the other a brigantine. There was no question that the latter was a pirate, and the other her prize. The sailors, after a glance at them, turned their eyes anxiously towards Nat for orders. The latter stood quietly examining the ships through his glass. "She mounts five guns a side, and I should say that they are about the same weight as our own," he said to Turnbull; "and from the men swarming on her deck and that of her prize she must have nearly, if not quite, three times our strength, even counting the Frenchmen in." "She is too big to fight squarely, sir," Turnbull reluctantly agreed. "I am afraid she is altogether too tough a customer for us; and yet one hates the thought of leaving them to complete their devil's work on their prize." "Yes, we can't think of doing that, Mr. Turnbull. The first thing to do will be to draw them off from her." "But they would be sure to leave some of their men in possession of her." "Well, if they do, there will be so many the fewer for us to fight. We are within a mile now, I should say?" "Yes, sir." "Then train the two forward guns on them, and let them see that we mean fighting." A cheer broke from the sailors clustered round the guns as Turnbull gave the order. "Now, ladies," Nat said, "you can stop to see the effect of our first shot, and then I must ask you to go down on to the lower deck. Sam will show you the way and take some cushions down for you; you will be out of danger there." As he spoke, the two guns which were already loaded were fired, and the men gave a cheer as two white patches appeared on the side of the brigantine. "Please hurry down, ladies," Nat said, checking the entreaty which he saw they were going to make. "It won't be long before they answer us." "Give them another round, lads!" he said, as they reluctantly obeyed his orders. "Get them in if you can before he is ready." Busy as they were, the pirates had not observed the schooner until her guns were fired. With shouts of alarm they ran back to their own ship, but these were succeeded by exclamations of anger and surprise when they saw how small was the craft that had thus intruded into the affair. By the captain's orders twenty of the crew, under his first mate, returned to the deck of the prize; a portion of the men ran to the guns, others threw off the grapnels fastening them to the prize. Before they were ready to fire, two more shots from the schooner crashed into the brigantine, one passing through the bulwarks, killing three men and wounding several others with the splinters. The other struck her within a few inches of the water-line. The schooner at once bore up, discharging the guns on the starboard side as she came round, and laying her course as close to the wind as she could be jammed, showed her stern to the pirate. Two of his guns forward were fired, others could not be brought to bear. The Arrow was now almost retracing her course, for the wind was west-nor'-west, and she could just follow the line of coast. "Here they come after us!" Turnbull said, rubbing his hands, "as savage as bees whose hive has been disturbed." "Now, Mr. Turnbull, get the two guns right aft, so as to fire over the taffrail. We must see if we cannot knock some of her spars away. As soon as you have moved the guns let all hands, except those serving them, go forward and lie down there. The weight of the guns will put her rather by the stern, and I don't want to let that fellow come any nearer to us. She is in her best trim now." As soon as the guns were ready they opened fire. The brigantine answered with her bow-chaser, but, as she was obliged to yaw each time she brought it to bear, she presently ceased firing. "We are gaining on her, sir," Lippincott said, as he watched the pirate through his glass. "Yes, and sailing fully a point nearer to the wind than she does. Get a stay-sail fastened to a rope, and drop it over close to the bow. I don't want to run away from her. If she found that we were too fast for her she would give up the chase, and go back to the prize. I want her to gain just enough to encourage her to keep on. She is a fast craft, but we are faster. We shall be able to manage her, providing she does not knock away any of our spars." The start the schooner had made had at first widened the distance between them, and there was now a mile and a quarter of water separating them. The brigantine was hulled several times and her sails pierced, but her spars were still intact. She was permitted to gain until she was little more than half a mile astern, but the schooner had weathered on her, and was now nearly half a mile to windward. "If we had an open sea on this side instead of the land," Turnbull said, "and were to cut away that sail, they would not see us again." "No; they must have come to the same conclusion. As it is, they no doubt think that our clawing out to windward is of no advantage to us. Now, get another gun over to the larboard side. It is lucky that there is a spare port there. We must make an effort to knock one of his spars out, or he may cripple us." For by this time the brigantine had again opened fire. "Let the three best shots we have got lay the guns on her mainmast. Tell them to train them rather high, so that if they miss the mark they may cut one of the halyards, which will give us all the start we want." The guns were run into their position on the broadside. "Don't hurry over it," Nat said; "let each fire as his gun comes to bear." There was a crash and a cry as he spoke; a ball had gone through the Arrow from side to side, tearing jagged holes through her bulwarks, one of the sailors being struck to the deck by a splinter. No one spoke, every eye being fixed on the guns. These were fired almost together. There was a pause for a second or two, and then a burst of cheering as the gaff of the great mainsail of the brigantine was seen to collapse. "It is hit close to the jaws," Turnbull, whose glass was levelled on the pirates, exclaimed. "Cut away that sail in the water!" Nat shouted. "Up with your helm, men, and bring her round. That is right," he went on as the schooner came up into the wind and payed off on the other tack. "Now, slack away her sheets!" Three guns were vengefully fired by the pirate, but the sudden change in the schooner's position disconcerted their aim, and the shot flew wide. Without waiting for orders, the seamen at two of the guns ran them over to the starboard side, and, all working at the highest pressure, poured shot after shot into the brigantine, which answered but slowly, as numbers of the men had run aloft to get the sail down to repair damages. Before she was under way again the schooner had left her a mile behind. She was now on her best point of sailing, while the brigantine was to some extent crippled by the mainsail setting badly, and by the time the headland was again passed the schooner was fully two miles ahead. Her crew had for some time been puzzled at the action being so abruptly concluded, and Turnbull had even ventured to say: "I should think, sir, we should have a fair chance with her now." "Not a very good chance. We have been lucky, but with ten guns to our four, and her strong crew of desperate men, she would be a very awkward customer. We can think of her later on. My plan is to retake the prize before she can come up. It is not likely that they have killed the crew yet, and I expect the captain told those left behind to leave things as they were until he returned. We may scarcely be a match for the brigantine, but the prize and we together should be able to give a good account of ourselves." "Splendid, sir!" Turnbull exclaimed joyously; "that is a grand idea." "Have the guns loaded with grape," Nat said quietly, "and run two of them over to the other side. We will go outside the prize, bring our craft up into the wind, and shoot her up inside her, and give them one broadside and then board. Tell the men to have their pistols and cutlasses ready, and distribute the boarding-pikes among the Frenchmen." As soon as they rounded the point they could see by their glasses that there was a sudden commotion on the deck of the merchantman. "They did not expect to see us back first," Lippincott laughed. "Even now, I should think, they are expecting to see the brigantine close behind us in chase, and don't suspect what we are up to. Don't head straight for her," he said to the helmsman, "take us a couple of lengths outside her." The pirates, indeed, were completely deceived, but when at last they saw that the brigantine did not appear, they ran over to the guns. It was, however, too late. Two or three of these were discharged as the schooner passed, but beyond making holes in her sails no damage was done, and one of the schooner's guns poured in a volley of grape. When she was two or three lengths ahead her helm was put hard down. She flew round and just caught the wind on the other tack, gliding up alongside the merchantman, the three guns being discharged in succession as the two vessels touched. The grapnels were thrown, and the sailors and Frenchmen leapt on to her deck headed by the three officers. Nearly half the pirates had been killed or wounded by the four discharges of grape. The remainder made but a poor fight of it, and were cut down to a man. "Off with the hatches, men!" Nat shouted. "Run down and release the crew." He himself ran aft into the saloon. Here six gentlemen and eight or ten ladies were lying bound hand and foot. Several of the men were wounded. Nat at once cut the cords. [Illustration: "THE CAPTAIN OF THE PIRATES SHOOK HIS FIST IN DEFIANCE."] "You are safe," he said. "The ship has been retaken by his majesty's schooner _Arrow_, but we have not done with the brigantine yet, and any of you who have weapons and can use them may lend a hand." Without waiting to listen to the chorus of cries of gratitude, he ran out again. A minute later a number of seamen poured up on deck. Many of them were wounded. "How many are there of you?" he asked an officer among them. "There are thirty of us," he said; "we had lost nearly half our crew before they boarded us. The captain was killed early in the fight, as was the first officer." "Well, sir, set your men to load the guns at once. There is the brigantine just coming round the point. Monsieur Pickard, will you remain here with your party and help the sailors? Get your sails sheeted home, sir!" he went on to the ship's officer. "Is your vessel a fast one?" "Yes, but she is not so fast as that brigantine." "That is of no consequence," Nat said. "Get every sail you can on her. Now get twenty of our men on board again, Mr. Lippincott, and on second thoughts I will take five of the Frenchmen. Mr. Turnbull, you will remain on board in command of this ship with the other five of our men. My endeavour will be to knock away one of her masts. Do you keep as close as you can to us, and we will board her together, one on each side. If she knocks away one of our spars, I shall as far as possible come back to meet you, and if she follows us we will fight her together." "I understand, sir." "The moment we push off, get your head sails aback and put her on the wind so as to get out of our way. I shall fill her off on the other tack and then come round and join you. We will keep together until we see whether she means to fight or run. Remember, the great thing is to knock a spar out of her." So saying, he leapt on to the deck of the schooner, and Turnbull's voice was at once heard shouting the order, "Haul aft the weather sheets of the jibs;" and in a minute the two vessels were gliding away from each other on opposite tacks. Then the _Arrow_ was brought round and followed the _Thames_, which was the name of the merchantman. The brigantine was now three quarters of a mile away. Suddenly she was seen to change her course. As she wore round she presented her broadside to the two vessels, and her five guns puffed out together. The reply, both from the merchantman and the _Arrow_, followed almost simultaneously, and a cheer rang out from both ships as the pirate's bowsprit was seen to snap off. "Place yourself two or three cables' length from his larboard quarter," Nat shouted. Turnbull, who had leapt on to the rail to see the result of the broadside, waved his hand. "Down topsails!" Nat shouted, "she will be handier without them." In a moment the two great sails came fluttering down. Turnbull followed the example, and the men ran up the ratlines and furled some of the upper sails. Deprived of her head sails, the pirate was unmanageable, and the two vessels speedily ran up and laid themselves a couple of hundred yards from his quarters and opened a steady fire. The pirates endeavoured to drag two of their guns right aft, but the volleys of grape poured into them were too much for them, and although their captain was seen to shoot two of the men, the rest ran forward. The helmsman deserted his now useless post. "Give her one more broadside," Nat shouted to Turnbull, "and then run in and board." The captain of the pirates, mad with rage, leapt on to the taffrail and shook his fist in defiance. At that moment two rifles cracked out from the merchantman, and he fell forward into the sea. The effect of the storm of grape from the three guns of the schooner, and the four from the trader, among the men huddled up in the bow of the pirate was terrible, but knowing that their lives were forfeited if they were taken prisoners, none made a movement aft to haul down the black flag that still floated from the peak. In two or three minutes their antagonists were alongside; a volley of musketry was poured in, and then the crews of both ships leapt on to the deck. The pirates, who were now reduced to about thirty men, rushed to meet them, determining to sell their lives dearly. But the odds were against them; they missed the voice of their captain to encourage them, and when twenty of their number had fallen, the remainder threw down their arms. "Let no man stir a foot to go below," Nat shouted, remembering the explosion in the pirate's hold, and fearing that one of them might make straight for the magazine. He had not used his pistols in the fight, and now stood with one in each hand pointing threateningly to enforce the order. "Mr. Lippincott, take four men below and close and securely fasten the magazine." The middy ran down, and returned in two or three minutes to report that he had executed the order. "Tie those fellows' feet and hands," Nat said, "and carry them down into the hold." When this was done he was able to look round. The deck was a perfect shambles. The brigantine, as he afterwards heard, carried originally eighty hands. Ten of these had been either killed or seriously wounded in the fight with the _Thames_, and twenty had been killed on board that barque when she was retaken. Forty lay dead or dying on the deck. One of the Frenchmen had fallen, six of the sailors and three Frenchmen had been severely wounded, Turnbull somewhat seriously wounded, and Lippincott slightly. Monsieur Pickard, and the male passengers on board the _Thames_, had all joined the boarders. Two of them had previously done good service with their rifles. Had not the pirate leader been killed, the fight would have been even more desperate. One of the passengers was, fortunately, a surgeon. He at once set to work attending to the sailors' wounds, and after he had bandaged them he examined those of the pirates. These had for the most part been killed outright, and of the wounded there were but four or five with any prospect of recovery. These he first attended to, while the other passengers carried water to the dying men. "Now, my lads," Nat said, "clear the decks of the dead, and get up an awning and carry those who are alive into the shade." All the dead pirates were thrown over without ceremony, the body of the Frenchman being laid down by his compatriots by one of the guns for proper burial in the evening. As soon as the fight was over, Monsieur Pickard--who, after the capture of the _Thames_, had gone below to assure his wife and daughters that all was going on well, and that they had saved nine ladies and six gentlemen from the hands of the pirates--hurried down with the welcome news that the fight was over and the brigantine captured. "You can go up to the cabin," he said, "but don't come on deck till I come down and tell you that everything has been made clean and tidy. You will be glad to hear that, although we have several wounded, François Amond is the only man that has been killed." One of the passengers of the _Thames_ had carried similar news to the ladies there. The crews of both were at once set to work to wash decks, and in an hour the holy-stones had obliterated the worst signs of the conflict, though it would require many more scrubbings before the stains of blood entirely disappeared. All this time the vessels had remained side by side, and the ladies now ventured on to the decks of the _Thames_ and _Arrow_. "What do you intend to do, sir?" one of the passengers asked Nat. "I shall sail at once for Jamaica," he said. "We shall want some more hands, and I must at present borrow a few from you, for my own men are not sufficiently strong to navigate my own craft and the prize. The wind is favourable, and if it holds as it is we shall be at Kingston in forty-eight hours, so there will be no great loss of time." He then crossed to the _Arrow_. "I must congratulate you most heartily on your success," Madame Pickard said. "It is wonderful indeed that you should have taken both these vessels. The pirate ship is, I should think, three times as big as you are, and the other looks a giant by her side." "Yes, she is six hundred tons, and the brigantine is about three hundred. However, it has all gone very fortunately. In the first place, we have rescued some fifteen gentlemen and ladies, and twice as many seamen, from the death that they would certainly have met with; and in the next place, we have thrashed this pirate; we shall get both credit and prize-money, and a good sum for the recapture of the _Thames_, which the chief officer has just told me carries a very valuable cargo. Lastly, I am happy to say that, although several of the crew are injured, I have not lost a single life among them. I am sorry that one of your men fell in the fight." "But they have sadly spoiled the appearance of your ship," Valerie Pickard said. "There are three or four great holes along the side, and a ball has gone through your cabin, and the sails, which were so white and pretty, have lots of holes in them." "Yes, we shall want a good many new cloths," he said; "but that is a very minor matter." "Monsieur Turnbull is hurt, I hear!" "Yes, madame; happily it is not very serious--a blow which he only partly parried struck him on the shoulder. It looks a very serious wound, but the doctor says there is no need for any great uneasiness about him; and being seriously wounded in action has its advantages, as it always counts towards promotion. Mr. Lippincott has had one of his ears nearly slashed off, and is not pretty to look at at present, with his head done up in bandages, but the surgeon thinks that, as it was attended to so soon, it is likely that it will heal up." "And you have escaped altogether, Monsieur Glover?" Louise said. "Yes, for once I have had good luck. Hitherto I have always come out of a fight more or less damaged; this time I have escaped without a scratch." "I should feel very proud if I were you," the girl said, "at having done so much with such a small ship--and you so young, too! Why, you do not look more than a year or two older than Valerie, and you have rescued us and all the people on the other ship, and taken a pirate and the vessel they had captured. It seems almost impossible. And you look so quiet and nice, too." "Louise, you should not talk like that," her mother corrected. Nat said gravely: "Mademoiselle, do you know that you are talking to the commander of one of his majesty's ships on his own quarter-deck, where he is, as it were, the monarch of all he surveys, and might inflict all sorts of terrible punishments upon you for your want of respect?" The girl laughed merrily. "I am not afraid," she said, "not one little bit, and I don't see why you should mind being told that you are young and quiet-looking and nice, when you are." "I do not mind in the least," he said, "and certainly I am young; but I can assure you that my former captain would not tell you that I was quiet, for I had the reputation of being the most troublesome middy on board his frigate. But, you see, responsibility has sobered me, and I can assure you that there is a great deal of responsibility in commanding a small craft like this, which has nothing but her speed and her luck to rely on if she happens to fall in with a strongly-armed vessel." "How can you say that, monsieur," Valerie said indignantly, "when you have taken this pirate, which is ever so much stronger than you are?" "There may be a little good management in it, but more luck, mademoiselle. If one of his shot had damaged me instead of one of mine damaging him, we should all have had our throats cut two hours ago." "I don't believe it," she said. "I believe that you would have beaten him anyhow." "Ladies very often think what they wish," he said with a laugh, "and no doubt we should have fought to the last; but I can assure you that we should have had no chance with them, and the best I could have done for you would have been to have fired the last shot of my pistol into the magazine." "Please don't talk about it," Madame Pickard said with a shudder. "And now I suppose that you have had fighting enough, and are going to carry us quietly into port?" "Yes, madame, to Jamaica; but if you would prefer to be landed at Cape François or Port-au-Prince I shall be happy to give you a passage back again." "We do not want to go there at all, but my husband will go to wind up his affairs, and sell his house there. We have been talking it over, and agree that we should never like to go back to the estate again. Even if things did quiet down the memories are too terrible; and, besides, having once broken out, the blacks might do so again at any time." "I think you are perfectly right, madame; but I am afraid you will not get much for your estate." "My husband thinks that, although no white man would buy it, there are plenty of mulattoes who would give, not its real value, but a certain amount, for it. Many of them are rich men who have already large plantations. Ours was one of the most valuable on the island, and with the title from us a purchaser would not be afraid of being disturbed when the soldiers arrive and put down the insurrection; while, even if this should never be done, the negroes, with whom the mulattoes are now friends, would not interfere with him. My husband thinks that perhaps he will get a third of its value, which would be sufficient to keep us all comfortably in France, or wherever we may settle; but our best resource is that we have the whole of last season's produce stored in our magazines at Port-au-Prince." It was not until the next afternoon that the absolutely necessary repairs to the three vessels were completed, the holes near the water-line covered by planks over which pitched canvas was nailed, the ropes shot away replaced by new ones, and the brigantine's gaff repaired. Then sail was hoisted again, and the three vessels set sail for Kingston, where they arrived on the evening of the third day after starting. No little excitement was caused in the harbour when the _Arrow_, with her sails and sides bearing marks of the engagement, sailed in, followed by the brigantine flying the British ensign over the black flag, and the _Thames_ with the same flags, but with the addition of the merchant ensign under the black flag, following her. There were two or three ships of war in the port, and the crews saluted the _Arrow_ with hearty cheers. The flag-ship at once ran up the signal for her commander to come on board, and, leaving Lippincott to see to the operation of anchoring, Nat ordered the gig to be lowered, and, taking his place in it, was rowed to the flag-ship. CHAPTER XIV THE ATTACK ON PORT-AU-PRINCE On mounting to the deck Nat was at once taken to the admiral's cabin. "So you have been disobeying orders, Lieutenant Glover," he said gravely. "I hope not, sir. I am not conscious of disobeying orders." "I fancy you were directed not to engage more heavily-armed craft than your own." "I was, sir, but the circumstances were peculiar." "I never knew a midshipman or a young lieutenant, Mr. Glover, who did not find the circumstances peculiar when he wanted to disobey orders. However," he added with a smile, "let me hear the peculiar circumstances, then I shall be able to judge how far you were justified. Give them in full. Have you a written report?" "Yes, sir, I have brought it with me," Nat said, producing the document. "Well, lay it down on the table. I don't suppose it is very full, and I am somewhat curious to hear how you brought in a pirate brigantine and a recaptured merchantman--so I understood your flags." Nat related how he had heard the sound of guns on rounding a headland, and had seen the brigantine lying by the side of the barque she had evidently just captured; how he drew her off in pursuit of the schooner, partially crippled her, returned and retook the _Thames_, released her crew, placed Mr. Turnbull in command, and how, between them, they had captured the brigantine. "A very smart action," the admiral said cordially when he had brought the narrative to a conclusion. "It does you very great credit, and fully justifies my appointing you to an independent command. What metal does the brigantine carry?" "Five guns each side, all twelve-pounders like my own." "And you have only four?" "Yes, sir." "Very good indeed, very good! By the way, do you know any of the passengers on board the _Thames_ personally? I observed three ladies on the deck as you came in. I should have thought that they would have had very much better accommodation on the trader than on board your little craft." "Yes, sir; but they were on board the _Arrow_ before our fight with the brigantine, and although the first mate of the _Thames_ offered them a state cabin they preferred to stay on board, as it was such a short run here." "Who are they, then?" "They are refugees, sir. I got them out of the hands of the negroes--three ladies, the husband of the elder one, and seven other white men." "Is there any story attached to it, Mr. Glover? Let me see, what do you say about it in your report?" and he opened it and read aloud: _I have the honour, sir, to report that, learning there was a white family in the hands of the negroes, I landed with a party and brought them off. They consisted of Monsieur and Madame Pickard and their two daughters, and seven of their white employees. Casualties--eight seamen wounded, none of them seriously._ "Then comes the account of the other affair. Now, please give me the details of this rescue business as minutely as possible." This Nat did. "A very risky business, Mr. Glover, though I don't see how you could have acted in any other way. No British officer, I hope, could have been deaf to such an appeal; but if those boats had found the schooner when you all were away, your position would have been well-nigh desperate." "It would, sir, I quite felt that, but it seemed to me the only possible thing to do. Of course, if I had known that the boats would have come early in the evening, I should have remained on board and beat them off before making a landing, although our chances of success would then have been much smaller. The party who were to attack in the boats were to have been composed of men from the plantation. Their comrades would doubtless have come down to the shore to see us captured, and when they saw their friends beaten off they would have been on the watch, and not improbably, in their fury and disappointment, have massacred all the captives in their hands at once. But I thought it likely that the boats would not put off before they believed us to be asleep, and that I should therefore have time to go up to the plantation and fetch the captives down before they arrived. At any rate, by moving the schooner close inshore I hoped that the boats might not find her. There was no moon, and under the shadow of the rock it was next to impossible to see her, unless a boat happened to pass within a few paces. Having struck the topmasts, the forest behind on steep ground prevented the masts from showing above the sky-line. It was, of course, the choice of two evils, and I took the one that seemed to me to give the greater promise of success." "You did excellently, the oldest officer in the service could not have done better. I shall be obliged if you will write as full and detailed an account of both affairs as you have given me. I shall send it home with your official report, and with my own remarks upon them. And now about the merchantman; she looks a fine barque. What is her tonnage?" "Six hundred tons, sir. She is a nearly new vessel, and sails fast for a ship of that kind. Her first mate told me that she has a very valuable cargo on board, principally, I think, tobacco, sugar, coffee, wax, copper, mahogany, and cedar from Cuba. Her passengers are all Spanish." "She seems to be a valuable prize, and as recaptured from the pirates there will be a handsome sum to be divided, and it is fortunate for you and your officers that the little craft was commissioned independently, not as a tender to one of the frigates. As it is, except the flag's share, it will all fall to yourselves and your crew. How many men have you lost?" "None at all, sir; though, as you will see by my report, in the two affairs the greater part of them received more or less severe wounds. Mr. Turnbull was somewhat severely wounded, Mr. Lippincott nearly lost an ear, and I escaped altogether." "Well, it was your turn, Lieutenant Glover. You have come back three times more or less severely hurt already. You say that the brigantine is fast?" "Yes, sir. She is not so fast as the schooner in a light wind, nor so weatherly, but in anything like strong winds I have no doubt that she would overhaul us." "Was there anything in her hold?" "There are a good many bales and cases, sir. I have not opened them, but by their marks they come from three different ships, which she had no doubt captured and sunk before we fell in with her. I questioned one of the prisoners, and he told me that it was only a month since she came out, and he declared that they had not yet chosen any place as their head-quarters. As others questioned separately told the same story, I imagine that it was true." "Where did she hail from?" "She came from Bordeaux. They said that she had taken out letters of marque to act as a privateer in case of war breaking out with us, but I fancy that she was from the first intended for a pirate, for it seems that she had only forty hands when she started, and picked up the others at various French ports at which she touched before sailing west. I should say, from the appearance of her crew, that they are composed of the sweepings of the ports, for a more villainous set of rascals I never saw." "Well, it is fortunate that you should have stopped their career so soon. She might have given us a great deal of trouble before we laid hands on her. We have had comparatively quiet times since the _Orpheus_ destroyed that nest of them, and if she had confined her work to homeward-bound ships it might have been months before we had complaints from home, and found that there was another of these scourges among the islands. I shall row around presently, Mr. Glover, and have a look at your two prizes. When you see my gig coming I shall be obliged if you will meet me on the deck of the brigantine." At four o'clock in the afternoon the watch on deck reported that the admiral's gig was being lowered, and Nat immediately got into his own boat and was rowed to the brigantine, whose name was the _Agile_. When the admiral approached, instead of making straight for the accommodation ladder, he rowed slowly round the vessel, making a very careful examination of the hull. When he came on deck, he said: "Except for a few shot that hit her low down, and the general destruction of her bulwarks, no damage has been done to her." "No, sir, we aimed high, our great object being to knock away some of her spars. I don't think that her square sails will be of any use in the future, they are riddled with balls from our stern-chasers." "A new gaff and bowsprit, a new suit of sails, new bulwarks, and a few patches, and she would be as good as ever. What damage have you suffered?" "The schooner has half a dozen holes in her bow, sir, and a dozen or so in her sails, nothing that the dockyard could not set right in a fortnight." He then went below. "Excellent accommodation," he said, after going round, "that is for a fair crew, but she must have been crowded indeed with eighty men. What should you consider to be a fair crew for her, Mr. Glover?" "Twenty men, sir, if she were a simple trader; I should say from thirty-five to forty would be none too much if she were going to fight her guns." "Now we will have a look at your craft. You may as well take a seat in my gig. Yes," he went on, as he rowed round her as he had done with the brigantine, "now that the sails are furled she does not seem any the worse for it, except in the bow and those two holes in the bulwarks." Monsieur Pickard and the ladies were seated on the deck, and rose as the admiral came on board. "Please introduce me to your friends, Mr. Glover." Nat did so, and the admiral shook hands with them all. "I think I may congratulate you on your escape from a very terrible position." "Yes, indeed," Madame Pickard said. "No words can express the gratitude we feel to Monsieur Glover, his two officers, and the crew. Our position seemed hopeless, the most terrible of deaths and the worst of atrocities stared us in the face." "I have heard all about it, madame, and consider that Lieutenant Glover managed the whole business with great discretion as well as bravery. He has a bad habit of getting into scrapes, but an equally good one of getting out of them with credit to himself. This is the third time he has rendered signal services to ladies in distress, and I suppose I should add that he has in addition saved the lives of the ladies on board the barque lying astern. If there were a medal for that sort of thing he would assuredly deserve it. He ought to have been born six or seven hundred years ago, he would have made a delightful knight-errant. "What are the ladies like in the other ship, Mr. Glover?" "I have no idea, sir. I only saw them for a moment when I ran into the cabin and cut their bonds. I have only seen the gentlemen for a minute or two when they joined the boarders from the _Thames_ under Mr. Turnbull, and I was much too busy to notice them." "Have you not gone on board since?" "No, sir, I had nothing to go on board for, and I don't speak any Spanish." "We tried to persuade him, Monsieur l'Amiral," Valerie said, "but monsieur is modest, he has never let us thank him yet; and although he pretended that he only kept ahead of the other two because his ship was a faster sailer, it was really because he did not wish to be thanked." "But other people are modest too," the admiral said with a smile. "I have heard of two young ladies who came on board, and who would not stir out of their cabins until they had made themselves new dresses." The two girls both coloured up at the allusion, and Monsieur Pickard laughed. "Now I will go below, Mr. Glover. She is very small by the side of the brigantine," he said, as he completed his visit of inspection. "I am not surprised that the pirates chased you after your impudence in firing at them, and that they thought they could eat you at a mouthful. Now, we will pay a visit to the barque." To Nat's great relief, he found that the passengers had all gone ashore. It was certain that they would be detained for some little time, as there would be legal formalities to be gone through, and repairs to be executed, and additional hands to be obtained; and, all feeling terribly shaken by the events that had taken place on board, and the loss in some cases of near relations, they had been glad to land until the ship was again ready for sea. The mate in charge handed to the admiral the ship's manifest and papers. "You have no seriously wounded on board?" the latter asked him. "Because if so, I should advise you to send them ashore to the hospital at once." "No, sir. All who fell on the deck were thrown overboard by the pirates as soon as they obtained possession of the ship. I believe that they fastened shot to their feet to make them sink at once." The admiral nodded. "That is likely enough. Dead bodies drifting ashore might cause inquiries to be made; their intention no doubt was to take all the most valuable part of the cargo out of the ship, and then to scuttle her with all on board." "Are we likely to be detained here long, sir?" "Not as far as we are concerned. We shall require you to sign in the presence of a magistrate here a formal document acknowledging that the vessel was absolutely captured, and in possession of the pirates, and that she was recaptured by his majesty's schooner the _Arrow_, and to sign a bond on behalf of the owners to pay the legal proportion of the value of the ship and cargo to the admiralty prize court in London. You will, of course, take her home yourself, but I shall send a naval officer with you, as the ship and its contents remain the property of government until the charges upon her are acquitted. If we were at war with France we should retain her here until she could sail under convoy of a vessel of war homeward-bound, but there is no occasion for doing that now. I do not suppose that you will find much difficulty in obtaining mates and enough sailors to make up your complement here. Scarcely a ship sails from the port without some of her men being left behind, either as deserters or through having been too drunk to rejoin. At any rate you had better be careful whom you pick, and if you should find a difficulty in obtaining men whose discharge-books show that they have hitherto borne a good character, I should advise you to ship eight or ten stout negroes. They are good hands at managing their own craft, and although they might not be of much use aloft, they are as a rule thoroughly trustworthy fellows, and quite as good for work on deck as our own men. I will give you an order on the dockyard for any repairs that you cannot get executed elsewhere. They will of course be charged for, but need not be paid for here, as they will go down in the account against the ship." Fortunately the dockyard was not busy, and the _Agile_ and the _Arrow_ were the next morning taken into dock, and a strong gang of men at once set to work upon them. Three days later a signal was made for Nat to go on board the flagship. "I have received the report from the dockyard people, Mr. Glover," the admiral said. "They confirm our opinion that the _Agile_ has not suffered any serious damage; that she is a new and well-built vessel, and well fitted for our service, and she will therefore be retained at the valuation they set upon her. Here is your commission as her commander. Having done so well in the little _Arrow_, I have no doubt as to your ability and fitness for the post. She will carry forty hands. I shall give you two petty officers, a boatswain's mate and a gunner's mate. I had thought of giving you another midshipman, but I think it would be better that you should take a surgeon. Three or four assistant surgeons came out last week, and I can very well spare you one. "I shall not give you one of the new arrivals, for it is better that these for a time should serve on larger ships, get accustomed to naval work, and learn the ordinary routine of duty on board. I shall, therefore, send you one from either the _Theseus_ or the _Limerick_, and fill up his place with a new-comer. Your duties will be precisely the same as those assigned to you in the _Arrow_, except that I shall not impress upon you the necessity for giving a wide berth to suspicious vessels. You will cruise on the coast of Hayti, take off refugees, communicate, if possible, with chiefs of the insurgents, and see if there is any strong feeling among them in favour of annexation to England. You will be authorized, in case it is absolutely necessary in order to save the inhabitants of any coast town from slaughter from the blacks, either to help the garrison with your guns or to land a portion not exceeding half your crew to aid in the defence." "I am indeed greatly obliged to you, admiral, and assure you that I will do my best to merit your kindness and confidence." "It is to yourself rather than to me that you are indebted for what is virtually a step towards promotion. Just at present I do not think that you are likely to have any opportunity of taking advantage of your increased force, as we have heard no complaints of pirates of late. We may hope that these scoundrels, finding that the islands are growing too hot for them, have moved away to safer quarters. At any rate, if there are any of them in these waters, they are likely to be among the northern Cays, and are probably confining their depredations for a time to ships trading between Europe and Florida, or to vessels from here which have passed beyond the general limit of the seas we patrol." On Nat's return to the dockyard, he delighted Lippincott with the news of the exchange that they were to make. Turnbull was in hospital, but the surgeons had reported that his wound was not so serious as it seemed at first, and that a fortnight's rest and quiet would go far to render him convalescent. The sailors, too, were glad to hear that they were going to be transferred to a craft in which they would be able to meet an enemy with confidence. They were also pleased to hear that there was to be no change in their officers, for they had unbounded trust in their young commander, and had from the first agreed that they had never sailed in a more comfortable ship. After seeing Turnbull and acquainting him with the news, Nat paid a visit to the Pickards. They had landed on the evening of their arrival, and, after stopping a day in an hotel, had established themselves in a pretty house outside the town, which Monsieur Pickard had hired from a merchant who was on the point of sailing for England, and would be absent several months. Monsieur Pickard had, on arriving, gone to a merchant with whom he had business connections, and to whom he had frequently consigned produce for shipment to England or France when there happened to be no vessel in Port-au-Prince sailing for Europe. He had obtained from him a loan on the security of the season's produce, which had, fortunately, been sent down to be warehoused at Port-au-Prince two or three weeks before the insurrection broke out. Nat's friends, too, heartily congratulated him on obtaining the command of a larger vessel. "After the troubles and anxiety we have of late gone through, Monsieur Glover, we feel the comfort of being under the protection of the British flag, and shall enjoy it all the more now that we know that you are not going to sea again in that pretty little vessel, for if you fell in with another large corsair you might not be so fortunate as you were last time. As you have said, if an unlucky shot had struck one of your spars, you would have been at her mercy, and we know what that mercy would mean. I intend to stay here for a short time, till madame and the girls get quite accustomed to their new home, before sailing for Port-au-Prince; but whether I am at home or away you know how welcome you will be here whenever you happen to be in port. How long do you think it is likely to be before you are off?" "I was speaking to the superintendent of the dockyard before I came out, and he says that he will get the _Agile_ ready for sea in three weeks' time. He cannot possibly manage it before; the hull could be ready in a week, but the suit of sails will require three times as long, though he has promised to take on some extra hands if he can get them. Orders have, however, been given by the _Thames_ to the chief native sail-maker of the place to patch some of the sails and to make several new ones, and he has taken up some of the best hands in the town. Then, no doubt, whoever gets the command of the _Arrow_ will be wanting her sails pushed forward, though that is not certain, for it is not unlikely that, now the _Agile_ has been bought into the service, the _Arrow_ will be sold. Indeed, one of the principal merchants here would be glad to buy her as a private yacht if he had the chance, as he often has business at the other islands, and she is just the craft that would suit him. He said that by putting up shorter topmasts twelve men would be enough to sail her, and that he would exchange the guns for eight-pounders, as from what he had heard she could outsail almost any craft she was likely to meet with, and small guns would be quite sufficient to prevent any of these little native piratical craft from meddling with her. However, I think the superintendent will keep his word, and that in three weeks' time I shall be off." "I may possibly be at Port-au-Prince before you, then," Monsieur Pickard said. "I am thinking of chartering a small brig and going in her to Port-au-Prince, and bringing my goods back from there. Now that the mulattoes are up in arms, the place cannot be considered as absolutely safe; and as I calculate they are worth from eight to ten thousand pounds, I think it will be well to get them over as soon as possible." "I quite agree with you, Monsieur Pickard, and should certainly advise you to lose no time. Unless I get instructions to the contrary, I shall, in the first place, cruise round the shore of the bay of Hayti." Ten days later, indeed, Monsieur Pickard sailed in the brig that he had chartered. Nat had called to say good-bye the evening before, and, to his embarrassment, was presented by him with a very handsome gold watch and chain, the former bearing the inscription that it was a small token of the deepest gratitude of Eugene Pickard, his wife and daughters, for having saved them from the most terrible fate. "It is only a little thing, Monsieur Glover," the planter said--"a feeble token of our gratitude, but something which many years hence will recall to your memory the inestimable service that you have rendered us." The superintendent of the dockyard kept his word, and in three weeks the _Agile_ was afloat again, and the next morning twenty men drafted from the war-ships in the port were transferred to her. Those of the _Arrow_, with the exception of five still in the hospital, had shifted their quarters to her a fortnight previously. Turnbull had rejoined the evening before. His arm was still in a sling, but otherwise he was quite convalescent. Lippincott had that morning given up the bandage round his head, which had kept him almost a prisoner until now, for he had refused to go into the town until after nightfall with his head bound up, although Nat had many times assured him that an honourable wound would not be regarded as any disadvantage by the young ladies at Kingston. The assistant surgeon, James Doyle, a cheery young Irishman, also joined that morning. "It is glad I am to be out of all the ceremony and botheration on board the frigate," he said as he shook hands with Nat, "and to be afloat on my own account, as it were. Saunders, the surgeon, was enough to wear one out with his preciseness and his regulations; faith, he was a man who would rather take off a man's leg than listen to a joke, and it put me on thorns to hear him speak to the men as if they were every one of them shamming--as if anyone would pretend to be ill when he had to take the bastely medicines Saunders used to make up for them." "I don't think you will find much shamming here, doctor, especially if the new hands are as good as the others; and I hope that your services will not often be required except in the matter of wounds." "No fighting means no wounds, and I am afraid that there is no hope of fighting," the surgeon said, shaking his head mournfully; "you and the _Orpheus_ have pretty well cleared out the pirates, and it was a case of pure luck that you came across this craft the other day. But there is no doubt that the _Orpheus'_ men have had all the luck, and the big ships' turn won't come till we have war with France. However, it may be that the luck will stick to you for a bit yet, for, by my faith, I shall before long have forgotten how to take off a limb or to tie up an artery for want of practice. We all envied you when you came in the other day with the two prizes behind you, both big enough to have eaten you up, and though we cheered, there was many a man who grumbled, 'Bad cess to them, the _Orpheus_' men have got all the luck.'" "But the _Orpheus_ had nothing to do with it," Nat laughed. "No, I know that; but you had been one of their men, and had, as I have heard, more than your share already of adventures." Nat had received no further orders, and sailed that afternoon; two days later he was off the entrance of the great bay. He coasted along the shore as near as he could venture, always keeping a man on watch for signals made by anyone anxious to be taken off. When it became dark the anchor was dropped, so that no part of the shore could be passed without the ship being observed. It was on the seventh day after sailing that he arrived at Port-au-Prince. Half an hour after he had anchored, Monsieur Pickard came off in a boat. "It is lucky that I lost no time," he said after the first greetings were over; "I got my last bale of goods on board the brig an hour ago, and we are going to warp her out at once so as to be under shelter of your guns." "Why, what is the matter?" "There is news that a large force of mulattoes and negroes are coming down from the hills and will be here probably to-morrow morning. Luckily a great part of the negroes were turned out of the town a fortnight ago. There are only two hundred soldiers here, and about as many white volunteers--little enough to defend the place if they attack us. No doubt they chose the moment because there is not a French war-ship of any kind in port. However, I think that all the white women and children are on board the ships. They are all crowded. I have about twenty on board the brig, and have rigged up a sail as an awning, and on such a warm night as this they will sleep better there than they would in a cabin. I can assure you that there was the greatest satisfaction when you were seen coming in. Several of the captains had talked of towing their vessels out three or four miles into the bay, but as soon as it was certain that you were an armed ship, the idea was given up, as many of them were only half-laden; and it was felt that, of whatever nationality you were, you would prevent the negroes from coming off in boats to murder the women and children. Of course I did not know that it was you until I made out your figure from the shore, but as soon as I did so, I told all I knew that they need not trouble about the safety of those on board ship, for I could answer for it that you would not hesitate to turn your guns on any boats that went out to attack them." "Well, Monsieur Pickard, I cannot believe that the town will be taken, but at any rate I congratulate you on having got all your produce an board." "Yes, it is a very important matter to us; we cannot calculate upon finding a purchaser for our house at Cape François at anything approaching its value at ordinary times. I have a couple of thousand pounds lying at my banker's, and although six months ago I would not have taken forty thousand for the estate and the slaves upon it, I suppose I may consider myself fortunate if I get half that sum, or even less, now. Anyhow, if I get my crop here safe to Jamaica, I need not worry myself as to the future." "If the place is attacked in the morning, monsieur, I have the admiral's authority to land half my men to aid in the defence; and though twenty men is but a small number, they may render some assistance. I intend to hold them in reserve, and to take them to any spot at which the insurgents may be pressing back the defenders. I shall be obliged if you will inform the officer in command of the troops and the civil authorities that they can count on my assistance to that extent. Will you give them my advice to get all the available boats ranged along by the quay opposite to us, so that in case of the worst all can retreat there. I will cover their embarkation with my guns. Lastly, I should advise the captains of all the ships in port to tow their vessels out and range them behind us, so that there may be nothing to interfere with our line of fire." "I will inform the committee of defence directly I go ashore, and they will doubtless send off at once to order the various ships to anchor at the spot you indicate. It will be a relief, indeed, to them all to know that you have undertaken their protection." "I will go ashore with you," Nat said; "though I have landed here more than once I do not know the place well enough to be able to act quickly. I should like to see exactly where your batteries are placed, and where it is most likely that the negroes will make their chief attack." They went ashore and landed together, and walked to the house where the principal men of the town were assembled. "Will you come in with me?" Monsieur Pickard asked. "No, I will leave you to explain what I propose to do and what I recommend that they should do. There is sure to be a lot of talk and discussion, and I do not wish to lose time. The sun will be setting in another hour, so I will make my round at once." Passing through the town, Nat visited the various batteries that had been erected, and decided that if the blacks were well led they would work round and attack the remains of the native town. The batteries had principally been erected round the European quarter, as if any enemy coming from the hills would be certain to make a direct attack, while the native quarter was almost entirely undefended, although with this once in the possession of the enemy the whole town would lie open to them. "It is clear that this is the real point of danger," he muttered. "Fortunately, from where we are lying our guns can sweep the widest street that runs down through this quarter. I shall mention my ideas to Pickard. No doubt he is still talking away at the meeting." He went back to the house. M. Pickard and half a dozen other gentlemen were standing at the door. M. Pickard at once introduced them to him. "My object in coming round here, gentlemen, is to tell you that in my opinion your defences, which are quite strong enough to protect the town against any body of negroes coming down on the easterly side, are wholly insufficient to repel an attack if made on the native town. I trust, therefore, that when the troops man the defences a considerable number of them at least will be so placed as to be ready to meet an attack from that side. There is practically nothing to prevent the negroes from entering there, and, as many of the mulattoes with them must be perfectly aware of the position of the batteries, they are scarcely likely to propose to make an attack upon them, knowing that the negroes would not be able to face an artillery fire, but would lead them round to attack the almost defenceless native portion of the town." "We have always reckoned upon their coming upon us by one of the main roads from the hills," one of the gentlemen said. "So I see, monsieur; but some of the mulattoes with them are men of considerable intelligence, and would be hardly foolish enough to try to break down the door that you have closed against them when they know that there is an open entrance at the back. If there is a man with the smallest spark of military genius about him he will commence the attack by a feint in considerable force against the batteries, and then, under cover of the smoke of your guns and his own--for I hear from Monsieur Pickard that they are said to have fifteen or twenty guns which they have taken at small places on the coast--will send round the main body of his force to fall on the native town. That is my opinion, gentlemen. I know very little of military matters, but it seems to me that is the course that any man of moderate intelligence would pursue, and I therefore should strongly advise that at least half your volunteer force should take post to defend the native town, and so give time to the remainder to come up and assist in the defence. I shall post my sailors in a position where they can best aid in the defence in this direction, and shall have the guns of my ship in readiness to open fire on the native town if you are driven back." "Thank you, sir. We shall have another meeting late this evening, and I shall do my best to urge the committee to act as you suggest." Nat returned on board the _Agile_. Already most of the ships in the port had anchored a short distance outside the brigantine, and a few that had kept on until the last moment taking their cargo on board were being towed by their boats in the same direction. Turnbull and Lippincott were anxiously awaiting Nat's return. Retiring into the cabin, he told them the result of his investigation of the defences and the position on shore. "I think we shall have hot work to-morrow," he went on. "If the negroes are not absolute fools they will not knock their heads against the batteries. There are twenty cannon in position, for the most part ships' guns, and as I hear that they have plenty of ammunition, and especially grape, they would simply mow the niggers down if they attacked them. There is only one battery with three guns covering the native town, and the blacks ought to have no difficulty in carrying this with a rush. We have learnt by experience that, whatever their faults, they can fight furiously, and are ready enough to risk their lives. Thus, this battery may be taken in a few minutes. If a hundred of the volunteers held the huts behind it they might check them for a time, but as the negroes are several thousands strong the resistance cannot be long. The best point of defence will be that street facing us here. Our guns will come into play, and it is there that I shall join the French as they fall back. "I shall get you, Mr. Lippincott, to row round this evening to all these craft near us, and to request the captains, in my name, to send all the men provided with muskets they may have, on board us, as soon as firing is heard. You will remain on board in charge, Turnbull; with your arm in a sling, you are not fit for fighting on shore. With your twenty men you ought to be able to work the guns pretty fast. Between their shots the men with muskets would aid. Of course you would use grape. If their attack lulls in the least send a few round-shot among the houses on their side. Pomp and Sam had better go ashore with us and act as boat-keepers. I will take the boat higher up than those of the townspeople, for if a panic seizes them there would be a mad rush to get on board. We will go a couple of hundred yards farther, and the boat will lie a short distance out, and not come in close till they see us running towards it. In that way we can make sure of being able to get on board." "I should certainly have liked to land," Turnbull said, "but I know that I am not fit yet for hard fighting." "I suppose you will be taking me along with you?" Doyle said. "By all means come if you like, but I was not thinking of doing so." "It is not often that we get a chance of taking a share in the fun. As a rule, as soon as the guns are loaded and ready for action we have to go below, and to stop there bandaging and dressing wounds, with not a chance of seeing what is going on. This is just one chance in a hundred. I should be no good here, for there is no one to look after. I will take with me two or three tourniquets and some bandages, and perchance I may be the means of saving some poor boy's life; and while not so engaged I may have a slap at these murdering blacks. I am a pretty good shot, and when a man can bring down ten snipe out of every dozen, as I have done time after time in the ould country, he ought to be able to put a bullet into a black man's carcass." "If you are bent upon going, by all means do so. As you say, a tourniquet clapped on directly a man is wounded may save his life, and every additional musket will be a valuable addition to our strength." CHAPTER XV THE ATTACK ON PORT-AU-PRINCE It was just getting light on the following morning when the sound of a cannon was heard, and it was followed by several other shots, mingled with the rattle of distant musketry. The town woke up with a start. Drums beat in the streets, and in a minute or two men armed with rifles and muskets poured out from their houses, and hurried to the rendezvous settled upon the night before. The firing came from the eastern side of the town, and the three batteries in that direction were all engaged. Mingled with the report of the guns came the sound of a more distant cannonade, showing that the insurgents' artillery was also at work. Among the shipping there was as great an excitement as in the town. On board every ship men were running up the ratlines to see if a view of the scene of action could be obtained from aloft. On the decks numbers of women, who had hastily thrown on their upper clothing, or wrapped themselves in shawls, listened anxiously to the sound of firing. Scarce one but had a husband, brother, or son among the defenders of the place. There were ten vessels lying outside the _Agile_, and from each of these boats presently put off to the brigantine, some with three or four men, others with as many as ten, all armed with muskets. "You will soon see how matters go, Turnbull, and whether this is a real or only a feigned attack." The landing-party were in a few minutes ready to embark. Each man carried fifty rounds of ammunition for his musket, and a dozen additional cartridges for his pistols. Their water-bottles were slung over their shoulders, and each had a hunch of bread and of cold meat that had been boiled in the galley the night before in readiness. They took their places in the cutter and gig, and were soon rowed ashore to the point which Nat had fixed on the previous evening. The various boats and lighters used in loading the ships had all been gathered at the quay facing the _Agile_, and Nat was pleased to see that his advice in this respect had been followed. The orders to Sam and Pomp, who were to remain one in each boat, were that they should push the boats out as far as the head-ropes--which had been lengthened for the occasion--would allow them, drop a small grapnel over the stern, and should then keep a sharp look-out. The moment the party were seen returning they were to pull up the grapnels, and haul on the head-ropes till the boats were alongside. Both were armed, and the orders were that they were to shoot anyone who should try to force himself into either boat before the sailors came up. Nat led his party to an empty house close to the street commanded by the _Agile's_ guns. Six of the sailors were placed as sentinels at the ends of streets running into this, the rest piled arms. "Now, Mr. Lippincott, I shall be obliged if you will go and ascertain how the affair is proceeding, and whether the batteries are keeping the insurgents well in check. I am about to start for the battery on this side, where I shall get a fair view of the country round, and see how matters stand. "You will remain here, Mr. Thompson," he went on to the boatswain, "in charge of the party. I shall take Newman with me in case I have any orders to send to you. Will you come with me also, Doyle?" The two officers, followed by an active young seaman, started. On arriving near the end of the native town, Nat was glad to see a group of the volunteers in front of him. They saluted as he came up. "What force have you here, gentlemen?" he asked. "Fifty men, captain." "It would have been better if it had been a hundred and fifty. If they come here in force you will not be able to keep them at bay long. Where is your main body?" "They are gathered in front of the municipal offices in readiness to move wherever their services may be most required." "That is quite satisfactory. I was afraid that most of them might be at the batteries at the other side of the town, where the troops ought to be quite able to hold their own against the blacks." At this moment another gentleman, with a red sash over his shoulder, came up. He was the commander of the company stationed there. "I am afraid that we are rather out of it, monsieur," he said, after exchanging salutes with Nat. "I am still more afraid, sir, that you are by no means out of it. I think that you will find that before many minutes are over you will be hotly engaged. I have come forward to tell you that my men are placed just on the other side of Royal Street, and to beg that if you are not able to maintain yourselves here--and if you are attacked, I am convinced that it will be in such force that you will be unable to do so--you will not endanger your force by holding on here too long, but will retreat to Royal Street, and there make a stand, occupying the houses on the other side of the street. The guns of my vessel are loaded and in readiness to sweep the street with grape as the negroes try to cross it; and we shall have in addition some forty or fifty men from the merchantmen outside her, who will aid in keeping them in check. If I might advise you, I should say that it would be well for you to write a note, now that you have time to do so, saying that you are attacked in overwhelming force, and are about to fall back to Royal Street, which you will, aided by my sailors and guns, hold to the last, and begging your commander to send his whole force up to support you. This you will, of course, keep until the attack comes, and will send off as soon as you perceive that your position here is untenable." "I think that is a very good suggestion," the officer said, "and shall carry it out at once." "I will go on to the battery," Nat said; "from there I shall get a better idea of the situation." They had scarcely gone beyond the line of houses when a French soldier came running in. "What is your news?" Nat asked him. "A great crowd of the enemy are coming, sir. The captain has sent me to beg the commander of the volunteers here to bring up his force to support him." "You will find him a hundred yards farther on. Now, doctor, you will go forward and have a look." Arriving at the battery, which was manned by twenty French soldiers under a young lieutenant, Nat and the doctor mounted the parapet. The enemy were still half a mile away. They were in no sort of order, but were coming on in a confused mass. "There must be three or four thousand of them, lieutenant," Nat said quietly. "You may check them a little, but you will never keep them out of the town if they come on with a rush. I suppose you are loaded with grape?" "Yes, monsieur," the young Frenchman said. He felt relieved at the arrival of the commander of the British ship of war, for he was feeling the responsibility of his position greatly. "I should let them get within four or five hundred yards," Nat said quietly, "then fire your guns singly, loading as rapidly as possible. Here come the volunteers; place five-and-twenty of them on each side of your battery. Let them lie down, and open fire when the enemy are within two hundred and fifty yards. If they come on in spite of the fire, I should say that you had best all retire at the double. It will be of no use trying to hold the houses; they would only outflank you and cut you off. I have already arranged with the volunteers that they shall make a stand at Royal Street. I have a party of my sailors there in readiness to help them, and as the guns of my ship will sweep the street we should certainly be able to hold it until help arrives." "Thank you, monsieur, I will do as you suggest." At this moment the volunteers came up at a run. "Where do you wish me to place my men?" the captain said to the French lieutenant. "I shall be obliged if you will put half of them on each side of the battery. Let them lie down there, and open fire when the enemy are within two hundred and fifty yards. If when they get within a hundred yards, your fire and ours does not stop them, we will then retreat together at the double. If we were once surrounded we should have no chance whatever. Give your guns an elevation of five hundred yards," he said to his men. When this was done he looked inquiringly at Nat. The other nodded. "Yes, I think it is about five hundred yards." Then he turned to the seaman: "Go back as quickly as you can, Newman, and tell Mr. Thompson that the blacks are coming, and that we shall probably be with him five minutes after you arrive. Tell him also to send a man down as we had arranged to the wharf, to signal to the ship to be in readiness." As he spoke the first of the guns boomed out. A few seconds later the second was fired, and this was followed by the third at a similar interval. The cannon were old ship guns, and had been heavily charged with grape, and the destruction wrought upon the crowded mass of negroes was so great that they stopped suddenly. Several of their leaders were seen to rush to the front waving and gesticulating, and with a wild yell the negroes again advanced. They had gone but fifty yards when the gun that was first fired spoke out again, followed quickly by the others. This time there was no pause in the advance. Yelling furiously the negroes, who were armed with guns, discharged them at random. Two more rounds were fired, and then the crakle of the rifles and muskets of the volunteers broke out. The centre of the negro line paused indecisively, but the flanks continued on their way without a check. "It is just as I thought," Nat said to the doctor, who was loading and firing his piece rapidly. "Do you see how their flanks are extending? One more round, lieutenant, and then we had best be going, or we shall be cut off from the town." Again the three guns were discharged. The execution was terrible in the centre of the black line, but the flanks still kept on. "Now, captain, get your men together," Nat said to the civilian officer who was standing beside him; "if you go to the right I will go to the left. They won't hear our voices in this din." Another half-minute and the soldiers and volunteers were running at the top of their speed, but keeping well together, towards the town. They had a hundred and fifty yards' start, and also the advantage that the blacks had been coming forward at a run for over half a mile. Therefore, although the latter came on with yells of triumph and exultation, they did not gain on the little party. Indeed, when they once entered the native town the French considerably increased their distance, for the negroes, fearing that they might fall into an ambush, came along more carefully. "Post your men at the windows of the houses opposite to you," Nat said to the French lieutenant. "Did you send your messenger on?" he asked, as he ran up to the volunteer officer. The latter gave an exclamation of horror. "No, I forgot all about it." "So did I, or I should have reminded you of it. Give it to one of the men now, and tell him to take it as hard as he can run. Tell your men off in threes and fours to the houses opposite. I have no doubt we can keep them in check till help comes." Thompson was waiting in the street as the party ran up. "Where have you posted your men?" Nat asked him. "I thought most likely that they would come down this street, so I put four men in each of the two houses facing it, seven are in the two houses facing the next street coming down, the rest are here." Nat hurried up to the French officer. "My men are in the two houses facing this and the next street, will you occupy the houses next them, and tell the officer of the volunteers to scatter his men in twos and threes in the other houses. Doctor, you had better join the party in the house facing the next street; and do you, Mr. Thompson, place yourself with five men in the house facing the street beyond. We shall have the brunt of it, for they are more likely to come by these streets than by those near the harbour, knowing, as they do, that our ship is lying anchored off there." It was three or four minutes before Nat, from the window at which he had posted himself, saw a great body of negroes and mulattoes coming along the street facing him. "Open fire at once, lads," he said. "Take good aim; every shot ought to tell in that crowd, and our fire will let them know on board that the blacks are close at hand." Yelling, shouting, and brandishing their weapons, the insurgents poured down. The fire from the next two parties had showed that the negroes were also advancing by the streets above. A minute later three black columns poured into Royal Street, and as they did so a fire broke out from every window facing them. Then came a deep roar, and a storm of grape swept along the street; another and another followed, and with yells of surprise and fear the rioters rushed back into shelter, leaving the streets strewn with dead and dying. It was some minutes before they could rally, and in the meantime three of the guns of the _Agile_ sent ball after ball among the houses to the west of the street. Three times did the negroes attempt to cross the fatal road, but each time they fell back with heavy loss, which was specially severe in their last attempt, as the main body of the volunteers had now come up, entered by the backs of the houses and joined the defenders, and the fire of two hundred and fifty muskets played terrible havoc among the assailants. There was a pause in the fight now, and the ship's broadside continued to sweep the native town with balls while an occasional spurt of musketry fire broke out when the blacks showed themselves in any of the streets. Suddenly from a score of houses in the native town smoke, followed speedily by flames, mounted up. "The scoundrels have fired the town," exclaimed Doyle, who had now joined Nat. "They see they have no chance of crossing here, and as they cannot plunder the place they have made up their mind to destroy it." "Yes, and they are likely to succeed, doctor, the wind is blowing this way. Half the native houses are roofed with palm leaves, and will burn like tinder. Our only chance now is to drive the blacks out altogether and then fight the fire." He at once sent a sailor down with a flag to signal to the ship to stop firing, then he went out into the street. As soon as he was seen he was joined by the French lieutenant and the commander, with several officers of the volunteers, together with Monsieur Pickard. "I think, gentlemen," Nat said, "that unless we take the offensive and drive the blacks out of the town there will be little hope of extinguishing the fire. The wind is blowing strongly in this direction, and there is not a moment to be lost if we are to save the town. The negroes must be thoroughly demoralized, they must have lost over a thousand men here and three or four hundred before they entered the town. It is quite likely that they have retreated already, but in any case I do not anticipate any serious resistance." The others at once agreed. The drums were beaten, and the volunteers, soldiers, and sailors poured out from the houses, and then, dividing into three columns, advanced down the streets through which the blacks had retired. They met with no resistance. A few negroes who had entered houses to gather plunder were shot down as they issued out, but with these exceptions none of the enemy were seen until the columns issued from the town, when the negroes could be seen retreating at a run across the plain. The French officer at once ran forward with his men to the little battery, and sent shot after shot among them, for they were still less than half a mile away. The sailors and volunteers slung their muskets behind them, and, running back, endeavoured to check the course of the flames. This, however, was impossible. The fire spread from house to house with extraordinary rapidity. The wind hurled the burning flakes on ahead, dropping many upon the inflammable roofs, and in twenty minutes the whole quarter west of Royal Street was in flames. Nat was now joined by Turnbull and all the crew, the two negroes, who had been sent off to the ship with the boats, alone remaining in charge of the vessel. "We have beaten the negroes, Turnbull, but the fire will beat us. If this wind continues it will sweep the whole town away. It is useless to try and save any of these native houses. Look at the burning flakes flying over our heads!" After a short consultation with the French officers they agreed that the only chance was to arrest the fire at the edge of the European quarter, and that the whole force should at once set to work to pull down the native houses adjoining them. The sound of cannon on the other side of the town had continued until now, but it gradually ceased, as the news reached the negroes there that the main attack, of whose success they had felt sure, had hopelessly failed, and it was not long before the troops from the batteries came up to assist the workers. Their labours, however, were in vain. A shout of dismay called the attention of the men who, half-blinded with the dust and smoke, were working their utmost. Looking round, they saw that the flames were mounting up from several of the houses behind them. The wood-work was everywhere as dry as tinder, and the burning flakes, which were falling thickly upon them, had set the houses on fire in a dozen places. "We can do nothing more, sir," the officer in command of the troops said. "The business part of the town is doomed. All that we could even hope to save are the detached houses standing in gardens and shrubberies." So it turned out. The flames swept onward until the business quarter, as well as the native town, was completely burnt out, and it needed all the efforts of the soldiers and inhabitants to prevent the private residences of the merchants and planters from being ignited by the burning fragments scattered far and wide by the wind. It was noon when the officers and crew of the _Agile_, accompanied by M. Pickard--who was, like all the rest blackened by the dust and smoke--returned on board. "Well, that has been as hot a morning's work as I ever went through," Turnbull said. "It is hard to believe that a battle has been fought and a town destroyed in the course of about five hours." "Yes; I think on the whole we may be very well satisfied, Turnbull, though I suppose the people who have lost their houses and stores will hardly see it in the same light. Still, they saved their lives, and at any rate, Monsieur Pickard, you can be congratulated on having got all your goods on board just in time." "I am thankful indeed that it is so," the planter said. "I hope, of course, to get something for my estate. As to the house, after what we have seen here I cannot set much value on it. What has happened this morning may happen at Cape François to-morrow. They might not be able to take it, but a dozen negroes choosing their time when a strong wind is blowing, and starting the fires in as many places, might level the town to the ground. At any rate, I shall direct the captain of the brig to sail at once for Kingston, and to deliver the cargo to my agent there, and shall proceed myself to Cape François. I wish to learn whether the bank there has sent off its funds and securities to some safer place, or is retaining them. In the latter case I shall withdraw them at once, and shall put up my estates for sale." "I will give you a passage, Monsieur Pickard. I have nothing more to stay here for, and shall sail up the coast to-morrow morning." "Thank you very much; I accept your offer with gladness. I am anxious to close all my connection with this unfortunate island as soon as possible." In the afternoon the governor of the town, with the officer commanding the troops, the maire, and a deputation of the leading citizens, came off to thank Nat for the assistance that his crew and guns had rendered. They brought with them an official document rehearsing these services, and saying that had it not been for the assistance they had rendered, the town would undoubtedly have been captured by the blacks, and probably all the whites on shore massacred, together with their wives and families, who had taken refuge on board the shipping. The commandant stated that this document would be sent to the British admiral at Kingston. Nat replied very modestly, saying that both the officers and men on board had rejoiced at being able to render a service in the cause of humanity, and that he was only acting in accordance with the orders he had received from the admiral to afford every aid in his power to the white population of the island. After this official visit many of the merchants, planters, and military officers came off individually to thank him for having saved their wives and families by the protection that he had afforded to the shipping, and by the aid given by his guns and the landing-party, which had alone saved the town from capture. At daybreak next morning the _Agile_ got up her anchor and started for the north. The brig containing Monsieur Pickard's property had sailed the previous afternoon, and the rest of the shipping were preparing to start at the time the _Agile_ got up anchor. All of them were crowded with fugitives, the women and children being now joined by many of their male relatives, who had lost almost all they possessed by the destruction of their homes and warehouses. The next morning the brigantine arrived at Cape François. The news she brought of the destruction of Port-au-Prince caused great excitement, as it was felt that the fate that had befallen one town might well happen to another. Monsieur Pickard at once went to the bank, where he found that the greater portion of the specie and all valuable documents had already been sent for safety to Jamaica, and he received an order upon the bank there for the payment to him of the money he had placed on deposit in the bank, and of the various securities and documents that had been held in safe-keeping for him. He then went to pay a visit to Monsieur Duchesne, to whose house Nat, who had landed with him, had gone direct. The family were delighted to see him. "You may expect another visitor shortly," he said. "Monsieur Pickard has come on shore with me; he has gone to the bank now, but said that he would come on here later." "Then he has escaped," Madame Duchesne exclaimed. "We had hardly even hoped that he and his family had done so, for we knew that the blacks had risen everywhere in that part of the island." "Yes, I am happy to say that he, Madame Pickard, and his two daughters, all got safely away; in fact, they all came off to my craft--not the _Agile_, you know, but to the _Arrow_; and I had the pleasure of taking them as passengers to Jamaica, where the ladies still are." "That is good news indeed," Myra said. "Valerie is a great friend of mine. Of course Louise is younger, but I was very fond of her too. The year before last I spent a couple of months with them at their plantation; and, as I daresay they told you, they are always here for three or four months in the winter season." Nat then told them what had taken place at Port-au-Prince, and how he and his men had taken part in the fight. "It is terrible news indeed," said M. Duchesne; "and one can scarcely feel safe here. Port-au-Prince is the largest town in Hayti, with the exception only of this, which is quite as open to the danger of fire. I think this will decide us on leaving. Matters seem going from bad to worse. I don't know whether you know that three commissioners have arrived from France. So far from improving the state of things, they are making them worse every day. As far as can be seen, they are occupied solely in filling their own pockets; they have enormously increased the taxation, and that at a time when everyone is on the verge of ruin. No account is given of the sums they collect, and certainly the money has not been spent in taking any measures either for the safety of the town or for the suppression of the insurrection. I have wound up all my affairs here, and have disposed of our plantations. There are many who still believe that in time everything will come right again; I have myself no hope. Even if we got peaceful possession of our estates, there would be no hands to work them. The freedom of all the blacks has been voted by that mad assembly in Paris; and if there is one thing more certain than another, it is that the negroes will not work until they are obliged to, so the estates will be practically worthless. Therefore I have accepted an offer for a sum which is about a quarter of what the estate was worth before, and consider that it is so much saved out of the fire." "Monsieur Pickard is of exactly the same opinion as you are," Nat said, "and has come here principally for the purpose of disposing of his estate on any terms that he can obtain." "Well, I do not think he will find any difficulty in getting about the same proportion of value as we have done. The rich mulattoes are buying freely, and, as I say, some of the whites are doing the same. Ah, here he is! "Ah, my dear Pickard, we are glad indeed to see you, and to learn from our friend here that your wife and daughters are safe in Jamaica." "We have been very anxious about you," Madame Duchesne said; "and Myra has been constantly talking of your family." "It was the same with us, I can assure you, madame; and it is strange that we should first have obtained tidings of your safety from Monsieur Glover, and that you should also have obtained news of ours from him. Still more so that while he has, as he said to us, been of some little service to you--but which, we learnt from one of his officers, seems to have been considerable--it is to him that we also owe our lives." "Little service!" Madame Duchesne repeated indignantly. "However, we know Monsieur Glover of old. First of all he saved Myra's life from that dog, and certainly he saved both our lives from the negroes. And did he save yours? He has just told us that you came on board with him, and that he took you to Jamaica. Still, that is not like what he did for us." "That is one way of putting it, madame," Monsieur Pickard said with a smile; "but as you say you know him of old, you will not be surprised at the little story that I have to tell you." "Not now, Monsieur Pickard," Nat said hastily, "or if you do I shall say good-bye to Madame Duchesne at once, and go straight on board." "You must not do that," Madame Duchesne said as he rose to his feet; "you have only just arrived, and we are not going to let you off so easily." "We will compromise," her husband said. "Now, Monsieur Glover, you know that my wife and daughter will be dying of curiosity until they hear this story. Suppose you take a turn down the town with me. I will go and enquire whether there is any ship likely to sail in the course of a few days or so for Jamaica. Then Monsieur Pickard can tell his story, and my wife can retail it to me later on. You see, Monsieur Pickard's wife and daughters are great friends of ours, and madame and Myra naturally wish to hear what has happened to them during this terrible time." "Very well," Nat said with a laugh, "I don't mind accepting that compromise; but really I do hate hearing things talked over which were just ordinary affairs. But remember that Monsieur Pickard naturally will make a great deal more of them than they are worth, since, no doubt, the outcome of them was that he and his family did get out of the hands of the blacks in consequence. Now, Monsieur Duchesne, I will start with you at once, so that madame and Myra's curiosity may be satisfied as soon as possible." Monsieur Duchesne took Nat first to call upon the three commissioners, who happened to be gathered in council. The commandant at Port-au-Prince had asked him to convey the report he had hastily drawn up of the attack on the town. This he had sent ashore as soon as he anchored; and the commissioners were discussing the news when Nat and Monsieur Duchesne were shown in. "I thought, gentlemen," Nat said, "that you might perhaps like to ask me questions upon any point that was not explained in the commandant's report, which was, as he told me, drawn up in great haste; for with four-fifths of the town laid in ashes, and the population homeless and unprovided with food, his hands were full indeed." "Thank you, Lieutenant Glover. The report does full justice to your interposition in our favour, and indeed states that had it not been for the assistance rendered by yourself and the ship of war you command, the town would unquestionably have been carried by the insurgents, and that the whole of the whites, including the troops, would probably have been massacred. Had this been done, it would undoubtedly have so greatly encouraged the rioters that we could hardly have hoped to maintain our hold even of this city." "I was only carrying out the orders that I received in landing to protect the white inhabitants from massacre, gentlemen." "In your opinion, is anyone to blame for the course events took?" "Even had I that opinion," Nat said, "I should certainly not consider myself justified in criticising the action of the officers and authorities of a foreign power. However, the circle of the town was too large to be defended by the force available, of whom half were volunteers, ready to fight most gallantly, as I can testify, but not possessing the discipline of trained troops. I do not think, however, that even had batteries been erected all round the town, the insurgents could have been prevented from effecting an entrance at some points, and setting fire to the houses. They advanced with great determination, in spite of the destructive grape fire maintained by the three guns of the battery. Undoubtedly had the batteries been placed together on that side, as on the one at which it was thought probable that the attack would be made, the insurgents might have been repulsed, but it would have needed a much larger force than that in the town to man all those batteries. And I think it is by no means improbable that even in that case the town might have been burnt; for there were still a large number of negroes employed on the wharves and in the warehouses, and you may take it as certain that some of these were in close communication with the insurgents, and probably agreed to fire the town should their friends fail to effect an entrance. I can only say, sir, that the citizens enrolled for defence fought most gallantly, as did the small party of soldiers manning the battery on that side, and that when the fighting was over all laboured nobly to check the progress of the flames." Several questions were put to him concerning the details of the fighting, and the measures that had been taken for the safety of the women and children, the part his own men played, and the manner in which the insurgents, after gaining a footing in the town, had been prevented from obtaining entire possession of it. At the conclusion of the interview, which had lasted for upwards of two hours, the commissioners thanked Nat very cordially. "You see," Monsieur Duchesne said, when they left the governor's house, "they asked no single question as to whether you thought there was any danger of a similar catastrophe taking place here." "Yes, I noticed they did not. If they had, I could have told them very plainly that, although the negroes suffered very heavily, yet the news that the second town in Hayti had been almost destroyed would be sure to raise their hopes, and that I consider it extremely probable that some day or other this town will also be attacked, and no time should be lost in putting it into a state of thorough defence. I can't say that they impressed me at all favourably." "Short as is the time that they have been here, they have managed to excite all parties against them. They have issued an amnesty, pardoning even those who have committed the most frightful atrocities upon us. They have infuriated a portion of the mulattoes by announcing the repeal of the decree in their favour. Without a shadow of legal authority they have extorted large sums of money from those mulattoes who have remained quiet and are resident here, and seem bent upon extracting all that remains of their late fortune from the whites. One of them is frequently drunk and leads a scandalous life; another appears bent solely upon enriching himself; the third seems to be a well-meaning man, but he is wholly under the control of his drunken companion. If this is the sort of aid we are to receive from France, our future is hopeless indeed. And, indeed, no small portion of my friends begin to see that unless England takes possession of the island the future is altogether hopeless. The general opinion here is that it is impossible that peace can much longer be maintained between England and France, and they hope that one of the first steps England will take after war is declared will be to land an army here." "If the English government were persuaded that the mulattoes and negroes as well as the whites were favourable, I should think that the island might be annexed without difficulty; but unless all parties are agreed I cannot think that a force could be spared that could even hope for success. It would have been an easy task before the mulattoes and the slaves learned their own strength, but it is a very different thing now; and I should say that it would need at least five-and-twenty thousand men, and perhaps even twice that number, to reduce the island to submission and to restore peace and order. I cannot think that, engaged in a war with France, England would be able to spare anything like that force for a difficult and almost certainly a long series of operations here." By this time they had arrived at Monsieur Duchesne's house. "Our friend has only just finished his story," Madame Duchesne said, as he entered. "What a story! what frightful sufferings! what horrors! and," she added with a smile, though her eyes were full of tears--"what 'little' service rendered by you and your brave crew! He has told it all, and of your fight afterwards with that terrible pirate, and how you have added to the list of those you have saved from terrible deaths some eighteen or twenty Spanish gentlemen and ladies, and twice as many sailors." "Yes, I have had wonderful luck," Nat said; "and you see I have been well rewarded. I am only just out of my time as a midshipman, and I am in command of a fine ship, which, in the ordinary course of things, I could not have hoped for for another eight or ten years. I have gained a considerable amount of prize-money, and best of all, the friendship of yourselves and the family of Monsieur Pickard. And the real author of all this is Mademoiselle Myra, who was good enough to have that little quarrel with her aunt's dog just at the time that I happened to be passing." This raised a laugh, which in Myra's case became almost hysterical, and her mother had to take her out of the room. "Now, Monsieur Duchesne, I will take this opportunity of returning on board. I promised you that I would come ashore and dine with you this evening, but I must really make its fulfilment conditional upon your assuring me that there shall be no allusion to any of my adventures." [Illustration: A MESSAGE FROM TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE.] "At any rate, I will impress upon my wife and daughter that the subject must be tabooed, and I have no doubt that they will do their best to avoid it, if they can keep away from the topic that cannot but be present in their minds. After hearing Monsieur Pickard's story--of which, as you must remember, I am at present wholly ignorant--you see that, intimate as the two families have been, it is not surprising that they should have been greatly affected by it, especially as for the last month they have been mourning for them as dead." CHAPTER XVI TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE The _Agile_ only remained for two days at Cape François, but in that time Nat had learned enough of the doings of the French commissioners to see that the position was becoming hourly more and more hopeless, and nought short of the arrival of a powerful army from France under a capable commander, without political bias and with supreme authority, or the taking over of the island by the English, could bring back peace and prosperity. He was, however, rejoiced to know that Monsieur Duchesne had already taken passages for himself, his wife and daughter, and the old nurse, to Jamaica, and would leave in a few days; and that Monsieur Pickard had received and accepted an offer for his estate, which was at least as good as he had hoped for, and would also return to Kingston as soon as the necessary documents could be prepared and signed. For some weeks the _Agile_ cruised backwards and forwards along the coast of Hayti without adventure. Nat had endeavoured, but unsuccessfully, to open communication with the blacks under Biassou and François, the two chief negro leaders. It was seldom, indeed, that he caught sight of a human being except when cruising in the bay. The mountains along both the north and the south coast were thinly populated. The white planters and employees had perished to a man, and all the smaller villages had been deserted. St. Louis, Jacmel, Fesle, and Sale Trou were occupied by small bodies of French troops, but most of the settlers had left; and the whole of the negroes had from the first taken to the mountains. The same was the case at Port Dauphin, Port de Paix, Le Cap, and St. Nicholas on the north. It was at St. Nicholas that he was for the first time able to open communication with the negroes. He had anchored in the bay, and, among the native boats that came off to sell fruit and fresh meat, was one in which a mulatto of shabby appearance was seated in the stern. As the boat came alongside he stood up, and said to Turnbull, who was leaning on the rail watching the sailors bargaining with the negroes: "Can I speak with the captain, sir? I have a message for him." "Yes, I have no doubt that he will see you. Come on deck." The man climbed up the side, and followed Turnbull aft to where Nat was sitting. "This man wants to speak to you, sir." "I am the bearer of a letter," he said, "to the English officer commanding this ship," and he handed him a very small note. It was as follows:-- _Sir,--As there are rumours that some of the people of this island have opened negotiations with the governor of Jamaica, we, who represent the coloured people of this country, will be glad to have a conversation with you, and to learn from you what would probably be the conditions on which your country would be likely to accept the sovereignty of this island. What would be the condition of the coloured people here if they did so? Should we be guaranteed our freedom and rights as men, or would it mean merely a change of masters? If you are willing to accede to this invitation, I will personally guarantee your safety, and that, whatever the result of our conversation might be, you shall be escorted in safety back to your ship. We are willing that you should be accompanied by not more than six of your sailors, for whose safety I would be equally responsible. The bearer of this will arrange with you as to the point and hour at which you would land._ This was signed "Toussaint." Nat remembered the name. "Is the writer of this the man who was the coachman of Monsieur Bayou, the agent of the Count de Noé?" "The same, sir. He is now next in command to Biassou and François. He is greatly respected among the negroes, and is their chief doctor." "I have met him, and know that he is worthy of confidence. This is just what we have been wanting, Turnbull," he said, handing the letter to him. "Then you know this man?" Turnbull said, after he had read it, and stepped a few paces away from the messenger, so as to be able to converse unheard by him. "Yes, he is one of the few who remained faithful at the rising, concealed his master and family in the woods, and got them safely off. I had an interview with him, and endeavoured to get him to do as much for Madame Duchesne, but he refused, saying that he had done his duty to his master and must now do it to his countrymen. I had frequently spoken with him before. He bore a very high character, and was much respected by all the negroes in the plantations round. As you see, he writes and expresses himself well, and has, indeed, received a very fair education, and is as intelligent as an ordinary white man. I am quite sure that I can place confidence in him." "Perhaps so, but the question is not whether he would be willing, but whether he would have the power, to ensure your safety. Biassou is, by all accounts, a perfect monster of cruelty." "Yes, they say he is the most fiendish of all these savage brutes. Of course I must risk that. My instructions, as you know, are to open communication with the negroes, if possible, and ascertain their intentions. This is the first opportunity that has offered, and I can hardly expect a more favourable one." "You will take one of us with you, I hope." "No; if anything happens to me the _Agile_ must have a captain, and you would want at least one officer." He returned to the mulatto. "Shall I give you a message in writing, or will you take it by word of mouth?" "I do not want writing, sir; if I were searched, and it were found that I was an agent of Toussaint, I should be hung at once. You give me a message, and I will repeat it." "Tell Toussaint that the commander of this ship is Mr. Glover, whom he will remember to have seen at Monsieur Duchesne's plantation and elsewhere, and who knows him to be an honourable man, and will therefore trust himself in the mountains relying upon his promise of protection. You understand that?" "Yes, sir." "Please repeat my words." The man did so. "How far is Toussaint from here?" "Six hours' journey among the hills." "Then tell him that I will land to-morrow night, or rather the next morning, an hour before daybreak--that is to say, at about half-past four. That time will be best, because the boat will return to the ship before it is light enough for it to be seen. Where do you propose that I shall go?" "You see that rock near the end of the point to the south?--it is about three miles from there. To the left of that rock is a sandy beach, which is a good place for landing. Your escort will be there waiting for you." The mulatto bowed, and at once went over the side and got into his boat, while the two men who had rowed him out were still busy selling fruit to the crew. Nat told Sambo to go and buy some fruit, not because they really wanted it, for a supply had already been bought, but in order that, should any of the negroes in the other boats have noticed the mulatto coming on board, it would be supposed that he had done so in order to persuade the steward to deal with him. The next day four picked men were chosen to accompany Nat. They were to take no muskets with them, but each was to carry, in addition to his cutlass, a pistol in his belt, and another concealed in the bosom of his shirt. The absence of muskets was intended to show the negroes that the party had no fear as to their safety. Nat himself intended to carry only his sword, and a double-barrelled pistol in his belt. At four o'clock on the following morning, he and the four men took their places in the gig, and were rowed ashore to the point agreed on. As they landed a negro came down to meet them. "Toussaint charged me to tell you, sir, that he has sent twelve men down, and that he has done so lest you should meet other parties of our people who might not know of this safe-conduct that he has given you." And he handed a document to Nat. "He has done well," Nat said. "I know that I can rely upon Toussaint, but I myself have thought it possible that we might fall in with men of other bands, and I have therefore brought four of my sailors with me. I am ready to start with you whenever you choose." "We will go on at once. The hills are very close here, but it is best that we should be well among them before it is daylight, or we might be noticed by someone in the town. They would not concern themselves much with us, but your dress and that of the sailors would be sure to cause talk and excite suspicion among the soldiers." He went up to some negroes standing a short distance away and gave them an order. They at once started. He himself took his place by Nat, and the sailors followed close behind. "You talk French very well," Nat said. "Yes, sir, thanks to Toussaint. You do not remember me, though I should know you were it daylight, for I have seen you several times when you have been over at our plantation with Mademoiselle Duchesne. I was chief helper in Monsieur Bayou's stables. Of an evening Toussaint had a sort of school, and four or five of us always went to him, and I learned to read and write, and to talk French as the whites talk it and not as we do. He is a good man, and we all love him. There are many who think he will one day be king of the island; he knows much more than any of the others. But it may be that he will be killed before that, for Biassou hates him because he does not like his cruel ways and speaks boldly against them, which no one else dare do, not even François, whom we all regard as equal in rank to him. "There have been many quarrels, but Biassou knows well enough that if he were to hurt Toussaint there would be a general outcry, and that he and the men who carried out his orders would assuredly be killed. For all that no one doubts that he would get Toussaint removed quietly if there was a chance of doing so, but we do not mean to give him the chance. There are twenty of us who keep guard over him. As for Toussaint, he is not like the others, who, when there is nothing else to be done, spend their time in feasting and drinking. He is always busy attending to the wounded who are brought up to him, or the sick, of whom there are many, for the cold air in the mountains has brought down great numbers with the fever, especially those whose plantations lay on the plain, and who were accustomed to sleep in huts. Very many have died, but Toussaint has saved many, and were it needed he could have two hundred for his guard instead of twenty. "But indeed he thinks not of danger, his whole thoughts are taken up with his work; and he is often without regular sleep for nights together, so great is the need for his services." The ground at once began to rise rapidly, and before the day fairly broke they were high among the hills. When it became light Nat examined the document Toussaint had sent to him. It ran as follows:-- _I, Toussaint, do give notice to all that I have given this safe-conduct and my solemn promise for his safety to Monsieur Glover, a British officer, with whom I desire to converse on matters of importance._ Then followed his signature and a great seal in red wax. "It was the one Monsieur Bayou used," the negro said. "Toussaint brought it and the wax from his office, and uses it often, so that we may all recognize it when we see it--for, as you know, sir, there are scarcely any of our people who can read." After three hours' walking the man pointed out a wood near the crest of a high hill a mile distant. "Toussaint is there," he said. "He accompanied us to that point in order that you should have less distance to travel." Nat was by no means sorry at the news. The way had been very steep and difficult, and the sun had now gained great power. As they neared the edge of the wood, Toussaint came out to meet him. "I am glad to see you, Monsieur Glover," he said quietly. "I learned from our people at Cape François that you had returned there with Madame Duchesne and her daughter, and I rejoiced indeed at your escape, which seemed to me marvellous, for how you avoided the search made for you I could not tell. They told me that Madame Duchesne was carried down on a litter, which must have greatly added to your difficulties. I hardly thought, monsieur, when I saw you last that we should thus meet again, I as one of the leaders of my people, you as commander of an English ship." "No; things change quickly, Toussaint." The negro led the way to a rough hut constructed of boughs and trees in the centre of the clump. "You must need breakfast, and, as you see, it is ready for you. Your men will be cared for." The breakfast was rough, but Nat enjoyed it greatly. Toussaint remarked that he himself had breakfasted an hour before, and he talked while his guest ate. "It is as well," he said, "that you should be down near the spot where you landed before it is dark, for the track is far too rough to travel after dark. I suppose you have ordered your boat to come to fetch you?" "Yes, I ordered it to be there as soon as it could leave the ship without being seen from the shore; but I hardly thought that I should be able to return this evening, as your messenger told me that your camp was six hours' journey among the hills." "Yes, my camp is there, and I too would like to return before nightfall. There are many who need my care, and I have already been too long away. Now, Monsieur Glover, as to the subject on which I asked you to come to converse with me. We have heard that some of the planters have sent a deputation to Jamaica asking the governor to send troops to take this island for England. We, as you doubtless know, are not for the republic. We call ourselves the royal army, seeing that the National Assembly of France refuse to do anything for us. It is true that their commissioners at Cape François have issued a proclamation offering a free pardon to all who have been concerned in the insurrection, and freedom and equal rights to men of all colour. We do not believe them. The Assembly care nothing for us. They passed a decree giving rights to the mulattoes, but in no way affecting us; and then, directly they found that the mulattoes were exercising their rights, they passed another decree reversing the first. One cannot expect good faith in men like these; they would wait till we had laid down our arms and returned to our plantations, and then they would shoot us down like dogs, just as they are murdering all the best men of their own country and keeping their king a prisoner. Therefore we do not recognize the republic, but are for the king." "I fear there will soon be no king for you to recognize," Nat said; "everything points to the fact that they are determined to murder him, as they have murdered every noble and every good man in the country." "I see that," Toussaint said gravely, "but the number of those who know what is passing in France is small. However, we who do know, and are responsible for the mass who trust in us, must consider what is the best thing to do. Do you think there will be a war between France and England?" "I think that if the king is murdered the indignation in England, which is already intense, will be so great that war is certain." "So much the better for us," Toussaint said. "The more they fight against each other, the less will they be able to pay attention to Hayti; but on the other hand the more likely will it be that the English will endeavour to obtain possession of this island. Now, between the French and the English we have no great choice. We regard ourselves as French; we speak the French language, and have, ever since the colony was first formed, lived under the French flag. Then, on the other hand, the French have been our masters, and we are determined that they shall never again be so. Now as to your people. In their own islands they have slaves just as the French have here, and we have no intention of changing slavery under one set of masters for slavery under another. Now, sir, do you think that if the English were to come here they would guarantee that slavery should never exist again in the island?" "That I cannot say," Nat said. "I cannot answer for what the British parliament would do in that matter. The feeling against slavery is growing very fast in England, and I feel convinced that before long a law will be passed putting a stop altogether to the transportation of negroes from Africa; but whether that feeling will, at any rate for a long time, so gain in strength as to cause parliament to pass a law abolishing slavery altogether in British dominions, is more than I can say. It would be a tremendous step to take. It would mean absolute ruin to our islands; for you know as well as I do that your people are not disposed for work, and would never make steady labourers if allowed to live in their own way. Then you see, were slavery abolished altogether in this island, it would be difficult in the extreme to continue it in others." "But they would not find us as slaves here," Toussaint said. "They would find us a free people, without masters, unattached to any plantation or to any regular toil; we should be like the Caribs in Jamaica. It would be as if they came to a land which foreigners had never visited. They would find a people with arms in their hands, and perfectly capable of defending themselves, but ready to accept the sovereignty of England on the condition that our personal liberty was in no way interfered with." "There is a great deal in what you say, Toussaint, and to-morrow I shall sail for Jamaica and explain exactly the line you take to the admiral. I may say that in coming to see you I do so in accordance with the orders that I received, to ascertain if possible the views of the leaders of this movement." "If these terms are refused," Toussaint went on, "and your people invade the island, we shall leave you and the French to fight it out until we perceive which is the stronger, and as soon as we do so, shall aid the weaker. I do not say that we shall stand aloof up to that time, we shall fight against both, they would be equally our enemies; but if one were so far getting the better of it as to be likely to drive the other out, then in self-defence we should unite our forces against it. I may say that although we and the mulattoes are both fighting against the French, the alliance is not likely to be a long one. We all know that if they got the upper hand they would be far more cruel and more tyrannous than the whites have been. They have ever looked down upon us, and have treated us with far greater contempt than have the whites, who, to do them justice, were kindly masters, and especially treated their house servants well. There will therefore be four parties here all hostile to each other. You and the French will be striving for mastery, we for liberty, the mulattoes for the domination of the island and for their personal interest. The way I have pointed out is, in my opinion, the only one that can bring about peace. If your government and people will give us a solemn undertaking that in no case shall slavery ever be re-established, and that all men shall have equal rights, we will join you heart and soul. When I say equal rights I do not mean that they shall have votes. We are at present absolutely unfit to have votes or to exercise political power. I only mean that the law shall be the same for us as for the whites, that we shall be taxed on the same scale in proportion to our means, that the assembly shall have no power to make separate laws concerning us, and that, should they attempt to make such laws, they should be at once dissolved by the white authorities of the island." "I think your proposal a perfectly fair one, Toussaint, and I have no doubt that any one who has, as I have, a knowledge of the situation here, would not hesitate to accept it. But I doubt whether public opinion at home is ripe for a change that would be denounced by all having an interest in the West Indian Islands, and declared by them to be absolutely destructive to their prosperity. However, you may be assured that I shall represent your offer in the most favourable light. I must ask, however, are you empowered by the other leaders to make it?" "I have talked the matter with François, who is wholly of my opinion," Toussaint said. "It is useless to talk to Biassou; when he is not murdering someone he is drinking; but his opposition would go for little, except among the very worst of our people. He is already regarded with horror and disgust, and you may be assured that his career will ere long come to an end, in which case François and I will share the power between us. At the same time I do not blind myself to the possibility that other leaders may arise. The men of one district know but little of the others, and may elect their own chiefs. Still, I think that if I had the authority to say that the proposal I have made to you had been accepted, I could count on the support of the great majority of the men of my colour, for already they are beginning to find that a life of lawless liberty has its drawbacks. Already we have been obliged to order that a certain amount of work shall be done by every man among the plantations beyond the reach of the towns, in order to ensure a supply of food. "The order has been obeyed, but not very willingly, for there can be no doubt that a portion of the men believed that when they had once got rid of the masters there would be no occasion whatever for any further work, but that they would somehow be supplied with an abundance of all that they required. The sickness that has prevailed has also had its effect. There are few, indeed, here who have any knowledge of medicine, and the poor people have suffered accordingly. When in the plantations they were always well tended in sickness, while here they have had neither shelter nor care. It is all very well to tell them that liberty cannot be obtained without sacrifices, and that it must be a long time before things settle down and each man finds work to do, but the poor people, ignorant as they are, are like children, and think very little of the future. The effect of centuries of slavery will take many years to remedy. For myself, although I believe that we shall finally obtain what we desire, and shall become undisputed masters of the island, I foresee that our troubles are only beginning. We have had no training for self-government. We shall have destroyed the civilization that reigned here, and shall have nothing to take its place, and I dread that instead of progressing we may retrograde until we sink back into the condition in which we lived in Africa." At this moment a negro ran up. "Doctor," he said, "there are a large number of our people close at hand, and I think I can make out Biassou among them." "I fear that we may have some trouble, Monsieur Glover," Toussaint said quietly, "but be assured that I and those with me will maintain my safe-conduct with our lives. Biassou must have arrived at my camp after I left, and he must have heard there that I was going to meet an English officer, and has followed me. He was present when François and I arranged to send a messenger to propose a meeting to you, and he then assented, but as often as not he forgets in the morning what he has agreed to overnight." He went apart and spoke to his men. Twenty of them had accompanied him from his camp, and with the twelve who had formed the escort, and Nat and the sailors, there were in all thirty-eight, and from the quiet way in which they took up their arms Nat had little doubt that they would, if necessary, make a stout fight against Biassou's savages. These arrived in two or three minutes. They had evidently travelled at the top of their speed, for their breath came fast, and they were bathed in sweat. Their aspect was savage in the extreme. Most of them wore some garment or other the spoil of murdered victims, some of them broad Panama-hats, others had women's shawls wrapped round their waists as sashes, some had jackets that were once white, others were naked to the waist. A few had guns, the rest either axes or pikes, and all carried long knives. Conspicuous among them was Biassou himself, a negro of almost gigantic stature and immense strength, to which he owed no small part of his supremacy among his friends. He came on shouting "Treachery! treachery!" words that were re-echoed in a hoarse chorus by his followers, who numbered about a hundred and fifty. At the threatening aspect of the new-comers, Toussaint's men closed up round him, but he signed them to stand back, and quietly awaited the coming of Biassou. The calmness of Toussaint had its effect on Biassou. Instead of rushing at him with his axe, as it had seemed was his intention, he paused and again shouted "Treachery!" "What nonsense are you talking, Biassou?" Toussaint said. "I am carrying out the arrangement to which you and François agreed the other night, and am having an interview with this British officer." "When did I agree to such a thing?" the great negro roared. "Last Friday night we agreed that it was well that we should learn the intentions of the English, and that we should ascertain the position in which we should stand were they to come here." "I remember nothing about it, Toussaint." "That is possible enough," the latter replied. "You know that it is no uncommon thing for you to forget in the morning what was arranged overnight. This officer has come here on my invitation and under my safe-conduct, and no man shall touch him while I live." "It is agreed," Biassou said, "and all have sworn to it, that no white who falls into our hands shall be spared. Such is the case, is it not?" he said to his followers; and they answered with a loud shout and began to press forward. "These men have not fallen into our hands," Toussaint said, "they have come here on our invitation, and, as I have told you, with our safeguard." "It is all very well for you to talk, Toussaint; I know you. You pretend to be with us, but your heart is with the whites, and you are here to conspire with them against us," and he raised his axe as if about to rush forward. "This is madness, Biassou," Toussaint said sternly. "Have we not enough enemies now that we should quarrel among ourselves? You have done enough harm to our cause already by your horrible cruelties, for which every coloured man who falls into the hands of the whites has to suffer severely. Beware how you commence a conflict; you may be more numerous than we are, but we are better armed, and even if you overpowered us in the end, you would suffer heavily before you did so." "I wish you no harm, Toussaint, but for the last time I demand that these white men shall be given up to me." "And for the last time I refuse," Toussaint said; and his men without orders moved up close to him. Biassou stood for a moment irresolute, and then, with a shout to his men to follow him, sprang forward. In an instant Nat threw himself before Toussaint, and when Biassou was within a couple of yards of him threw up his arm and levelled his pistol between the negro's eyes. "Drop that axe," he shouted, "or you are a dead man!" The negro stood like a black statue for an instant. The pistol was but a foot from his face, and he knew that before his uplifted axe could fall he would be a dead man. "Drop it!" Nat repeated. "If you don't before I count three, I fire. One--two--" and the negro's axe fell to the ground. "Stand where you are!" Nat exclaimed, "the slightest movement and I fire! Come up here, men!" The four sailors came up, cutlass in one hand and pistol in the other. "This man is your prisoner," he said. "Keep him between you, one on each side and the other two behind. If he makes the slightest movement to escape, or if the blacks behind approach any nearer, send your four bullets into his brain." The men took up their stations as directed. "Now, Biassou," he went on, lowering his own pistol, "you can continue your conference with Toussaint." [Illustration: "DROP IT!" NAT REPEATED.] "You see, Biassou," Toussaint said, "you have only rendered yourself ridiculous. I repeat what I said before, this officer is here in answer to my invitation sent to him after François and you had agreed that it was advantageous to learn what the objects of the English were. If you question him you will find that it is as I say. We have had our conference, have expressed our views, and he will repeat what I have said to the British governor of Jamaica; and I think that, whatever the result may be, it is well that the English should understand that we have resolved that, whether they or the French are the possessors of this island, slavery is abolished for ever here. He will return at once to the coast, and will then sail direct for Jamaica. Now, if you have any observation to make, I shall be glad to hear it." "I do not doubt what you say," Biassou replied sullenly; "but it must be settled by what François says when we rejoin him." "So be it," Toussaint said. "And now, I pray you, let there be no quarrel between us. I have been forced to withstand you, because I was bound by a sacred promise. Any divisions will be fatal to our cause. For the moment you may be in superior force, but another time those who love and follow me might be the more numerous. You well know that I am as faithful to the cause as you are, and we must both set an example to our followers, that while we may differ as to the methods by which success is to be gained, we are at one in our main object." "I admit that I was wrong," the great negro said frankly. "I drank more than was good for me before I started, and my blood has been heated by the speed with which we followed you. I am sober now, for which I have to thank," he added with a grim smile, "this young officer; though I own that I do not like his method. Let us think no more of it;" and he held out his hand to Toussaint, which the latter took. A shout of satisfaction rose from the negroes on both sides. The determined attitude of Toussaint's men, the fact that they had four whites among them, and that almost all of them had muskets, had cooled the courage of Biassou's followers, who, as soon as their leader was captured, saw that even if they gained the victory, it would be at the cost of at least half their number. There was no prospect of plunder or of any advantage, and they knew that, beloved and respected as Toussaint was, it was very possible that those who did survive the fight would fall victims to the indignation that would be aroused at the news of an attack being made upon him. "Now that it is all settled we may as well be starting for the coast, Toussaint," Nat said. "There is nothing more for us to arrange, and as our presence here might possibly lead to further trouble, the sooner we are off the better." "I will not ask you to stay," the negro said. "I do not think that we shall have any more trouble, but there is no saying. Several of Biassou's men have wine-skins with them, and a quarrel might arise when they had drunk more. I will send you down under the same escort as before." "I do not think that we shall need so many. I should not like to weaken you so far." "There is no fear for me," Toussaint said decidedly. "Arriving in hot blood they might have attacked me, but I am sure they will not do so now. They know well enough that I should be terribly avenged were they to do so. It is quite necessary that you should take as many men as before, for it is possible that some of Biassou's men might steal away and follow you." A few minutes afterwards Nat set out with his men and his guard of twelve blacks. It was still some hours before the time at which he was to be met by the boat. They therefore halted when within a mile of the shore, and there waited until it was dark. Then he went on alone with the four sailors to the beach, and in a few minutes after they arrived there they heard the sound of the oars of the gig. "I am heartily glad to see you back again," Turnbull said as Nat stepped on to the deck. "Lippincott and I have been horribly uneasy about you all day. Did everything go off quietly?" "Yes, except for two or three minutes, when that bloodthirsty scoundrel Biassou came upon the scene with a hundred and fifty of his followers. There was very nearly a shindy then, but it passed off; for he did not like looking down the muzzle of my pistol at a few inches from his head, and my four men made him a prisoner until affairs had taken a friendly turn, which was not long after. For when the leader of a party is a prisoner, and his guards have orders to shoot him instantly if there is any trouble, it is astonishing how quick people are in coming to an understanding." "Yes, I should say so," Turnbull laughed. "However, as it has turned out well, and you have fulfilled your mission, it doesn't matter to us; and I hope that we have now done with this creeping alongshore work." CHAPTER XVII A FRENCH FRIGATE On arriving at Kingston Nat went on board the flag-ship, and reported to the admiral the particulars of his visit to Toussaint. "He is evidently a long-headed fellow," the admiral said, "and from his point of view his proposal is a fair one; but I am afraid our people at home would never give such an undertaking. It would be impossible for us to have one island where the blacks were free, while in all others they would remain slaves. It would be as much as saying to them, 'If you want freedom you must fight for it;' and even if the people at home could bring themselves to pay the immense amount of money that would be required to emancipate the slaves by indemnifying their owners, it would nevertheless be the ruin of the islands, and all connected with them. However, I will take you ashore to the governor, after my clerk has made a copy of your report." "I have made two copies, sir." "All the better. Then we will go at once." The governor heard Nat's story, and received his report. "It is at least satisfactory," he said, "to have learnt from one of themselves what the views of the principal leaders are, and I consider that you have performed your commission exceedingly well, Lieutenant Glover, and, undoubtedly, at a great deal of risk to yourself. As to the matter of the communication, it will of course receive serious attention. It is far too important a business for anyone to give off-hand an opinion upon it. I fancy, sir, that you are likely to have more active work before long, for I think there is no doubt that war will very shortly be declared with France, and her privateers will be swarming about these seas." It was nearly six months before any special incident took place. No vessel had been missing since the capture of the _Agile_, and it was evident that any pirates there might have been among the islands had moved to waters where they could carry on their trade with less interruption. The _Agile_ cruised about among the islands, and although she had a pleasant time, officers and men alike grew impatient at the uneventful nature of their work. Things were but little changed in Hayti. Biassou had been deprived of his command, and it was surmised that he had been murdered, but at any rate he was never heard of again. François and Toussaint commanded, but the former came to be so jealous of Toussaint's popularity that the latter was obliged to retire, and to cross the frontier into the Spanish part of the island. There he was well received, and showed great ability in various actions against the French, with whom Spain was then at war. He and many other negroes had declared for Spain, upon the singular ground that they had always been governed by a king, and preferred to be ruled by the king of Spain rather than by a republic. With only six hundred men Toussaint drove fifteen hundred French out of a strong post which they occupied in the Spanish town of Raphaelita, and afterwards took several other posts and villages. It was for these successes that he gained the name of L'Ouverture, or opener, and the Marquis D'Hermona gave him the rank of lieutenant-general. The three French commissioners had returned to France, and had been succeeded by two others, Santhonax and Poveren, the former a ruffian of the same type as those who were deluging the soil of France with its best blood, and who made themselves odious to both parties by their brutality and greed. At last, at the end of February, 1793, came the news of the execution of the king of France, and the certainty that war was imminent. "Now we shall have more lively times," Turnbull said. "It has been dull enough of late." "There has been nothing to grumble at," the surgeon said. "What would you have? Haven't we been sailing about like gentlemen, with nothing to do but to drink and sleep, and look at the islands, and take things easy altogether?" "Don't you talk, Doyle," Turnbull said, laughing. "There is no one who has grumbled more than yourself." "That is in the cause of science," the Irishman retorted. "How can I ever become a distinguished man, and show what is in me, and make all sorts of discoveries, if there is never a chance that comes in my way? There are my instruments all ready for use, they might as well be at the bottom of the sea. I hone them once a week, and well-nigh shed tears because of the good work they ought to be doing. It is all very well for you, Turnbull, you won't forget how to kill a man when the time comes; but let me tell you that any fellow who doesn't know his A B C can kill a man, whereas it takes a man of science to cure him." "There is a good deal in that, Doyle," Nat said, when the laugh had subsided, "though I don't know that I considered it in that light before; but that, perhaps, is because I have tried one and never tried the other." "It's a fine thing," Doyle said, "to be a surgeon. There you see a man with his legs shot off. If it was not for you he would die. You take him in hand, you amputate a bit higher up, you make him tidy and comfortable, and there he is walking about almost as well as if he had two legs; and although he is not fit for ship service again, he would be as good a man in a fight with a cudgel as ever he was. Now I ask you fairly, what is there that you can do to compare with that?" "Nothing in that way, I must admit," Nat laughed, "Well, you may be having an opportunity of showing your superiority before long. This is just the ground the French privateers are likely to choose. There are plenty of French ports for them to put into, hundreds of bays where they could lie hidden, and lots of shipping to plunder. No doubt they will be thick in the channel and down the straits, but our merchantmen will not think of going there unless in large fleets or under convoy of ships of war; while here, though they might be guarded on their way across the Atlantic, they would have to scatter as soon as they were among the islands. Well, we must look out that we are not caught napping. Of course, until we get news that war is declared we can't fire upon a Frenchman; while if one arrived with the news before we got it, he might sail up close by us and pour in a broadside." "At any rate we are likely to take some prizes," Lippincott said, "for the instant we get the news we can pounce upon any French merchantman." "Yes; those homeward-bound could hardly hear the news as soon as we do, while of those coming out many slow sailers will have left before war is declared, and may not be here for weeks after we hear of it. The great thing will be for us to put ourselves on the main line of traffic. As we have received no special orders we can cruise where we like. I should say that coming from France, they would be likely to keep down the coast of Spain and on to Madeira before they strike across, as in that way they would be altogether out of the line of the Gulf Stream. Then, if they were making for Hayti, they would probably be coming along west on or about the 20th parallel north; while, if making for Guadeloupe or Martinique, they would be some three or four degrees farther south. Probably privateers would follow the same lines, as before commencing operations they would want to take in provisions and water, to learn where our cruisers are likely to be, to pick up pilots, and so on. So I should say that we can cruise about these waters for another fortnight safely, and then go through the Caribbean Islands and cruise some seventy or eighty miles beyond them, carefully avoiding putting into any of our own islands as we pass." "Why should you do that?" Turnbull asked. "Because the chances are that we should find, either at Barbados or St. Lucia or Dominica--or, in fact, at any of the other islands, one of our frigates, or at any rate, some officer senior to me; and in that case, as we have no fixed orders from the admiral, we might be detained or sent off in some direction that might not suit us at all." "Good!" Doyle said. "It is always a safe rule to keep out of the way of a bigger man than yourself. I have always observed that a captain of a man-of-war or of a frigate is sure to be down on small craft, if he gets a chance. It is like a big boy at school fagging a little one; he could do quite as well without him, but it is just a matter of devilment and to show his authority. Heaven protect us against falling in with a frigate. If she were a Frenchman she would sink us; if she were a Britisher she would bully us." They reached the ground on which Nat had decided to cruise. Three days later the look-out at the mast-head shouted "Sail ho!" the words acting like an electric shock to those on deck. "How does it bear?" "About east by north, sir. There are three vessels; I can only see their topsails at present. Two of them are a bit bigger than the third. They look to me to be merchantmen. I should say the other, by the cut of his sails, is a Frenchman." A low cheer broke from the men. "Now, if that fellow brings news that war is declared, we are in luck," Nat said. "Either he is convoying two French merchantmen he has overtaken, or he has two British prizes he has picked up. If they are English, we shall not get so much prize-money; but then we shall have less difficulty with the privateer, if privateer she is, because she must have put a good many of her hands an board the prizes. So we can in either case count upon doing well. At any rate they are not likely to suspect that we are English, being French-built and French-rigged. Even if they have a doubt, they will be satisfied as soon as they see the name on our bows. We will not get up any more sail." "I will go up and have a look at her," Turnbull said; and slinging his glass over his shoulder he went aloft. "I think," he called down, after a long look at them, "that the middle ship is a good deal larger than she looks; and the others are carrying every stitch of canvas, but she has neither royals nor topgallant-sails. Her yards have a wide spread, and I am inclined to think that she is a frigate or a large corvette--certainly a French one. As to the others, I cannot say with certainty, but I rather fancy they are English; in which case she has captured them on the way, and, being much faster than they are, has to go under easy sail to keep with them." "Well, I hope she is not too big for us," Nat said, as Turnbull rejoined him. "What should you call too big, sir?" Turnbull asked with a smile. "Well, I should say that a fifty was too big." "I should think so indeed. A twenty-gun sloop would be a pretty formidable opponent." "Yes, a twenty would about suit us, especially as she may have fifty of her men on board the other craft--that is, if they are her prizes. It is the men that I am more afraid of than the guns. Two to one are no great odds in guns, especially as we generally work ours faster than the French do; but when it comes to a hundred and fifty men or so against forty, it may be very unpleasant if we get a spar knocked away and they come alongside of us. We may as well get the French flag up at once. With a good glass they could make it out a long way off. Let the men have their breakfast, it is a bad thing to fight fasting." The men were not long over their meal; by the time they came on deck again the strangers were within five or six miles. The wind was in the north-east, and the _Agile_ was almost close-hauled, while the others had the wind broad on their quarters. There was now no longer any doubt that the outside vessels were two large British West Indiamen, and the fact that they were in company with what was undoubtedly a French frigate was regarded as absolute proof that war had been declared, and that the French ship of war on her way out to the colonies with the news had overtaken and captured the two British ships, which were probably sailing in company. As they approached, the _Agile_ was luffed up more into the wind in order to pass between the Frenchman and the prize within a few cables' length to starboard of him. "How many guns do you make her out to be, Mr. Lippincott?" "I think that she has eighteen guns on a broadside." "The odds are pretty strongly against us," Nat said; "but we shall have the weather-gauge, that counts for a good deal. Anyhow, we shall be able to annoy her, and possibly, if we hang on to her, the sound of firing will bring up one of our cruisers from Barbuda or Antigua." An awning which was stretched over the quarter-deck had not been taken down, and as the brigantine approached the French frigate, there was no sign that her intentions were not of a peaceable nature. The French ensign floated from the peak, the sailors on deck were lounging about, some with their jackets on, others in their shirts, and only a few with hats on seemed to be watching with idle curiosity the approaching vessels. Nat and the officers retained their uniforms, for as only their heads and shoulders showed over the rail, there was nothing to distinguish them from those of a fine French privateer, for these generally adopted a regular naval dress. The two vessels were but fifty yards apart as they met. Nat sprang on to the rail, and in reply to the hail from the Frenchman, "What ship is that?" raised his cap in salute and shouted: "The _Agile_ of Bordeaux. Have you any news from France, sir?" "Yes, war has been declared with England." [Illustration: NAT SPRANG ON TO THE RAIL.] "Thank you, that is good news indeed," and he leapt down on to the deck. The vessels were both travelling at a speed of about eight knots an hour, and were already passing one another fast, when, as Nat waved his hand, the French flag was run down, an English ensign already fastened to the halyards was simultaneously run up, and a moment later the five guns, which had previously been trained to bear aft and double-shotted, poured their broadside into the quarters of the French frigate. Shouts of surprise and fury rose from her; no thought that the little craft so fearlessly approaching her was an enemy had crossed the mind of any on board, still less that if British she would venture to fire upon so vastly superior a foe. "About ship!" Nat said, the instant the guns had been fired. The sail-trimmers were at their places, the _Agile_ shot up into the wind, her head paid off, and she swept round on the other tack, crossing the stern of the Frenchman, her guns on the starboard side sending their shot in through his stern windows, and raking his whole length as they were brought to bear; then she wore round on her heel, the guns on the larboard side were reloaded, and she again raked the Frenchman. So far not a single shot had been fired in return. The din on board the frigate was prodigious, as the guns had to be cast loose, magazines opened, powder and shot carried up, and the sails trimmed to enable her to bear up so as to show her broadside to her puny foe. Before she could do so the _Agile_, true to her name, was again round. The Frenchmen, confused by the variety of orders issued, were slow at their work, and as their opponent came up into the wind the brigantine was again astern of them, and raked them this time with heavy charges of grape. A chorus of shrieks and cries from the frigate told how terrible was the effect. "By St. Patrick," the surgeon exclaimed to Lippincott, "it is grand! But it looks as if the captain wasn't going to give me a chance, and all me instruments laid out ready for action." "Never mind, doctor, you will be able to practise on the Frenchmen," Lippincott laughed. But the French captain knew his business, and putting his helm over again, ran off the wind, so that the two vessels were now on the same tack, with the _Agile_ on her opponent's quarter. Several of the French guns were now brought to bear, but their discharge was too hurried, and owing to the brigantine lying so much lower in the water, the shot flew between her masts or made holes in her mainsail. In a moment she was round again, and crossed her opponent's stern at a distance of some thirty yards, the word being passed along that the gunners were to aim at the rudder-post and to double-shot the guns. A loud cheer rose as two of the shots struck the mark. The Frenchman replied with a volley of musketry from the marines gathered on her poop. Three of the sailors fell, and several others were hit. The Frenchman was, when the _Agile_ delivered her last broadside, running nearly before the wind, and it was speedily evident that the injury to her rudder had been fatal, for although she attempted by trimming her sails again to bear up, each time she fell off, though not before some of her shot had hulled her active opponent. Seeing, however, that he must now be easily outmanoeuvred, the Frenchman made no further effort to change his course, but continued doggedly on his way, the topmen swarming aloft and shaking out more canvas. The _Agile_ followed the frigate's example, and placing herself on her stern quarter, kept up a steady fire, yawing when necessary to bring all her guns to bear, the French replying occasionally with one of their stern guns. Owing to the accelerated speed at which both vessels were now going, the Indiamen had been left behind. Half an hour later the frigate's mizzen-mast, which had been severely wounded by the first broadside, went over her side. Cheer after cheer rose from the _Agile_; her opponent was now at her mercy. She had but to repeat the tactics with which she had begun the fight. Just as Nat gave the order to do so, musket shots were heard in the distance. The crew of one of the merchantmen had been allowed to remain on deck, as, being under the guns of the frigate, there was no possibility of their attempting to overpower their captors. As soon, however, as it became evident that the frigate was getting the worst of it, they had been hurried below, and the hatches dropped over them. From the port-holes, however, they could obtain a view of what was going on ahead of them, and as soon as they saw the frigate's mast go by the board, they armed themselves with anything that would serve as weapons, managed to push up the after-hatch, and rushed on deck. The prize crew were all clustered forward watching the fight; a shout from the helmsman apprised them of their danger, and they rushed aft. They were, however, less numerous than the British sailors, and no better armed, for, believing that the frigate would easily crush her tiny assailant, they were unprepared to take any part in the fight. The contest was a very short one. Knowing that the frigate was crippled, and that the brigantine would soon be free to return to them, the Frenchmen saw that they must eventually be taken, and the officer in command being knocked senseless with a belaying-pin, they threw down their knives and surrendered. The other Indiaman at once put down her helm on seeing that the British flag was being run up on her consort. "We must not let that fellow get away," Nat said; "we can leave the frigate alone for half an hour. We will give him two more broadsides with grape through his stern windows, and then bear up after that lumbering merchantman. We shall be alongside in half an hour." In less than that time they were within pistol-shot of the West Indiaman, and the prize crew at once hauled down their flag. The _Agile_ went alongside, released the prisoners, who had been securely fastened in the hold, and replaced them by the French crew. The Indiaman's officers had been allowed to remain on deck. "Now, captain," Nat said to the English master, "please keep every sail full and follow us. It will not be long before we settle with the frigate, and we shall then run down to Barbados." The master, who was greatly surprised at the youth of the officer who had so ably handled his ship against an immensely superior foe, said: "Allow me to congratulate you on the splendid way in which you have handled your vessel. I could scarcely believe my eyes when you opened fire on the frigate. It seemed impossible that you should have thought of really engaging such an opponent." "You see, we had the weather gauge of her, captain, and the brigantine is both fast and handy. But I must be off now before they have time to get into fighting trim again." In another half-hour he was in his old position under the frigate's quarter, and was preparing to resume his former tactics, when the French flag fluttered down amid the cheers of the _Agile's_ crew, which were faintly repeated by the two merchantmen a mile astern. "I am heartily glad that they have surrendered," Nat said to Turnbull; "it would have been a mere massacre if they had been obstinate. Now, will you go on board and see what state she is in. Do not accept the officers' swords. They have done all that they could, but they really never had a chance after we had once got in the right position. Order all unwounded men below. As soon as you return with your report as to the state of things, I will send you off again with twenty men to take command. You had better bring the officers back with you. Mr. Lippincott, hoist a signal to the merchantmen to lie to as soon as they get abreast of us." Mr. Turnbull returned in twenty minutes. "It is an awful sight," he said. "The captain and the two senior lieutenants are killed, and it was the third lieutenant who ordered the flag to be lowered. Her name is the _Spartane_. She carried a crew of three hundred men, of whom fifty were on board her prizes. She has lost ninety killed, and there are nearly as many more wounded, of whom at least half are hit with grape, and I fancy few of them will recover; the others are splinter wounds, some of them very bad. There are two surgeons at work. I told them that ours would come to their assistance as soon as he had done with our own wounded." The third lieutenant and three midshipmen, who were the sole survivors of the officers of the _Spartane_, soon came on board. "Gentlemen," Nat said, "I am sorry for your misfortune, but assuredly you have nothing to reproach yourselves with. You did all that brave men could do, and did not lower your flag until further resistance would have been a crime against humanity." The officers bowed; they were too much depressed to reply. Their mortification was great at being overpowered by a vessel so much inferior in strength to their own, and the feeling was increased now by seeing that their conqueror was a lad no older than the senior of the midshipmen. Turnbull's cabin was at once allotted to the lieutenant, and a large spare cabin to the midshipmen. Leaving Lippincott in charge, with ten men, Nat went with Turnbull and the doctor on board the frigate, and the boat went back to fetch the rest of the crew. The merchantmen had been signalled to send as many men as they could spare on board the frigate, and not until these arrived did Nat feel comfortable. Of his own crew three had been killed and ten wounded; three of these were fit for duty, and formed part of Lippincott's party, and the twenty he had with him seemed lost on board the frigate. Although Turnbull had had hawsers coiled over the hatches, the thought that there were nearly a hundred prisoners there, and that there were enough comparatively slightly wounded to overpower the two men placed as sentries over each hatchway, was a very unpleasant one. The arrival, however, of thirty of the merchant sailors, armed to the teeth, altered the position of affairs. The first duty was to clear the decks of the dead. These were hastily sewn up in their own hammocks, with a couple of round shot at their feet, and then launched overboard. Those of the wounded able to walk were then mustered, and one of the French surgeons bandaged all the less serious wounds. After being supplied with a drink of wine and water, they were taken below, and placed with their companions in the hold. Then the wreck of the mizzen was cut away, and the frigate was taken in tow by the _Agile_, her own sails being left standing to relieve the strain on the hawsers. The two merchantmen were signalled to reduce sail, and to follow, and on no account to lose sight of the stern light of the frigate after it became dusk. Nat returned, with four of his crew, to the _Agile_, and four days later towed the _Spartane_ into the anchorage off Bridgetown, the chief port of Barbados, the two West Indiamen following. The _Isis_, a fine fifty-gun frigate, was lying there. She had arrived on the previous day, having been despatched with the news of the outbreak of war. As her captain was evidently the senior officer on the station, Nat was rowed on board. "Are you the officer in command of that brigantine?" the captain asked in surprise. "Yes, sir; my name is Glover." "Well, Lieutenant Glover, what part did your ship bear in the fight with that Frenchman? I see by her sails that she was engaged. Whom had you with you?" "We were alone, sir." "What!" the captain said, incredulously, "do you mean to say that, with that little ten-gun craft, you captured a thirty-six-gun frigate single-handed?" "That is so, sir." "Well, I congratulate you on it heartily," the captain exclaimed, shaking Nat by the hand with great cordiality. "You must tell me all about it. It is an extraordinary feat. How many men do you carry?" "We have forty seamen, sir, and two petty officers." "And what are your casualties?" "Three killed and ten wounded." "What were the casualties of the Frenchmen?" "Ninety killed, including the captain and the first and second lieutenants and five midshipmen, and eighty-three wounded." "And how many prisoners?" "In all, a hundred and thirty, sir, of whom five-and-twenty are on board each of those merchantmen, which had been captured by the frigate. The crew of one rose and mastered their captors as soon as they saw the frigate's mizzen-mast fall, and knew that we must take her. The prize crew in the other struck their flag as soon as we came within pistol-shot of her. I shall be glad to receive orders from you as to the disposal of the prisoners. I have had thirty men from the merchantmen on board the _Spartane_, for I could spare so few men that the prisoners might, without their assistance, have retaken her." "I will go ashore with you presently and see the governor, and ask whether he can take charge of them. If he cannot, you can hand over the greater part of them to me. I shall sail for Jamaica this evening. As to the prize, I should advise you to see if you cannot get some spars and rig a jury-mast; there are sure to be some in the dockyard. While that is being done you can go through the formalities of inspecting the Indiamen, for whose salvage you will get a very handsome sum. At any rate, if I were you I should keep them here until I was ready to sail, and then go with them and your prize to Kingston. I should go in in procession, as you did here. It is a thing that you have a right to be proud of." "We need lose no time about the mast, sir. We stripped the gear off and got it on board the _Spartane_, and towed her mast behind her, thinking that perhaps we might not get a suitable spar here. Of course the lower mast will be short, but that will matter comparatively little. What is more serious is that her rudder is smashed." "I doubt whether you can get that remedied here. I should advise you to rig out a temporary rudder. I'll tell you what I will do--I will send a couple of hundred men on board at once under my second officer. That will make short work of it, and I am sure that there is not a man on board who would not be glad to lend a hand in fitting up a prize that has been so gallantly won." He called his officers, who had been standing apart during this conversation, and introduced Nat to them, saying: "Gentlemen, I never heard Lieutenant Glover's name until a few minutes ago, but I can with confidence tell you that no more gallant officer is to be found in the service; and when I say that, with that little ten-gun brigantine and a crew of forty men, he engaged the French frigate that you see behind her and forced her to strike, after a fight in which she had a hundred and seventy men killed or wounded, that he took a hundred and thirty prisoners, and recaptured those two West Indiamen which were her prizes, I think you will all agree that I am not exaggerating. He is naturally very anxious to be off. The frigate's mizzen-mast is lying astern of her, and will make an excellent jury-mast, as all the gear is on board, and only requires shortening. Her rudder is smashed, and a temporary one must be rigged up; and, knowing that all on board will be ready and glad to help when they hear what I have told you, I am going to send two hundred men off at once to lend a hand. Will you take command, Mr. Lowcock? You will take with you, of course, the boatswain and his mates and the carpenters." "I should be glad to go too, sir," the first lieutenant said. "You and I will go together, Mr. Ferguson, after we have had a glass of wine and heard from Mr. Glover the details of this singular action." The order was at once given to lower the boats. The story that the French frigate and her two prizes had been captured single-handed by the brigantine speedily circulated, and the men hastened into the boats with alacrity. With them went the surgeon and his assistant to see if they could be of any help on board, while the captain, his first lieutenant, and Nat went into the cabin, and the latter related the details of the action. "Skilfully managed indeed, Mr. Glover!" the captain said when he had finished; "no one could have done better. It was fortunate indeed that your little craft was so fast and handy, for if that frigate had brought her guns to bear fully upon her she ought to have been able to fairly blow you out of the water with a single broadside. May I ask if this is your first action?" "No, sir; I was in a tender of the _Orpheus_ frigate when she captured a very strong pirate's hold near the port of Barcela in Caracas, destroying the place and capturing or blowing up three of their ships." "I remember the affair," the captain said, "and a very gallant one it was; for, if I am right, the frigate could not get into the entrance, but landed her men, captured two of the pirates' batteries, and turned the guns on their ships, while a schooner she had captured a few days before sailed right in and engaged them, and was nearly destroyed when one of the pirates blew up. The officer in command of her was killed, and a midshipman was very highly spoken of, for he succeeded to the command, and gallantly went on board another pirate and drowned their magazine." "Much more was said about it than necessary," Nat said. The captain looked surprised. "By the way," the lieutenant broke in, "I remember the name now. Are you the Mr. Glover mentioned in the despatches?" "Yes, sir; but, as I said, the captain was good enough to make more of the affair than it deserved." "I expect that he was the best judge of that," the captain said. "Well, after that?" "After that, sir, I had the command of a little four-gun schooner which was cruising along the coast of Hayti to pick up fugitives, when I came across the brigantine I now command in the act of plundering a merchantman she had just captured. She left her prize and followed me. I was faster and more weatherly than she was, and having had the luck to smash the jaws of her gaff after a running fight of seven or eight miles, was able to get back to the prize and recapture her before the pirate came up. The crew of the prize came up and manned their guns, and between us we engaged the brigantine and carried her by boarding. On taking her into Kingston the admiral gave me the command, and raised my crew from twenty to forty. We have now been cruising for four or five months, but not until we sighted the frigate and her prizes have we had the luck to fall in with an enemy." "Well, sir," the captain said, "even admitting that you have had some luck, there is no question that you have utilized your opportunities and have an extraordinary record, and if you don't get shot I prophesy that you will be an admiral before many officers old enough to be your father. Now, I am sure you must be anxious to get on board your prize as soon as possible, so we will take you to her at once." In a few minutes they were on the deck of the _Spartane_. It was a scene of extraordinary activity. The lower mast had already been parbuckled on to the deck, where sheer-legs had been erected by another party. The mast was soon in its place, and the wedges driven in, the shrouds had been shortened, and men were engaged in tightening the lanyards. The topmast was on deck ready to be hoisted. The carpenters were busy constructing a temporary rudder with a long spar, to one end of which planks were being fixed, so that it looked like a gigantic paddle. As soon as this was completed, the other end of the spar was lashed to the taffrail. Strong hawsers were then to be fastened to the paddle, and brought in one on each quarter and attached to the drum of the wheel. "Now, Mr. Glover," the captain said, after watching the work for some little time, "I will go ashore with you to the governor; you ought to pay your respects to him. Fortunately you will not require any assistance from him, for unless I am greatly mistaken these jobs will be finished this evening; the masts and rigging will certainly be fixed before dusk, and the carpenters must stick to their job till it is done. Like all make-shifts, it will not be so good as the original, but I think it will serve your turn, for there is little likelihood of bad weather at this time of year. I suppose you intend to keep the merchant seamen on board? If not, I will spare you some hands." "I am much obliged, sir, but I think we shall do very well. It is a fine reaching wind, and we shall scarcely have to handle a sail between this and Jamaica." "Very well, I understand your feeling, you would like to finish your business without help. That is very natural; I should do the same in your place." "How about the merchantman's papers, sir?" "I shall tell the governor that I have ordered them to be taken to Kingston, where there is a regular prize court, and therefore it will not be necessary to trouble with their manifests here." "Then, if I have your permission, captain, I will row off to them at once and tell them to get under sail now; we shall overhaul them long before they get to Jamaica. They mount between them six-and-twenty guns, and, keeping together, no French privateer, if any have arrived, would venture to attack them, especially as they cannot have received news yet that war is declared." "I think that would be a very good plan," the captain said, "for if you were to start with them it is clear that you would only be able to go under half sail. It is evident by your account that you are faster than the frigate, but with a reaching wind I suppose there is not more than a knot between you, and if the wind freshens you would find it hard to keep up with her." The visit was paid. The governor agreed that it would be better that the Indiamen should sail at once. Indeed, they had already started, and were two or three miles away before Nat and the captain arrived at the governor's house. When on shore Nat ordered two or three barrels of rum to be sent off in another boat to the frigate, and on its arrival an allowance was served out to all the workers. Before nightfall, save that the mizzen-mast was some twenty feet lower than usual, and that her stern and quarters were patched in numerous places with tarred canvas, the _Spartane_ presented her former appearance. When the majority of the crew had finished their work, the prisoners were transferred to the _Isis_. Two hours later the carpenters and boatswain's party had securely fixed the temporary rudder, and at daybreak the next morning the two frigates and the brigantine started on their westward voyage. CHAPTER XVIII ANOTHER ENGAGEMENT The three vessels kept company until, on the third day after sailing, they overtook the two merchantmen. Nat, supposing that the _Isis_ would now leave them, went on board to thank the captain for the great assistance that he had given him. "I shall stay with you now, Mr. Glover. The news of the outbreak of war will be known at Jamaica by this time, for the despatches were sent off on the day before we sailed from home, by the _Fleetwing_, which is the fastest corvette in the service. She was to touch at Antigua and then go straight on to Port Royal. I was to carry the news to Barbados, so that it does not make any difference whether I reach Kingston two hours earlier or later. There is a possibility that the French may have sent ships off even before they declared war with us, and as it is certain that there are several war-ships of theirs out here, one of these might fall in with you before you reach Jamaica. Therefore as my orders are simply to report myself to the admiral at Kingston, I think it is quite in accordance with my duty that I should continue to sail in company with you." "Thank you, sir. There certainly is at least one French frigate in the bay of Hayti, and if she has received the news she is quite likely to endeavour to pick up some prizes before it is generally known, just as the _Spartane_ picked up those merchantmen, and though possibly we might beat her off, I should very much prefer to be let alone." "Yes, you have done enough for one trip, and I should much regret were you to be deprived of any of your captures." The _Agile_ was signalled to prepare to pick up her boat, and Nat was soon on board his own craft again. He ran up to within speaking distance of the _Spartane_, and shouted to Turnbull that the _Isis_ was going to remain in company with them. Turnbull waved his hand, for although he had not entertained any fear of their being attacked, he felt nervous at his responsibility if a sudden gale should spring up and the temporary rudder be carried away. It was a comfort to him to know that, should this happen, the _Isis_ would doubtless take him in tow, for in anything like a wind the _Agile_ would be of little use. However, the weather continued fine, and in five days after leaving Barbados they entered Kingston harbour. Three hours before, the _Isis_ had spread all sail, and entered, dropping anchor half an hour before the _Agile_ sailed in in charge of the three large ships. The brigantine was heartily cheered by the crews of all the vessels in port, but it was naturally supposed that it was the _Isis_ that had done the principal work in capturing the _Spartane_. Her captain, however, had rowed to the flag-ship directly they came in port, leaving Mr. Ferguson to see to the _Spartane_ being anchored, and had given him a brief account of the nature of the procession that was approaching three or four miles away. "He is a most extraordinary young officer," the admiral said. "He first distinguished himself nearly three years ago by rescuing the daughter of a planter in Hayti, who was attacked by a fierce hound, and who would have been killed had he not run up. He was very seriously hurt, but managed to despatch the animal with his dirk. Since that time he has been constantly engaged in different adventures. He was in that desperate fight when the _Orpheus_ broke up a notorious horde of pirates on the mainland, and distinguished himself greatly. He was up country in Hayti when the negroes rose, and he there saved from the blacks a lady and her daughter, the same girl that he had rescued from the dog, and shot eight of the villains, but had one of his ribs broken by a ball. In spite of that, he carried the lady, who was ill with fever, some thirty miles across a rough country down to Cape François in a litter. "Then I gave him the command of a little cockle-shell of a schooner mounting four guns, carrying only twenty men. Hearing of a planter and his family in the hands of the blacks, he landed the whole of his crew, while expecting himself to be attacked by boats, and rescued the planter, three ladies, and six white men, and got them down on board, although opposed by three hundred negroes. Then he captured the brigantine he now commands, and a valuable prize that she had taken, and you say he has now captured a French thirty-six-gun frigate, after a fight in which she lost in killed and wounded half her crew, and recovered two Indiamen she had picked up on her way out." They went out on the quarter-deck, where the admiral repeated to his officers the story that he had just heard, and from them it soon circulated round the ship. Some of the crew had just cleaned the guns with which they had returned the salute fired by the _Isis_ as she entered the port on arriving for the first time on the station, but they were scarcely surprised when, as the brigantine approached, the first lieutenant gave the order for ten more blank cartridges to be brought up, and for the crew to prepare to man the yards. But the surprise of those on board the other ships of war and the merchantmen was great when they saw the sailors swarming up the ratlines and running out on the yards. "It is an unusual thing," the admiral remarked to the captains of the _Isis_ and his own ship, "and possibly contrary to the rules of the service, but I think the occasion excuses it." The brigantine did not salute as she came into the port, as she was considered to be on the station. "What can they be doing on board the flag-ship?" Nat said to Lippincott. "I think they are going to man the yards. It is not the king's birthday, or anything of that sort, that I know of; but as it is just eight bells it must be something of the kind." As they came nearly abreast of the flag-ship, the signal, "Well done, _Agile_!" was run up, and at the same moment there was a burst of white smoke, and a thundering report, and a tremendous cheer rose from the seamen on the yards. "They are saluting us, sir," Lippincott exclaimed. The ensign had been dipped in salute to the flag, and the salute had been acknowledged by the admiral five minutes before. Lippincott now sprang to the stern, and again lowered the ensign. The admiral and all his officers were on their quarter-deck, and as he raised his cocked hat the others stood bareheaded. Nat uncovered. He was so moved that he had difficulty in keeping back his tears, and he felt a deep relief when the last gun had fired, and the cheers given by his own handful of men and by those on board the prizes had ceased. For the next quarter of an hour he was occupied in seeing that the four vessels were anchored in safe berths. Then, as the signal for him to go on board the flag-ship was hoisted, he reluctantly took his place in the gig, and went to make his report. The admiral saw by his pale face that he was completely unnerved, and at once took him into his cabin. "I see, Mr. Glover," he began kindly, "that you would much rather that I did not say anything to you at present. The welcome that has been given to you speaks more than any words could do of our appreciation of your gallant feat. I do not say that you have taken the first prize since war was declared, for it is probable that other captures have been made nearer home, but at any rate, it is the first that has been made in these waters. I was surprised indeed when Captain Talbot told me that he had a hundred French prisoners on board, and some fifty wounded. As he had not the mark of a shot either in his sails or in his hull, I could not understand, until he gave me an outline of what had taken place--of how he had become possessed of them. Is your prize much injured?" "She has a good many shot-holes on each quarter, sir, and the stern lights and fittings are all knocked away. She suffered no very serious damage. She requires a new mizzen-mast; but there is not a hole in her canvas, which is all new, for we fired only at the stern, and it was just below the deck that her mast was damaged." "You have, I hope, written a full report of the engagement?" Nat handed in his report. It was very short, merely stating that, having fallen in with the thirty-six-gun French frigate the _Spartane_, convoying two prizes, he had engaged her, and after placing himself on her quarter, had raked her until her mizzen-mast fell, and her rudder was smashed; that, seeing that she could not get away, he had then returned to the prizes, which turned out to be the _Jane_ of Liverpool, of eight hundred tons burden, and the _Flora_ of London, of nine hundred and thirty. The crew of the latter, on seeing that the _Spartane_ was crippled, had risen and overpowered the prize crew. The other struck her colours when he came up to her. He then returned to the _Spartane_, which struck her flag without further resistance. "I desire to bring to your notice the great assistance I received from Lieutenant Turnbull, whom I afterwards placed in charge of the prize, and from Mr. Lippincott. It is also my duty to mention that assistant-surgeon Doyle has been indefatigable in his attentions to my own wounded and those of the _Spartane_." Then followed the list of his own casualties, and those of the _Spartane_. "A very official report, Mr. Glover," the admiral said with a smile, when he had glanced through it. "However, the admiralty will wish to know the details of an action of so exceptional a character, and I must therefore ask you to send me in as complete an account of the affair as possible, both for my own information and theirs. Now, I think you had better take a glass of wine. I can see that you really need one, and you will have to receive the congratulations of my officers. By the way, do you know anything of the cargoes of the two ships you retook?" "No, sir, I have really not had time to enquire. Till we left Barbados I was constantly employed, and on my way out I have kept close to the _Spartane_ in order to be able to assist at once if anything went wrong with the steering-gear. I should wish to say, sir, that I feel under the deepest obligations to Captain Talbot for the great assistance that he and his crew have rendered me in getting up the jury-mast, and fitting up the temporary rudder. Had it not been for that I might have been detained for some time at Barbados." Having drunk a glass of wine, Nat went out with the admiral on to the quarter-deck. The officers pressed round, shook hands, and congratulated him. It did not last long, for the admiral said kindly: "The sound of our cannon, gentlemen, has had a much greater effect upon Mr. Glover's nerves than had those of his prize, and I think we must let him off without any further congratulations for to-day. Besides, he has a long report to write for me, and a good many other things to see to." Nat was glad indeed to take his place in the gig, and to return to the _Agile_. He spent two hours in writing his report in duplicate. When he had done this he went ashore to the prize agent to enquire what formalities were needed with regard to the recaptured merchantmen; and having signed some official papers, he went up to Monsieur Duchesne's. Monsieur Pickard and his family had sailed months before for England, but the Duchesnes were still in possession of the house they had hired. They enjoyed, they said, so much the feeling of rest and security that they were by no means anxious for a sea voyage; and indeed Madame Duchesne was still far from well, and her husband was reluctant to take her to the cold climate of England until summer had well set in. "Ah, my dear Nat," Madame Duchesne said, "we were hoping that you would be able to spare time to call to-day. My husband would have gone off to see you, but he knew that you had a great deal to do. All the town is talking of your capture of the French frigate, and the recapture of the two prizes that she had taken. Several of our friends have come in to tell us about it; but of course we were not surprised, for your capturing the frigate with the _Agile_ was no more wonderful than your taking the _Agile_ with the _Arrow_." "It was a lucky affair altogether, Madame Duchesne." "I knew that you would say so," Myra said indignantly. "Whatever you do you always say it is luck, as if luck could do everything. I have no patience with you." "I will endeavour not to use the word again in your presence, Myra," Nat laughed. "But I have no time for an argument to-day, I have only just run in for a flying visit to see how you are. I have no end of things to see to, and I suppose it will be some days before all the business of the prizes is finished, the frigate formally handed over, and the value of the Indiamen and their cargo estimated. However, as soon as I am at all free I will come in for a long talk. You know that there is nowhere that I feel so happy and at home as I do here." It was indeed three days before he had time to pay another visit. "It is too bad of you, not coming to dinner," Myra said as he entered. "We really did expect you." "I hoped that I should be able to get here in time, but ever since I saw you I have been going backwards and forwards between the ships and the shore, calling at the dockyard and prize court. To-day there has been a regular survey of the Spartane. They were so long over it that I began to think I should not be able to get away at all." "You will be becoming quite a millionaire," Monsieur Duchesne said, "if you go on like this." "Well, you see, we were lucky--I beg your pardon, Myra--I mean we were fortunate. We had a very small crew on board the _Arrow_, and as it was an independent command, the whole of the prize-money for the capture of the _Agile_ and her prize was divided among us, with the exception of the flag share; and I found, to my surprise, that my share came to £2500. Without knowing anything of the cargoes of the prizes that I have recaptured now, and what will be paid for the _Spartane_, I should think that my share would come to twice as much this time, so that I shall be able before long to retire into private life--that is, if I have any inclination to do so." "But I suppose," Madame Duchesne said, "that if you marry you will want to settle down." "I am too young to think of such a matter, madame," Nat laughed. "Why, I am only just nineteen, and it will be quite soon enough to think of that in another eight or ten years. But there is no doubt that when the time comes I shall give up the sea. I don't think it is fair to a wife to leave her at home while you are running the risk of being shot. It is bad enough for her in time of peace, but in war-time it must be terrible for her, and it strikes me that this war is likely to be a long one. It seems to me that it is a question for a man to ask himself, whether he loves his profession or a woman better. If he cares more for the sea, he should remain single; if he thinks more of the woman, let him settle down with her." "That sounds very wise," Monsieur Duchesne said with a smile, "but when the time comes for the choice I fancy that most men do not accept either alternative, but marry and still go to sea." "That is all right when they have only their profession to depend upon," Nat said. "Then, if a woman, with her eyes open to the fact that he must be away from her for months, is ready to take a man for better or for worse, I suppose the temptation is too strong to be withstood. Happily it won't be put in my way, for even if I never take another ship I shall have enough to live on quietly ashore." "Now, you must tell us the story of the fight," Myra said. "The story is told in twenty words," he replied. "She did not suspect that we were an enemy until we had passed her, and our broadside told her what we were. As the _Agile_ is faster and much more handy than the frigate, we managed to keep astern of her, and, sailing backwards and forwards, poured our broadsides in her stern, while she could scarce get a gun to bear on us. We managed to cripple her rudder, and after this the fight was virtually over. However, she kept her flag flying till we shot away her mizzen, after which, seeing that she was at our mercy, and that her captain, two lieutenants, and more than half her crew were killed or wounded, she lowered her colours. Now, really that is the whole account of the fight. If I were telling a sailor, who would understand the nautical terms, I could explain the matter more clearly, but if I were to talk for an hour you would understand no more about it than you do now." An hour later, Nat went out with Monsieur Duchesne to smoke a cigar on the verandah, Myra remaining indoors with her mother, who was afraid of sitting out in the cool evening breeze. "Going back to our conversation about marriage, Nat," Monsieur Duchesne said, "it is a question which my wife and I feel some little interest in. You see, it is now more than three years since you saved Myra's life, after which you rendered her and my wife inestimable service. Now, I know that in your country marriages are for the most part arranged between the young people themselves. With us such an arrangement would be considered indecent. If your father and mother were out here, the usual course would be for your mother to approach my wife and talk the matter over with her. My wife would consult with me, and finally, when we old people had quite come to an understanding, your father would speak to you on the subject. All this is impossible here. Now, it seems to my wife and myself that, having rendered such inestimable services to us, and having been thrown with my daughter a good deal--who, I may say, without any undue vanity, is a very attractive young lady--you could scarcely be indifferent to her. "As you said, according to your British notions you are too young to think of marrying; and, at any rate, my wife has sounded Myra, and the girl has assured her that you have never said a word to her that would lead her to believe you entertained other than what I may call a brotherly affection for her. Now, I can tell you frankly, that one of our reasons for remaining here for the past six months has been that we desired that the matter should be arranged one way or the other. It has struck us that it was not your youth only that prevented you from coming to me and asking for Myra's hand, but a foolish idea that she is, as is undoubtedly the case, a very rich heiress. Before I go farther, may I ask if that is the case, and if you really entertain such an affection for my daughter as would, putting aside all question of money and of your youth, lead you to ask her hand?" "That I can answer at once, sir. Ever since I first met her, and especially since I saw how bravely she supported that terrible time when she might fall into the hands of the blacks, I have thought of your daughter as the most charming girl that I have ever met. Of course, I was but a lad and she a young girl--no thought of marriage at that time even entered my mind. During the past three years that feeling has grown, until I have found that my happiness depends entirely upon her. I felt, monsieur, that my lips were sealed, not only by the fact that she was an heiress and I only a penniless lieutenant, but because it would be most unfair and ungenerous were I, on the strength of any services I may have rendered, to ask you for her hand." "It is not on account of those services, much as we recognize them, that I offer you her hand, but because both her mother and herself feel that her happiness, which is the great object of our lives, is involved in the matter. In most cases, a young lady well brought up does not give her heart until her father presents to her an eligible suitor. This is an exceptional case. I do think that any girl whose life had been saved, as hers was, at the risk of that of her rescuer, and who, during a most terrible time, came to look up to him as the protector of herself and her mother, and who, moreover, was constantly hearing of his daring actions, and to whom her dearest friends also owed their lives, could not but make him her hero. I need not say that the subject has not been mooted to her, and it was because I desired the matter to be settled before we left for Europe that we have lingered here. I am glad indeed that I now know your feeling in the matter. I am conscious that in giving her to you we are securing her happiness. I have, of course, ever since the day when you saved her from that dog, watched your character very closely, and the result has been in all respects satisfactory. Now, I will go in and tell her that I will take her place by her mother's side, and that she may as well come out here and keep you company." In a minute Myra stepped out on to the verandah. "It is cool and nice here, Nat. I think it would do mother more good out here than keeping in the house, where in the first place it is hot, while in the second place it gives me the horrors to see the way the moths and things fly into the lights and burn themselves to death." "No doubt it is pleasanter here," Nat said, wondering how he ought to begin. "That was very soberly said, Nat," Myra laughed. "One would think that it was a proposition that required a good deal of consideration." "It was a proposition that received no consideration. In point of fact, just at present, dear, my head is a little turned with a conversation that I have just had with your father." "What do you mean?" she asked. "I mean that I see before me a great and unlooked-for happiness, a happiness that I had hardly ventured even to hope for, but at present it is incomplete; it is for you to crown it if you can do so. Your father has given his consent to my telling you that I love you. I do love you truly and earnestly, Myra, but I should not be content with anything less than your love. I don't want it to be gratitude. I don't want any thought of that business with the dog, or of the other business with the blacks, to have anything to do with it." "They must have something to do with it," she said softly, "for it was owing to these that I first began to love you. It was at first, no doubt, a girl's love for one who had done so much for her, but since then it has become a woman's love for the one man that she should choose out of all. I love you, Nat, I love you with all my heart." Ten minutes later they went hand in hand into the house. Monsieur Duchesne had told his wife what had occurred in the verandah, and as they came in she rose and threw her arms round Myra's neck and kissed her tenderly. "You have chosen wisely, my child, and have made us both very happy. We can give her to you, Monsieur Glover, without one misgiving; we know that in your hands her life will be a happy one. And now," she went on with a smile, "you will have to face that terrible problem you were discussing an hour since. You will have to choose between a wife and the sea." "The problem may be settled at once, madame," Nat said with a smile. "At any rate, there is no occasion to choose at present," Madame Duchesne went on. "Myra is but just past sixteen, and her father and I both think that it is as well that you should wait at least a couple of years before there is any talk of marriage, both for her sake and yours. After your brilliant services, especially in capturing the frigate, you are sure of rapid promotion, and it would be a pity indeed for you to give up your profession until you have obtained the rank of captain, when you could honourably retire. We shall leave for England very shortly, France is out of the question. As you said, you and my daughter are both young, and can well afford to wait." "That is so, madame, we quite acquiesce in your decision. As to your going to England, it is likely that I may be going there myself very shortly. The admiral hinted to-day that, as the dockyard people say that the _Spartane_ can be ready for sea in ten days or so, he will probably send me home in her. He very kindly kept back my report of the action, and merely stated that the French frigate _Spartane_ had been brought in in tow by his majesty's brigantine _Agile_, together with two merchantmen she had captured on her way out, which had also been retaken by the _Agile_, and said that he thought it was only fair that I should carry back my own report and his full despatch on the subject. Of course I may be sent out again, or I may be employed on other service. At any rate I shall be able to get a short leave before I go to sea again. I have been out here now six years, and feel entitled to a little rest. I would certainly rather be employed in the Mediterranean than here, for there is more chance of seeing real service." The next day Nat received an order from the admiral to hand over the command of the _Agile_ to Lieutenant Turnbull. Lippincott, who would pass his examination and receive his step, was to act as first lieutenant, and a midshipman from one of the ships on the station was to be second officer. Nat himself was ordered to superintend the repairs and fitting out for sea of the _Spartane._ "I am awfully sorry that you are going, Glover," Turnbull said. "Of course it is a great pull for me being appointed to the command, but I was very jolly and happy as I was. I don't think there ever was a pleasanter party on board one of his majesty's ships. However, of course it is a great lift for me. I shall try to keep things going as comfortably as you did." "I have no doubt that you will do that, Turnbull, and you have an able ally in Doyle." "Doyle was inconsolable when I came on board yesterday and told him that you were going home in the _Spartane_, and that I was to have the command." "It is the worst news that I have heard for many a day," Doyle had said. "You are very well, Turnbull, and I have no sort of complaint to make of you, but I am afraid that the luck will go with Glover. It is his luck and not the ship's; whatever he has put his hand to has turned out well. I don't say that he has not done his work as well as it could be done, but there is no doubt that luck is everything. If one of the _Agile's_ guns had knocked away a mast or spar from the _Arrow_ it would have been all up with you; and again, had a shot from the frigate crippled us, she would have been after taking the _Agile_ into a French port instead of our bringing her in here." "Yes, but then you see that upon both occasions Glover put his craft where it was difficult to get their guns to bear on her." "Yes, yes, I know that; but that does not alter it a bit. If there had been only one shot fired, and had we been an unlucky boat, it would, sure enough, have brought one of the spars about our ears." "Well, Doyle, it may be that it was my luck, and not Glover's, that pulled us through. You see, I should have been shot or had my throat cut by the pirates if we had been taken by them, so possibly I am the good genius of the boat; or it may be Lippincott." "Botheration to you!" the Irishman said, as he saw by a twinkle in Turnbull's eye that he was really chaffing him; "there is one thing certain, if you get wounded and fall into my hands, you will not regard that as a matter of luck." "Well, at any rate, doctor, Glover told me half an hour ago of a piece of luck in which none of us here can share. He is engaged to that very pretty French girl whom he is always calling on when we are in port." "I thought that was what would come of it, Turnbull," Lippincott said; "it would be rum if she hadn't fallen in love with him after all that he did for her." "I was greatly taken with her myself," the doctor said, "the first time she came on board, but I saw with half an eye that the race was lost before I had time to enter. Besides, I could not afford to marry without money, and one of these poor devils of planters, who have had to run away from Hayti with, for the most part, just the clothes they stood up in, would hardly make the father-in-law yours faithfully would desire. I wonder myself how they manage to keep up such a fine establishment here, but I suppose they had a little put away in an old stocking, and are just running through it. They are shiftless people, are these planters, and, having been always used to luxuries, don't know the value of money." Turnbull burst into a fit of laughter in which Lippincott joined, for in the early days of the cruise on the _Arrow_ they had heard from Nat how his friends had for generations laid by a portion of their revenues, and allowed the interest to accumulate, so that, now that the time had come for utilizing the reserve, they were really much richer people than they had been when living on their fine plantation. Doyle looked astonished at their laughter. "My dear Doyle," Turnbull went on, "it is too comical to hear you talking of a shiftless planter--you, belonging as you do to the most happy-go-lucky race on the face of the earth. Now, I will ask you, did you ever hear of a family of Irish squires who for generations put aside a tenth part of their income, and allowed the interest to accumulate without touching it, so that, when bad times came, they found that they were twice as well off as they were before?" "Begorra, you are right, Turnbull; never did I hear of such a thing, and I don't believe it ever happened since the first Irish crossed the seas from somewhere in the east." "Well, at any rate, Doyle, that is what the Duchesnes have done, and I should think, from what Glover says--though he did not mention any precise sum, for he did not know himself--but I should say that it must come to at least a hundred thousand pounds." "Mother of Moses!" the doctor exclaimed; "it is a mighty bad turn you have done me, Turnbull, that you never gave me as much as a hint of this before. I should have been sorry for Glover, who is in all ways a good fellow; still I should have deemed it my duty to my family, who once--as you know, is the case of almost every other family in the ould country--were Kings of Ireland. I should have restored the ancient grandeur of my family, built a grand castle, and kept open house to all comers--and to think that I never knew it!" "Then you think, doctor," Lippincott said, with a laugh, "that you only had to enter the lists to cut Glover out?" "I don't go quite so far as that; but, of course, now the thing is settled for good, it would be of no use trying to disturb it, and it would hardly be fair on Glover. But, you see, as long as it was an open matter, I might have well tried my luck. I should have had great advantages. You see, I am a grown man, whereas Glover is still but a lad. Then, though I say it myself, I could talk his head off, and am as good as those who have kissed the Blarney stone at bewildering the dear creatures." "Those are great advantages, no doubt, Doyle; but, you see, Glover had one advantage which, I have no doubt, counted with the lady more than all those you have enumerated. He had saved her life at the risk of his own, he had carried her, and her mother, through terrible dangers." "Yes, yes, there is something in that," Doyle said, shaking his head; "if the poor young fellow is satisfied with gratitude I have nothing more to say. At any rate, I have lost my chance. Now, perhaps, as you know all about this, you might put me up to some other lady in similar circumstances, but with a heart free to bestow upon a deserving man." "I should not be justified in doing so, Doyle. After what you have been saying about building a baronial castle, and keeping open house, it is clear that you would soon bring a fortune to an end, however great it might be; and, therefore, I should not feel justified in aiding you in any way in your matrimonial adventures." "It's a poor heart that never rejoices," the doctor said. "The tumblers are empty. Sam, you rascal, bring us another bottle of that old Jamaica, fresh limes, and cold water. It is one of the drawbacks of this bastely climate that there is no pleasure in taking your punch hot." One of the negroes brought in the materials. "Now, doctor," Turnbull said, "I know that in spite of this terrible disappointment you will drink heartily the toast, 'Nat Glover and Mademoiselle Duchesne, and may they live long and happily together!'" "That is good," Doyle said as he emptied his tumbler at a draught; "nothing short of a bumper would do justice to it. Hand me the bottle again, Lippincott, and cut me a couple of slices off that lime. Yes, I will take two pieces of sugar, please, Turnbull. Now I am going to propose a toast, 'The new commander of the _Agile_, and may she, in his hands, do as well as she did in those of Nat Glover.'" Three days later the _Agile_ started on another cruise. Nat spent his time in the dockyard, where he was so well known to all the officials that they did everything in their power to aid him to push matters forward, and a week after the brigantine had left the _Spartane_ was ready for sea. Nat had seen the admiral several times, but had heard nothing from him as to who were the officers who were to take the _Spartane_ home, nor whether he was to sail as a passenger bearing despatches or as one of the officers. When he went on board the flag-ship to report that all was ready for sea, the admiral said: "Mr. Winton, first lieutenant of the _Onyx_, is invalided home. He is a good officer, but the climate has never agreed with him, and, as his father has lately died and he has come into some property, he will, I have no doubt, go on half-pay for a time until he is thoroughly set up again. I shall therefore appoint him as first lieutenant of the _Spartane_; Mr. Plumber, second lieutenant of the _Tiger_, will go second. "I have decided, Mr. Glover, to give you the rank of acting commander. You captured the ship, and it is fair that you should take her to England. Mind, I think it probable enough that the authorities at home may not be willing to confirm your rank, as it is but little over two years since you obtained your present grade. I feel that I am incurring a certain responsibility in giving you the command of a thirty-six-gun frigate, but you have had opportunities of showing that you are a thorough seaman, and can fight as well as sail your ship." "I am immensely obliged, sir," Nat said hesitatingly, "but I have never for a moment thought of this, and it does seem a tremendous responsibility. Besides, I shall be over two officers both many years senior to myself." "I have spoken to both of them," the admiral said, "and pointed out to them that, after you had captured the frigate with the little brigantine you commanded, I considered it almost your right to take her home. I put it frankly to them that, if they had any objection to serving under one so much their junior, I should by no means press the point, but that at the same time I should naturally prefer having two experienced officers with you instead of officering her entirely with young lieutenants junior to yourself. I am glad to say that both of them agreed heartily, and admitted the very great claim that you have to the command. Mr. Winton is anxious to get home, and knows that he might have to wait some time before a ship of war was going. Mr. Plumber is equally anxious for a short run home, for, as he frankly stated to me, he has for three years past been engaged to be married, and he has some ground for hope that he may get appointed to a ship on the home station. So as these gentlemen are perfectly willing to serve under you there need be no difficulty on your part in the matter. We will therefore consider it as settled. "I have made out your appointment as acting commander. I sincerely hope that you will be confirmed in the rank. At any rate, it will count for you a good deal that you should have acted in that capacity. Here are your instructions. You will be short-handed; I cannot spare enough men from the ships on this station to make up a full complement. A hundred and fifty are all that I can possibly let you have, but I have told the masters of these two Indiamen that they will have to furnish a contingent. I have been on board both the ships to-day. I addressed the crews, and said that you were going to take home the _Spartane_ and were short of hands. I said that I did not wish to press any men against their will, but that I hoped that five-and-twenty from each ship would come forward voluntarily; that number had aided to bring the _Spartane_ in here; they knew you, and might be sure that the ship would be a comfortable one; and I told them that I would give them passes, saying that they had voluntarily shipped for the voyage home on my guaranteeing that they should, if they chose, be discharged from the service on their arrival. More than the number required volunteered at once, but I asked the captain to pick out for me the men who had before been on board the _Spartane_, and of whose conduct you had spoken highly. Three merchantmen will sail under your convoy." Nat went ashore after leaving the admiral, and naturally went straight to the Duchesnes. "Who do you suppose is going to command the _Spartane_?" he asked as he went in. "I know who ought to command her. You took her, and you ought to command her." "Well, it seems absurd, but that is just what I am going to do." Myra clapped her hands in delight. "Have they made you a real captain, then?" "No," he said with a laugh, "I shall be acting commander. That gives one the honorary rank of captain, but it may be a long time before I get appointed to that rank. The admiral has been awfully kind, but the people at home are not likely to regard my age and appearance as in any way suitable for such a position." "I am happy to say, Nat, that we shall sail under your convoy. I have been settling all my affairs and making my arrangements for leaving, and have this morning definitely taken cabins in the _Myrtle_. As the furniture is not ours, and we have not accumulated many belongings, knowing that we might be sailing at any moment, we can get everything packed by to-night and go on board to-morrow morning. The captain could not tell me at what hour we should sail. He said that it would depend upon the frigate." "I should like to start at eight if I could, but I cannot say whether everything will be quite ready. However, you had better be on board at that hour. It will be jolly indeed having you all so close to me." "Shall we be able to see each other sometimes?" Myra asked. "Many times, I hope; but of course it must depend partly on the weather. If we are becalmed at any time you might come on board and spend a whole day, but if we are bowling along rapidly it would scarcely be the thing to stop two ships in order that the passengers might go visiting." It was twelve o'clock on the following day when the _Spartane_ fired a gun, and at the signal the anchors, which had all been hove short, were run up, the sails shaken out, and the _Spartane_ and the three vessels under her charge started on their voyage. CHAPTER XIX HOME The voyage home was a pleasant but not an exciting one. No suspicious sails were sighted until they neared the mouth of the Channel. Then two or three craft, which bore the appearance of French privateers, had at different times approached them, but only to draw off as soon as they made out the line of ports of the _Spartane_. There had been sufficient days of calm and light winds to enable the Duchesnes to frequently spend a few hours on board the frigate. Nat had felt a little uncomfortable at first, but it was not long before he became accustomed to the position. Of course he could not be on the same familiar terms with his officers as he had been on board the _Agile_, but he insisted upon the first and second lieutenants dining with him regularly. "It will really be kind of you if you will," he said, "for I shall feel like a fish out of water sitting here in solitary state." And as he had drawn something on account of his prize-money and kept an excellent table, the two officers willingly agreed to the suggestion. "I have always thought, Mr. Winton," he said, "that there is a good deal more stiffness than is at all necessary or even desirable on board a ship of war. It is not so in the army. I dined several times at regimental messes at Kingston, and although the colonel was, of course, treated with a certain respect, the conversation was as general and as unrestrained as if all had been private gentlemen; yet, of course, on the parade ground, the colonel was as supreme as a captain on his quarter-deck. At sea, the captain really never gets to know anything about his officers, except with regard to their duties on board a ship, and I don't think it is good, either for him or the officers in general, that he should be cut off from them as much as if he were an emperor of China." "I agree with you so far," Mr. Winton said. "I do think the reins of discipline are held too tautly, and that where the captain is a really good fellow, life on board might be much more pleasant than it now is; but with a bad-tempered, overbearing sort of man your suggestion would act just the other way." "Well, we could easily put a stop to that," Nat said, "if the admiralty would refuse to appoint bad-tempered and overbearing men to any command." The other laughed. "That would help us out of the difficulty, certainly; but I think that any change had better be deferred until they perceive, as every junior officer in the service perceives, that such men are a curse to themselves and everyone else, that they are hated by the whole crew, from the ship's boys to the first lieutenant, and that a ship with a contented and cheerful crew can be trusted at all times to do her duty against any odds." Sailing south of the Isle of Wight, the _Spartane_ came in through the Nab Channel. There she left her convoy, who anchored on the Mother Bank, while she sailed into Portsmouth harbour, with the white ensign flying over the tricolour. As she entered she was greeted with loud cheers by the crews of the ships of war. As soon as she had picked up moorings Nat landed at the dockyard, and, proceeding to the admiral's, reported himself there. "The admiral is away inspecting the forts in the Needles passage," a young officer said. "Captain Painton might be able to give you any information that you require." "I only want formally to report myself before taking post-chaise to London." "Perhaps you had better see him," the other said, a little puzzled as to who this young officer could be who was in charge of despatches. "I think I had." "What name shall I say?" "Glover." The flag-captain was a short, square-built man, with keen eyes, and a not unpleasant expression, but bluff and hasty in manner. "Now, Mr. Glover, what can I do for you?" he asked shortly. "Well, sir, I hardly know the course of procedure, but as I want to start with despatches for London in a quarter of an hour I shall be glad to be able to hand over the ship I command, or, if it cannot be taken over in that summary way, to know whether my first officer is to retain charge of her until I can return from town." "And what is the vessel that you have the honour to command, sir?" Captain Painton said with a slight smile. "The _Spartane_ frigate, a prize mounting thirty-six guns, that entered the harbour a quarter of an hour ago." The captain had an idea that this was an ill-timed joke on the part of the young lieutenant. "Do you wish me to understand, sir," he said sternly, "that you are in command of that prize?" "That certainly, sir, is what I wish you to understand. I have brought her home from Jamaica, and have the honour to hold the appointment of acting commander. There, you see, are the official despatches of which I am the bearer, addressed to the Admiralty, and with the words 'In charge of Acting Commander Glover.'" "And your officers, sir?" suppressing with difficulty an explosion of wrath at what he considered a fresh sign that the service was going to the dogs. "The first officer is Lieutenant Winton, the second Lieutenant Plumber." "Very well, sir, I will go off myself at once. I will detain you no longer." Nat at once hurried off, while Captain Painton went into the office of another of the officials of the dockyard. "The service is going to the dogs," he said. "Here is a young lieutenant, who from his appearance can't have passed more than a year, pitchforked over the head of heaven knows how many seniors, and placed as acting commander of a thirtysix-gun frigate, French prize, sir. Just look up the records of the lieutenants under him." "One is a lieutenant of fifteen years' service, the other of twelve." "It is monstrous, scandalous. This sort of thing is destructive of all discipline, and proves that everything is to go by favouritism. Just at the outbreak of the war it is enough to throw cold water on the spirits of all who are hoping to distinguish themselves." Ignorant of the storm that had been excited in the mind of the flag-captain, Nat was already on his way, having as soon as he landed sent his coxswain to order a post-chaise to be got ready for starting in a quarter of an hour. It was eight o'clock when he dropped anchor, by nine he was on the road, and by handsomely tipping the post-boys he drew up at the Admiralty at half-past four. "What name shall I say, sir?" the doorkeeper asked. "Acting Commander Glover, with despatches from Jamaica." The admiral looked up with amazement as Nat was announced. The latter had not mounted the second epaulette to which as commander he was entitled, and the admiral on his first glance thought that the attendant must have made a mistake. "Did I understand, sir, that you are a commander?" "An acting one only, sir. I have come home in command of the _Spartane_, a prize mounting thirty-six guns. The admiral was good enough to appoint me to the acting rank in order that I might bring her home with despatches, and the report respecting her capture by the brigantine _Agile_, of ten guns, which I had the honour to command." "Yes, I saw a very brief notice of her capture in the _Gazette_ ten days ago, but no particulars were given. I suppose the mail was just coming out when she arrived." "That was partly the reason, no doubt, sir; but I think the admiral could have written more, had he not in his kindness of heart left it to me to hand in a full report. I may say that I had the good fortune to recapture two valuable West Indiamen that the _Spartane_ had picked up on her way out." The admiral rose from the table and took down a thick volume from the book-case. At the back were the words, "Records of Service." It was partly printed, a wide space being left under each name for further records to be written in. "Glover, Nathaniel. Is that your Christian name, Captain Glover?" Nat bowed. "An exceptionally good record. 'Distinguished himself greatly in the attack by the frigate _Orpheus_ on three piratical craft protected by strong batteries. Passed as lieutenant shortly afterwards. Appointed to the command of the schooner _Arrow_, four guns, charged to rescue white inhabitants off Hayti, and if possible to enter into communications with negro leaders and learn their views. In the course of the performance of this duty he landed with all his crew of twenty men, took off a French planter and family and eight other whites in the hands of a force estimated at three hundred and fifty blacks, and fought his way on board his ship again. Later on engaged a pirate brigantine, the _Agile_, of ten guns, which had just captured a Spanish merchantman. After a sharp fight, took possession of the prize, and with the aid of her crew capture the _Agile_.' And now with the _Agile_ you have taken the _Spartane_, a thirty-six gun frigate, to say nothing of recapturing two valuable West Indiamen, prizes of hers. And I suppose, Commander Glover, if we confirm you in your rank and command, you will go forth and appear next time with a French three-decker in tow. From a tiny schooner to a frigate is a greater distance than from a frigate to a line-of-battle ship." "Yes, sir," Nat said with a smile; "but the advantage of quick manoeuvring that one gets in a small craft, and which gives one a chance against a larger adversary, becomes lost when it is a frigate against a line-of-battle ship. The _Spartane_ is fairly handy, but she could not hope to gain much advantage that way over a bigger vessel." "I wonder the admiral had men enough to spare to send her home." "He could hardly have done so, sir, but fifty of the merchant sailors belonging to the recaptured prizes volunteered for the voyage, and were furnished by the admiral with discharges on arrival at Portsmouth." "A very good plan, for it is hard work to get men now that we are fitting out every ship at all the naval ports. Now, Commander Glover, I will detain you no longer. I shall carefully read through these despatches this evening, and shall discuss them with my colleagues to-morrow. I shall be glad if you will dine with me to-morrow evening at half-past six; here is my card and address." "I beg your pardon, sir, but I am altogether ignorant of such matters--should I come in uniform or plain clothes?" "Whichever would suit you best," the admiral replied with a smile. "As you have only just arrived to-day from the West Indies, and doubtless have had little time for preparations before you sailed, it is more than likely that you may not have had time to provide yourself with a full-dress uniform." "I have not, sir; and indeed, had I had time I should not have thought of buying one of my acting rank, which would naturally terminate as soon as the object for which it was granted was attained." "Very well, then, come in plain dress. I may tell you for your information, that when invited by an admiral to his official residence you would be expected to appear in uniform, but when asked to dine at his private residence it would not be considered as a naval function, and although I do not at all say that it would be wrong to appear in uniform, there would be no necessity for doing so." As everyone dressed for dinner in the West Indies for the sake of coolness and comfort, Nat was well provided in this way. After his dinner at the Golden Cross he went to a playhouse. He had posted a letter to his father, which was written before he landed, directly he reached town, saying that he was home; that of course he could not say how long it would be before he would be able to leave his ship, but as soon as he did so he would run down into Somersetshire and stay there until he received orders either to join another vessel or to return to the West Indies. The next afternoon the papers came out with the official news, and news-boys were shouting themselves hoarse: "Capture of a French frigate by a ten-gun British brig! Thirty-six guns against ten! Three hundred and fifty Frenchmen against fifty Englishmen! Nearly half the monsieurs killed or wounded, the rest taken prisoners! Glorious victory!" And Nat was greatly amused as he looked out of the window of the hotel at the eager hustling that was going on to obtain one of the broadsheets. "It sounds a big thing," he said to himself, "but there was nothing in it, and the whole thing was over in less time than it takes to talk about it. Well, I hope I shall either get off to Portsmouth again to-morrow or go down to the dear old pater. I wish this dinner was over. No doubt there will be some more of these old admirals there, and they will be wanting to learn all the ins and outs, just as if twenty words would not tell them how it was we thrashed them so easily. They know well enough that if you have a quick handy craft, and get her under the weather quarter of a slow-moving frigate the latter hasn't a shadow of a chance." Although not an official dinner, all the twelve gentlemen who sat down were, with the exception of Nat, connected with the admiralty. The first lord and several other admirals were there, the others were heads of departments and post-captains. "Before we begin dinner," the first lord said, "I have pleasure in handing this to you, Commander Glover. There is but one opinion among my colleagues and myself, which is that as you have captured the _Spartane_ and have come home as her commander, we cannot do less than confirm you in that rank and leave her in your charge. You are certainly unusually young for such promotion, but your career has been for the past four years so exceptional that we seem to have scarcely any option in the matter. Such promotion is not only a reward you have gallantly won, but that you should receive it will, we feel, animate other young officers to wholesome emulation that will be advantageous both to themselves and to the service in general." Nat could scarcely credit his ears. That he might be appointed second lieutenant of the _Spartane_ or some other ship of war was, he thought, probable; but the acme of his hopes was that a first lieutenancy in a smart sloop might possibly be offered to him. His two officers on the way home had talked the matter over with him, and they had been a little amused at seeing that he never appeared to think it within the bounds of possibility that his rank would be confirmed, although, as the admiral before sailing told them, he had most strongly recommended that this should be done, and he thought it certain that the authorities at home would see the matter in the same light. He had asked them not to give the slightest hint to Nat that such promotion might be awarded to him. "You never can tell," the admiral said, "what the Admiralty will do, but here is a chance that they don't often get of making a really popular promotion, without a suspicion of favouritism being entertained. Beyond the fact that he has been mentioned in despatches, I doubt if anyone at Whitehall as much as knows the young fellow's name, and the service generally will see that for once merit has been recognized on the part of one who, so far as patronage goes, is friendless." Nat returned to Portsmouth the following morning, and spent some hours in signing papers and going through other formalities. "The _Spartane_ will be paid off to-morrow, Captain Glover," the port admiral said; "she will be recommissioned immediately. I hope you will be able to get some of the men to re-enter, for there is a good deal of difficulty about crews. So great a number of ships have been fitted out during the past four or five months that we have pretty well exhausted the seafaring population here, and even the press-gangs fail to bring many in." Going on board, Nat sent for the boatswain and gunners, and informed them that as he was to recommission the _Spartane_ he was anxious to get as many of the hands to reship as possible. "I have no doubt that some of them will join, sir," the quarter-master said. "I heard them talking among themselves, and saying that she has been as pleasant a ship as they had ever sailed in, and if you was to hoist your pennant a good many of them would sign on." "I would not mind giving a couple of pounds a head." "I don't think that it would be of any use, sir. If the men will join they will join, if they won't they won't. Besides, they have all got some pay, and most of them some prize-money coming to them, and it would be only so much more to chuck away if they had it. And another thing, sir, I think when men like an officer they like to show him that it is so, and they would rather reship without any bounty, to show that they liked him, than have it supposed that it was for the sake of the money." After the men had been paid off the next morning, he told them in a short speech that he had been appointed to recommission the _Spartane_, and said that he would be glad to have a good many of them with him again. He was much gratified when fully two-thirds of the men, including the greater part of the merchantmen, stepped forward and entered their names. "That speaks well indeed for our young commander," the port admiral, who had been present, said to his flag-captain. "It is seldom indeed that you find anything like so large a proportion of men ready to reship at once. It proves that they have confidence in his skill as well as in his courage, and that they feel that the ship will be a comfortable one." It was expected that the _Spartane_ would be at least a month in the hands of the shipwrights, and the men on signing were given leave of absence for that time. As soon as all this was arranged, Nat took a post-chaise and drove to Southampton. There he found the Duchesnes at an hotel. Their ship had gone into the port two days previously, but all their belongings were not yet out of the hold, and indeed it had been arranged that they would not go up to town till they saw him. They were delighted to hear that his appointment had been confirmed, and that he was to have the command of the _Spartane_. "Now, I suppose you will be running down to see your people at once?" Myra said with a little pout. "I think that is only fair," he said, "considering that I have not seen them for six years. I don't think that even you could grudge me a few days." "Yeovil is a large place, isn't it?" she asked. "Yes; why do you ask?" She looked at her mother, who smiled. "The fact is, Nat, Myra has been endeavouring to persuade her father and me that it would be a nice plan for us to go down there with you and to form the acquaintance of your parents. Of course we should stay at an hotel. We are in no particular hurry to go up to London; and as while you are away we shall naturally wish to see as much as we can of your people, this would make a very good beginning. And perhaps some of them will come back to London with us when you join your ship." "I think it would be a first-rate plan, madame, the best thing possible. Of course I want my father and mother and the girls to see Myra." "When will you start?" "To-morrow morning. Of course we shall go by post. It will be a very cross-country journey by coach, and many of these country roads are desperately bad. It is only about the same distance that it is to London, but the roads are not so good, so I propose that we make a short journey to-morrow to Salisbury, and then, starting early, go through to Yeovil. We shall be there in good time in the afternoon. I shall only be taking a very small amount of kit, so that we ought to be able to stow three large trunks, which will, I suppose, be enough for you. Of course we could send some on by a waggon, but there is no saying when they would get there, and as likely as not they would not arrive until just as we are leaving there; of course Dinah will go on the box." At four o'clock, two days later, the post-chaise drove up to the principal hotel at Yeovil. Rooms were at once obtained for the Duchesnes, and Nat hired a light trap to drive him out to his father's rectory, some three miles out of the town. As he drove up to the house, three girls, from sixteen to two-and three-and-twenty, ran out, followed a moment later by his father and mother. For a few minutes there was but little coherent talk. His sisters could scarcely believe that this tall young officer was the lad they had last seen, and even his father and mother agreed that they would scarce have recognized him. "I don't think the girls quite recognize me now," he laughed. "They kissed me in a very feeble sort of way, as if they were not at all sure that it was quite right. Indeed, I was not quite sure myself that it was the proper thing for me to salute three strange young ladies." "What nonsense you talk, Nat," his eldest sister Mary said. "I thought by this time, now you are a lieutenant, you would have become quite stiff, and would expect a good deal of deference to be paid to you." "I can't say that you have been a good correspondent, Nat," his mother said. "You wrote very seldom, and then said very little of what you had been doing." "Well, mother, there are not many post-offices in Hayti, and I should not have cared to trust any letters to them if there had been. There is the advantage, you see, that there is much more to tell you now than if I had written to you before. You don't get papers very regularly here, I think?" "No, we seldom see a London paper, and the Bath papers don't tell much about anything except the fashionable doings there." "Then I have several pieces of news to tell you. Here is a _Gazette_, in which you will see that a certain Nathaniel Glover brought into Portsmouth last week a French thirty-six-gun frigate which he had captured, and in another part of the _Gazette_ you will observe that the same officer has been confirmed in the acting rank of commander, and has been appointed to the _Spartane_, which is to be recommissioned at once. Therefore you see, sisters, you will in future address me as captain." There was a general exclamation of surprise and delight. "That is what it was," the rector said, "that Dr. Miles was talking to me about yesterday in Yeovil. He said that the London papers were full of the news that a French frigate had been captured by a little ten-gun brigantine, and had been brought home by the officer who had taken her, who was, he said, of the same name as mine. He said that it was considered an extraordinarily gallant action." "We shall be as proud as peacocks," Lucy, the youngest girl, said. "Now as to my news," he went on. "Doubtless that was important, but not so important as that which I am now going to tell you. At the present moment there is at Yeovil a gentleman and lady, together with their daughter, the said daughter being, at the end of a reasonable time, about to become my wife, and your sister, girls." The news was received with speechless surprise. "Really, Nat?" his mother said in a tone of doubt; "do you actually mean that you have become engaged to a young lady who is now at Yeovil?" "That is the case, mother," he said cheerfully. "There is nothing very surprising that a young lady should fall in love with me, is there? and I think the announcement will look well in the papers--on such and such a date, Myra, daughter of Monsieur Duchesne, late of the island of Hayti, to Nathaniel, son of the Rev. Charles Glover of Arkton Rectory, commander in his majesty's navy." "Duchesne!" Ada, the second girl, said, clapping her hands, "that is the name of the young lady you rescued from a dog. I remember at the time Mary and I quite agreed that the proper thing for you to do would be to marry her some day. Yes, and you were staying at her father's place when the blacks broke out; and you had all to hide in the woods for some time." "Quite right, Ada. Well, she and her father and mother have posted down with me from Southampton in order to make your acquaintance, and to-morrow you will have to go over in a body." "Does she speak English?" Mrs. Glover asked. "Oh, yes, she speaks a good deal of English; her people have for the past two years intended to settle in England, and have all been studying the language to a certain extent. Besides that, they have had the inestimable advantage of my conversation, and have read a great many English books on their voyage home." "Is Miss Duchesne very dark?" Lucy asked in a tone of anxiety. Nat looked at her for a moment in surprise, and then burst into a fit of laughter. "What, Lucy, do you think because Myra was born in Hayti that she is a little negress with crinkley wool?" "No, no," the girl protested almost tearfully. "Of course I did not think that, but I thought that she might be dark. I am sure when I was at Bath last season and saw several old gentlemen, who, they said, were rich West Indians, they were all as yellow as guineas." "Well, she won't be quite so dark as that, anyhow," Nat said; "in fact I can tell you, you three will all have to look your best to make a good show by the side of her." "But this talk is all nonsense, Nat," the rector said gravely. "Your engagement is a very serious matter. Of course, now you have been so wonderfully fortunate, and are commander of a ship, you will, I have no doubt, have an income quite sufficient to marry upon, and, of course, you are in a position to please yourself." "We are not going to be married just at present, father. She is three years younger than I am, and I am not far advanced in years; so it has been quite settled that we shall wait for some time yet. By then, if I am lucky, my prize-money will have swelled to a handsome amount, and indeed, although I don't know the exact particulars, I believe I am entitled to from eight to ten thousand pounds. Moreover as the young lady herself is an only child, and her father is a very wealthy man, I fancy that we are not likely to have to send round the hat to make ends meet." The visit was duly paid the next day, and was most satisfactory to all parties, and, as the rectory was a large building, Mr. and Mrs. Glover insisted upon the Duchesnes removing there at once. "We want to see as much of Nat as we can," his mother urged, "and if he is to divide his time between Yeovil and the rectory, I am afraid we should get but a very small share of him." "I suppose your brother has told you all his adventures," Myra said the next morning, as she and all the party, with the exception of Mr. Glover and Nat, were seated in the parlour after breakfast was over. "No, he is a very poor correspondent. He just told us what he had been doing, but said very little about his adventures. I suppose he thought that girls would not care to hear about midshipmen's doings. He did tell us, though, that he had had a fight with a dog that had bitten you." Myra's eyes opened wider and wider as the eldest, Mary Glover, spoke. Her face flushed, and she would have risen to her feet in her indignation had not her mother laid her hand upon her arm. "I do not think, Miss Glover," Monsieur Duchesne said gravely, "that you can at all understand the obligation that we are under to your brother. The bite of a dog seems but a little thing. A huge hound had thrown Myra down, and had rescue been delayed but half a minute her death was certain. Your brother, riding past, heard her cries, and rushed in, and, armed only with his dirk, attacked the hound. He saved my daughter's life, but it was well-nigh at the cost of his own, for although he killed it, it was not until it had inflicted terrible injuries upon him--injuries so serious that for a time it was doubtful whether he would live. This was the first service to us. On the next occasion he was staying with us when the blacks rose. Thanks to our old nurse, there was time for them to run out into the shrubbery before the negroes came up, and then take refuge in the wood. My wife was seized with fever, and was for days unconscious. "The woods were everywhere scoured for fugitives. Six blacks, led by two mulattoes, discovered their hiding-place. Your son shot the whole of them, but had one of his ribs broken by a pistol-ball. In spite of that, he and Dinah carried my wife some thirty miles down to the town across rough ground, where every step must have been torture to him, and brought her and Myra safely to me. Equal services he performed another time to a family, intimate friends of ours, composed of a gentleman and his wife and two daughters, who, with six white men, were prisoners in the hands of the blacks, and would assuredly have suffered deaths of agonizing torture. Though he had but twenty men with him, he landed them all, marched them up to the place, rescued the whole party, and made his way down to his boat again through three hundred and fifty maddened blacks. No less great was the service he rendered when he rescued some fifteen ladies and gentlemen who had been captured by a pirate, and whose fate, had he not arrived, would have been too horrible to think of. As to his services at sea, the official reports have testified, and his unheard-of promotion shows the appreciation of the authorities. Never were more gallant deeds done by the most valiant naval captains who have ever lived." Myra had held her father's hand while he was speaking; her breath had come fast, and her eyes were full of tears. "Thank you, Monsieur Duchesne," Mrs. Glover said, gently; "please remember that all this is quite new to us. Now that we know something of the truth, we shall feel as proud of our boy as your daughter has a right to be." "Excuse me, Mrs. Glover," Myra said, walking across to her, and kissing her, "but when it seemed to me that these glorious deeds Nat has achieved were regarded as the mere adventures of a midshipman, I felt that I must speak." "It is quite natural that you should do so," Mrs. Glover said; "for, if fault there is, it rests with Nat, who always spoke of his own adventures in a jesting sort of way, and gave us no idea that they were anything out of the common." "They were out of the common, madame," Myra said; "why, when he came into Port Royal, with the great frigate in tow of his little brigantine, and two huge merchantmen he had recaptured from her, the admiral's ship and all the vessels of war in the harbour saluted him. I almost cried my eyes out with pride and happiness." "Myra does not exaggerate," her mother said; "your son's exploits were the talk of Jamaica, and even the capture of the French frigate was less extraordinary than the way in which, with a little craft of four guns, he captured a pirate which carried ten, and a crew four times as numerous as his own." "I hope you will tell us in full about all these things, Madame Duchesne," Mrs. Glover said, "for I fear that we shall never get a full account from Nat himself." Myra went across to Mary. "You are not angry with me, I hope," she said; "we are hot-tempered, we West Indians. When it seemed that you were speaking slightingly of the action to which I owe my life, I don't know what I should have said if my father had not stopped me." "I am not in the slightest degree angry," Mary said; "or, rather, if I am angry at all it is with Nat. It is too bad of him keeping all this to himself. You see, he was quite a boy when he left us, and he used to tell us funny stories about the pranks that the midshipmen played. Although we felt very proud of him when he told us that he had gained the rank of commander, we did not really know anything about sea matters, and could not appreciate the fact that he must have done something altogether out of the way to obtain that rank. But, of course, we like you all the better for standing up for him. I am sure that in future we girls shall be just as angry as you were if anyone says anything that sounds like running him down." The time passed rapidly, and, as the girls were never tired of listening to the tales of Nat's exploits, and Myra was never tired of relating them, Nat would have come in for any amount of hero-worship had he not promptly suppressed the slightest exhibition in that direction. It was but a few days after his arrival in England that Monsieur Duchesne learned by a letter from a friend, who was one of the few who escaped from the terrible scene, that their fears had been justified, and that Cape François, the beautiful capital of Hayti, had ceased to exist. Santhonax and Poveren had established a reign of terror, plunder, and oppression, until the white inhabitants were reduced to the most terrible state of suffering. The misery caused by these white monsters was as great as that which prevailed in France. At last General Galbaud arrived, having been sent out to prepare for the defence of the colony against an attack by the British. The two commissioners, however, refused to recognize his authority. Not only this, but they imperatively ordered him to re-embark, and return to France. Each party then prepared for fighting. The commissioners had with them the regular troops, and a large body of blacks. The governor had twelve hundred sailors, and the white inhabitants of the city, who had formed themselves into a body of volunteers. The fighting was hard; the volunteers showed the greatest bravery, and, had they been well supported by the sailors, would have gained the day. The seamen, however, speedily broke into the warehouses, intoxicated themselves with rum, and it was with difficulty that their officers could bring them back into the arsenal. The commissioners had, the night before, sent to a negro chief, offering pardon for all past offences, perfect freedom, and the plunder of the city. He arrived at noon on the 21st of June, and at once began the butchery of the white inhabitants. This continued till the evening of the 23rd, by which time the whole of the whites had been murdered, the city sacked, and then burned to the ground. Before Nat sailed in the _Spartane_, the Duchesnes had taken a house at Torquay. Here the climate would be better suited to madame, the summer temperature being less exhausting and the winter so free from extremes that she might reasonably hope not to feel the change. For five years Nat commanded the _Spartane_. If he did not meet with the exceptional good fortune that he had found in the West Indies, he had, at least, nothing to complain of. He picked up many prizes, took part in several gallant cutting-out adventures, and captured the French frigate _Euterpe_, of forty-six guns. For full details of these and other actions a search must be made in the official records of the British navy, where they are fully set forth. After a long and hard-fought battle, for which action he received post rank, he retired from the service, and settled down with Myra near Plymouth, where he was within easy reach of his own relations. As soon as he was established there, her father and mother took a house within a few minutes' walk of his home. He congratulated himself that he had not remained in the West Indies, for had he done so he would, like all the naval and military forces in the islands, have taken part in the disastrous attempt to obtain possession of the island of San Domingo. The Spaniards had ceded their portion to the French, and although the whites, mulattoes, and blacks were at war with each other, they were all ready to join forces against the British. The attempt to conquer an island so populous and strongly defended, and abounding with mountains in which the enemy could maintain themselves, was, if undertaken by a force of anything less than a hundred thousand men, foredoomed to failure. The force at first sent was ridiculously inadequate, and although it received reinforcements from time to time, these were not more than sufficient to fill the gaps caused by fever. Consequently, after four or five years' fighting, and the loss of fully thirty thousand men, by fatigue, hardship, and fever, the effort was abandoned, after having cost some thirty millions of money. At the end of the war, Toussaint was virtually Dictator of Hayti. He governed strongly and well, but as he was determined to admit no interference on the part of the French, he was finally treacherously seized by them, carried to France, and there died, it is said by starvation, in prison. His forebodings as to the unfitness of the blacks for self-government have been fulfilled to the letter. Civil wars, insurrections, and massacres have been the rule rather than the exception; the island has been gradually going down in the scale of civilization, and the majority of the blacks are as savage, ignorant, and superstitious as their forefathers in Africa. Fetish worship and human sacrifices are carried on in secret, and the fairest island in the western seas lies sunk in the lowest degradation--a proof of the utter incapacity of the negro race to evolve, or even maintain, civilization, without the example and the curb of a white population among them. * * * * * "Wherever English is spoken one imagines that Mr. Henty's name is known. One cannot enter a schoolroom or look at a boy's bookshelf without seeing half-a-dozen of his familiar volumes. Mr. Henty is no doubt the most successful writer for boys, and the one to whose new volumes they look forward every Christmas with most pleasure." --_Review of Reviews._ A LIST OF BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE By G. A. HENTY, KIRK MUNROE, JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY, ERNEST THOMPSON SETON, and Others Published by CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 153 to 157 Fifth Avenue New York * * * * * Other Volumes of the Henty Books Uniform with This Popular Edition IN FREEDOM'S CAUSE WITH LEE IN VIRGINIA WITH WOLFE IN CANADA THE LION OF ST. MARK IN THE REIGN OF TERROR NO SURRENDER UNDER WELLINGTON'S COMMAND WITH FREDERICK THE GREAT AT ABOUKIR AND ACRE BOTH SIDES THE BORDER A MARCH ON LONDON WITH MOORE AT CORUNNA AT AGINCOURT COCHRANE THE DAUNTLESS ON THE IRRAWADDY THROUGH RUSSIAN SNOWS A KNIGHT OF THE WHITE CROSS THE TIGER OF MYSORE IN THE HEART OF THE ROCKIES WHEN LONDON BURNED WULF THE SAXON ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S EVE THROUGH THE SIKH WAR A JACOBITE EXILE CONDEMNED AS A NIHILIST BERIC THE BRITON IN GREEK WATERS THE DASH FOR KHARTOUM REDSKIN AND COWBOY HELD FAST FOR ENGLAND * * * * * BY G. A. HENTY "Among writers of stories of adventures for boys Mr. Henty stands in the very first rank."--_Academy_ (London). THE TREASURE OF THE INCAS A Tale of Adventure in Peru. With 8 full-page Illustrations by WAL PAGET, and Map. $1.20 net. Peru and the hidden treasures of her ancient kings offer Mr. Henty a most fertile field for a stirring story of adventure in his most engaging style. In an effort to win the girl of his heart, the hero penetrates into the wilds of the land of the Incas. Boys who have learned to look for Mr. Henty's books will follow his new hero in his adventurous and romantic expedition with absorbing interest. It is one of the most captivating tales Mr. Henty has yet written. WITH KITCHENER IN THE SOUDAN A Story of Atbara and Omdurman. With 10 full-page Illustrations. $1.20 net. Mr. Henty has never combined history and thrilling adventure more skillfully than in this extremely interesting story. It is not in boy nature to lay it aside unfinished, once begun; and finished, the reader finds himself in possession, not only of the facts and the true atmosphere of Kitchener's famous Soudan campaign, but of the Gordon tragedy which preceded it by so many years and of which it was the outcome. WITH THE BRITISH LEGION A Story of the Carlist Uprising of 1836. Illustrated. $1.20 net. Arthur Hallet, a young English boy, finds himself in difficulty at home, through certain harmless school escapades, and enlists in the famous "British Legion," which was then embarking for Spain to take part in the campaign to repress the Carlist uprising of 1836. Arthur shows his mettle in the first fight, distinguishes himself by daring work in carrying an important dispatch to Madrid, makes a dashing and thrilling rescue of the sister of his patron, and is rapidly promoted to the rank of captain. In following the adventures of the hero the reader obtains, as is usual with Mr. Henty's stories, a most accurate and interesting history of a picturesque campaign. * * * * * STORIES BY G. A. HENTY "His books have at once the solidity of history and the charm of romance."--_Journal of Education._ TO HERAT AND CABUL A Story of the First Afghan War. By G. A. HENTY. With Illustrations. 12mo, $1.20 net. The greatest defeat ever experienced by the British Army was that in the Mountain Passes of Afghanistan. Angus Cameron, the hero of this book, having been captured by the friendly Afghans, was compelled to be a witness of the calamity. His whole story is an intensely interesting one, from his boyhood in Persia; his employment under the Government at Herat; through the defense of that town against the Persians; to Cabul, where he shared in all the events which ended in the awful march through the Passes from which but one man escaped. Angus is always at the point of danger, and whether in battle or in hazardous expeditions shows how much a brave youth, full of resources, can do, even with so treacherous a foe. His dangers and adventures are thrilling, and his escapes marvellous. WITH ROBERTS TO PRETORIA A Tale of the South African War. By G. A. HENTY. With 12 Illustrations. $1.20 net. The Boer War gives Mr. Henty an unexcelled opportunity for a thrilling story of present-day interest which the author could not fail to take advantage of. Every boy reader will find this account of the adventures of the young hero most exciting, and, at the same time a wonderfully accurate description of Lord Roberts's campaign to Pretoria. Boys have found history in the dress Mr. Henty gives it anything but dull, and the present book is no exception to the rule. AT THE POINT OF THE BAYONET A Tale of the Mahratta War. By G. A. HENTY. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.20 net. One hundred years ago the rule of the British in India was only partly established. The powerful Mahrattas were unsubdued, and with their skill in intrigue, and great military power, they were exceedingly dangerous. The story of "At the Point of the Bayonet" begins with the attempt to conquer this powerful people. Harry Lindsay, an infant when his father and mother were killed, was saved by his Mahratta ayah, who carried him to her own people and brought him up as a native. She taught him as best she could, and, having told him his parentage, sent him to Bombay to be educated. At sixteen he obtained a commission in the English Army, and his knowledge of the Mahratta tongue combined with his ability and bravery enabled him to render great service in the Mahratta War, and carried him, through many frightful perils by land and sea, to high rank. * * * * * BY G. A. HENTY "Mr. Henty might with entire propriety be called the boys' Sir Walter Scott."--_Philadelphia Press._ IN THE IRISH BRIGADE A Tale of War in Flanders and Spain. With 12 Illustrations by CHARLES M. SHELDON. 12mo, $1.50. Desmond Kennedy is a young Irish lad who left Ireland to join the Irish Brigade in the service of Louis XIV. of France. In Paris he incurred the deadly hatred of a powerful courtier from whom he had rescued a young girl who had been kidnapped, and his perils are of absorbing interest. Captured in an attempted Jacobite invasion of Scotland, he escaped in a most extraordinary manner. As aid-de-camp to the Duke of Berwick he experienced thrilling adventures in Flanders. Transferred to the Army in Spain, he was nearly assassinated, but escaped to return, when peace was declared, to his native land, having received pardon and having recovered his estates. The story is filled with adventure, and the interest never abates. OUT WITH GARIBALDI A Story of the Liberation of Italy. By G. A. HENTY. With 8 Illustrations by W. RAINEY, R.I. 12mo, $1.50. Garibaldi himself is the central figure of this brilliant story, and the little-known history of the struggle for Italian freedom is told here in the most thrilling way. From the time the hero, a young lad, son of an English father and an Italian mother, joins Garibaldi's band of 1,000 men in the first descent upon Sicily, which was garrisoned by one of the large Neapolitan armies, until the end, when all those armies are beaten, and the two Sicilys are conquered, we follow with the keenest interest the exciting adventures of the lad in scouting, in battle, and in freeing those in prison for liberty's sake. WITH BULLER IN NATAL Or, A Born Leader. By G. A. HENTY. With 10 Illustrations by W. RAINEY. 12mo, $1.50. The breaking out of the Boer War compelled Chris King, the hero of the story, to flee with his mother from Johannesburg to the sea coast. They were with many other Uitlanders, and all suffered much from the Boers. Reaching a place of safety for their families, Chris and twenty of his friends formed an independent company of scouts. In this service they were with Gen. Yule at Glencoe, then in Ladysmith, then with Buller. In each place they had many thrilling adventures. They were in great battles and in lonely fights on the Veldt; were taken prisoners and escaped; and they rendered most valuable service to the English forces. The story is a most interesting picture of the War in South Africa. * * * * * BY G. A. HENTY "Surely Mr. Henty should understand boys' tastes better than any man living."--_The Times._ WON BY THE SWORD A Tale of the Thirty Years' War. With 12 Illustrations by CHARLES M. SHELDON, and four Plans. 12mo, $1.50. The scene of this story is laid in France, during the time of Richelieu, of Mazarin and Anne of Austria. The hero, Hector Campbell, is the orphaned son of a Scotch officer in the French Army. How he attracted the notice of Marshal Turenne and of the Prince of Conde; how he rose to the rank of Colonel; how he finally had to leave France, pursued by the deadly hatred of the Duc de Beaufort--all these and much more the story tells with the most absorbing interest. A ROVING COMMISSION Or, Through the Black Insurrection at Hayti. With 12 Illustrations by WILLIAM RAINEY. 12mo, $1.50. This is one of the most brilliant of Mr. Henty's books. A story of the sea, with all its life and action, it is also full of thrilling adventures on land. So it holds the keenest interest until the end. The scene is a new one to Mr. Henty's readers, being laid at the time of the Great Revolt of the Blacks, by which Hayti became independent. Toussaint l'Overture appears, and an admirable picture is given of him and of his power. NO SURRENDER The Story of the Revolt in La Vendée. With 8 Illustrations by STANLEY L. WOOD. 12mo, $1.50. The revolt of La Vendée against the French Republic at the time of the Revolution forms the groundwork of this absorbing story. Leigh Stansfield, a young English lad, is drawn into the thickest of the conflict. Forming a company of boys as scouts for the Vendéan Army, he greatly aids the peasants. He rescues his sister from the guillotine, and finally, after many thrilling experiences, when the cause of La Vendée is lost, he escapes to England. UNDER WELLINGTON'S COMMAND A Tale of the Peninsular War. With 12 Illustrations by WAL PAGET. 12mo, $1.50. The dashing hero of this book, Terence O'Connor, was the hero of Mr. Henty's previous book, "With Moore at Corunna," to which this is really a sequel. He is still at the head of the "Minho" Portuguese regiment. Being detached on independent and guerilla duty with his regiment, he renders invaluable service in gaining information and in harassing the French. His command, being constantly on the edge of the army, is engaged in frequent skirmishes and some most important battles. * * * * * BY G. A. HENTY "Mr. Henty is the king of story-tellers for boys."--_Sword and Trowel._ AT ABOUKIR AND ACRE A Story of Napoleon's Invasion of Egypt. With 8 full-page Illustrations by WILLIAM RAINEY, and 3 Plans. 12mo, $1.50. The hero, having saved the life of the son of an Arab chief, is taken into the tribe, has a part in the battle of the Pyramids and the revolt at Cairo. He is an eye-witness of the famous naval battle of Aboukir, and later is in the hardest of the defense of Acre. BOTH SIDES THE BORDER A Tale of Hotspur and Glendower. With 12 full-page Illustrations by RALPH PEACOCK. 12mo, $1.50. This is a brilliant story of the stirring times of the beginning of the Wars of the Roses, when the Scotch, under Douglas, and the Welsh, under Owen Glendower, were attacking the English. The hero of the book lived near the Scotch border, and saw many a hard fight there. Entering the service of Lord Percy, he was sent to Wales, where he was knighted, and where he was captured. Being released, he returned home, and shared in the fatal battle of Shrewsbury. WITH FREDERICK THE GREAT A Tale of the Seven Years' War. With 12 full-page Illustrations. 12mo, $1.50. The hero of this story while still a youth entered the service of Frederick the Great, and by a succession of fortunate circumstances and perilous adventures, rose to the rank of colonel. Attached to the staff of the king, he rendered distinguished services in many battles, in one of which he saved the king's life. Twice captured and imprisoned, he both times escaped from the Austrian fortresses. A MARCH ON LONDON A Story of Wat Tyler's Rising. With 8 full-page Illustrations by W. H. MARGETSON. 12mo, $1.50. The story of Wat Tyler's Rebellion is but little known, but the hero of this story passes through that perilous time and takes part in the civil war in Flanders which followed soon after. Although young he is thrown into many exciting and dangerous adventures, through which he passes with great coolness and much credit. * * * * * BY G. A. HENTY "No country nor epoch of history is there which Mr. Henty does not know, and what is really remarkable is that he always writes well and interestingly."--_New York Times._ WITH MOORE AT CORUNNA A Story of the Peninsular War. With 12 full-page Illustrations by WAL PAGET. 12mo, $1.50. Terence O'Connor is living with his widowed father, Captain O'Connor of the Mayo Fusiliers, with the regiment at the time when the Peninsular war began. Upon the regiment being ordered to Spain, Terence gets appointed as aid to one of the generals of a division. By his bravery and great usefulness throughout the war, he is rewarded by a commission as colonel in the Portuguese army and there rendered great service. AT AGINCOURT A Tale of the White Hoods of Paris. With 12 full-page Illustrations by WALTER PAGET. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The story begins in a grim feudal castle in Normandie. The times were troublous, and soon the king compelled Lady Margaret de Villeroy with her children to go to Paris as hostages. Guy Aylmer went with her. Paris was turbulent. Soon the guild of the butchers, adopting white hoods as their uniform, seized the city, and besieged the house where our hero and his charges lived. After desperate fighting, the white hoods were beaten and our hero and his charges escaped from the city, and from France. WITH COCHRANE THE DAUNTLESS A Tale of the Exploits of Lord Cochrane in South American Waters. With 12 full-page Illustrations by W. H. MARGETSON. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero of this story accompanies Cochrane as midshipman, and serves in the war between Chili and Peru. He has many exciting adventures in battles by sea and land, is taken prisoner and condemned to death by the Inquisition, but escapes by a long and thrilling flight across South America and down the Amazon. ON THE IRRAWADDY A Story of the First Burmese War. With 8 full page Illustrations by W. H. OVEREND. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero, having an uncle, a trader on the Indian and Burmese rivers, goes out to join him. Soon after, war is declared by Burmah against England and he is drawn into it. He has many experiences and narrow escapes in battles and in scouting. With half-a-dozen men he rescues his cousin who had been taken prisoner, and in the flight they are besieged in an old, ruined temple. * * * * * BY G. A. HENTY "Boys like stirring adventures, and Mr. Henty is a master of this method of composition."--_New York Times_. THROUGH RUSSIAN SNOWS A Story of Napoleon's Retreat from Moscow. With 8 full-page Illustrations by W. H. OVEREND and 3 Maps. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero, Julian Wyatt, after several adventures with smugglers, by whom he is handed over a prisoner to the French, regains his freedom and joins Napoleon's army in the Russian campaign. When the terrible retreat begins, Julian finds himself in the rearguard of the French army, fighting desperately. Ultimately he escapes out of the general disaster, and returns to England. A KNIGHT OF THE WHITE CROSS A Tale of the Siege of Rhodes. With 12 full-page Illustrations by RALPH PEACOCK, and a Plan. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Gervaise Tresham, the hero of this story, joins the Order of the Knights of St. John, and proceeds to the stronghold of Rhodes. Subsequently he is appointed commander of a war-galley, and in his first voyage destroys a fleet of Moorish corsairs. During one of his cruises the young knight is attacked on shore, captured after a desperate struggle, and sold into slavery in Tripoli. He succeeds in escaping, and returns to Rhodes in time to take part in the defense of that fortress. THE TIGER OF MYSORE A Story of the War with Tippoo Saib. With 12 full-page Illustrations by W. H. MARGETSON, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Dick Holland, whose father is supposed to be a captive of Tippoo Saib, goes to India to help him to escape. He joins the army under Lord Cornwallis, and takes part in the campaign against Tippoo. Afterwards he assumes a disguise, enters Seringapatam, and at last he discovers his father in the great stronghold of Savandroog. The hazardous rescue is at length accomplished, and the young fellow's dangerous mission is done. IN THE HEART OF THE ROCKIES A Story of Adventure in Colorado. By G. A. HENTY. With 8 full-page Illustrations by G. C. HINDLEY. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero, Tom Wade, goes to seek his uncle in Colorado, who is a hunter and gold-digger, and he is discovered, after many dangers, out on the Plains with some comrades. Going in quest of a gold mine, the little band is spied by Indians, chased across the Bad Lands, and overwhelmed by a snowstorm in the mountains. * * * * * BY G. A. HENTY "Mr. Henty is one of the best story-tellers for young people."--_Spectator_. WHEN LONDON BURNED A Story of the Plague and the Fire. By G. A. HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by J. FINNEMORE. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero of this story was the son of a nobleman who had lost his estates during the troublous times of the Commonwealth. During the Great Plague and the Great Fire, Cyril was prominent among those who brought help to the panic-stricken inhabitants. WULF THE SAXON A Story of the Norman Conquest. By G. A. HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by RALPH PEACOCK. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero is a young thane who wins the favor of Earl Harold and becomes one of his retinue. When Harold becomes King of England Wulf assists in the Welsh wars, and takes part against the Norsemen at the Battle of Stamford Bridge. When William of Normandy invades England, Wulf is with the English host at Hastings, and stands by his king to the last in the mighty struggle. ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S EVE A Tale of the Huguenot Wars. By G. A. HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by H. J. DRAPER, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero, Philip Fletcher, has a French connection on his mother's side. This induces him to cross the Channel in order to take a share in the Huguenot wars. Naturally he sides with the Protestants, distinguishes himself in various battles, and receives rapid promotion for the zeal and daring with which he carries out several secret missions. THROUGH THE SIKH WAR A Tale of the Conquest of the Punjaub. By G. A. HENTY. With 12 full-page illustrations by HAL HURST, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Percy Groves, a spirited English lad, joins his uncle in the Punjaub, where the natives are in a state of revolt. Percy joins the British force as a volunteer, and takes a distinguished share in the famous battles of the Punjaub. * * * * * BY G. A. HENTY "The brightest of the living writers whose office it is to enchant the boys."--_Christian Leader_. A JACOBITE EXILE Being the Adventures of a Young Englishman in the Service of Charles XII. of Sweden. By G. A. HENTY. With 8 full-page Illustrations by PAUL HARDY, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Sir Marmaduke Carstairs, a Jacobite, is the victim of a conspiracy, and he is denounced as a plotter against the life of King William. He flies to Sweden, accompanied by his son Charlie. This youth joins the foreign legion under Charles XII., and takes a distinguished part in several famous campaigns against the Russians and Poles. CONDEMNED AS A NIHILIST A Story of Escape from Siberia. By G. A. HENTY. With 8 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The hero of this story is an English boy resident in St. Petersburg. Through two student friends he becomes innocently involved in various political plots, resulting in his seizure by the Russian police and his exile to Siberia. He ultimately escapes, and, after many exciting adventures, he reaches Norway, and thence home, after a perilous journey which lasts nearly two years. BERIC THE BRITON A Story of the Roman Invasion. By G. A. HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by W. PARKINSON. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. This story deals with the invasion of Britain by the Roman legionaries. Beric, who is a boy-chief of a British tribe, takes a prominent part in the insurrection under Boadicea; and after the defeat of that heroic queen (in A. D. 62) he continues the struggle in the fen-country. Ultimately Beric is defeated and carried captive to Rome, where he is trained in the exercise of arms in a school of gladiators. At length he returns to Britain, where he becomes ruler of his own people. IN GREEK WATERS A Story of the Grecian War of Independence (1821-1827). By G. A. HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by W. S. STACEY, and a Map. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. Deals with the revolt of the Greeks in 1821 against Turkish oppression. Mr. Beveridge and his son Horace fit out a privateer, load it with military stores, and set sail for Greece. They rescue the Christians, relieve the captive Greeks, and fight the Turkish war vessels. * * * * * BY G. A. HENTY "No living writer of books for boys writes to better purpose than Mr. G. A. Henty."--_Philadelphia Press._ THE DASH FOR KHARTOUM A Tale of the Nile Expedition. By G. A. HENTY. With 10 full-page Illustrations by JOHN SCHÖNBERG and J. NASH. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. In the record of recent British history there is no more captivating page for boys than the story of the Nile campaign, and the attempt to rescue General Gordon. For, in the difficulties which the expedition encountered, in the perils which it overpassed, and in its final tragic disappointments, are found all the excitements of romance, as well as the fascination which belongs to real events. REDSKIN AND COW-BOY A Tale of the Western Plains. By G. A. HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by ALFRED PEARSE. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. The central interest of this story is found in the many adventures of an English lad, who seeks employment as a cow-boy on a cattle ranch. His experiences during a "round-up" present in picturesque form the toilsome, exciting, adventurous life of a cow-boy; while the perils of a frontier settlement are vividly set forth in an Indian raid. HELD FAST FOR ENGLAND A Tale of the Siege of Gibraltar. By G. A. HENTY. With 8 full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. Crown 8vo, olivine edges, $1.50. This story deals with one of the most memorable sieges in history--the siege of Gibraltar in 1779-83 by the united forces of France and Spain. With land forces, fleets, and floating batteries, the combined resources of two great nations, this grim fortress was vainly besieged and bombarded. The hero of the tale, an English lad resident in Gibraltar, takes a brave and worthy part in the long defence, and it is through his varied experiences that we learn with what bravery, resource, and tenacity the Rock was held for England. * * * * * A List of Books by Kirk Munroe A SON OF SATSUMA Or, with Perry in Japan. By KIRK MUNROE. With 12 illustrations by HARRY C. EDWARDS. $1.00 net. This absorbing story for boys deals with one of the most interesting episodes in our National history. From the beginning Japan has been a land of mystery. Foreigners were permitted to land only at certain points on her shores, and nothing whatever was known of her civilization and history, her romance and magnificence, her wealth and art. It was Commodore Perry who opened her gates to the world, thus solving the mystery of the ages, and, in this thrilling story of an American boy in Japan at that period, the spirit as well as the history of this great achievement is ably set forth. IN PIRATE WATERS A Tale of the American Navy. Illustrated by I. W. TABER. 12mo, $1.25. The hero of the story becomes a midshipman in the navy just at the time of the war with Tripoli. His own wild adventures among the Turks and his love romance are thoroughly interwoven with the stirring history of that time. WITH CROCKETT AND BOWIE Or, Fighting for the Lone Star Flag. A Tale of Texas. By KIRK MUNROE. With 8 full-page Illustrations by VICTOR PÉRARD. Crown 8vo. $1.25. The story is of the Texas revolution in 1835, when American Texans under Sam Houston, Bowie, Crockett, and Travis fought for relief from the intolerable tyranny of the Mexican Santa Aña. The hero, Rex Hardin, son of a Texan ranchman and graduate of an American military school, takes a prominent part in the heroic defense of the Alamo, and the final triumph at San Jacinto. THROUGH SWAMP AND GLADE A Tale of the Seminole War. By KIRK MUNROE. With 8 full-page Illustrations by V. PÉRARD. Crown 8vo, $1.25. Coacoochee, the hero of the story, is the son of Philip, the chieftain of the Seminoles. He grows up to lead his tribe in the long struggle which resulted in the Indians being driven from the north of Florida down to the distant southern wilderness. AT WAR WITH PONTIAC Or, the Totem of the Bear. A Tale Of redcoat and redskin. By KIRK MUNROE. With 8 full-page illustrations by J. FINNEMORE. Crown 8vo, $1.25. A story when the shores of Lake Erie were held by hostile Indians. The hero, Donald Hester, goes in search of his sister Edith, who has been captured by the Indians. Strange and terrible are his experiences; for he is wounded, taken prisoner, condemned to be burned, but contrives to escape. In the end all things terminate happily. THE WHITE CONQUERORS A Tale of Toltec and Aztec. By KIRK MUNROE. With 8 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.25. This story deals with the conquest of Mexico by Cortez and his Spaniards, the "White Conquerors," who, after many deeds of valor, pushed their way into the great Aztec kingdom and established their power in the wondrous city where Montezuma reigned in splendor. MIDSHIPMAN STUART Or, the Last Cruise of the Essex. A Tale of the War of 1812. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25. This is an absorbing story of life in the American Navy during the stirring times of our war of 1812. The very spirit of the period is in its pages, and many of the adventures of the Essex are studied from history. * * * * * BY ERNEST THOMPSON SETON LIVES OF THE HUNTED Being a true account of the doings of four quadrupeds and three birds. With 200 Illustrations. $1.75 net. (Postage, 15 cents.) "Should be put with Kipling and Hans Christian Andersen as a classic."--THE ATHENÆUM (London). WILD ANIMALS I HAVE KNOWN With 200 Illustrations. $2.00. Mr. Ernest Thompson Seton's first and most famous book. More than 100,000 have been sold so far. BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE BOOK OF JOYOUS CHILDREN Profusely Illustrated. The sweetness, the grace, the laughter, and the tenderness of Mr. Riley's best verse are found to the full in this book of delightful poems for and about children. The illustrations have been made under the author's supervision, and portray the scenes and the little heroes and heroines of the poems with artistic fidelity. BY CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY IN THE WASP'S NET The Story of a Sea Waif. Illustrated. $1.50 net. (Postage, 16 cents.) A vigorous story of the war of 1812. The hero, a midshipman, serves gallantly aboard two famous American ships, each bearing the name of Wasp, having many adventures of storm, battle, and capture. BY THOMAS NELSON PACE A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS Illustrated in Colors. This exquisite story of childhood is one of the most delicate that even Mr. Page has written. It is an episode of the Civil War in which children are the little heroes. The period is the Christmas time, and the scene is between the lines of the Union and Confederate Armies. * * * * * JEB HUTTON, A GEORGIA BOY By JAMES B. CONNOLLY. Illustrated. $1.20 net. (Postage, 13 cents.) A thoroughly interesting and breezy tale of boy-life along the Savannah River by a writer who knows boys, and who has succeeded in making of the adventures of Jeb and his friends a story that will keep his young readers absorbed to the last page. KING MOMBO By PAUL DU CHAILLU. Author of "The World of the Great Forest," etc. With 24 illustrations. $1.50 net. (Postage, 16 cents.) The scene is the great African forest. It is a book of interesting experiences with native tribes, and thrilling and perilous adventures in hunting elephants, crocodiles, gorillas and other fierce creatures among which this famous explorer lived so long. A NEW BOOK FOR GIRLS By LINA BEARD and ADELIA B. BEARD. Authors of "The American Girl's Handy Book." Profusely Illustrated. An admirable collection of entirely new and original indoor and outdoor pastimes for American girls, each fully and interestingly described and explained, and all designed to stimulate the taste and ingenuity at the same time that they entertain. SEA FIGHTERS FROM DRAKE TO FARRAGUT By JESSIE PEABODY FROTHINGHAM. Illustrations by REUTERDAHL. $1.20 net. (Postage, 14 cents.) Drake, Tromp, De Reuter, Tourville, Suffren, Paul Jones, Nelson and Farragut are the naval heroes here pictured, and each is shown in some great episode which illustrates his personality and heroism. The book is full of the very spirit of daring and adventurous achievement. BOB AND HIS GUN By WILLIAM ALEXANDER LINN. With 8 Illustrations. The adventures of a boy with a gun under the instruction of his cousin, an accomplished sportsman. The book's aim is to interest boys in hunting in the spirit of true sport and to instruct in the ways of game birds and animals. 
7060	----	AT AGINCOURT By G. A. Henty [Illustration: GUY AYLMER SAVES THE KING'S LIFE AT THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.] PREFACE The long and bloody feud between the houses of Orleans and Burgundy--which for many years devastated France, caused a prodigious destruction of life and property, and was not even relaxed in the presence of a common enemy--is very fully recorded in the pages of Monstrellet and other contemporary historians. I have here only attempted to relate the events of the early portion of the struggle--from its commencement up to the astonishing victory of Agincourt, won by a handful of Englishmen over the chivalry of France. Here the two factions, with the exception of the Duke of Burgundy himself, laid aside their differences for the moment, only to renew them while France still lay prostrate at the feet of the English conqueror. At this distance of time, even with all the records at one's disposal, it is difficult to say which party was most to blame in this disastrous civil war, a war which did more to cripple the power of France than was ever accomplished by English arms. Unquestionably Burgundy was the first to enter upon the struggle, but the terrible vengeance taken by the Armagnacs,--as the Orleanists came to be called,--for the murders committed by the mob of Paris in alliance with him, was of almost unexampled atrocity in civil war, and was mainly responsible for the terrible acts of cruelty afterwards perpetrated upon each other by both parties. I hope some day to devote another volume to the story of this desperate and unnatural struggle. G. A. HENTY. CONTENTS I. A FEUDAL CASTLE II. TROUBLES IN FRANCE III. A SIEGE IV. A FATAL ACCIDENT V. HOSTAGES VI. IN PARIS VII. IN THE STREETS OF PARIS VIII. A RIOT IX. A STOUT DEFENCE X. AFTER THE FRAY XI. DANGER THREATENED XII. IN HIDING XIII. THE MASTERS OF PARIS XIV. PLANNING MASSACRE XV. A RESCUE XVI. THE ESCAPE XVII. A LONG PAUSE XVIII. KATARINA XIX. AGINCOURT XX. PENSHURST ILLUSTRATIONS GUY AYLMER SAVES THE KING'S LIFE AT THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT. GUY HAS HIS HEAD BOUND UP AFTER A BOUT AT QUARTER-STAFF. "THE TWO MEN WHO LIT THE ALARM FIRES RODE INTO THE CASTLE." "SIR EUSTACE GAVE A LOUD CRY, FOR LYING AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIR WAS THE FORM OF HIS SON." THE LADY MARGARET MAKES HER OBEISANCE TO THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY. GUY AND LONG TOM COME TO THE RESCUE OF COUNT CHARLES. "TOM'S BOW TWANGED, AND THE ARROW STRUCK THE HORSEMAN UNDER THE ARM-PIT." "THE KING EXTENDED HIS HAND TO GUY, WHO WENT ON ONE KNEE TO KISS IT." "WELL, COMRADE," SAID SIMON, "I SUPPOSE YOU ARE THE MAN I WAS TOLD WOULD COME TO-NIGHT?" "GUY DELIVERED A SLASHING BLOW ON THE BUTCHER'S CHEEK, AND DASHED PAST HIM." GUY WELCOMES THE COUNT OF MONTEPONE AND HIS DAUGHTER TO VILLEROY. "KATARINA SWEPT A DEEP CURTSEY, AND WENT OFF WITH A MERRY LAUGH." AT AGINCOURT CHAPTER I -- A FEUDAL CASTLE "And is it true that our lord and lady sail next week for their estate in France?" "Ay, it is true enough, and more is the pity; it was a sad day for us all when the king gave the hand of his ward, our lady, to this baron of Artois." "They say she was willing enough, Peter." "Ay, ay, all say she loved him, and, being a favourite with the queen, she got her to ask the king to accede to the knight's suit; and no wonder, he is as proper a man as eyes can want to look on--tall and stately, and they say brave. His father and grandfather both were Edward's men, and held their castle for us; his father was a great friend of the Black Prince, and he, too, took a wife from England. Since then things have not gone well with us in France, and they say that our lord has had difficulty in keeping clear of the quarrels that are always going on out there between the great French lords; and, seeing that we have but little power in Artois, he has to hold himself discreetly, and to keep aloof as far as he can from the strife there, and bide his time until the king sends an army to win back his own again. But I doubt not that, although our lady's wishes and the queen's favour may have gone some way with him, the king thought more of the advantage of keeping this French noble,--whose fathers have always been faithful vassals of the crown, and who was himself English on his mother's side,--faithful to us, ready for the time when the royal banner will flutter in the wind again, and blood will flow as it did at Cressy and Poitiers. "The example of a good knight like Sir Eustace taking the field for us with his retainers might lead others to follow his example; besides, there were several suitors for our lady's hand, and, by giving her to this French baron, there would be less offence and heart-burning than if he had chosen one among her English suitors. And, indeed, I know not that we have suffered much from its being so; it is true that our lord and lady live much on their estates abroad, but at least they are here part of their time, and their castellan does not press us more heavily during their absence than does our lord when at home." "He is a goodly knight, is Sir Aylmer, a just man and kindly, and, being a cousin of our lady's, they do wisely and well in placing all things in his hands during their absence." "Ay, we have nought to grumble at, for we might have done worse if we had had an English lord for our master, who might have called us into the field when he chose, and have pressed us to the utmost of his rights whenever he needed money." The speakers were a man and woman, who were standing looking on at a party of men practising at the butts on the village green at Summerley, one of the hamlets on the estates of Sir Eustace de Villeroy, in Hampshire. "Well shot!" the man exclaimed, as an archer pierced a white wand at a distance of eighty yards. "They are good shots all, and if our lord and lady have fears of troubles in France, they do right well in taking a band of rare archers with them. There are but five-and-twenty of them, but they are all of the best. When they offered prizes here a month since for the bowmen of Hants and Sussex and Dorset, methought they had some good reason why they should give such high prizes as to bring hither the best men from all three counties, and we were all proud that four of our own men should have held their own so well in such company, and especially that Tom, the miller's son, should have beaten the best of them. He is captain of the band, you know, but almost all the others shoot nigh as well; there is not one of them who cannot send an arrow straight into the face of a foe at a hundred and twenty yards. There were some others as good who would fain have been of the party, but our lady said she would take no married men, and she was right. They go for five years certain, and methinks a man fights all the better when he knows there is no one in England praying for his return, and that if he falls, there is no widow or children to bewail his loss. There are as many stout men-at-arms going too; so the Castle of Villeroy will be a hard nut for anyone to crack, for I hear they can put a hundred and fifty of their vassals there in the field." "We shall miss Sir Aylmer's son Guy," the woman said; "he is ever down at the village green when there are sports going on. There is not one of his age who can send an arrow so straight to the mark, and not many of the men; and he can hold his own with a quarter-staff too." "Ay, dame; he is a stout lad, and a hearty one. They say that at the castle he is ever practising with arms, and that though scarce sixteen he can wield a sword and heavy battle-axe as well as any man-at-arms there." "He is gentle too," the woman said. "Since his mother's death he often comes down with wine and other goodies if anyone is ill, and he speaks as softly as a girl. There is not one on the estate but has a good word for him, nor doubts that he will grow up as worthy a knight as his father, though gentler perhaps in his manner, and less grave in face, for he was ever a merry lad. Since the death of his lady mother two years ago he has gone about sadly, still of late he has gotten over his loss somewhat, and he can laugh heartily again. I wonder his father can bear to part with him." "Sir Eustace knows well enough that he cannot always keep the boy by his side, dame; and that if a falcon is to soar well, he must try his wings early. He goes as page, does he not?" "Ay, but more, methinks, as companion to young Henry, who has, they say, been sickly from a child, and, though better now, has scarce the making of a stalwart knight in him. His young brother Charles is a sturdy little chap, and bids fair to take after his father; and little Lady Agnes, who comes between them, is full of fire and spirit. "Yes; methinks Guy will have a pleasant time of it out there; that is, if there are no fresh troubles. I doubt not that in two or three years he will be one of our lord's esquires, and if he has a chance of displaying his courage and skill, may be back among us a dubbed knight before many years have passed over our heads. France is a rare place for gaining honours, and so it may well be, for I see not that we gain much else by our king's possessions there." "There was plenty of spoil brought over, dame, after Cressy and Poitiers." "Ay, but it soon goes; easy come, easy go, you know; and though they say that each man that fought there brought home a goodly share of spoil, I will warrant me the best part went down their throats ere many months had passed." "'Tis ever so, dame; but I agree with you, and deem that it would be better for England if we did not hold a foot of ground in France, and if English kings and nobles were content to live quietly among their people. We have spent more money than ever we made in these wars, and even were our kings to become indeed, as they claim, kings of France as well as England, the ill would be much greater, as far as I can see, for us all. Still there may be things, dame, that we country folks don't understand, and I suppose that it must be so, else Parliament would not be so willing to vote money always when the kings want it for wars with France. The wars in France don't affect us as much as those with Scotland and Wales. When our kings go to France to fight they take with them only such as are willing to go, men-at-arms and archers; but when we have troubles such as took place but five or six years ago, when Douglas and Percy and the Welsh all joined against us, then the lords call out their vassals and the sheriffs the militia of the county, and we have to go to fight willy-nilly. Our lord had a hundred of us with him to fight for the king at Shrewsbury. Nigh thirty never came back again. That is worse than the French wars, dame." "Don't I know it, for wasn't my second boy one of those who never came back. Ay, ay, they had better be fighting in France, perhaps, for that lets out the hot blood that might otherwise bring on fighting at home." "That is so, dame, things are all for the best, though one does not always see it." A week later all the tenantry gathered in front of the castle to wish God-speed to their lord and lady, and to watch the following by which they were accompanied. First there passed half a dozen mounted men-at-arms, who were to accompany the party but half a day's march and then to return with Sir Aylmer. Next to these rode Sir Eustace and Lady Margaret, still a beautiful woman, a worthy mate of her noble-looking husband. On her other side rode Sir Aylmer; then came John Harpen, Sir Eustace's esquire; beside whom trotted Agnes, a bright, merry-faced girl of twelve. Guy rode with the two boys; then came twenty-four men-at-arms, many of whom had fought well and stoutly at Shrewsbury; while Tom, the miller's son, or, as he was generally called, Long Tom, strode along at the head of twenty-four bowmen, each of whom carried the long English bow and quiver full of cloth-yard arrows, and, in addition, a heavy axe at his leathern girdle. Behind these were some servitors leading horses carrying provisions for the journey, and valises with the clothes of Sir Eustace, his wife, and children, and a heavy cart drawn by four strong horses with the bundles of extra garments for the men-at-arms and archers, and several large sheaves of spare arrows. The men-at-arms wore iron caps, as also breast and back pieces. On the shoulders and arms of their leathern jerkins iron rings were sewn thickly, forming a sort of chain armour, while permitting perfect freedom of the limbs. The archers also wore steel caps, which, like those of the men-at-arms, came low down on the neck and temples. They had on tough leathern frocks, girded in at the waist, and falling to the knee; some of them had also iron rings sewn on the shoulders. English archers were often clad in green cloth, but Sir Eustace had furnished the garments, and had chosen leather, both as being far more durable, and as offering a certain amount of defence. The frocks were sleeveless, and each man wore cloth sleeves of a colour according to his fancy. The band was in all respects a well-appointed one. As Sir Eustace wished to avoid exciting comment among his neighbours, he had abstained from taking a larger body of men; and it was partly for this reason that he had decided not to dress the archers in green. But every man had been carefully picked; the men-at-arms were all powerful fellows who had seen service; the archers were little inferior in physique, for strength as well as skill was required in archery, and in choosing the men Sir Eustace had, when there was no great difference in point of skill, selected the most powerful among those who were willing to take service with him. Guy enjoyed the two days' ride to Southampton greatly. It was the first time that he had been away from home, and his spirits were high at thus starting on a career that would, he hoped, bring him fame and honour. Henry and his brother and sister were also in good glee, although the journey was no novelty to them, for they had made it twice previously. Beyond liking change, as was natural at their age, they cared not whether they were at their English or at their French home, as they spoke both languages with equal fluency, and their life at one castle differed but little from that at the other. Embarking at Portsmouth in a ship that was carrying military stores to Calais, they coasted along the shores of Sussex and of Kent as far as Dungeness, and then made across to Calais. It was early in April, the weather was exceptionally favourable, and they encountered no rough seas whatever. On the way Sir Eustace related to Guy and his sons the events that had taken place in France, and had led up to the civil war that was raging so furiously there. "In 1392, the King of France being seized with madness, the Dukes of Burgundy and Orleans in a very short time wrested the power of the state from the hands of his faithful councillors, the Constable de Clisson, La Riviere, and others. De Clisson retired to his estate and castle at Montelhery, the two others were seized and thrown into prison. De Clisson was prosecuted before Parliament as a false and wicked traitor; but the king, acting on the advice of Orleans, who had not then broken with the Dukes of Burgundy and Berri, had, after La Riviere and another had been in prison for a year, stopped the prosecution, and restored their estates to them. Until 1402 the Dukes of Burgundy and Berri were all-powerful, and in 1396 a great number of knights and nobles, led by John, Count of Nevers, the eldest son of the Duke of Burgundy, went to the assistance of the King of Hungary, which country was being invaded by the Turks. They were, however, on the 28th of September, utterly defeated. The greater portion of them were killed; Nevers and the rest were ransomed and brought home. "In 1402 the king, influenced by his wife, Isobel, and his brother, the Duke of Orleans, who were on terms of the closest alliance, placed the entire government in the hands of the latter, who at once began to abuse it to such an extent, by imposing enormous taxes upon the clergy and the people, that he paved the way for the return of his uncle of Burgundy to power. On the 27th of April, 1404, Philip the Bold of Burgundy died. He was undoubtedly ambitious, but he was also valiant and able, and he had the good of France at heart. He was succeeded by his son John, called the Fearless, from the bravery that he had displayed in the unfortunate Hungarian campaign. The change was disastrous for France. John was violent and utterly unscrupulous, and capable of any deed to gratify either his passions, jealousies, or hatreds. At first he cloaked his designs against Orleans by an appearance of friendship, paid him a visit at his castle near Vincennes, where he was at the time lying ill. When he recovered, the two princes went to mass together, dined at their uncle's, the Duke of Berri, and together entered Paris; and the Parisians fondly hoped that there was an end of the rivalry that had done so much harm. It was, however, but a very short time afterwards that, on the 23d of November, 1407, as the Duke of Orleans was returning from having dined with the queen, and was riding with only two esquires and four or five men on foot carrying torches, twenty armed men sprang out from behind a house and rushed upon him. "'I am the Duke of Orleans,' the prince cried; but they hurled him from his mule, and as he tried to rise to his feet one blow struck off the hand he raised to protect his head, other blows rained down upon him from axe and sword, and in less than a minute the duke lay dead. The Duke of Burgundy at first affected grief and indignation, but at the council the next day he boldly avowed that Orleans had been killed by his orders. He at once took horse and rode to the frontier of Flanders, which he reached safely, though hotly chased by a party of the Duke of Orleans' knights. The duke's widow, who was in the country at the time, hastened up to Paris with her children, and appealed for justice to the king, who declared that he regarded the deed done to his brother as done to himself. The Dukes of Berri and Bourbon, the Constable and Chancellor, all assured her that she should have justice; but there was no force that could hope to cope with that which Burgundy could bring into the field, and when, two months later, Burgundy entered Paris at the head of a thousand men-at-arms, no attempt was made at resistance, and the murderer was received with acclamations by the fickle populace. "The king at the time was suffering from one of his terrible fits of insanity, but a great assembly was held, at which princes, councillors, lords, doctors of law, and prominent citizens were present. A monk of the Cordeliers, named John Petit, then spoke for five hours in justification of the duke, and the result was that the poor insane king was induced to sign letters cancelling the penalty of the crime. For four months the duke remained absolute master of Paris, disposing of all posts and honours, and sparing no efforts to render himself popular with the burghers. A serious rebellion breaking out at Liege, and the troops sent against the town being repulsed, he was obliged to leave Paris to put down the revolt. As soon as he had left, the queen and the partisans of Orleans prepared to take advantage of his absence, and two months later Queen Isobel marched with the dauphin, now some thirteen years old, from Melun with three thousand men. "The Parisians received her with applause, and as soon as she had taken up her quarters at the Louvre, the Dukes of Berri, Bourbon, and Brittany, the Constable, and all the great officers of the court rallied round her. Two days later the Duchess of Orleans arrived with a long train of mourning coaches. A great assembly was held, and the king's advocate announced to them the intention of the king to confer the government upon the queen during his illness, and produced a document signed by the king to that effect. The Duchess of Orleans then came forward, and kneeling before the dauphin, begged for justice for the death of her husband, and that she might be granted an opportunity of refuting the calumnies that John Petit had heaped on the memory of her husband. A week later another great assembly was held, and the justification of the duke was read, refuting all these imputations, and the duchess's advocate demanded that the duke should be forced to make public reparation, and then to be exiled for twenty years. The dauphin replied that he and all the princes of blood royal present held that the charges against the Duke of Orleans had been amply refuted, and that the demands with reference to the Duke of Burgundy should be provided for in course of justice. "Scarcely had the assembly broken up when it became known that Burgundy and his army was on the way back to Paris. Resistance was out of the question; therefore, taking the young dauphin with her, and accompanied by all the members of the royal family, the queen retired to Tours. Burgundy, unscrupulous as he was, finding that although he might remain master of Paris, he could not hope to rule France, except when acting under the pretence of the king's authority, soon sent an embassy to Tours to endeavour to arrange matters. He was able to effect this with the less difficulty, that the Duchess of Orleans had just died from grief at her husband's death, and at the hopelessness of obtaining vengeance on his murderer. The queen was won to the cause of Burgundy by secret proposals submitted to her for a close league between them, and in March a treaty was concluded, and a meeting took place at Chartres, at which the duke, the king, the queen, the royal princes, and the young Duke of Orleans and his adherents were present. "The king declared that he pardoned the duke, and the princes of Orleans consented to obey his orders and to lay aside all hatred and thoughts of vengeance, and shortly afterwards Paris welcomed with shouts of joy the return of the king and queen and the apparent reconciliation of all parties. But the truce was a brief one; for the princes and adherents of Orleans might bend before circumstances at the moment, but their feelings were unchanged. "A head of the party was needed, and the young duke married the daughter of Count Bernard d'Armagnac, one of the most powerful and ambitious nobles of the south of France, who at once,--in concert with the Dukes of Berri and Brittany and other lords,--put himself at the head of the Orleans party. On the 10th of July, 1411, the three princes of Orleans sent a long letter to the king, complaining that no reparation whatever had been made for the murder of their father, and begging him that, as what was done at Chartres was contrary to every principle of law, equity, reason, and justice, the case should be reopened again. They also made complaints against the Duke of Burgundy for his conduct and abuse of power. "As the king was surrounded by Burgundy's creatures no favourable reply was returned, and a formal challenge or declaration of war was, on the 18th of July, sent by the princes to the Duke of Burgundy, and both parties began at once to make preparation for war. "Now for my own view of this quarrel. King Henry sent for me a year since, and asked for whom I should hold my castle if Orleans and Burgundy came to blows, adding that Burgundy would be viewed by him with most favour. "'My father and grandfather ever fought faithfully in the service of England,' I said; 'but for years past now, the line betwixt your majesty's possessions and those of France has been drawn in, and my estates and Castle of Villeroy now lie beyond the line, and I am therefore a vassal of France as well as of your majesty. It being known to all men that even before I became Lord of Summerley, on my marriage with your majesty's ward, Mistress Margaret, I, like my father, held myself to be the liege man of the King of England. I am therefore viewed with much hostility by my neighbours, and right gladly would they seize upon any excuse to lay complaint against me before the king, in order that I might be deprived of my fief and castle. "'This I would fain hold always for your majesty; and, seeing how it is situated but a few miles across the frontier, it is, I would humbly submit to you, of importance to your majesty that it should be held by one faithful to you--since its possession in the hands of an enemy would greatly hinder any English army marching out from Calais to the invasion of France. It is a place of some strength now; but were it in French hands it might be made very much stronger, and would cost much time and loss of men to besiege. At present your majesty is in alliance with Burgundy, but none can say how the war will go, or what changes will take place; and should the Orleanists gain the upper hand, they will be quick to take advantage of my having fought for Burgundy, and would confiscate my estates and hand them over to one who might be hostile to England, and pledged to make the castle a stronghold that would greatly hinder and bar the advance of an English army upon Paris. Therefore, Sire, I would, not for my own sake but for the sake of your majesty's self and your successors, pray you to let me for a while remain quietly at Summerley until the course of events in France is determined.' "The king was pleased to see the force of what I urged. As far as I had inclinations in the case, they were towards the cause, not of Burgundy himself, whose murder of Orleans was alike treacherous and indefensible, but of his cause, seeing that Flanders is wholly under his authority, and that in Artois he is well-nigh paramount at present. On the other hand, Amiens and Ponthieu, which lie but a short distance to the south of me, are strongly Orleanist, and I have therefore every motive for standing aloof. So far the fortune of war has been so changeable that one cannot say that the chances incline towards one faction more than the other. Even the Church has failed to bring about the end of the troubles. The Orleanists have been formally placed under interdicts, and cursed by book, bell, and candle. The king's commands have been laid upon all to put aside their quarrels, but both the ban of the Church and the king's commands have been ineffectual. I am as anxious as ever to abstain from taking any part in the trouble, the more so as the alliance between our king and Burgundy has cooled somewhat. But I have received such urgent prayers from my vassals at Villeroy to come among them, since they are now being plundered by both parties, that I feel it is time for me to take up my abode there. When the king stayed at Winchester, a month since, I laid the matter before him. He was pleased to say that what I had urged a year ago had turned out to be as I foretold, and that he would give me leave to go over and establish myself at Villeroy, and to hold myself aloof from both parties until the matter should further ripen. What will come of it I cannot say. The English king seemed to me to be ailing, and I fear that it may not be long before young Henry comes to the throne. He is a wild young prince, but has already shown himself in the Northern war to be full of spirit and courage, and methinks that when he comes to the throne he will not long observe the peaceful policy of his father, but that we shall see the royal standard once again spread to the winds of France." "But, Sir Eustace," Guy said, when he had concluded, "how do these matters affect you? I thought that by the treaty the west part of Artois was English." "Ay, lad, it was so settled; but at that time the strength of France had been broken at Poitiers, and the Black Prince and his army were so feared that his terms were willingly accepted in order to secure peace. Much has happened since then: war has been constantly going on, sometimes hotly, sometimes sluggishly; France has had her own troubles, and as the English kings have been more pacific, and England has become weary of bearing the heavy expenses of the war, the treaty has become a dead letter. Gascony, in which province Armagnac is the greatest lord, is altogether lost to England, as is the greater part of Guienne. A great proportion of the people there were always bitterly opposed to the change, and, as you know, even in the time of the Black Prince himself there were great rebellions and troubles; since then town after town and castle after castle has declared for France, and no real efforts have ever been made by the English to win them back again. I, who in England am an English baron, and--so long as things go on as at present--a French noble while in France, am in a perilous position between my two Suzerains. Were an English army to land, I should join them, for I still hold myself to be a vassal of the king of England, as we have been for three generations. As to the French disputes, I fear that sooner or later I shall have to declare in favour of one party or the other, for it will be difficult to stand altogether aloof from these conflicts, because all men, at least all men of condition, are well-nigh forced to take one side or the other. The plea that I am a baron of England will be of no avail, for both sides would turn against me and be glad of an excuse for pillaging and confiscating my estate. At present, then, I must regard myself solely as a French noble, for Villeroy has passed into the hands of France, just as for a while it passed into the hands of England, and if this war goes on we shall have to take a side." "And to which side do your thoughts incline, Sir Eustace, if I may ask you?" "I love not either side, Guy, and would fain, if it could be so, that my sword should remain in its sheath. I fear that I shall have to go with Burgundy, for he is all-powerful in Artois; but had I been altogether free to choose, I should have sided with Orleans. In the first place, it is certain that the last duke was foully murdered by Burgundy, who thereby laid the foundation for the present troubles. There were jealousies before, as there have always been between the great nobles, but that act forced almost all to take sides. The Dukes of Berri and Brittany, who had been of the party of the late Duke of Burgundy, were driven by this foul act of his son to range themselves with Orleans. Armagnac is very powerful in the south, Berri's dukedom is in the north, that of Orleans to the north-east. Burgundy's strength lies in his own dukedom,--which has ever been all but independent of France,--in Flanders, in Artois, and in Paris; thus, generally, it is the north and east of France against the south and west. This is broadly the case, but in a civil war provinces and countships, neighbours, ay, and families, become split up into factions, as interest, or family ties, or the desire to increase an estate by annexing another next to it, may influence the minds of men. "So long as it is but a war between the great dukes and princes of France we smaller men may hope to hold aloof, but, as it goes on, and evil deeds are done on both sides, men's passions become heated, the spirit spreads until every man's hand is against his neighbour, and he who joins not against one or the other finds both ready to oppress and rob him. I should not have cared to bring out an English following with me had we been forced to march any distance through France; but as Villeroy is but a few miles from the frontier, and of that distance well-nigh half is through my own estates, we can reach the castle almost unnoticed. Once there, the fact that I have strengthened my garrison will keep me from attack, for either party would be chary in attacking one who can defend himself stoutly. I was minded to leave your lady and the two younger children in England, but in truth she begged so hard to accompany me that I could not say her nay." The Castle of Villeroy was somewhat larger than the one in which Guy had been born and brought up. The plan, however, was very similar: there was the central keep, but, whereas at home this was the dwelling-house of the family, it was here used as a storehouse, and the apartments of the count and countess were in the range of buildings that formed an inner court round the keep. In point of luxury the French were in advance of the English, and they had already begun to combine comfort with strength in their buildings. The apartments struck Guy as being wonderfully spacious in comparison to those with which he was accustomed. On the ground floor of one side of the square was the banqueting-hall. Its walls were decorated with arms and armour, the joists that supported the floor above were carved, the windows large and spacious, for, looking as they did into the inner court, there was no occasion for their being mere loopholes. Above the banqueting-hall was a room where Lady Margaret sat with her maids engaged in working at tapestry; here the priest gave such slight instruction as was then considered necessary to Agnes and Charles; Henry had already passed out of his hands. Next to this room was the knight's sleeping apartment, or closet as it was then called, a room which would now be considered of ridiculously straitened dimensions; and close to it were the still smaller closets of the children. Beyond were a series of guest-chambers. Another side of the court-yard contained the apartments of the castellan, Jean Bouvard, a sturdy soldier of long experience, and those of the other officers of the household; the other two sides were occupied by the chapel, the kitchens, and the offices of the servants and retainers. All these rooms were loopholed on the side looking into the outer court. This was considerably wider and more extensive than the one surrounding the keep. Here were the stables, storehouses for grain and forage, and a building, just erected, for the lodging of the English garrison. All these buildings stood against the outer wall, so that they would afford no shelter to an enemy who had obtained possession of the first defences and was making an attack against the second line. The outer wall was twelve feet in thickness, and thirty feet above the court; outside the height was considerably greater, as there was a moat faced with stone fifteen feet deep entirely surrounding it, and containing seven or eight feet of water. Walls ran half across the outer court, and, from the end of these, light wooden bridges formed a communication with the wall of the inner court, so that in the event of the outer wall being stormed or the gates being carried by assault, the defenders could retire to the inner defences. The ends of these bridges rested upon irons projecting from the wall, and so arranged that they could be instantly withdrawn when the last of the defenders had crossed over, when the bridges would at once fall into the court-yard below. The inner wall was twelve feet higher than the outer one, and, like it, was provided with a crenellated battlement four feet high; there were projecting turrets at each corner, and one in the middle of each side. The keep rose twenty feet higher than the wall of the inner court. The lower portions of the cross walls of the outer court were carried on as far as the inner wall, thereby dividing the space into four; strong gates gave communication from one to the other. Into these could be driven the cattle of the tenantry, and one of them contained a number of huts in which the tenants themselves would be lodged. The court-yard facing the entrance was the largest of the areas into which the space between the outer and inner walls was divided, extending the whole width between the outer walls. Here the military exercises were carried on. Along the wall, at each side of the gate, were a range of stables for the use of the horses of guests, with rooms over them for the use of their retainers. There was a strong exterior work defending the approach to the drawbridge on the other side of the moat, and in all respects the castle was well appointed, and to Guy it seemed almost impossible that it could be carried by assault, however numerous the foe. CHAPTER II -- TROUBLES IN FRANCE As soon as it was heard that the lord and lady had returned, the vassals of Villeroy came in to pay their respects, and presents of fowls, game, and provisions of all kinds poured in. The table in the banqueting-hall was bountifully spread, casks of wine broached, and all who came received entertainment. As French was still spoken a good deal at the English court and among the nobles and barons, and was considered part of the necessary education of all persons of gentle blood, Guy, who had always used it in his conversation with his father, had no difficulty in performing his duty of seeing that the wants of all who came were well attended to. In a few days guests of higher degree came in, the knights and barons of that part of the province; a few of these expressed surprise at the height of the sturdy men-at-arms and archers loitering about the court-yard. Sir Eustace always answered any remarks made on the subject by saying, "Yes, Dame Margaret and I thought that instead of keeping all our retainers doing nothing in our castle in England, where there is at present no use whatever for their services, we might as well bring a couple of score of them over here. I have no wish to take part in any of the troubles that seem likely to disturb France, but there is never any saying what may happen, and at any rate it costs no more to feed these men here than in England." The English archers and men-at-arms were well satisfied with their quarters and food, and were soon on good terms with their French associates. The garrison, before their arrival, had consisted of fifty men-at-arms, and although these had no means of communicating verbally with the new arrivals, they were not long in striking up such acquaintance as could be gained by friendly gestures and the clinking of wine-cups. Their quarters were beside those of the English, and the whole of the men-at-arms daily performed their exercises in the court-yard together, under the command of the castellan, while the archers marched out across the drawbridge and practised shooting at some butts pitched there. To the French men-at-arms their performances appeared astounding. The French had never taken to archery, but the cross-bow was in use among them, and half of the French men-at-arms had been trained in the use of this weapon, which was considered more valuable in the case of sieges than of warfare in the field. While they were able to send their bolts as far as the bowmen could shoot their arrows, there was no comparison whatever in point of accuracy, and the archers could discharge a score of arrows while the cross-bowmen were winding up their weapons. "_Pardieu_, master page," Jean Bouvard said one day as he stood with Guy watching the shooting of the archers, "I no longer wonder at the way in which you English defeated us at Cressy and Poitiers. I have heard from my father, who fought at Poitiers, how terrible was the rain of arrows that was poured upon our knights when they charged up the hill against the English, but I had never thought that men could shoot with such skill and strength. It was but yesterday that I set my men-at-arms to try and bend one of these English bows, and not one of them could draw an arrow anywhere near the head with all their efforts; while these men seem to do so with the greatest ease, and the speed with which they can shoot off arrow after arrow well-nigh passes belief. That tall fellow, who is their chief, but now sent twenty arrows into a space no greater than a hand's-breadth, at a hundred and twenty yards, and that so quickly that he scarce seemed to take time to aim at all, and the others are well-nigh as skilful. Yesterday I put up a breastplate such as is worn by our men-at-arms and asked them to shoot at it at eighty yards. They fired a volley together at it. It was riddled like a colander; not one of the five-and-twenty arrows had failed to pierce it." "Ay, at that distance, Captain, an English archer of fair skill could not miss it, and it needs Milan armour, and that of the best, to keep out their arrows." "By our Lady," the captain remarked, "I should be sorry to attack a castle defended by them, and our lord has done well indeed to bring them over with him. Your men-at-arms are stalwart fellows. My own men feel well-nigh abashed when they see how these men take up a stone that they themselves can with difficulty lift from the ground, and hurl it twenty yards away; and they whirl their heavy axes round their heads as if they were reeds." "They are all picked men," Guy said with a laugh. "You must not take it that all Englishmen are of equal strength, though no doubt Sir Eustace could have gathered five hundred as strong had he wished it." "If that be so," the captain said, "I can well believe that if France and England meet again on a field of battle France shall be beaten as she was before. However, there is one comfort, we shall not be among the defeated; for our lord, and his father and his grandfather before, him, have ever been with England, and Sir Eustace, having an English wife and mother, and being a vassal of the English crown for his estates in England, will assuredly take their part in case of a quarrel. Of course, at present we hold ourselves to be neutrals, and though our lord's leanings towards England give some umbrage to his neighbours, their enmity finds no expression, since for years now there has been no righting to speak of between the two nations. How it will be if Orleans and Burgundy come to blows I know not; but if they do so, methinks our lord will have to declare for one or the other, or he may have both upon him. A man with broad estates, on which many cast covetous eyes, can scarce stand altogether aloof. However, if Villeroy is attacked, methinks that with the following Sir Eustace has brought with him across the sea even Burgundy himself will find that it would cost him so dearly to capture the castle that it were best left alone." "How about the vassals?" "They will fight for their lord," Jean Bouvard answered confidently. "You see their fathers and grandfathers fought under the Black Prince, and it is natural that their leanings should be on that side. Then they know that there is no better lord in all Artois than Sir Eustace, and his dame has made herself much beloved among them all. There is no fear that they will disobey our lord's orders whatever they be, and will fight as he bids them, for Orleans or Burgundy, England or France. He has never exercised to the full his rights of seigneur; he has never called upon them for their full quota of work; no man has even been hung on his estate for two generations save for crime committed; no vassal's daughter has ever been carried into the castle. I tell you there is not a man for over fifty miles round who does not envy the vassals of Villeroy, and this would be a happy land indeed were all lords like ours. Were we to hoist the flag on the keep and fire a gun, every man on the estate would muster here before sunset, and would march against the King of France himself did Sir Eustace order them to do so." "In that case what force could we put on the walls, Captain?" "Two hundred men besides the garrison, and we have provisions stored away in the keep sufficient for them and their women and children for a three months' siege. Sir Eustace gave me orders yesterday to procure wood of the kind used for arrows, and to lay in a great store of it; also to set the smiths to work to make arrow-heads. I asked him how many, and he said, 'Let them go on at it until further orders. I should like a store sufficient at least for a hundred rounds for each of these English archers, and if we had double that it would be all the better. They can make their own arrows if they have suitable wood.' It seemed to me that two hundred rounds was beyond all necessity, but now when I see that these men can shoot nigh twenty rounds a minute, I can well understand that a great supply for them is needful." The time passed very pleasantly at Villeroy. Sometimes Guy rode with his lord and lady when they went out hawking or paid visits to neighbouring castles. Regularly every day they practised for two hours in arms, and although well instructed before, Guy gained much additional skill from the teaching of Jean Bouvard, who was a famous swordsman. The latter was surprised at finding that the page was able to draw the English bows as well as the archers, and that, although inferior to Long Tom and three or four of the best shots, he was quite as good a marksman as the majority. Moreover, though of gentle blood he would join with the men in their bouts of quarter-staff, and took no more heed of a broken head than they did. [Illustration: GUY HAS HIS HEAD BOUND UP AFTER A BOUT AT QUARTER-STAFF.] "_Pardieu_, master page," he said one day when Guy came in from the court-yard to have his head, which was streaming with blood, bound up, "our French pages would marvel indeed if they saw you. They all practise in arms as you do, save with the shooting; but they would consider it would demean them sorely to join in such rough sports with their inferiors, or to run the risk of getting their beauty spoiled by a rough blow. No wonder your knights strike so mightily in battle when they are accustomed to strike so heavily in sport. I saw one of your men-at-arms yesterday bury his axe to the very head in a block of oak; he wagered a stoup of wine that no two of my men-at-arms would get the axe out, and he won fairly, for indeed it took four of the knaves at the handle to tug it out, and then indeed it needed all their strength. No armour ever forged could have withstood such a blow; it-would have cracked both the casque and the skull inside like egg-shells. It seemed to me that a thousand such men, with as many archers, could march through France from end to end, if they kept well together, and were well supplied with meat and drink by the way--they would need that, for they are as good trenchermen as they are fighters, and indeed each man amongst them eats as much as three of my fellows." "Yes, they want to be well fed," Guy laughed, "and they are rarely pleased with the provision that you make for them; surely not one of them ever fed so well before." "Food does not cost much," the captain said; "we have herds of our own which run half wild on the low ground near the river, which our lords always keep in hand for their own uses, and they multiply so fast that they are all the better for thinning; we sell a few occasionally, but they are so wild that it scarce pays the trouble of driving them to the nearest market, and we are always ready to grant permission to any of the vassals, whose cattle have not done as well as usual, to go out and kill one or two for meat." "I hear from the Governor of Calais," Sir Eustace said, when he returned from a visit to that town, "that a truce has been agreed upon between England and France for a year; it is France who asked for it, I suppose. Both parties here wanted to be able to fight it out without interference. Here, in Artois, where the Burgundians are most numerous, they will profit, as they will have no fear of England trying to regain some of her lost territory, while in the south it will leave Armagnac and his friends equally free from English incursions from Guienne." "And how will it affect us, Eustace?" his wife asked. "That I have not been able fully to determine. At any rate they will have no excuse for attacking us upon the ground that we are partly English, and wholly so in feeling; but upon the other hand, if we are attacked either by Burgundians or Orleanists, we cannot hope, as we should have done before, for aid from Calais, lying as we do some fifteen miles beyond the frontier. Amiens has already declared for Burgundy, in spite of the fact that a royal proclamation has been issued, and sent to every town and bailiwick through France, strictly commanding all persons whatsoever not to interfere, or in any manner to assist the Dukes of Orleans or Burgundy in their quarrels with each other. I hear that the Duke of Burgundy has seized Roye, Nesle, and Ham, and a number of other places, and that both parties are fortifying all their towns. They say, too, that there is news that the king has again been seized with one of his fits of madness. However, that matters little. He has of late been a tool in the hands of Burgundy, and the royal signature has no weight one way or the other. However, now that hostilities have begun, we must lose no time, for at any moment one party or the other may make a sudden attack upon us. Burgundy and Orleans may quarrel, but it is not for love of one or the other that most of the nobles will join in the fray, but merely because it offers them an opportunity for pillaging and plundering, and for paying off old scores against neighbours. Guy, bid John Harpen come hither." When the esquire entered, Sir Eustace went on: "Take two men-at-arms, John, and ride round to all the tenants. Warn them that there are plundering bands about, and that either the Burgundians or the Orleanists may swoop down upon us any day. Tell them that they had better send in here all their valuables, and at any rate the best of their cattle and horses, and to have everything prepared for bringing in their wives and families and the rest of their herds at a moment's notice. You can say that if they like they can at once send their wives and families in, with such store of grain and forage as they can transport; the more the better. If the plunderers come, so much the more is saved from destruction; if we are besieged, so much the more food have we here. Those who do not send in their families would do well to keep a cart with two strong horses ready day and night, so that no time would be lost when they get the signal. We shall fire a gun, hoist the flag, and light a bonfire on the keep, so that they may see the smoke by day or the fire by night. Tell Jean Bouvard to come to me." "There is trouble afoot, Jean, and at any moment we may be attacked. Place two men-at-arms on each of the roads to St. Omer, St. Pol, and Bethune. Post them yourself at the highest points you can find near our boundary. By each have a pile of faggots, well smeared with pitch, and have another pile ready on the keep, and a watch always stationed there. He is to light it at once when he sees smoke or fire from either of the three points. Let the men at the outposts be relieved every four hours. They must, of course, be mounted. Let one of the two remain by the faggots, and let the other ride three or four miles in advance, and so post himself as to see a long distance down the road. "If he sees a force advancing he must gallop back at full speed to his comrade, and light the fire. Have a gun always loaded on the keep, and have a brazier burning hard by, with an iron in it, so that the piece may be fired the instant smoke is seen. It might be two or three minutes before the beacon would give out smoke enough to be noticed, and every minute may be of the greatest importance to the vassals. As soon as you return from setting the posts see that everything is in readiness here. I myself will make sure that the drawbridge works easily and the portcullis runs freely in its groove. I have already sent off John Harpen to warn the tenants, and doubtless many of them will be in this afternoon. Send Pierre with four men, and tell them to drive up a number of the cattle from the marshes. They need not trouble to hunt them all up today. Let them bring the principal herd, the others we will fetch in to-morrow, or let them range where they are until we have further news." In a few minutes the castle resounded with the din of preparations under the superintendence of Sir Eustace. The men-at-arms and archers carried up stones from the great pile that had been collected in the court-yard in readiness, to the various points on the walls that would be most exposed to assault. Others were employed in fixing barricades in the court-yard at the rear for the reception of the herd of half-wild cattle. The water was turned from the little rivulet running down to the Somme into the moat. Two or three bullocks were killed to furnish food for the fugitives who might come in, and straw was laid down thickly in the sheds that would be occupied by them. Machines for casting heavy stones were taken from the storehouse and carried up to the walls, and set up there. Large stone troughs placed in the court-yard were filled with water, and before nightfall everything was in readiness. As Sir Eustace had anticipated, most of the vassals whose farms lay at a distance from the castle came in with their wives and families in the course of the afternoon, bringing carts laden with their household goods, and a considerable number of horses and cattle. Lady Margaret herself saw that they were established as comfortably as possible in the sheds, which were large enough to contain all the women and children on the estate. As for the men, no such provision was necessary, as at this time of the year they could sleep in the open air. Guy was busy all day seeing that the orders of his lord were carried out, and especially watching the operations of putting the ballistas and catapults together on the walls. Cannon, though now in use, had by no means superseded these machines, for they were cumbrous and clumsy, and could only be fired at considerable intervals, and their aim was by no means accurate or their range extensive, as the charge of powder that could be used in them was comparatively small, and the powder itself ill-made and defective in strength. Guy was struck with the difference of demeanour between the men-at-arms and archers, especially among the English contingent, and that of the fugitives who poured in. What was a terrible blow to the latter was the cause of a scarce concealed gratification among the former. The two months that had been spent at the castle had, to the English, been a somewhat monotonous time, and the prospect of active service and of the giving and taking of blows made their blood course more rapidly through their veins. It was the prospect of fighting rather than of pay that had attracted them to the service of Sir Eustace. Then, as for a century previous and until quite modern days, Frenchmen were regarded as the natural foes of England, and however large a force an English king wished to collect for service in France, he had never any difficulty whatever in obtaining the number he asked for, and they were ready cheerfully to give battle whatever the odds against them. The English archer's confidence in himself and his skill was indeed supreme. Before the shafts of his forefathers the flower of the French chivalry had gone down like rushes before a scythe, and from being a mere accessory to a battle the English archers had become the backbone of the force. Their skill, in fact, had revolutionized warfare, had broken the power of cavalry, and had added to the dignity and value of infantry, who had become, as they have ever since continued to be, the prime factor in warfare. Consequently the English archers and men-at-arms went about their work of preparation with a zest and cheerfulness that showed their satisfaction in it. "Why, Tom," Guy said to the tall leader of the archers, "you look as pleased as if it were a feast rather than a fray for which you were preparing." "And so I feel, Master Guy. For what have I been practising with the bow since I was eight years old but that I might, when the time came, send an arrow straight through the bars of a French vizor? In faith, I began to think that I should never have an opportunity of exercising my skill on anything more worthy than a target or peeled wand. Since our kings have given up leading armies across the sea, there was no way but to take service with our lord when I heard that he wanted a small company of archers for the defence of his castle over here, and since we have come it has seemed to us all that we were taking pay and food under false pretences, and that we might as well have stopped at home where, at least, we can compete in all honour and good temper against men as good as ourselves, and with the certainty of winning a few silver pennies, to say nothing of plaudits from the onlookers. 'Tis with our people as with the knights of old; if they win in a tournament they take the armour of the vanquished, the prize from the Queen of Beauty, and many a glance of admiration from bright eyes. It is the same with us; for there is not an English maid but would choose an archer who stands straight and firm, and can carry off a prize when in good company, to a hind who thinks of naught but delving the soil and tending the herd." Guy laughed. "I suppose it is the same, when you put it so, Long Tom; but there will be none of your English maids to watch your prowess here." "No, Master Guy; but here we shall fight for our own satisfaction, and prove to ourselves that we are as good men as our fathers were. I know naught of this quarrel. Had Sir Eustace taken us into the field to fight for one or other of these factions concerning which we know nothing, we should doubtless have done our duty and fought manfully. But we are all glad that here we are doing what we came for; we are going to defend the castle against Frenchmen of some sort or other who would do ill to our lord and lady, and we shall fight right heartily and joyfully, and should still do so were it the mad king of France himself who marched against us. Besides, master, we should be less than men if we did not feel for the frightened women and children who, having done no wrong, and caring naught for these factions, are forced to flee from their homes for their lives; so we shall strike in just as we should strike in were we to come upon a band of robbers ill-treating a woman at home.... Think you that they will come, master?" he added eagerly. "That I cannot say surely, Tom; but Sir Eustace has news that the Burgundians have already seized several towns and placed garrisons there, and that armed bands are traversing the country, burning and pillaging. Whether they will feel strong enough to make an attack on this castle I know not, but belike they will do so, for Sir Eustace, belonging as he does, and as his fathers have done before him, to the English party, neither of the others will feel any good-will towards him, and some of his neighbours may well be glad to take advantage of this troubled time to endeavour to despoil him of his castle and possessions." "They will want to have good teeth to crack this nut, Master Guy--good teeth and strong; and methinks that those who come to pluck the feathers may well go back without their own. We have a rare store of shafts ready, and they will find that their cross-bowmen are of little use against picked English archers, even though there be but twenty-five of us in all." "You know very well, Long Tom, that you would have come over here whether there was any chance of your drawing your bow on a Frenchman or not." "That is true enough, Master Guy. Our lady wanted some bowmen, and I, who have been born and bred on the estate, was of course bound to go with her. Then you see, Master Guy, haven't I taught you to use the bow and the quarter-staff, and carried you on my shoulder many a score of times when you were a little lad and I was a big boy? It would not have been natural for you to have gone out with a chance of getting into a fight without my being there to draw a shaft when you needed it. Why, Ruth Gregory, whose sworn bachelor you know I am, would have cried shame on me if I had lingered behind. I told her that if I stayed it would be for her sake, and you should have seen how she flouted me, saying that she would have no tall lout hiding behind her petticoats, and that if I stayed, it should not be as her man. And now I must be off to my supper, or I shall find that there is not a morsel left for me." The gates of the castle were closed that night, but it was not considered necessary to lower the drawbridge. Two sentries were posted at the work beyond the moat, and one above the gate, besides the watcher at the top of the keep. The next day things were got into better order. More barricades were erected for the separation of the cattle; a portion was set aside for horses. The provisions brought in from the farms were stored away in the magazines. The women and children began to settle down more comfortably in their sheds. The best of the horses and cattle were removed into the inner court-yard. The boys were set drawing water and filling the troughs, while some of the farm men were told off to carry the fodder to the animals, most of which, however, were for the time turned out to graze near the castle. Many of the men who had come in had returned to their work on the farms. During the day waggons continued to arrive with stores of grain and forage; boys and girls drove in flocks of geese and turkeys and large numbers of ducks and hens, until the yard in which the sheds were was crowded with them. By nightfall every preparation was complete, and even Jean Bouvard himself could find nothing further to suggest. "If they are coming," he said to Sir Eustace, "the sooner they come the better, my lord; we have done all that we can do, and had best get it over without more ado." "I still hope that no one will come, Bouvard, but I agree with you, that if it is to come the sooner the better. But there is no saying, it may be to-morrow, it may be months before we are disturbed. Still, in a war like this, it is likely that all will try and get as much as they can as quickly as possible, for at any moment it may suit Burgundy and Orleans to patch up their quarrel again. Burgundy is astute and cunning, and if he sees that the Orleans princes with Armagnac and the Duke of Bourbon are likely to get the best of it, he will use the king and queen to intervene and stop the fighting. Seeing that this may be so, the rogues who have their eye on their neighbours' goods and possessions will, you may be sure, lose no time in stretching out their hands for them." A week later came the news that Sir Clugnet de Brabant, who styled himself Admiral of France, had gathered two thousand men from the Orleanist garrisons and, with scaling-ladders and other warlike machines, had attacked the town of Rethel. The inhabitants had, however, notice of their coming, and resisted so stoutly that the Orleanists had been forced to retreat, and had then divided into two parties, each of whom had scoured the country, making prisoners all whom they met, firing the villages and driving off the cattle, and then returned to the town of Ham and to the various garrisons from which they had been drawn. Some of the tenants had returned to their farms, but when the news spread they again took refuge in the castle. It was probable that Artois, where almost all the towns were held by the Burgundian party, would be the next object of attack. The Orleanists remained quiet for eight days only, then the news came that they had moved out again from Ham eight thousand strong, and were marching west. Two days later several fugitives from the country round arrived at the castle with news that the Orleanists were advancing against Bapaume, and the next morning they heard that they had, after a fierce fight, won their way to the gate of the town. The Burgundian garrison had then sallied out and at first met with success, but had been obliged to retreat within the walls again. The Orleanists, however, considering the place too strong to be captured without a long siege, which might be interrupted by a Burgundian force from Flanders, had drawn off from the place, but were still marching north burning and plundering. "It is likely enough that they will come this way," Sir Eustace said as he and Jean Bouvard talked the matter over. "Assuredly Arras will be too strong for them to attempt. The straight line would take them to St. Pol, but the castle there is a very strong one also. They may sack and burn Avesne and Auvigni, and then, avoiding both St. Pol and Arras, march between them to Pernes, which is large enough to give them much plunder, but has no force that could resist them. As Pernes is but four miles away, their next call may be here." "But why should they attack us, Sir Eustace? for here, too, they might reckon upon more hard blows than plunder." "It will depend upon whom they have with them," Sir Eustace replied. "They say that our neighbour Hugh de Fruges went south ten days ago to join the Duke of Bourbon; his castle is but a small place, and as most of Artois is Burgundian he might be afraid he might be captured. He has never borne me good-will, and might well persuade the duke that were my castle and estates in his possession he might do good service to the cause; and that, moreover, standing as we do within twelve miles of the English frontier, its possession might be very valuable to him should the Orleanists ever have occasion to call in the aid of England, or to oppose their advance should the Burgundians take that step." "Surely neither of these factions will do that, Sir Eustace." "Why not, Bouvard? Every time that English armies have passed into France they have done it at the invitation of French nobles who have embroiled themselves with their kings. Burgundy and Orleans, Bourbon and Brittany, each fights for his own hand, and cares little for France as a whole. They may be vassals of the Valois, but they regard themselves as being nearly, if not altogether, their equals, and are always ready to league themselves with each other, or if it needs be with the English, against the throne." At nine o'clock on the following evening Sir Eustace and his family were startled by the report of the gun on the keep, and, running out, saw the signal-fire beginning to blaze up. "Above there!" Sir Eustace shouted, "where is the alarm?" "A fire has just blazed up on the road to St. Pol," the warder replied. "Blow your horn, then, loudly and urgently." The news that the Orleanists were marching north from Bapaume had caused the greater portion of the farmers to come in on the previous day, and in a short time those who were nearest to the castle, and who had consequently delayed as long as possible, began to arrive. The garrison were already under arms, and had taken the places assigned to them on the walls. All the tenants had brought their arms in with them, and were now drawn up in the court-yard, where a large bonfire, that had been for some days in readiness, was now blazing. The new-comers, after turning their horses into the inclosure with those already there, joined them. All had been acquainted with the share they were to bear should the place be besieged. They were to be divided into two parties, one of which was to be on duty on the walls with the garrison, the other to be held in reserve, and was--every six hours when matters were quiet--to relieve the party on the walls, or, when an attack took place, to be under arms and ready to hasten to any spot where its aid was required. The men were now inspected by Sir Eustace, additional arms were served out from the armoury to those whose equipment was insufficient, and they were then dismissed to join their wives and families until called to the walls. [Illustration: "THE TWO MEN WHO LIT THE ALARM FIRES RODE INTO THE CASTLE."] CHAPTER III -- A SIEGE The two men who had lit the alarm fires had already ridden in. They reported that they had, just as it became dark, seen flames rising from a village three miles from them, and that the man in advance had ridden forward until near enough to see that a great body of men were issuing from the village in the direction of the castle. Ten of the English men-at-arms, and as many French, were now posted in the outwork at the head of the drawbridge under the command of Jean Bouvard. Sir Eustace placed himself with his squire on the wall above the gate, and four men were stationed at the chains of the drawbridge in readiness to hoist it should the order be given. The English archers were on the wall beside Sir Eustace, as their arrows commanded the ground beyond the outwork. Half an hour after the first alarm was given the tale of the tenants was found to be complete, and the guards on the other two roads had also ridden in. Guy, to his great satisfaction, had been ordered by Sir Eustace to don his armour and to take his place beside him. It was upwards of an hour before a body of horsemen could be heard approaching. They came at a leisurely pace, for the bonfire on the road and that on the keep had apprised them that their hope of taking the castle by surprise had been frustrated by the disobedience of some of their men, who, in defiance of the strictest orders to the contrary, had set fire to several houses in the village after having plundered them. Sir Eustace, accompanied by his esquire and Guy, descended from the wall and crossed the drawbridge to the outwork. As soon as the horsemen came within bow-shot of the castle they lighted some torches, and three knights, preceded by a trooper carrying a white flag, and two others with torches, came towards the work. When within fifty yards of the postern they halted. "Is Sieur Eustace de Villeroy present?" "I am here," Sir Eustace replied, and at his order two men with torches took their place one on each side of him. "Who are you that approach my castle in armed force?" "I am Sir Clugnet de Brabant, Admiral of France. These are Sir Manessier Guieret and Sir Hugh de Fruges, and we come in the name of the Duke of Orleans to summon you to admit a garrison of his highness's troops." "I am neither for Orleans nor for Burgundy," Sir Eustace replied. "I am a simple knight, holding my castle and estate as a vassal of the crown, and am ready to obey the orders of the king,--and of him only when he is in a condition of mind to give such orders. Until then I shall hold my castle, and will admit no garrison whether of Orleans or of Burgundy." "We hold you to be but a false vassal of the crown, and we are told that at heart you are an enemy to France and devoted to England." "I am a vassal of England for the estates of my wife in that country," Sir Eustace said; "and as at present there is a truce between the two nations, I can serve here the King of France as faithfully as if, in England, I should serve the King of England." "Nevertheless, Sir Eustace, you will have to receive a garrison of Orleans. I have at my back eight thousand men, and if you compel me to storm this hold of yours I warn you that all within its walls will be put to the sword." "Thanks for your warning, Sir Knight; and I on my part warn you that, eight thousand though you be, I shall resist you to the death, and that you will not carry eight thousand away. As for Sir Hugh de Fruges, I give him my open defiance. I know it is to him that I owe this raid; and if he be man enough, I challenge him to meet me in the morning on fair ground outside this postern, with lance and battle-axe, to fight to the death. If he conquers, my castle shall be surrendered to him, upon promise of good treatment and a safe-conduct to depart where they will for all within it; but if I slay him, you must give me your knightly oath that you and your following will depart forthwith." "The conditions would be hardly fair, Sir Eustace," Sir Clugnet said; "and though I doubt not that Sir Hugh would gladly accept them, I cannot permit him to do so. I have brought some eight thousand men here to capture this castle, and hold it for the Duke of Orleans, and I see not why I should march away with them because you may perchance prove a better fighter than Sir Hugh. I am ready, however, to give a safe-conduct to all within the walls if you will surrender." "That will I not do, Sir Clugnet. I hold this castle neither for Burgundy nor Orleans, and am ready to give pledge that I will not draw sword for either of these princes; but if that will not content you, you must even take my castle if you can, and I give you fair warning that it will cost you dear." "Then adieu, Sir Knight, until to-morrow morning, when we will talk in other fashion." "So be it," Sir Eustace replied, "you will not find me backward in returning any courtesies you may pay me." The knights turned away with their torch-bearers. "Keep a close watch to-night, Bouvard," Sir Eustace said. "Mark you what the knight said,--adieu till the morning. Had I to deal with a loyal gentleman I could have slept soundly, but with these adventurers it is different. It may be that he truly does not intend to attack till morning, but it is more likely that he used the words in order to throw us off our guard." "We will keep close ward, Sir Eustace. All the men-at-arms have their cross-bows, and though I say not that they can shoot like these English archers, they can shoot straight enough to do good work should those fellows attempt in force to cross the small moat and attack the gate. But if they come, methinks it will be but to try if we are wakeful; 'tis no light thing to attack even an outwork like this, with this loop from the moat surrounding it, without previous examination of the ground and reconnoitring of the castle." "They would not attempt to attack the fortress itself," Sir Eustace said; "but if they could seize this outwork by surprise it would mightily aid them in their attack on the fortress; at any rate I will send down five archers, and if any of the enemy crawl up to see how wide the water is here, and how the attempt had best be made, I warrant that they will not return if the archers can but get a sight of them. Post half your men on the wall, and let the others sleep; change them every two hours--we want no sleepy heads in the morning." By this time the confused sound of a large number of men marching could be made out, and a quarter of an hour later three or four cottages, some five hundred yards away, were fired, and an angry murmur broke from the men as the flames shot up. After sending down the five archers, Sir Eustace returned to his post over the main gate. "Get cressets and torches in readiness to light if they attack the postern," Sir Eustace said; "we must have light to see how things go, so that we may hoist the drawbridge as soon as our men are upon it, should the enemy get the better of them. Be sure that one is not left behind; it were better that half a dozen of the enemy set foot on the drawbridge than that one of our brave fellows should be sacrificed." "I should think that there is no fear of their attacking until those flames have burnt down; we should see them against the light," John Harpen said. "No, there is no fear of their attacking; but the fire would be of advantage if any men were crawling up to spy. Of course they would not cross the slope in a line with the fire, but would work along on either side, reckoning, and with reason, that as our men would have the light in their eyes they would be all the less likely to make out objects crawling along in the shade by the side of the moat. Plant half a dozen bowmen at intervals on the wall, Tom, and tell them to keep a shrewd eye on the ground near the moat, and if they see aught moving there to try it with an arrow." There was shouting and noise up by the burning cottages, where the enemy were feasting on the spoils they had taken, and drinking from the wine-barrels that had been brought with them in carts from the last village that they had plundered. "I wish we were somewhat stronger, or they somewhat weaker," Sir Eustace said; "were it so, we would make a sally, and give the knaves a sharp lesson, but with only two hundred men against their eight thousand it would be madness to try it; we might slay a good many, but might lose a score before we were back in the castle, and it would be a heavy loss to us." "I was thinking that myself, Sir Eustace," his esquire said. "That is the worst of being on the defence; one sees such chances but cannot avail one's self of them." In the castle everything was quiet, and all those not on duty were already asleep. Along the wall watchers stood at short intervals peering into the darkness, but the main body there were also stretched on the wall with their arms by their side until required to be up and doing. Now that Sir Eustace was himself at the gate his esquire went round the walls at short intervals to be sure that the men on watch were vigilant. Presently a loud cry was heard from the corner of the moat away to the right. "Go and see what is doing, Guy," Sir Eustace said, "and bring me news." Guy ran along to the angle of the wall. Here one of the archers was posted. "What is it, Dickon?" "A man crept up to that corner opposite, Master Guy. I could not have sworn to him, it is so pesky dark, but I thought there was something moving there and shot almost at a venture, for I could scarce see the end of my arrow; but it hit there or thereabouts, for I heard him shout. A moment later he was on his feet and running. I could see him more plainly then, so I shot again, and over he went. I fancy that in the morning you will see my arrow sticking up somewhere between his shoulder-blades, though there is no saying precisely, for a nicety of shooting is not to be looked for in the dark." "You have done very well, Dickon. Keep your eyes open; we may be sure there are more than one of these fellows about." Guy hurried back with the news. "That is good," said Sir Eustace, "and it was just as well that the archer did not kill him outright with his first arrow, the cry will show any of his comrades who may be about that they had best keep their distance from the walls." A minute's silence followed, and then Long Tom said, "There is another has had his lesson, Sir Eustace. I heard a bow twang across there, and as there was no cry you may be sure that the shaft sped straight, and that the man had no time to utter one." "He may have been missed altogether, Tom." "Missed altogether! no indeed, Sir Eustace, there is no fear of that. There is not one of the men on the wall who would miss a man whose figure he could make out at fifty yards' distance, and they would scarce see them until they were as close as that. No, my lord, I would wager a month's pay that when morning dawns there is a dead man lying somewhere in front of the outwork." "Now, Guy, you had best go up to your room and lie down until daylight," Sir Eustace said. "There will be naught doing to-night, and unless I am mistaken, we shall be busy from sunrise till sunset. I shall myself lie down for a couple of hours presently, and then send John Harpen to rest till daylight. Long Tom, see that you yourself and all your men take a short sleep by turns; we shall need your eyes to be open above all others to-morrow." Guy promptly obeyed the order. Dame Margaret was still up. "Is everything quiet, Guy?" she asked as she entered, "So quiet, my lady, that Sir Eustace has ordered me to bed, and he said that he himself should come down for a short sleep presently. Two spies who crawled up have been slain by the archers. Sir Eustace is sure that no attack will be made before morning." Then he went into his little room and threw himself onto his pallet. During the first few minutes he lifted his head several times fancying that he heard noises; then he fell into a sound sleep and did not awake until the day dawned. In a few minutes Guy was on the wall. The night had passed quietly; so far as was known no fresh attempt at reconnoitring the works had been made, and as the moon had risen soon after he had gone to bed there was reason to believe that the fact that the two spies had not returned was so strong a proof of the vigilance of the garrison, that the enemy had been content to wait until morning. Just as the sun rose the three knights who had summoned the castle on the preceding evening appeared on the brow of the opposite slope, accompanied by a body of men-at-arms, and rode slowly round the castle. From time to time they halted, and were evidently engaged in a discussion as to the point at which it could be best attacked. "Shall I shoot, my lord?" Long Tom asked. "They are some two hundred and fifty yards away, but from this height methinks that I could reach them." "It would be useless," Sir Eustace said; "you could hit them, I doubt not, but you would not pierce their armour at this distance, and it is as well that they should not know how far our bows will carry until we are sure of doing execution when we shoot; besides I would rather that they began the fight. The quarrel is not one of my seeking, and I will leave it to them to open the ball. It is true that they did so last night by sending their spies here, but we have balanced that account. Moreover, if they are to attack, the sooner the better. They may have gained news from Sir Hugh of the coming here of the English archers and the men-at-arms, but if they have not done so we shall have a rare surprise in store for them." After the knights had made a circuit of the castle they retired, and presently a dense mass of men appeared from behind the brow on which the cottages they had burned had stood. "They have bundles of faggots, Sir Eustace!" Guy exclaimed. "So they have, Guy! Your eye is a good one. It seemed to me that the outline was a strange one, but doubtless it is as you say--that each man has a faggot on his shoulder. It is evident that they intend, in the first place, to assault the postern, and have brought the faggots to fill up the ditch." Then he turned to the gunners at the cannon. "Lay your pieces so as to bear on them when they come half-way down the hill," he said, "and shoot when they are fairly in the line of fire. Take the same orders, Guy, to the men working the ballistas and mangonels on the wall. Tell them not to loose their machines until after the guns are fired. If the fellows take to flight, tell them not to waste their missiles; if they advance, let them be sure that they are well within range before they shoot." With loud shouts the enemy came down the slope. When they were half-way down the two guns roared out, and their shot ploughed two lanes in the crowded body. There was a movement of retreat, but the three knights and several others threw themselves in front, waving their swords and shouting, and the Orleanists rallied and moved forward, but at a much slower pace than before. They had gone but a short distance when the arrows of the archers in the outwork and the bolts of the cross-bows worked by the men-at-arms there, began to fall among them. So true was the aim of the archers that scarce a shaft was wasted. At the distance at which they were shooting they did not aim at the knights, whose vizors and coats of mail could not have been pierced, but shot at the commonalty, whose faces and throats were for the most part unprotected. Man after man fell, and the cross-bow bolts also told heavily upon the crowd. They had come down but a short distance farther when Long Tom, and the archers with him on the wall, began to send their arrows thick and fast, and the machines hurled heavy stones with tremendous force among them. A moment later the French broke and fled up the slope again, leaving some fifty of their number stretched on the ground. The knights followed more slowly. When they reached the crest a group of them gathered around Sir Clugnet de Brabant. "By my faith," the latter said bitterly, "we have reckoned without our host, Sir Knights. We came to shear, but in good sooth we seem more likely to go back shorn. Truly those knaves shoot marvellously; scarce an arrow went astray." "As I mentioned to you, Sir Clugnet," Sir Hugh de Fruges said, "Sir Eustace brought with him from England five-and-twenty bowmen, and I heard tell from men who had seen them trying their skill at targets that they were in no wise inferior to those with whom we have before had to deal to our cost." "Truly ye did so, Sir Hugh; but the matter made no impression upon my mind, except as a proof that the knight's inclinations were still with England, and that it were well that his castle were placed in better keeping; but in truth these fellows shoot marvellously, both for strength and trueness of aim. I marked as we came back that of the men we passed lying there, nigh all those who had been struck with arrows were hit in the face or throat, and yet the distance must have been over a hundred and fifty yards." "I can answer for the force," one of the others said, "for a shaft struck me fairly on the chest, and hurled me to the ground as if it had been the shock of a lance, and it is well my mail was of the best work of Milan; but nevertheless the arrow broke two of the links; if the distance had been shorter, I doubt not that it would have slain me. Well, what shall we do next, gentlemen? For very shame we cannot with eight thousand men march away having accomplished nothing. The question is, where shall our next attack be delivered?" "Methinks," another knight said, "we delivered our attack too rashly. Had I known that there were English archers there I should have advised waiting until nightfall, and I think that it would be best to do so now. If we take our fellows up while there is light they will suffer so much from the stings of these wasps that they will soon lose heart. The knaves shoot not only straight and strong, but they shoot so fast that though, as you say, there may be but twenty-five of them, the air seemed full of arrows, and had you told us that there were two hundred archers shooting, I should have thought the estimate a reasonable one." They stood for some time discussing the best method of attack, and as soon as they had settled upon it the men were told to scatter. Some were to go to the farmhouses, and bring up any hides that might be stored there, and to fetch all the hurdles they could lay hands upon; a portion were to go to the woods and cut timber for making mantlets and cover, while two thousand were to remain under arms in case the garrison should make a sortie. Within the castle all were in high spirits at the easy repulse of the first attack. "Sir Clugnet must have learned from Sir Hugh of my having English archers and men-at-arms here," Sir Eustace said to his lieutenant, "and yet he advanced as carelessly and confidently as if he had been attacking a place defended only by fat Flemish burghers; however, he has had his lesson, and as it is said he is a good knight, he will doubtless profit by it, and we shall hear no more of him till after the sun has set. Run up to the top of the keep, Guy, and bring me back news what they are doing." In a few minutes the lad returned. "There are two or three thousand of them, my lord, drawn up in a body beyond the crest; the rest of them are scattering in various directions." "That is as I expected," Sir Eustace remarked; "they have gone to prepare materials for a regular attack. It may be delivered to-night, or may be delayed for a day or two; however, we shall be ready for them. Jean Bouvard, do you go round the walls and tell all, save a few as sentries, to retire until the watchman blows his horn to warn us if they seem to be gathering for an attack; and do you, Long Tom, give the same orders to your archers. There is no use wasting the men's strength till the work begins in earnest. If Sir Clugnet is wise he will march away at once. He would need heavy machines and cannon to make a breach in our walls, and even had he an abundance of them it would take him some time to do so. If he tries again, you may be sure that it will be the work of Sir Hugh de Fruges, who has no doubt a lively interest in the matter. He is a clever fellow, and will no doubt do his best to work on the feelings of the other knights by representing that it would be disgraceful for so large a force to abandon the enterprise merely because a first hasty attack, delivered without preparation, had been repulsed. The fact that they have made so careful an examination of the castle would seem in itself to show that they intended to renew the attempt in another form if the first onset failed, and, moreover, the scattering of the force afterwards while the knights still remained with a large body here points in the same direction." Guy on descending from the keep joined Sir Eustace and his wife in their apartments. "The lad has borne himself bravely," Sir Eustace said approvingly to his wife; "he was standing beside me when their shot was bringing down the dust round our ears, and he neither started nor flinched, though in truth it was far from pleasant, especially as we had nothing to do but to look on. It may be next time we shall have sterner fighting, and I doubt not that he will bear himself well." "Could I not come up and carry your messages, father?" Henry asked; "I am not strong like Guy, but I could do that." "He is too young for it yet, Eustace," Dame Margaret broke in. "Nay, wife," the knight said gently, "the lad is not too young for such service. There will be little danger in it, for his head will not show over the battlements, and it is well that he should learn to hear without fear the whizz of an arrow or the shock of a great stone from a ballista, the clash of arms, and the shouting of men. As he says, he is not yet strong enough to bear arms, but he will learn to brace his nerves and show a bold front in danger; that is a lesson that cannot be learned too young. Yes, Henry, you shall be my messenger. If they try an assault to-night, you shall put on for the first time the steel cap and breastpiece I had made for you in England; there will be no danger of your being hit by crossbow bolt or arrow, but there may be splinters of stone flying when a missile hits the battlement. Take no arms with you, only your dagger; they would be useless to you, and would hamper your movements in getting past the men on the wall, or in running up and down the steps leading to it. Now you had better lie down; both Guy and myself are going to do so. At sunset, if no alarm comes before, you will be called." "We must not coddle the boy, Margaret," he said as Guy and Henry went off. "I know that he is not physically strong as yet, and sorry I am that it should be so, but he might exert himself more than he does, and he is apt to think too much of his ailments. I was glad when he volunteered to do something, for it is at least as well that he should be able to stand fire even if he cannot learn the use of arms; moreover, it may be that after once bearing a part in a fray he may incline more warmly to warlike exercises than he has hitherto done; it may rouse in him a spirit which has so far been wanting. I have often thought that it would have been better if Agnes had been the boy and he the girl; she has far more courage and fire than he has. You remember when that savage bull chased them, how she saw him first over the stile and got tossed over after him for her pains?" Dame Margaret nodded. "I am not likely to forget it, Eustace, seeing that her arm was broken and I had to nurse her for six weeks. Do you know that she was up on the top of the keep while the fighting was going on? Of course I was there myself, and she begged so hard to be allowed to remain with me that I had not the heart to say her nay." "Was Henry there too?" "Oh, yes; and shouted with the best of them when the enemy fled over the hill. Even Charlie was there, and as excited as either of them. Of course, I had to hold him up sometimes for him to be able to see what was going on; and he looked rather pale at first, when they opened fire, but he soon plucked up when he saw that their shot did no damage near us. You see he is a strong healthy boy; while Henry has always been weak, although I do not think that he lacks courage." "He ought not, wife; he comes from a fighting stock on either side. But I fear that unless he changes greatly he is cut out rather for a monk than a man-at-arms. And now I will lie down, for you may be sure that I shall not close an eye to-night. Did you note the banner of Hugh de Fruges with the others?" "Yes, and I felt more uncomfortable after seeing it. He is a crafty man, Eustace." "He is not a brave one," the knight said scornfully. "I challenged him to meet me outside in a fair field, and the craven did not answer me, and Sir Clugnet had to make speech for him and decline the offer." "You will need all your vigilance, Eustace. I trust that every man within the walls is faithful to us; but if there be a traitor, be sure that Sir Hugh will endeavour to plot with him, nay, he may already have done so." "They would have no chance of making communication with him were there a dozen of them, wife. Long Tom and his comrades will take good care that none come near enough for speech." The day passed away in perfect quiet. From time to time word came down from the look-out that the scattered soldiers were returning laden with a great quantity of young trees, wattles, and doors. Dame Margaret kept watch in her room, and allowed no messengers to enter her husband's apartments. "If there be need, I will wake him," she said; "but he knows well enough what the French have gone for, and there is naught to do until they advance to the attack." Guy slept but a short time, and as he frequently started up under the impression that the horn was sounding an alarm, in the afternoon he got up and went down into the courtyard. For some time he wandered about in the quarters occupied by the tenants. These had now settled down; the children were playing about as unconcernedly as if they had been on their fathers' farms; women were washing clothes or preparing the evening meal over little charcoal fires. A certain quantity of meat had been served out to each family, and they were therefore doing better than in their own houses, for meat was a luxury seldom touched by the French peasantry. Almost all who had entered the castle had brought with them a supply of herbs and vegetables; these, with a handful or two of coarsely-ground meal boiled into broth, constituted their usual fare, and the addition of a portion of meat afforded them great satisfaction. Some of the men were still asleep, in preparation for a long night's work; others were standing about talking in little groups; some were on the walls watching with gloomy faces the smoke wreaths that still rose from what had been their homes. Ducks, geese, and hens walked about unconcernedly looking for any stray grains that had passed unnoticed when they had last been fed, and a chorus of dissatisfied grunting arose from the pigs that had a large pen in the yard next to the huts. These were still smarting under a sense of injury excited not only by their removal from their familiar haunts, but by the fact that most of them had been hastily marked by a clipping of some kind in the ear in order to enable their owners to distinguish them from the others. Boys were carrying buckets of water from a well in the court-yard to the troughs for the cattle and horses, and the men-at-arms were cleaning their armour and polishing their steel caps. "Well, Tom, I hope we shall get on as well to-night as we did this morning," Guy said to the leader of the archers. "I hope so, Master Guy, but I would rather fight by day than by night; it is random work when you can neither see your mark nor look straight along your arrow. If we had a moon we should do well enough, but on these dark nights skill does not go for much; still, I doubt not that we shall give a good account of ourselves, for at any rate we shall be able to make them out before they come to close work. The women have been making a great store of torches to-day, and that will help us a bit, though I would that they could be planted fifty yards beyond the moat instead of on the walls, for although they will be of some use to us they will be of even more to the enemy. What think you that their plan will be?" "I should say that they are intending to march forward covered by mantlets of wattles and hides. They will plant them near the edge of the moat, and throw up some earthworks to shelter them and their machines; no doubt they will use the doors they have fetched from all the farmhouses for the same purpose." "The doors will be more to the point, certainly," the bowman said. "As to their hides and wattles, at fifty yards I will warrant our arrows go through them as if they were paper; but I cannot say as much about stout oaken doors--that is a target that I have never shot against; I fear that the shock would shiver the shafts. The mantlets too would serve them to some purpose, for we should not know exactly where they were standing behind them. As for their machines, they cannot have many of them." "They had something like a score of waggons with them, Tom; these would carry the beams for half a dozen big ballistas; besides, they have their cannon." "I don't make much account of the cannon," the archer said; "they take pretty nearly an hour to load and fire them, and at that rate, however hard a shot may hit, it would be some time before they wrought much damage on the walls. It is the sound more than the danger that makes men afraid of the things, and, for my part, I would not take the trouble of dragging them about. They are all very well on the walls of a castle, though I see not that even there they are of great advantage over the old machines. It is true that they shoot further, but that is of no great use. It is when the enemy come to attack that you want to kill them, and at fifty yards I would kill more men with my shafts in ten minutes than a cannon would do with a week's firing. I wonder they trouble to carry them about with them, save that folks are not accustomed to their noise yet, and might open their gates when they see them, while they would make a stout defence if they had only ballistas and mangonels to deal with. I suppose when they have got the shelters close to the moat they will bring up planks to throw across." "Yes, no doubt they will try that, Tom; but the moat is over wide for planks, and I think it more likely that they will have provided themselves with sacks, and filled them with earth, so as to make a passage across with them." "As to the planks not being long enough, Master Guy, they could get over that easy enough. They would only have to send three or four swimmers across the moat, then thrust long beams over for those who had crossed to fix firmly, and then lay short planks across them." "So they would, Tom; I did not think of that. Well, at any rate, I expect they will manage to get across the moat somehow and plant ladders against the wall." "And we shall chuck them down again," Tom said. "They won't care much for that. But as long as they cannot knock a breach in the walls I warrant that we can hold them." CHAPTER IV -- A FATAL ACCIDENT As soon as the sun had set, the defenders gathered on the walls. Fires had already been lighted there and cauldrons of water and pitch suspended over them, and sacks of quicklime placed in readiness to be emptied; great piles of stone were placed at short intervals. "As long as they attack at only one or two places," Sir Eustace said to his wife, "I am quite confident that we shall repulse them. If they attack at a dozen they may succeed, as we should only have a couple of archers and six or seven men-at-arms at each point, besides a score or so of the vassals. I have no doubt that these will fight stoutly, for the sight of their burning homes has roused them, and each man is longing to get a blow at those who have wrought them so much damage. Still, thirty men are but a small party to beat back an assault by hundreds. However, if they carry the outside wall they will have the second to deal with, and there we shall stand much thicker together, and they cannot attack from many points, while if we are driven into the keep, we shall be stronger still. Have you seen that the women and children are ready to retire into the keep as soon as the assault begins?" "I have been round myself and given orders," Dame Margaret said. "I have told them that the inner gate will be closed as soon as fighting begins, and that those who do not come in before that must remain outside, or else mount to the walls and cross the bridges, for that on no account will the gates be opened again." "That is well, Margaret. I am now about to station two men-at-arms on the inner wall at the end of each of the three bridges, so that they may be ready on the instant to turn the catches and let the bridges fall behind our men as they rush across. The tenants have already driven as many more of their best horses and cattle into the inner court as can find standing room, so that their loss may be as small as possible. If the outer wall is carried, I have no great fear that the second wall will be taken; the plunderers who form the mass of Sir Clugnet's force will have had enough and more than enough of fighting by the time that they capture the outer one. Whatever happens, do not show yourself on the walls to-night, and see that the children do not leave their beds; you can do naught, and will see but little in the dark. To-morrow morning, wife, I will leave you free to go among the soldiers and give them encouragement as may be needed, but for to-night, I pray you stir not out. I will send Henry from time to time to let you know how matters go." Rapidly the men gathered on the walls; each had had his post assigned to him, and when Sir Eustace made a tour of inspection he was glad to see how confidently each man bore himself, and how well prepared to give the enemy a warm reception. As soon as it became dark, the outwork on the other side of the moat was abandoned, the defenders called into the castle, and the drawbridge raised, for it was evident to Sir Eustace that although it might be maintained in daylight, by the aid of the archers on the wall, it could not resist an attack by overwhelming numbers when deprived of that assistance. Sir Eustace, after inspecting the men's arms, ordered all those on the walls, with the exception of a few who were to remain on watch, to sit down with their backs against the battlement, and to maintain an absolute silence. "It is by sound rather than sight that we shall be able to judge of their movements," he said. "All sitting down may sleep, if it so pleases them, till they are roused." The sentries were ten in number, and were all taken from among the archers. Most of these men had been accustomed to the chase, were skilled in woodcraft, and accustomed to listen to the slightest noises that might tell of the movement of a stag and enable them to judge his position. Sir Eustace, for the present, posted himself in his old position over the gate. Jean Bouvard and Guy were with him, while Long Tom moved round and round the walls to gather news from his sentries. Sometimes Guy accompanied him. "They are moving," Tom the archer said as he stood listening intently on the wall at the rear of the castle. "It is an hour past sundown, and about the time the knaves will be mustering if they intend to make a regular attack on us. If it had been only an escalade there would have been no sound until nearly morning. I thought I heard them on the other side, but I am sure of it now." "I can hear singing up at their camp," Guy said, "but I don't hear anything else." "They are keeping that up to deceive us, I expect. But besides the singing there is a sort of rustle. I don't think that they are coming this way at present, or we should hear it plainer. It seems to me that it is spreading all round." "I will go back and tell Sir Eustace what you think, Tom." Guy hurried back to the other side of the castle. "Long Tom thinks, Sir Eustace, that he can hear a stir all round." "We have noticed it too--at least, all round this side. Tell him not to call the men to their feet until the enemy approaches more closely. I believe that it is the march of a large number of men, and that they are probably moving to the positions assigned to them, but it may be another hour or two before they close in." In a short time the sound became more distinct; from a rustle it rose to a deep confused murmur, then an occasional clink as of arms striking armour became audible. Most of the men on the walls were now on their feet gazing into the darkness. Presently the sound ceased, first on one side and then on another. "I fancy they are all at their stations now, Jean Bouvard; we shall soon hear more of them. Do not let your archers shoot, Tom, until they can make them out very distinctly. We may be sure that they will come up with their mantlets, and it would be a waste of arrows to loose at them until they are close to the moat; but of course if separate figures can be distinguished your men will draw on them." In a quarter of an hour messengers came from various points on the wall saying that there was something moving within sight, and to those at the post over the gate a dark confused mass like a shadow seemed to be slowly coming down towards their outwork. "Touch off the guns, Jean," Sir Eustace said; "we shall get no further chance of catching them in a body." The captain stooped, lit two touchfires at the lantern standing in readiness, gave one to a man-at-arms, and went with the other to a cannon. Both the guns had been filled to the muzzle with bits of iron and nails, and had been laid to bear on the slope beyond the outwork. They were fired almost simultaneously, and the sound was followed by yells of pain and dismay. The besiegers, seeing that there was nothing further to gain by concealment, burst into a shout that ran all round the castle, and were answered by one of defiance from the walls. The sound was succeeded by loud orders from the leaders of the various assaulting parties, and the objects before but dimly seen, now approached the walls rapidly. Jean Bouvard hurried away to superintend the defence at other parts. "You may as well go the other way, Guy, and let me know from time to time how things are getting on. Henry, run down to your mother and tell her that the enemy are moving up to the moat, and that it will be some time before there is any hard fighting; then come back here again." It was easier to see from the side walls than it had been in front, for in front there was a glow in the sky from the number of fires burning beyond the crest of the slope, and Guy was able to make out what seemed to him a wall extending some fifteen yards, near the edge of the moat. The archers and crossbow-men gathered opposite to it had just begun to shoot. Behind this wall there were other dark masses irregularly placed, and extending back as far as he could see. An occasional cry told that the arrows were doing execution upon the unseen assailants behind the mantlets, and soon the blows of cross-bow bolts against the wall and the sharp tap of arrows told that the enemy had also betaken themselves to their arms. A number of giant torches had been prepared, consisting of sheafs of straw soaked with pitch, and one of these was now lighted and elevated on a pole some fifteen feet above the battlement. Its light was sufficient to enable the scene beyond to be clearly made out. A row of mantlets some eight feet high had been placed by the moat, and others of the same height, and seven or eight feet long, elevated at short intervals behind these, were so placed as to afford shelter to the men coming down to the mantlets in front. They stood in two lines; they were some twenty feet apart, but those in one line alternated with those in the other. Guy soon saw the object of this arrangement. Men were darting to and fro across the interval some six feet wide between the two lines. Thus they had but ten feet to run from the shelter on one side to that on the other, and exposed themselves but for an instant to the aim of the archers. Some of the men carried great bundles of faggots, others had sacks on their shoulders. "Do not heed the mantlets in front," said Dickon, who was in command of the six archers near Guy, "but pick off those fellows as they come down. Shoot in turn; it is no use wasting two arrows on one man. Don't loose your shaft until a man is within three mantlets from the end; then if one misses, the next can take him when he runs across next time. That is right, Hal," he broke off, as an arrow sped and a man with a sack on his shoulder rolled over. "Now, lads, we ought not to miss them by this light." Eleven men fell, out of the next twelve who attempted to carry their burdens down. Guy went back to Sir Eustace with the news of the manner in which the attack was being carried on, and of the effect of the archers' defence. "I have just heard the same from the other side; there is one attack on each side and two behind; Jean Bouvard has posted himself there. I am going round myself now; I do not think there will be any attack made in front. I have sent the archers here to the rear, where they will be more useful; the fellows in the outwork across there have enough to do to shelter themselves." This Guy could well understand, for although the guns could not be depressed sufficiently to fire down into the _tête du pont_, the mangonels were hurling stones into it, and the men-at-arms shooting cross-bow quarrels whenever a man showed himself. The rear of the outwork was open and afforded no shelter to those who had taken possession of it, and already the greater portion had retired to the other side of the small moat surrounding it, where they lay sheltered by the outwork itself. It was not long before the assailants at the other points, finding that the plan they had formed was defeated by the skill of the archers, poured down in a mass between the two lines of mantlets, each man carrying his burden before him, thus sheltering him to a great extent. Against this method of attack the archers could do little, and now confined themselves to shooting at the men who, having thrown down the fascines or sacks by the edge of the moat, stood for a moment and hesitated before running back to the shelter of the mantlets, and not one in three got off scot-free. Guy on going round the wall found the same state of things at each of the other three points of assault. Numbers of the enemy were falling, but great piles of materials were accumulating at the edge of the moat. After a time a number of knights and men-at-arms, fully protected by armour, came down and began to hurl the sacks and bags into the moat, their operations being covered as much as possible by a storm of missiles shot through holes in the mantlets. In a short time Sir Eustace ordered the archers to desist shooting, for they were obliged, in order to aim at those so much below them, to expose a considerable portion of their bodies, and three were killed by the enemy's missiles. "We can't prevent them from filling up the moat," he said, "and it is but throwing away life to try to do so." The archers were accordingly placed in the projecting turrets, where, without being themselves exposed, they could shoot through the loopholes at any point on the face of the walls. It was not long before the moat was bridged at all four points of attack. Ladders were then brought down. This the assailants were able to accomplish without loss, as, instead of carrying them, they were pushed backwards and forwards by men stationed behind the mantlets, and were so zigzagged down to the moat without the defenders being able to offer any opposition. Then rushes were made by parties of knights, the ladders were placed, and the fight began in earnest. In the great court-yard the leader of the English men-at-arms was placed with twelve of his men as a reserve. They were to be summoned by one, two, three, or four blasts of a horn to the point at which their services were most required. The assaults were obstinate, but the walls were as stoutly defended. Sometimes the ladders were hurled back by poles with an iron fork at the end; buckets of boiling water and tar were poured over on to the assailants as they clambered up, and lime cast over on those waiting to take their turns to ascend; while with spear, axe, and mace the men-at-arms and tenants met the assailants as they endeavoured to get a footing on the wall. Guy had placed himself with the party to which he had first gone, and, taking a pike from a fallen man, was fighting stoutly. The archers from their turrets kept up a constant flight of arrows on the crowd below. Only once was the horn sounded for the aid of the reserve. Sir Eustace had taken the command at the rear, while Jean Bouvard headed the defence on the side opposite to that at which Guy was fighting. The defenders under Sir Eustace had the hardest work to hold their own, being assaulted at two points. This was evidently the main place of attack, for here Sir Clugnet himself and several of his knights led the assault, and at one time succeeded in gaining a footing on the wall at one point, while Sir Eustace was at the other. Then the knight blew his horn, and at the same time called the archers from the turret nearest to him, while some of the other party on the wall rushed to aid him of their own accord and, pressing through the tenants, opposed themselves to the knights and men-at-arms who had obtained a footing on the wall. Their strength, and the power with which they wielded their heavy axes, so held the assailants in check that they could not gain space sufficient for others to join them, and when the reserve ran up, so fierce an attack was made upon the knights that several were beaten down and the rest forced to spring over the wall at the risk of life and limb. Sir Clugnet himself was the last to do this, and was carried away insensible. Two or three of his companions were killed by the fall, but the rest, leaping far enough out to alight beyond the solid ground at the foot of the walls, had their fall broken by the yielding mass of materials by which they had crossed the moat. A loud shout of triumph rose from the defenders, and was re-echoed by shouts from the other walls. As soon as the news of the repulse at the rear reached the other parties, and that Sir Clugnet was badly hurt, while several of the knights were killed, the assault ceased at once, and the Orleanists withdrew, followed by derisive cries from the defenders. "Thanks be to the saints that it is all over," Sir Eustace said, as he opened his vizor; "it was a close thing here, and for a time I feared that the outer wall was lost. However, I think that there is an end of it now, and by the morning we shall find that they have moved off. They must have suffered very heavily; certainly three or four hundred must have fallen, for we must admit that they fought stoutly. You have all done well, my friends, and I thank you heartily. Now, the first thing is to fetch the wounded down to the hall prepared for them. Father Gregory has all in readiness for them there. Guy, go round and find who have fallen, and see them carried reverently down to the court-yard, send me a list of their names, and place two men-at-arms at each point where the assault took place. Tom, do you similarly dispose eight of your archers so that should they send a spy up to see if we sleep, a message can be sent back in the shape of a cloth-yard shaft. Bid all the tenants and retainers leave the wall; a horn will recall them should there be need. I will myself visit them shortly, and thank them for their stout defence. I will send round a cup of spiced wine to each man on the wall as soon as it can be prepared, to that all may slake their thirst after their efforts." Sir Eustace then made his way down from the wall to his Apartments, where Dame Margaret was awaiting him. She hurried to meet him. "Wait, wife, till I have removed my helmet, and even then you must be careful how you embrace me, for methinks there is more than one blood-stain on my armour, though happily not of mine own. All has gone well, love, and methinks that we shall hear no more of them; but they fought more stoutly than I had given them credit for, seeing that they were but a mixed rabble, with a small proportion of real men-at-arms among them. I suppose Henry brought you my message to close the inner gates, as they had gained a footing on the walls." "No, I received no message since the one he brought me half an hour ago, saying that all was going well, and I thought that he was with you. Where can he be, Eustace?" she asked anxiously. "I know not indeed, Margaret, but will search at once. While I do so will you go to the hall that you have prepared for the wounded, and give what aid you can there? Do not fear for the boy; he turned and ran off when I spoke to him, and as his head reaches not to the top of the battlements no harm can have befallen him, though in truth I cannot think what can have delayed him." He called to two or three of the men below to take torches, and to accompany him at once, and sent others to the sheds to ask if he had been seen there, then went up to the top of the inner wall and crossed the bridge at the back. [Illustration: "SIR EUSTACE GAVE A LOUD CRY, FOR LYING AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIR WAS THE FORM OF HIS SON."] "Have any of you seen aught of my son Henry?" he asked the men there. "No, my lord," one said in reply. "I marked him by our side just before the French got a footing at the other end of the wall, but I saw him not afterwards." "He ran towards the steps at the corner there," Sir Eustace said, "with a message from me that the inner doors were to be closed. Come along, men," he said to those with torches, and going to the corner of the wall descended the steps, which were steep and narrow. He took a torch from one of the men and held it over his head. As he neared the bottom he gave a low cry and ran down the last few steps, where, lying at the bottom, was the form of his son. He was stretched at full length, and there was a terrible gash on his forehead. The knight knelt beside him and raised his head, from which the steel cap had fallen; there was a deep stain of blood on the pavement beneath. He placed his hand on the boy's heart and his ear to his lips, and the men with the torches stood silently round. It was but too evident what had happened. In his haste to carry the message Henry's foot had slipped, and he had fallen headforemost down the steep steps, his head coming in contact with the edge of one of them. Without a word Sir Eustace raised the boy gently in his arms. His face was sufficient to tell the men the news; their young lord was dead. Sir Eustace carried him through the inner gate and up to the boy's own room, and laid him down on his bed, then silently he went out again and crossed the court to the keep. Dame Margaret was seeing to the wounded being laid on the straw in the lower room, and did not notice him until he touched her. She turned sharply round, his face was sufficient to tell her the truth. She gave a low cry and stepped back a pace, and he moved forwards and drew her to him. "Love," he said tenderly, "God has taken him. He was fitter for heaven than any of us; he was too gentle for this rough world of ours. We shall mourn for him, but with him it is well." Dame Margaret laid her head on his shoulder, and burst into a passion of tears. Sir Eustace let her weep for a time, then he whispered: "You must be brave, my love. There will be other mourners here for their dear ones who have died fighting for us; they will need your comfort. A Villeroy could not die better than doing his duty. It was not by man's hand that he fell, but God took him. His foot slipped in running down the stair from the wall, and he must assuredly have died without a pang. Take the priest with you; I will see to the wounded here. Father Gregory," he went on, raising his voice, "Dame Margaret has more need of you at the present moment than have these brave fellows. A grievous misfortune has befallen us. My son is dead; he fell while doing his duty. Do you take her to his room; I give her to your charge for the present. I have my work to do, and will see that your patients are well cared for." There was a murmur of surprise and regret from the wounded and those who had brought them in. The poor lad had been a general favourite in the castle for his gentle and pleasant ways with all, though many a time the rough soldiers had said among themselves, "'Tis a pity that he was not a girl, and the Lady Agnes a boy. He is more fit for a priest than for a baron in times like these, for assuredly he will never grow into a stout man-at-arms like his father." That a soldier should have been killed in such a fight was to be expected, but that a gentle boy like this should have fallen seemed strange and unnatural, and all sorrowed for him as well as for their lord and lady, and the men forgot for a time the smart of their wounds in their regret at his untimely death. Sir Eustace went about his work quietly and earnestly, bound up the soldiers' wounds, and saw as far as might be to their comfort. Their number was not large, as it was only in the fight on the wall that aught save their heads had been exposed, and those struck by cross-bow bolts had for the most part fallen as they stood. The eight men brought in had without exception received wounds from the swords of the French knights, and though some of the gashes were broad and deep, none of them were likely to prove fatal. Just as the knight had finished, Guy entered. He had heard the news, which had spread like wildfire through the castle. The lad's eyes were red, for he had been greatly attached to Henry, whose constant companion he had been whenever the family had been at their English home. "It is a strange fate, lad," Sir Eustace said, laying his hand upon Guy's shoulder. "You who have exposed yourself freely--for I marked you in the fight--have come through scatheless, while Henry, whom I thought to keep out of danger, has fallen. And what is your news?" "There have been seventeen killed, my lord, besides Jean Bouvard, who was struck in the face by one of the last crossbow bolts shot before they drew off." "This is bad news indeed. I wondered why he came not to me as soon as we had beaten them off, but I thought not of this. He was a good and trustworthy fellow, and I shall miss him sorely. Seventeen, say you? It is too many; and yet there might have been more. Who are they?" "Four of our archers, Sir Eustace, one of our English men-at-arms, and six of your French men-at-arms. These were all killed by cross-bow bolts and arrows, Two of your tenants, Pierre Leroix and Jules Beaune, and four of their men fell on the wall when the French gained a footing there; three were, I hear, unmarried men, the other has left a wife and three children." "They shall be my care," the knight said. "The wives of Leroix and Beaune shall hold their farms free of dues until their eldest sons come of age. Does all seem quiet without?" "All is quiet, my lord; but as I left the wall but now a knight with a white flag and four torch-bearers was coming down the slope towards the outwork." "I will go there myself," Sir Eustace said; "'tis likely they do but come to ask for leave to carry off the dead and wounded, which we will gladly let them do, for it will save us much trouble to-morrow." It was as the knight had supposed, and he at once gave the permission asked for, and in a short time a great number of men with torches came down the slope and for the next two hours were occupied in carrying off their dead and wounded comrades. A close watch was maintained all night, though there was small fear of a renewal of the attack. At daybreak the rear-guard of the enemy could be seen retiring, and a party of men-at-arms, under Sir Eustace himself, on going out to reconnoitre, found that none had remained behind. A mound marked the place where their dead had been buried in one great grave. Many of the mantlets had been removed, and they doubted not that these had been used as litters for the conveyance of the wounded. They afterwards heard that some four hundred and fifty men had been killed, and that over a hundred, too sorely wounded to be able to walk, had been carried away. In the afternoon Henry was buried beneath the chapel in the castle, while the men-at-arms and others were laid in the inner court-yard. Having learned that the Orleanists, greatly disheartened at their heavy repulse, had marched away to the south, the gates of the castle were opened. A small number of the garrison were retained in the castle, and the rest were sent out to aid the tenants in felling trees and getting up temporary shelters near their former homes until these could be rebuilt as before. For the time their wives and families were to remain in the castle. All fear of another attack by the Orleanists speedily passed away. Artois was, upon the whole, strongly Burgundian, and an army marching from Flanders speedily brought the whole province over to that side. Nothing was done towards commencing the work of rebuilding the farmhouses, for it was evident that the castle might at any moment be again beleaguered. Two months passed quietly. Sir Eustace busied himself in seeing that the tenants were comfortably re-established in their temporary homes. The Burgundians had again obtained several advantages, and as Sir Clugnet was known to have marched away with his following to the assistance of the Orleanists, who had of late fared badly, there was no fear of any fresh attack being made upon the castle. One day a messenger rode in from the Governor of Calais, who was personally known to Sir Eustace. The letter that he carried was an important one. After the usual greeting it read:-- _For the love I bear you, Sir Eustace, I write to let you know that there is a change in affairs. It seems that the Duke of Burgundy has but been playing with our King Henry, and that the offer of a marriage was made only in order to obtain assistance and the countenance of the king. Being now, as it would seem, powerful enough to hold his own against his enemies without such aid, the matter has fallen through. I have received a royal order, which has also been sent to the governors of other English towns, and it has been proclaimed everywhere by sound of trumpets, that none of Henry's subjects of whatever rank should in any way interfere between the two factions in France, nor go into France to serve either of them by arms or otherwise under pain of death and confiscation of fortune. But I would tell you for your private ear, that I have news that our king is in correspondence with the Dukes of Berri, Orleans, and Bourbon, and that it is like that he will shortly declare for that party, being grievously offended at the treatment that he has received at the hands of the Duke of Burgundy after having given him loyal help and assistance which had, in no slight degree, assisted him in making good his cause against his enemies._ In a short time, indeed, the English from Calais, and from other places held by them in France, began to make sorties and to carry off much plunder from the country round, and especially took by storm the Castle of Banelinghen near Ardres, notwithstanding the truce that prevailed. The intentions of the King of England were made still more manifest by his writing a letter to the Flemish towns, saying that, having heard that the Duke of Burgundy was gathering an army of Flemings to march into Aquitaine to wage war upon and destroy his subjects, and particularly his very dear and well-beloved cousins the Dukes of Berri, Orleans, and Bourbon, and the Counts of Alençon and Armagnac, and the Lord d'Albreth, he therefore begged them to inform him whether they were willing to conform to the truce concluded between them and England without in any way assisting their lord in his wicked purpose. The Flemish towns replied that they desired in no way to infringe the truce between the two countries, but that they would serve and assist the King of France, their sovereign lord, and their Count the Duke of Burgundy, as heretofore, to the utmost of their power. In a short time, indeed, it became known that a solemn treaty had been concluded between the King of England and the Orleanist nobles, they engaging to aid him to recover Guienne and the parts of Aquitaine he had lost, while he promised to put an army in the field to assist them. The position of Sir Eustace was now very difficult. It was uncertain when the English would move, and it was likely enough that if an army set sail it would land in Guienne, and that Calais would be able to render no assistance, so that he would be exposed to the attacks of the Burgundians. Nor was his position improved when he learned that on the 15th of July the two French factions, urged by the Count of Savoy, the Grand Master of Rhodes, and many others, had agreed to terms of peace between them, and that the Orleanists had formally renounced the English alliance. At the meeting of the leaders of the party, the Duke of Aquitaine, the king's son, presided. For a time all the differences were patched up. The news, however, came too late to arrest the embarkation of the English. Eight thousand men landed at La Hogue, under the Duke of Clarence, overran a wide extent of country, being reinforced by 800 Gascons, who had, according to the agreement with the Orleanists, been raised to join them. They advanced towards Paris, declaring, however, that they would retire if the Duke of Berri and his party kept their engagement with them, and paid them the two hundred thousand crowns he had agreed to do. The Duke had not, however, the means to pay this amount, and the English therefore continued to ravage the country, while a large force from Calais, under the Earl of Warwick, captured the town of Saumer-au-Bois and the Castle of Ruissault. This, however, was scarcely an invasion, and Sir Eustace, being doubtful whether Henry meditated operations upon a large scale now that he had no longer allies in France, took no part in the matter, but remained quietly in his castle. Towards the end of March, 1413, a royal herald appeared before the gate. He was at once admitted, and was received with all honour in the great hall by Sir Eustace. "Sir Eustace de Villeroy." he said, "I come to you in the name of the King of France, your lord and suzerain. He bids me to say that he has heard with satisfaction that you refused entry to your castle to those who demanded it altogether without authority from him; but that, seeing the importance of the castle in case of trouble with England, and that you are a vassal of England for estates in that country, he deems it necessary that its safety should be assured, and therefore calls upon you to send, in proof of your loyalty to and affection for him, your wife and children to Paris, where they shall be cared for in all honour and as becomes their condition; or to receive a garrison of royal troops of such strength as to defend it from any fresh assault that may be made upon it, either on the part of those who before attacked it, or of England. He charges you on your fealty to accept one or other of these conditions, or to be deemed a false vassal, which he cannot believe you are, knowing you to be a brave and worthy knight. Here is a document with the king's signature and seal to the effect which I have delivered to you." "His Majesty's demands come upon me as a surprise," the knight said gravely, "and I pray you to abide with me till to-morrow, by which time I shall have had leisure to consider the alternative and be ready to give you answer." "Your request is a reasonable one, Sir Eustace," the herald replied, "and I will await the answer for twenty-four hours." The herald was then conducted to the guest-chamber, and Sir Eustace went out into the court-yard and for some time busied himself with the usual affairs of his estate and talked to the tenants as to their plans; then he went up on to the wall and there paced moodily backwards and forwards thinking over the summons that he had received. He knew that Margaret had been in the gallery in the hall and had heard the message the herald had delivered, and he wished to think it well over before seeing her. His position was, he felt, a perilous one. The last treaty of peace between France and England had drawn the frontier line more straitly in. After Cressy was fought, but a few miles away, Villeroy had stood within the English line as far as it now stood without it. That Henry, who although now old and averse to war, must yet ere long again renew the war that had so long languished he had little doubt; but he had no hope of succour at present, and felt that though able to withstand any sudden attack like that he had recently repulsed, he could not hope to make a successful defence against a great force provided with battering machines. The message from the king was indeed but a message from Burgundy, but if Burgundy was all-powerful just at present it had the same effect as if it were the king and not he who had sent the summons. He could see no way of temporizing save that Margaret and the children should go as hostages, and the idea of this was wholly repugnant to him. Were he to admit a French garrison the castle would be virtually lost to him; for once powerless, he could easily be set aside in favour of one of Burgundy's followers. The only alternative then seemed to be that he should altogether forsake the castle and estate so long held by his ancestors, and retire to England, until maybe some day Henry might again place him in possession of it. He regretted now that he had not told Margaret that she had best keep her chamber, for she then would have known nothing of the alternative that she should go as a hostage--an alternative, he foresaw, that she was likely to favour, as by so doing the necessity for making an absolute decision and choosing between France and England would be postponed. At length, still undecided in his mind, he descended from the wall and went up to his wife's apartments. CHAPTER V -- HOSTAGES Margaret rose to meet her husband when he entered. She had looked pale in her dress of deep mourning before, but he thought that she looked paler now. She, too, had evidently been thinking over the summons that he had received, and there was an expression of firmness and resolution in her face that seemed to say that she had arrived at a more definite conclusion than he had done. "'Tis a knotty question, wife," Sir Eustace said. "In the first place, it is clear we cannot hope to defend the castle successfully against an attack by Burgundy. The last was but of the character of a raid, the next would be a serious siege by experienced soldiers provided with all proper means and appliances. Before, it was certain that Sir Clugnet would, if he tarried here, be shortly attacked by the Burgundians, whereas now there would be no prospect of assistance. There is no hope of help from England, for there is no force in Calais that could contend with that which would probably be sent against me; therefore I take it that if attacked the castle must in the end fall, in which case probably its defenders would all be put to the sword. I myself should most likely be killed, the estates forfeited, and you and the children taken prisoners to Paris. Now it seems to me that that is not to be thought of. It remains to decide, therefore, whether we shall abandon the castle and journey to England, or whether we will admit a Burgundian garrison, which will in fact, we may be sure, be the first step towards losing the castle and estate altogether. It seems to me that the first will be the best plan. I see no chance of it at present, but in time Henry may invade France; and as we lie only some seven or eight miles from the frontier he would doubtless recapture Villeroy, and we should again become its masters." "You have not mentioned the other alternative, Eustace, namely, that I and the children should go to Paris as hostages; and this, it seems to me, is the best of the three to follow. If there were indeed a chance of an English invasion I should not say so, but I think not that there is any such prospect. It is many years since England has done aught in earnest, and during all that time her power in France has been waning. I would not that our children should lose this fair estate when it can well be preserved by some slight sacrifice on my part. Were I and the children to go to Paris it would put an end to all doubts as to your loyalty, and you would hold the castle and estates. The peace now patched up between the parties will not last, and as soon as they are engaged with each other, and have no time to spare to think of attacking you here, I will endeavour to escape with the children and rejoin you. I shall assuredly have no cause for complaint. I shall, of course, have honourable treatment, and apartments fitting to our rank assigned to me. It would be no great hardship, and even were it so it would be worth enduring in order that our son Charles should inherit his father's estate." "I could not part from you, love." "Nay, Eustace, as I have said, it cannot be for long; and you must remember that twice when the children were infants I remained in England with them while you were some months here. It would be no worse now. I would take Guy with me; the lad has sense and courage, the children are both fond of him, and I myself could, if occasion arose, take counsel with him. Then I could have two or three stout men-at-arms who might ride in my train in peaceful garb as retainers. As to a maid I can, if I need one, hire her in Paris. Surely, husband, it would be far better so than that we should lose castle and land. There could be little danger to one in Paris at any time, still less to the wife of a vassal of the crown, least of all to a hostage. I shall be but staying at the court. If you peril life and limb, Eustace, in defence of your castle, surely it is not much that I should put myself to the slight inconvenience of a stay in Paris for a while." "I like it not," the knight said moodily. "I see well enough that what you say is true, and that you should be safe at Charles's court, indeed safer than here. The citizens of Paris are indeed turbulent, whether they shout for Orleans or Burgundy, but what if Henry of England should again lead an army here?" "But why imagine what is not likely to happen? Long ere Henry comes I may have joined you again; should it be otherwise I might perhaps escape, or at the very worst of all they could but keep me in duress in my chamber. Who ever heard of a woman being ill-treated for the disobedience of her lord? All that they could do would be to make you pay ransom for my return." "I would rather go as a hostage myself." "Nay, husband, that could hardly be. Who would then take care of your castle? It is not a hard thing that the king asks, merely that I and the children shall for a time live at his court as a proof that you, his vassal, hold your castle for him. Even if the worst comes to the worst we can but lose castle and land, as we must lose it now if I do not go. Nay, my dear lord, do not wrinkle your brow, we cannot strive against the might of France; and at present we must bow our heads and wait until the storm has passed, and hope for better times. There may be an English war; ere long Henry may again extend his frontiers, and you might again become a vassal of England for these possessions of yours even as your fathers were." "I see that reason is on your side, Margaret, and yet I cannot bring myself to like the plan." "Nor do I like it, husband; yet I feel that it were a thousand times better that I should be separated from you for a time than that we should risk another siege. The last has cost us dear enough, another might take you from me." "Well, well, dear, I suppose you must have your way; indeed I do not see that harm can possibly come to you, and it will at any rate ensure peace for a time and enable us to repair our tenants' losses. I shall send over a message at once to Sir Aylmer, and beg him to choose and send me another fifty archers--with that reinforcement I could make head against any attack save in the greatest force--for there is no saying how things may go. The five-and-twenty did wonders, and with thrice that force I should feel confident that Villeroy could withstand any attack save by an army with an abundance of great machines. "Well, Margaret, since you have decided for me that you are to go--and indeed I myself plainly see that that alternative is really the best--let us talk over who you had best take with you. I quite approve of your choice of Guy; he is a good lad, and will make a brave knight some day. I shall now make him one of my esquires, and as such he will always be in attendance on you; and assuredly Agnes and Charlie will, as well as yourself, benefit by his presence. He will be able to take them out and look after them, and as he talks French as well as English the lad will be useful to you in many ways. Have you any preference as to the four men-at-arms?" "Could you spare Tom, the leader of the archers? I should like to have another Englishman with me, and he is very good-tempered and obliging. He is shrewd too, and with his strength and courage I should feel that I could wholly rely upon him in any strait, though indeed I see not that there is any probability of such occurring." "Certainly you can have him, Margaret, and I shall be glad to know that he is with you. Dickon, who is next under him, can act as captain of the archers while he is away. I have noticed that Tom is picking up the language fast. He is always ready to do little kindnesses to the women and children, and I have often heard him talking with them. He will soon get to speak the language fairly. As to the others have you any choice?" "No, I think you had better choose them for me, Eustace." "They had better be French," he said; "it would not do for you to surround yourself entirely by English, although of course it is natural enough that you should have an English squire and servant. I think that you could not do better than take Jules Varey and Albert Bongarde. They are both stout men-at-arms, prudent fellows, and not given to the wine-cup. As a fourth I would say Jean Picard's son; he is a stout fellow too, and I know that, but for his father's hopes that he will one day succeed him as butler, he would have taken service regularly as a man-at-arms. He fought stoutly when the French gained the wall, and I marked him exchanging blows with Sir Clugnet himself, and bearing himself as well as any man there. You could choose no better." "So be it," she said. "I think, Eustace, that with four such defenders, to say nothing of young Guy, you need not feel uneasy about us." "I don't think that I shall feel uneasy, Margaret; but I know that I can ill spare you. You have ever been at my side since we were married, save when, after the birth of Agnes and Charles, you were forced to stay in England when I came over here. I felt it a dreary time then, and shall feel it so now; but I doubt not that all will go well with you, though it will be a very different life to that to which you have been accustomed." "I shall do well enough," Margaret said cheerfully, "and maybe I shall get so fond of court that you will have to take me to that of Henry when we return to England." "Now you had best begin to make your preparations. I will speak to Guy and the others myself." Sir Eustace went into the court-yard, where Guy was superintending the issue of provisions for the women. "This can go on without you," he said; "Gervaise will see to it. I would speak to you. You were at the meeting this morning, Guy, and you heard what the herald of France said. The position is a hard one. I cannot hold the castle against the strength of France, while if we take a Burgundian garrison I should cease to be its master, and it would doubtless soon pass into other hands. Again, if I go to England, it would equally be lost to us. Therefore my wife has resolved, in order to gain time until these disorders are over, to go to Paris with the children as a hostage for me. In no case, as it seems to me, are Dame Margaret and the children likely to be in danger; nevertheless, I am greatly loth for them to go. However, seeing no other way out of the business, I have consented, and we have arranged that you shall accompany her. You will go as my esquire, and I shall install you as such this afternoon. You will take Long Tom, two of the men-at-arms, and Robert Picard, all good men and true; but at the same time the burden and responsibility must rest upon your shoulders. You are young yet for so grave a charge, and yet I feel that I can confide it to you. You will have to be the stay and support of your mistress, you will have to be the companion and friend of my children, and I shall charge the four men-at-arms to take orders from you as from me. Tom will be a valuable fellow. In the first place, he is, I know, much attached to you, besides being shrewd, and a very giant in strength. The other three are all honest varlets, and you can rely upon them in any pinch." "I will do my best, my lord," Guy said quietly; "and I am grateful to you indeed for the confidence that you show in me, and I shall, I hope, prove worthy of it, and of my father." The news soon spread through the castle that Dame Margaret was going to Paris. The maids wept at the thought, as did many of the tenants' wives, for since the siege began, her kindness and the pains that she had taken to make them comfortable had endeared her greatly to them. On her previous visits they had seen comparatively little of her; she had been to them simply their lord's English wife, now they knew her as a friend. Nevertheless, their regret at her leaving was softened by the thought that her going to be near the king insured peace for them, and that they would now be able to venture out to the houses that were fast rising on the ruins of their former homes, and to take up their life again as they had left it. Early next morning the little cortege mustered in the court-yard in readiness for a start. Sir Eustace and his wife had said good-bye to each other in their chamber, and she looked calm and tranquil as she mounted her horse; for, having been accustomed from a child to ride with her father hunting and hawking, she could sit a horse well, and scorned to ride, as did so many ladies, on a pillion. Guy rode by her side, with Agnes on a pillion behind him. Long Tom, with Charlie perched in front of him, followed them, and the three men-at-arms brought up the rear. Charlie was in high spirits; he regarded the trip as a sort of holiday, and had been talking, ever since he got up, of the wonders that he should see in Paris. Agnes better understood the situation, and nothing but the feeling that she ought to emulate the calmness of her mother restrained her from bursting into tears when her father lifted her on to her seat. The herald led the way, followed by his two pursuivants. Dame Margaret checked her horse in the middle of the court-yard, and said in a loud clear voice to the tenants and men-at-arms round: "Adieu, good friends; I trust that I shall not be long away from you. I go to stay for a time at the court in Paris, and I leave you with the surety that you will have peace and rest until I return, and be able to repair the damages you suffered from the attack made upon us by men who regard not the law." She turned and waved her hand to Sir Eustace, who was standing immovable on the steps, and then, touching the horse with her heel, they moved on after the herald. "Do not fear to speak, Tom," Dame Margaret said, after they had left the castle behind them; "the journey is a long one, and it will go all the quicker for honest talk. What think you of this expedition to Paris?" "I would as lief go there as anywhere else, my lady. Indeed, men say that it is a fine city, and as I have never seen a bigger town than Southampton, I doubt not that I shall find plenty to interest me at times when you may not require our services." "I see that you have brought your bow with you." "Ay, my lady, I could not bring myself to part with it. Sir Eustace told me that I could not carry it, as its length would be a matter of remark, and point me out at once as being an Englishman, seeing that the French archers carry no bows of such length; so I have, even as you see, wrapped it round with straw, and fastened it to the saddle beneath my leg. I have also put fourscore arrows among the valises on the pack-horses." "There is no chance of your needing them, Tom." "I trust that it is so," the archer replied; "but, indeed, there is never any saying, and an archer without his bow is but a poor creature,--though, indeed, I trust that I can swing an axe as well as another." "And much better than most, Tom; still, I hope that neither axe nor bow will be required." "To that I say amen also; for, although a fray may sometimes be to my taste, I have no desire to be mixed up in a mêlée without some of my own stout comrades with me." "Shall we get to Paris to-night, Lady Mother?" Charlie asked. "No, indeed; it will be five days, if not six, for I see by the way that we are travelling we are bearing east, and shall sleep at Lille or may be at Tournay; then, doubtless, we shall bear south, and may stop the next night at Cambrai, and make to Noyon on the following day, and thence to Compiègne or to Senlis, and the next day will take us to Paris. It all depends how far and how fast we ride each day. But these matters will be arranged by the herald. Were we to go by the shortest route we should get there more quickly; but Amiens is held by the party to whom the men who attacked our castle belong, and by the way we are travelling we shall keep for some time in Artois, and so escape all risk of trouble on the road." "I don't care for trouble," Charlie said stoutly; "we have got Long Tom and Robert Picard and the other two, and Guy can fight also." "That would be all very well, my son," his mother said smiling, "if we were only attacked by half a dozen vagrants, but brave as they all are they could do naught if a large body surprised us; but be assured that there is no fear of that--by the way we are travelling we shall meet with none but friends." "I should like to be attacked by the vagrants, mother. The last time you made us stay with you when there was fighting going on, except just at the first, but here we should see it all." "Well, I don't want to see it, Charlie, and I am glad that we are not likely to do so; and you must remember that you and I and Agnes would sorely hamper our friends." Nevertheless whenever a party of peasants was met upon the road Charlie looked out hopefully and heaved a sigh of disappointment when, after doffing their caps in respect, they passed on quietly. Several times they encountered bodies of knights and men-at-arms, but the presence of the royal herald saved them from all question. At each halting-place Dame Margaret, her children and maid, were lodged in the house of one of the principal citizens, while Guy and the men-at-arms lay at an inn. The troubled state of the times was only manifest by the number of men-at-arms in the streets, and the strict watch kept at the gates of the towns. Many of these were kept shut, and were only opened once an hour to let people pass in and out. This, however, did not affect the travellers, for the gates were opened the moment the emblazonings on the surcoat of the herald could be made out. "We have assuredly nothing to complain of so far, Guy," Dame Margaret said, as they set out on their last day's journey; "had we been the king's special guests we could not have been more honourably treated, and I have no doubt that although we shall be much less important personages at Paris than as travellers under the royal protection, we shall yet be made comfortable enough, and shall have naught to grieve over save the separation from our lord." "I cannot doubt that it will be so, lady," Guy replied; "and that at any rate there will be no trouble, unless the Armagnacs lay siege to Paris or there are riots in the city. I heard last night at the inn from some travellers who had just left it, that although the majority of the people there are in favour of Burgundy, yet that much discontent exists on account of the harsh measures of the officers he has appointed, and especially of the conduct of the guild of butchers, who, as it seems, are high in favour with the duke, and rule the city as if it belonged to them." "It matters little to us, Guy, though it seems strange that the nobles of France and the respectable citizens of Paris should allow themselves to be ruled over by such a scum as that; but it was the same in Flanders, where Von Artevelde, our ally, a great man and the chief among them, was murdered by the butchers who at the time held sway in Ghent, and who were conspicuous for many years in all the tumults in the great towns there." "I hear, madam, that the king is ill, and can see no one." "Yes, I have heard the same from the herald. It will be John of Burgundy who will, for the time, be our master." "I could desire a better," Guy said bluntly; "but we shall at any rate know that his fair words are not to be trusted. For my part, however, I wonder that after the (agreement with) the Duke of Orleans, with whom he had sworn a solemn peace, any man should hold converse with him." "Unfortunately, Guy, men's interests count for more than their feelings, and a great noble, who has it in his power to grant favours and dispense honours, will find adherents though he has waded through blood. Burgundy, too, as I hear, has winning manners and a soft tongue, and can, when it pleases him, play the part of a frank and honest man. At least it must be owned that the title of 'Fearless' does not misbecome him, for, had it been otherwise, he would have denied all part in the murder of Orleans, instead of openly avowing that it was done by his orders." They had started at an earlier hour than usual that morning, as the herald had pointed out to Dame Margaret, that it were best to arrive in Paris as early as possible, in order that the question of their lodging might be settled at once. Accordingly, they had been up at daybreak, and arrived in Paris at noon. "How long will it be, I wonder," Dame Margaret said, as they rode through the gates, "before we shall pass through here again?" "Not very long I hope, my lady," Guy said; "but be sure that if at any time you wish to leave we shall be able to procure disguises for you all, and to make our way out without difficulty." "Nay, Guy, you forget that it is only so long as we are here that Villeroy is safe from attack. Whatever happens, nothing, save the news that an English army has landed at Calais, and is about to invade France, would leave me free to attempt an escape. If not released before that, I must then, at all hazards, try to escape, for Sir Eustace, knowing that I am here, would be placed in a sore strait indeed; both by his own inclinations and as a vassal of England, for he would want to join the English as soon as they advanced, and yet would be hindered by the knowledge that I was a hostage here. It would be for me to relieve him of that fear; and the same feeling that induced me to come hither would then take me back to Villeroy." "Then, madam, I fear that our stay here will be a long one, for Henry has never pushed on the war with France vigorously, and though plenty of cause has been given by the capture of his castles in Guienne, he has never drawn sword either to regain them or to avenge the insults put upon the English flag." "King Henry is old, Guy; and they say that his son is as full of spirit and as fiery as his father is peaceful and indisposed for war. When the king dies, my lord thinks that it will be but a short time before the English banner will be unfurled in France; and this is one of the reasons why he consented to my becoming an hostage, thinking that no long time is likely to elapse before he will have English backing, and will be able to disregard the threats of France." "How narrow and sombre are these streets!" Guy said, after a pause, "one seems to draw one's very breath with difficulty." "They are well-nigh as narrow in London," his mistress replied; "but they are gay enough below. See how crowded they are, and how brilliant are some of the costumes!" "Some of them indeed, madam, but more are poor and miserable; and as to the faces, they are so scowling and sombre, truly were we not on horseback I should keep my hand tight upon my pouch, though in truth there is nothing in it worth stealing." "Ay, ay, Master Guy," Long Tom broke in, "methinks that there are a good many heads among these scowling knaves that I would gladly have a chance of cracking had I my quarter-staff in my hand and half a dozen stout fellows here with me. See how insolently they stare!" "Hush, Tom!" Dame Margaret said, turning round, "if you talk of cracking skulls I shall regret that I brought you with me." "I am not thinking of doing it, my lady," the archer said apologetically. "I did but say that I should like to do it, and between liking and doing there is often a long distance." "Sometimes, Tom, but one often leads to the other. You must remember that above all things it behoves us to act prudently here, and to avoid drawing the attention of our foes. We English are not loved in Paris, and the less you open your mouth here the better; for when Burgundians and Armagnacs are ready to cut each other's throats over a name, fellow-countrymen though they be, neither would feel any compunction about killing an Englishman." After riding for half an hour they entered the court-yard of a large building, where men-at-arms and varlets wearing the cognizance of Burgundy were moving about, a group of nobles were standing on the steps, while some grooms were walking their horses round the court-yard. The herald made his way to the door, and here all alighted. "Whom have we here, I wonder?" one of the young nobles said to another as they came up. "A royal herald and his pursuivants; a young dame and a very fair one; her daughter, I suppose, also fair; the lady's esquire; and a small boy." "Hostages, I should say," the other replied, "for the good conduct of the lady's lord, whoever he may be. I know her not, and think that she cannot have been at court for the last ten years, for I could hardly have forgotten her face." Dame Margaret took the hands of her two children and followed the herald up the steps. She had made a motion of her head to Guy to attend her, and he accordingly followed behind. "A haughty lady as well as a fair one," the young knight laughed. "She did not so much as glance at us, but held her head as high as if she were going in to rate Burgundy himself. I think that she must be English by her looks, though what an English woman can be doing here in Paris is beyond my understanding, unless it be that she is the wife of a knight of Guienne; in that case she would more likely be with Orleans than here." "Yes, but you see the herald has brought her. It may be her lord's castle has been captured, and she has come under the safe-conduct of a herald to lay a complaint; but I think with you that she is English. The girl was fair too, though not so fair as her mother, and that curly-headed young esquire is of English stock too." "He is a stout-looking fellow, De Maupas, and will make a powerful man; he looks as if he could strike a shrewd blow even now. Let us question their knaves, one of whom, by the way, is a veritable giant in point of height." He beckoned to the four men, and Robert Picard came forward. "Who is your lady, young man?" "Dame Margaret de Villeroy, may it please you, sir. She is the wife of Sir Eustace de Villeroy." "Then we were right, De Maupas, for De Villeroy is, I know, a vassal of England for his wife's estates, and his people have always counted themselves English, because for over a hundred years their castle stood inside the English line." "He is a stout knight. We heard a month ago how bravely he held his castle against Sir Clugnet de Brabant with 8000 Orleanists, and beat him off with a loss of five knights and 400 men. Sir Clugnet himself was sorely wounded. We all ought to feel mightily obliged to him for the check, which sent them back post-haste out of Artois, where they had already done damage enough, and might have done more had they not been so roughly handled. I wonder what the lady is here for?" "It may be that he would have fought the Burgundians as stoutly as he fought the Armagnacs," the other said, "and that the duke does not care about having so strong a castle held by so stout a knight within a few miles of the English line." The other shrugged his shoulders. "The English are sleeping dogs," he said; "there is no Edward and no Black Prince to lead them now." "No, but you must remember that sleeping dogs wake up sometimes, and even try to bite when they do so; moreover we know of old that these particular dogs can bite hard." "The sooner they wake up the better, I say, De Maupas. We have a long grudge to wipe off against them, and our men are not likely to repeat the mistakes that cost us so dearly before. Besides, the English have had no real fighting for years, and it seems to me that they have altogether given up any hope of extending their possessions in France." "One can never tell, De Revelle. For my part I own that I care not that they should again spread their banner on this side of the sea. There can be no doubt that they are stout fighting-men, and seeing how France is divided they might do sore damage did they throw their weight into one side of the scale." "Methinks that there is no fear of that. The dukes both know well enough that their own followers would not fight side by side with the English; and though they might propose an alliance with the Islanders, it would only be for the purpose of bringing the war to a close by uniting both parties against our old enemy." In the meantime Dame Margaret had followed her conductor to the great chamber, where John of Burgundy held audience in almost royal state. Several nobles were gathered round him, but at the entrance of the herald these fell back, leaving him standing by himself. An eminently politic man, the duke saw at once by the upright figure and the fearless air with which Dame Margaret entered the hall, that this was a case where courtesy and deference were far more likely to bring about the desired end of winning her husband over to his interests, than any menaces or rough speaking; he therefore advanced two or three steps to meet her. "My lord duke," the herald said, "this lady, Dame Margaret of Villeroy, has journeyed hither with me in accordance with the wish expressed by His Majesty the king." "As the king's representative in Paris, lady," the duke said to Margaret, "I thank you for your promptness in thus conceding to his wish." "His Majesty's wish was naturally a command to me, Sir Duke," Margaret said with quiet dignity. "We, my husband and I, understood that some enemy had been influencing His Majesty's mind against my lord, and in order to assure him of my lord's loyalty as a faithful vassal for the land he holds, I have willingly journeyed here with my children, although in much grief for the loss of my eldest son, who died in the attack lately made upon our castle by a large body of men, of whom we knew naught, save that they did not come in the name of our lord the king." "I have heard of the attack, lady, and of the gallant and successful defence made by Sir Eustace, and the king was greatly pleased to hear of the heavy check thus inflicted upon the men who had raised the banner of revolt, and were harassing His Majesty's faithful subjects." "That being so, my lord duke," Margaret said, "'tis strange, after my lord had shown how ready and well prepared he was to protect his castle against ill-doers, that he should have been asked to admit a garrison of strangers to aid him to hold it. Sir Eustace has no desire to meddle with the troubles of the times; he holds his castle as a fief directly from the crown, as his ancestors have held it for two hundred years; he wishes only to dwell in peace and in loyal service to the king." [Illustration: THE LADY MARGARET MAKES HER OBEISANCE TO THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY.] "Such we have always understood, madam, and gladly would the king have seen Sir Eustace himself at his court. The king will, I trust, shortly be recovered from his malady; until he is so I have--for I was made acquainted with your coming by messenger sent forward by Monjoie--arranged for you to be lodged in all honour at the house of Master Leroux, one of the most worshipful of the citizens of Paris, and provost of the guild of silversmiths. My chamberlain will at once conduct you thither." "I thank you, my lord duke," Margaret said with a stately reverence, "and trust that when I am received by my lord the king I shall be able to prove to him that Sir Eustace is his faithful vassal, and can be trusted to hold his castle for him against all comers." "I doubt it not, lady," the duke said courteously. "Sir Victor Pierrepoint, I pray you to see this lady to the entrance. Sir Hugo will already be waiting her there." CHAPTER VI -- IN PARIS "A bold dame and a fair one," John of Burgundy said to the gentlemen round him when Margaret left the chamber. "Methinks that she would be able to hold Villeroy even should Sir Eustace be away." "That would she," one of the knights said with a laugh. "I doubt not that she would buckle on armour if need were. But we must make some allowance for her heat; it is no pleasant thing to be taken away from her castle and brought hither as a hostage, to be held for how long a time she knows not." "It was the safest way of securing the castle," the duke said. "Can one doubt that, with her by his side, her husband would open his gates to the English, should they appear before it? He himself is a vassal both of England and France, and should the balance be placed before him, there can be little doubt that her weight would incline him to England. How well these English women keep their youth! One might believe her to be but a few years past twenty, and yet she is the mother of that girl, who is well-nigh as tall as herself." "And who bids to be as fair, my lord duke." "And as English, De Porcelet. She would be a difficult eaglet to tame, if I mistake not; and had she been the spokeswoman, methinks she would have answered as haughtily as did her mother. But it might be no bad plan to mate her to a Frenchman. It is true that there is the boy, but the fief might well be bestowed upon her if so mated, on the ground that the boy would likely take after his father and mother and hold Villeroy for England rather than for France. However, she is young yet; in a couple of years, De Porcelet, it will be time for you to urge your suit, if so inclined." There was a general smile from the circle standing round, but the young knight said gravely, "When the time comes, my lord duke, I may remind you of what you have said. 'Tis a fair young face, honest and good, though at present she must naturally feel with her mother at being thus haled away from her home." Sir Victor escorted Margaret to the court-yard. As they appeared at the entrance a knight came up and saluted her. "I am intrusted by the duke with the honour of escorting you to your lodgings," he said; "I am Hugo de Chamfort, the duke's chamberlain." After assisting her into the saddle he mounted a horse which an attendant brought up and placed himself by her side. Two men-at-arms with their surtouts embroidered with the cognizance of Burgundy led the way, and the rest of the party followed in the same order in which they had come. The distance was short, and beyond a few questions by the knight as to the journey and how she had been cared for on the way, and Margaret's replies, little was said until they reached the house of the provost of the silversmiths. As they rode up to the door Maître Leroux himself came out from the house. "Welcome, lady," he said, "to my abode. My wife will do all that she can to make you comfortable." "I am sorry indeed, good sir," Margaret said, "to be thus forced upon your hospitality, and regret the trouble that my stay will impose upon you." "Say not so, lady," he said, "we deem it an honour that his grace the Duke of Burgundy should have selected us for the honour of entertaining you. The house is large, and we have no family. Chambers are already prepared for yourself, your daughter, and son, while there are others at your disposal for your following." "I would not trespass too much upon you," she said. "My daughter can sleep with me, and I am sure that my esquire here, Master Guy Aylmer, will gladly share a room with my boy. I can obtain lodgings for my four followers without." "You will grieve me much if you propose it, lady. There is a large room upstairs unoccupied, and I will place pallets for them there; and as for their meals they can have them apart." By this time they had mounted a fine flight of stairs, at the top of which Dame Leroux was standing to receive her guests. She was a kindly-looking woman between thirty and forty years of age. "Welcome, Lady Margaret," she said with a cordiality that made Margaret feel at once that her visit was not regarded as an infliction. "We are quiet people, but will do our best to render your stay here a pleasant one." "Thanks indeed, mistress!" Margaret replied. "I feared much that my presence would be felt as a burden, and had hardly hoped for so kind a welcome. This is my daughter Agnes, and my son Charles." Then she turned to Sir Hugo: "I pray you to give my thanks to his grace the Duke of Burgundy, and to thank him for having so well bestowed me. I thank you also for your courtesy for having conducted me here." "I will convey your message to the duke," he said, "who will, I am sure, be pleased to hear of your contentment." Maître Leroux accompanied the knight downstairs again, and when he had mounted and ridden off he called two servitors, and bade one carry the luggage upstairs, and the other conduct the men to the stables he had taken for the horses. "After you have seen to their comfort," he said to Robert Picard, "you will return hither; you will find a meal prepared for you, and will be bestowed together in a chamber upstairs." In the meantime his wife had ushered Dame Margaret into a very handsomely furnished apartment. "This is at your entire service, Lady Margaret," she said. "The bedroom behind it is for yourself, the one next to it for your daughter, unless you would prefer that she should sleep with you." "I thank you. I was telling your husband that I should prefer that; and my son and esquire can therefore occupy the second room. But I fear greatly that I am disturbing yourself and your husband." "No, indeed; our sitting-room and bedroom are on the other side of the landing. These are our regular guest-chambers, and your being here will make no change whatever in our arrangements. I only regret that the apartments are not larger." "Do not apologize, I beg of you, madam. I can assure you that the room is far handsomer than that to which I have been accustomed. You citizens of Paris are far in advance of us in your ideas of comfort and luxury, and the apartments both at Villeroy and in my English home cannot compare with these, except in point of size. I never dreamt that my prison would be so comfortable." "Say not prison, I pray you, lady. I heard, indeed, that your visit to the court was not altogether one of your own choice; but, believe me, here at least you will be but a guest, and an honoured and welcome one. I will leave you now. If there is aught that you desire, I pray you to ring that bell on the table; refreshments will be quickly served. Had I known the precise hour at which you would come we should have been in readiness for you, but I thought not that you would arrive till evening." "I hope that you will give me much of your company, mistress," Margaret said warmly. "We know no one in this great city, and shall be glad indeed if, when you can spare time, you will sit with us." "Well, children, what do you think of this?" she asked when their hostess had left the room. "It is lovely, mother," Agnes said. "Look at the inlaid cabinets, and the couches and tables, and this great warm rug that covers all the floor, how snug and comfortable it all is. Why, mother, I never saw anything like this." "You might have seen something like it had you ever been in the house of one of our rich London traders, Agnes; at least so I have heard, though in truth I have never myself been in so luxuriously furnished a room. I only hope that we may stay here for some time. The best of it is that these good people evidently do not regard us as a burden. No doubt they are pleased to oblige the Duke of Burgundy, but, beyond that, their welcome seemed really sincere. Now let us see our bedroom. I suppose that is yours, Charlie, through the door in the corner." The valises had already been brought to the rooms by another entrance, and Margaret and her daughter were charmed with their bedroom. A large ewer and basin of silver stood on a table which was covered with a white cloth, snowy towels hung beside it; the hangings of the bed were of damask silk, and the floor was almost covered by an Eastern carpet. An exquisitely carved wardrobe stood in one corner. "It is all lovely!" Agnes said, clapping her hands. "You ought to have your room at home fitted up like this, mother." "It would take a large slice out of a year's revenue, Agnes," her mother said with a smile, "to furnish a room in this fashion. That wardrobe alone is worth a knight's ransom, and the ewer and basin are fit for a king. I would that your father could see us here; it would ease his anxiety about us. I must ask how I can best despatch a messenger to him." When they returned to the other apartment they found the table already laid, and in a short time a dainty repast was served. To this Guy sat down with them, for except when there were guests, when his place was behind his lord's chair, he had always been treated as one of the family, and as the son of Sir Aylmer rather than as a page. "Well, Master Guy, what think you of affairs?" "They seem well to the eye, mistress, but I would not trust that Duke of Burgundy for an hour. With that long face of his and the hooked nose and his crafty look he resembles little a noble of France. He has an evil face, and one which accords well with the foul murder of the king's brother. However, as I see not that he has aught to gain by holding you here,--save that he thinks it will ensure our lord's keeping his castle for him,--there is no reason why he should not continue to treat you honourably and courteously. We have yet to learn whether Master Leroux is one of his party, or whether he is in favour of Armagnac." "I should think that he cannot be for Armagnac," she said, "or Duke John would hardly have quartered us upon him. No doubt it was done under the semblance of goodwill, but most men would have considered it a heavy tax, even though, as I expect, we shall not remain here long. Doubtless, however, the trader considers that his complaisance in the matter would be taken by the duke as a sign of his desire to show that at least he is not hostile to him." When they rose from the table Guy, at his mistress's suggestion, went below and found the four men sitting in the great kitchen, where they had just finished an ample meal. "You have seen to the horses, Robert?" "Yes, Master Guy, they are comfortably bestowed, with an abundance of provender." "I am going out to see how matters stand in the town. Our lady says that at all times two of you must remain here, as it may be necessary to send messages, or should she wish to go out, to escort her, but the other two can be out and about as they please, after first inquiring of me whether there is aught for them to do. You can arrange among yourselves which shall stay in, taking turns off duty. Tom, you had better not go out till after dark. There is something in the cut of your garments which tells that you are not French. Robert will go out with me now, and find a clothier, and bid him send garments here for you to choose from, or if he has none to fit, which may likely enough be, send him to measure you. It might lead to broils and troubles were any of the rabble to notice that you were a stranger." "That is right enough, Master Guy; and in sooth I have no desire to go out at present, for after riding for the last six days I am well content to sit quiet and take my ease here." Guy then started with Robert Picard. Except in the streets where the principal merchants dwelt, the town struck him as gloomy and sombre. The palaces of the nobles were veritable fortresses, the streets were ill-paved and evil-smelling, and the people in the poorer quarters had a sinister aspect. "I should not care to wander about in this district after nightfall, Robert," Guy said to the man-at-arms, who kept close to his elbow. "Nor I," the man growled. "It is as much as I can do to keep my hands off my dagger now, for methinks that nine out of ten of the fellows loitering about would cut our throats willingly, if they thought that we had but a crown in our pockets." Presently they found themselves on the quays, and, hailing a boat, rowed up the river a little beyond the walls. Hearing the sound of music they landed, and on seeing a number of people gather round some booths they discharged the boat and went on. They found that it was a sort of fair. Here were sword-players and mountebanks, pedlars who vended their wares at a lower price than those at which they were sold within the limits of the city, booths at which wine and refreshments could be obtained. Here many soldiers were sitting drinking, watching the passers-by, and exchanging ribald jests with each other, and sometimes addressing observations to the wives and daughters of the citizens, amid fits of laughter at the looks of indignation on the part of their husbands or fathers. "It is evidently a holiday of some sort," Guy remarked, as they found that the fair extended for a considerable distance, and that the crowd was everywhere large. They stopped for a minute or two in front of a booth of more pretensions than the generality. In front of it a man was beating a drum, and a negro walking up and down attired in showy garments. The drum ceased and the latter shouted: "Those of you who wish to see my master, the famous Elminestres, the most learned doctor in Europe, who can read the stars, cast your horoscope, foretell your future, and cure your ailments, should not lose this opportunity." The curtains opened behind, and a man dressed in dark garments with a long black cloak spotted with silver stars came forward. "You have heard, good people, what my slave has said. He speaks with knowledge. I saved his life in the deserts of Africa when he was all but dead with fever, by administering to him one of my wonderful potions; he at once recovered and devoted himself to my service. I have infallible remedies for every disease, therefore do you who are sick come to me and be cured; while for you who do not suffer I can do as much or more, by telling you of your future, what evils to avoid and what chances to grasp." He stood for a minute silent, his eyes wandering keenly over the spectators. "I see," he said, "one among you who loves a fair maiden standing beside him. At present her parents are unfavourable to his suit, but if he will take my advice he will be able to overcome their objections and to win the damsel. Another I see who has come to Paris with the intention of enlisting in the service of our good duke, and who, I foresee, will attain rank and honour and become a distinguished soldier if he does but act prudently at the critical moment, while if he takes a wrong turn misfortune and death will befall him. I see a youth of gentle blood who will become a brave knight, and will better his condition by marriage. He has many dangers to go through before that, and has at present a serious charge for one so young; but as he has circumspection as well as courage he may pass through them unharmed. To him too I could give advice that may be valuable, more especially as he is a stranger to the land, as are those of whom he is in charge." "It is wonderful, Master Guy!" Robert Picard whispered in Guy's ear in a tone of astonished awe. "The knave doubtless saw us ride in this morning, and recognized me again. There is naught of magic in it, but the fellow must be shrewd, or he would not have so quickly drawn his conclusions. I will go in and speak to him presently, for though I believe not his prophecies one jot, a fellow of this sort may be useful. Let us be moving on at present." They passed two monks, who were scowling angrily at the man, who was just exciting the laughter of the crowd by asserting that there was a holy man present who usually preferred a flask of good wine to saying his vespers. "Rogues like this should be whipped and branded, Brother Anselmo." "Ay, ay," the other agreed: "and yet," he added slyly, "it may be that he has not altogether missed his mark this time. We are not the only two monks here," he went on as the other turned upon him angrily, "and it may well be that among them is one who answers to the fellow's lewd description." On the outskirts of the fair were many people of higher degree. Knights and ladies strolled on the turf exchanging greetings, looking for a minute or two at the gambols of a troupe of performing dogs, or at a bout of cudgel play--where two stout fellows belaboured each other heartily, and showed sufficient skill to earn from the crowd a shower of small pieces of money, when at last they ceased from pure exhaustion. Half an hour later Guy returned to the booth of the doctor, and went in by a side entrance, to which those who wished to consult the learned man had been directed by the negro. The latter was at the entrance, and, observing that Guy's condition was above that of the majority of his master's clients, at once took him into an inner apartment divided from the rest of the tent by a hanging. Over the top of this was stretched a black cloth spotted with silver stars, and similar hangings surrounded it; thus all light was cut off, and the room was dimly illuminated by two lamps. A table with a black cloth stood at the back. On this stood a number of phials and small boxes, together with several retorts and alembics. The doctor was seated on a tripod stool. He rose and was about to address Guy in his usual style, when the latter said: "So you saw us ride in this morning, Master Doctor, and guessed shrewdly as to our condition and nationality. As to the latter, indeed, it needed no sorcery, for it must have been plain to the dullest that my mistress and her daughter were not of French blood, and though I am much less fair, it was a pretty safe guess to suppose that I also was of their country. I need not tell you that I have not come here either for charms or nostrums, but it seemed to me that being, as you said, strangers here, we might benefit by the advice of one who like yourself notes things quickly, and can form his own conclusions." The doctor removed his tall conical cap, and placed it on the table. "You guess rightly," he said with a smile. "I was in the crowd and marked you enter, and a soldier standing next to me observed to a comrade that he had heard that Burgundy had sent the herald to demand the surrender of a castle held by one Sir Eustace, a knight who was known to have friendly leanings towards the English, being a vassal of their king for estates that had come to him with an English wife, and that doubtless this was the lady. When my eye fell on you in the crowd I said: Here is a youth of shrewdness and parts, he is alone and is a foreigner, and maybe I can be of service to him; therefore I shot my shaft, and, as you see, with success. I said to myself: This youth, being a stranger, will know of no one to whom he can turn for information, and I can furnish him with almost any that he may require. I come in contact with the highest and the lowest, for the Parisians are credulous, and after dark there are some of rank and station who come to my doors for filtres and nostrums, or to have their horoscope cast and their futures predicted. You will ask why one who has such clients should condescend to stand at a booth and talk to this rabble; but it has its purpose. Were I known only as one whom men and women visit in secret, I should soon become suspected of black arts, the priests would raise an outcry against me, and one of these days I might be burned. Here, however, I ostensibly earn my living as a mountebank vendor of drugs and nostrums, and therefore no one troubles his head about me." "There is one thing that you have not told me," Guy said when he ceased speaking. "Having, as you say, good clients besides your gains here, why should you trouble to interest yourself in our affairs?" "Shrewdly put, young sir. I will be frank with you. I too am a stranger, and sooner or later I may fall into discredit, and the power of the church be too much for me. When I saw your mistress to-day I said to myself: Here is an English lady of rank, with a castle and estate in England; should I have to fly--and I have one very dear to me, for whose sake I value my life--it might be well for me that I should have one friend in England who would act as protectress to her should aught befall me. Your mistress is a stranger here, and in the hands of enemies. I may be of use to her. I know this population of Paris, and can perhaps give her better information of what is going on both at the court and in the gutter than any other man, and may be able to render her assistance when she most needs it; and would ask but in payment that, should I come to England, she will extend her protection to my daughter until I can find a home and place her there. You see I am playing an open game with you." "I will reply as frankly," Guy said. "When I came in here it was, as I told the man-at-arms my companion, with the thought that one who had noticed us so shrewdly, and had recognized me so quickly in the crowd, was no ordinary mountebank, but a keen, shrewd man who had some motive for thus addressing me, and I see that my view was a right one. As to your proposal I can say naught before I have laid it before my mistress, but for myself I may say at once that it recommends itself to me as excellent. We are, as you say, strangers here, and know of no one from whom we might obtain information as to what is going on. My mistress, if not an actual prisoner, is practically so, being held with her children as hostages for my lord's loyalty to France. She is the kindest of ladies, and should she authorize me to enter into further communication with you, you may be sure that she would execute to the full the undertaking you ask for on behalf of your daughter. Where can I see you again? This is scarce a place I could often resort to without my visits being noticed, if, as is likely enough, the Duke of Burgundy may occasionally set spies to inform him as to what we are doing, and whether my mistress is in communication with any who are regarded as either doubtful or hostile to his faction." "If you will be in front of Notre Dame this evening at nine o'clock, I will meet you there and conduct you to my abode, where you can visit me free of any fear of observation." "What name shall I call you?" Guy asked. "My name is Montepone. I belong to a noble family of Mantua, but mixing myself up with the factions there, I was on the losing side, and unfortunately it happened that in a fray I killed a noble connected with all the ruling families; sentence of death was passed upon me in my absence, my property was confiscated. Nowhere in Italy should I have been safe from the dagger of the assassin, therefore I fled to France, and for ten years have maintained myself by the two arts which so often go together, astrology and buffoonery. I had always been fond of knowledge, and had learned all that could be taught in the grand science of astrology, so that however much I may gull fools here, I have obtained the confidence of many powerful personages by the accuracy of my forecasts. Had Orleans but believed my solemn assurance he would not have ridden through the streets of Paris to his death that night, and in other cases where I have been more trusted I have rendered valuable assistance." The belief in astrology had never gained much hold upon the mass of the English people, many as were the superstitions that prevailed among them. Guy had never even given the matter a thought. Montepone, however, evidently believed in his powers of foreseeing the future, and such powers did not in themselves seem altogether impossible to the lad; he therefore made no direct reply, but saying that he would not fail to be at the appointed place at nine that evening, took his leave. "Truly, Master Guy, I began to be uneasy about you," Robert Picard said when he rejoined him, "and was meditating whether I had best enter the tent, and demand what had become of you. It was only the thought that there might have been others before you, and that you had to wait your turn before seeing him, that restrained me. You have not been taking his nostrums, I trust; for they say that some of those men sell powders by which a man can be changed into a wolf." Guy laughed. "I have taken nothing, Robert, and if I had I should have no fear of such a change happening to me. I have but talked to the man as to how he came to know me, and it is as I thought,--he saw us as we entered. He is a shrewd fellow, and may well be of some use to us." "I like not chaffering with men who have intercourse with the devil," Picard said, shaking his head gravely; "nothing good comes of it. My mother knew a man who bought a powder that was to cure his wife of jealousy; and indeed it did, for it straightway killed her, and he was hung. I think that I can stand up against mortal man as well as another, but my blood ran cold when I saw you enter yon tent, and I fell into a sweat at your long absence." "The man is not of that kind, Robert, so you can reassure yourself. I doubt not that the nostrums he sells are perfectly harmless, and that though they may not cure they will certainly not kill." They made their way back to the house of the provost of the silversmiths. "Well, what do you think of Paris, Guy?" Dame Margaret asked when he entered. "It is a fine city, no doubt, lady, but in truth I would rather be in the country than in this wilderness of narrow streets. But indeed I have had somewhat of an adventure, and one which I think may prove of advantage;" and he then related to his mistress his visit to the booth of the supposed doctor. "Do you think that he is honest, Guy?" she asked when he concluded. "I think so, madam. He spoke honestly enough, and there was a ring of truth in what he said; nor do I see that he could have had any motive for making my acquaintance save what he stated. His story seemed to me to be a natural one; but I shall be able to judge better when I see him in his own house and with this daughter he speaks of; that is, if your ladyship is willing that I should meet him." "I am willing enough," she said, "for even if he is a spy of Burgundy's there is nothing that we wish to conceal. I have come here willingly, and have no thought of making my escape, or of mixing myself up in any of the intrigues of the court. Therefore there is no harm that he can do us, while on the other hand you may learn much from him, and will gather in a short time whether he can be trusted. Then by all means go and meet him this evening. But it would be as well to take Tom with you. It does not seem to me at all likely that any plot can be intended, but at any rate it will be well that you should have one with you whom you can thoroughly trust, in case there is any snare set, and to guard you against any lurking cut-throats." "I will tell him to be in readiness to go with me. It will be his turn to go out with one of the others this evening, and he might not be back in time if I did not warn him." "What arms shall I take with me?" Long Tom said, when Guy told him of their expedition. "Nothing but your sword and quarter-staff. I see that many of the beggars and others that one meets in the streets carry long staffs, and yours is not much longer than the generality. You brought it tied up with your bow, so you would do well to carry it, for in a street broil, where there is room to swing it, you could desire no better weapon, in such strong hands as yours, Tom. Besides, you can knock down and disable with it and no great harm is done, whereas if you used your sword there would be dead men; and although by all I hear these are not uncommon objects in the streets of Paris, there might be trouble if the town watch came up, as we are strangers. I shall carry a stout cudgel myself, as well as my sword." Accordingly at half-past eight they set out. Guy put on a long cloak and a cap such as was worn by the citizens, but strengthened inside by a few bands of steel forming sufficient protection to the head against any ordinary blow. This he had purchased at a stall on his way home. Tom had put on the garments that had been bought for him that afternoon, consisting of a doublet of tanned leather that could be worn under armour or for ordinary use, and was thick enough to afford considerable protection. The streets were already almost deserted; those who were abroad hurried along looking with suspicion at all whom they met, and walking in the middle of the road so as to avoid being taken by surprise by anyone lurking in the doorways or at the corners of alleys. Once or twice men came out and stared at Guy and his companion by the light of the lanterns suspended across the streets, but there was nothing about their appearance to encourage an attack, and the stalwart figure of the archer promised hard blows rather than plunder. Arriving at the square in front of Notre Dame they waited awhile. Here there were still people about, for it was a rendezvous both for roistering young gallants, thieves, and others starting on midnight adventures. After walking backwards and forwards two or three times Guy said, "You had best stand here in the shadow of this buttress while I go and place myself beneath that hanging lamp; seeing that we are together, and he, looking perhaps only for one, may not recognize me." On reaching the lamp, Guy took off his hat, so that the light should fall on his face, waited for a minute, and then replaced it. As soon as he did so a slightly-built lad came up to him. "Were you not at the fair by the river to-day, sir, and are you not expecting some one to meet you here?" "That is so, lad. If you will tell me whom I am expecting I shall know that he has sent you, though, indeed, I looked to meet himself and not a messenger." "Montepone," the lad said. "That is right. Why is he not here himself?" "He received a message before starting that one whose orders he could not neglect would call upon him this evening, and he therefore sent me to the rendezvous. I have been looking anxiously for you, but until now had not seen you." "I have a companion with me; being a stranger here in Paris, I did not care to be wandering through the streets alone. He is a countryman of mine, and can be trusted." "It is indeed dangerous to be out alone. It is seldom that I am in the streets after dark, but the doctor came with me and placed me in a corner of the porch, and then returned by himself, telling me to stir not until I saw you; and that should you not come, or should I not be able to make you out, I was to remain until he came for me even if I waited until morning." "I will fetch my follower," Guy said, "and am ready to accompany you." The lad was evidently unwilling to be left there for a moment alone, and he walked back with Guy to the buttress where the archer was standing. "This is our guide, Tom," Guy said, as the archer stepped out to join him; "the person I expected was unable to come himself. Now, lad, I am ready; you see we are well guarded." The boy nodded, evidently reassured by the bulk of the archer, and was about to step on ahead of them, when Guy said, "You had best walk with us. If you keep in front, it will seem as if you were guiding us, and that would point us out at once as strangers. Is it far to the place you are taking us to?" "A short quarter of an hour's walk, sir." CHAPTER VII -- IN THE STREETS OF PARIS They crossed the bridge to the right bank of the river, and followed the stream down for some distance. Passing through some narrow lanes, they presently emerged into a street of higher pretensions, and stopped at the door of a small house wedged in between two of much larger size. The boy took a key from his girdle, opened the door, and entered. "Stand here a moment, I pray you," he said; "I will fetch a light." In a few seconds he appeared with a lantern. He shut and barred the door, and then led the way upstairs and showed them into a small but well-furnished room, which was lighted by a hanging lamp. He then went to a buffet, brought out a flask of wine and two goblets, and said: "Will it please you to be seated and to help yourselves to the wine; my master may possibly be detained for some little time before he is able to see you." Then he went out and closed the door behind him. "It is evident, Tom," Guy said, as he took off his hat and cloak, and seated himself, "that the doctor has a good idea of making himself comfortable. Sit down, we may have to wait some time." "Do you think that it will be safe to touch the wine, Master Guy? Perchance it may be drugged." "Why should it be?" Guy asked. "We are not such important personages that anyone can desire to make away with us. I am convinced that the doctor was in earnest when he told me that story that I repeated to you this evening. It is possible that he may not be able to give us as much information as he said, but that he means well by us I am certain; and I think we may be sure that his wine is as good as his apartments are comfortable." This turned out to be the case; the wine was excellent, and the archer soon laid aside any doubt he might have entertained. From time to time steps could be heard in the apartment above, and it was evident that it was here that the interview between the doctor and his visitor was taking place. Presently a ring was heard below. "Another visitor," Guy said. Getting up, he slightly drew aside a thick curtain that hung before a casement, a moment later he let it fall again. "There are two men-at-arms standing on the other side of the street and one at the door." He heard the door opened, then the boy's step was heard on the stairs, two or three minutes later there was a movement above and the sound of the footsteps of two men coming down. Presently the outside door closed, two or three minutes elapsed; then the door opened and the Italian entered. "I regret that I have kept you so long," he said courteously, "but my visitor was not to be got rid of hastily. It was a lady, and there is no hurrying ladies. When a man comes in, I have already ascertained what he desires to know; he listens to my answer and takes his departure. A woman, on the contrary, has a thousand things to ask, and for the most part they are questions quite beyond my power to answer." "I have, as you see, Signor Montepone, brought my tall countryman with me; as you noticed me, I doubt not for a moment that you also marked him when we entered the city. Knowing nothing of the ways of Paris, but having heard that the streets were very unsafe after dark, I thought it best to bring him with me; and I am indeed glad that I did so, for we met with several very rough-looking characters on our way to Notre Dame, and had I been alone I might have had trouble." "You did quite right," the Italian said; "I regretted afterwards that I did not myself advise you to bring some one with you, for indeed it is not safe for one man to go abroad alone after dark. And now, will you accompany me upstairs; this tall fellow will doubtless be able to pass the time with that flask of wine until you return." "He should be able to do so," Guy said with a smile, "for indeed it is the best wine I have tasted, so far as my judgment goes, since I crossed the Channel, and indeed the best I have ever tasted." "'Tis good wine. I received a cask of it from the grower, a Burgundian noble, who had, as he believed, gained some advantage from following my advice." The man led the way upstairs. The room he entered there was much larger than that which they had left, extending over the whole floor. It was draped similarly to that in the booth, but was far more handsomely and elaborately got up. The hangings were of heavy cloth sprinkled with stars, the ceiling was blue with gold stars, a planisphere and astrolabe stood in the centre of the room, and a charcoal fire burned in a brazier beside them. A pair of huge bats with outstretched wings hung by wires from the ceiling, their white teeth glistening in the light of four lamps on stands, some six feet high, one in each corner of the room. The floor was covered with a dark Eastern carpet, a large chair with a footstool in front stood at a short distance from the planisphere; at one end was a massive table on which were retorts, glass globes, and a variety of apparatus new to Guy. At the other end of the room there was a frame some eight feet square on which a white sheet was stretched tightly. "Now, Master Guy," the Italian said, "firstly, I beg you to give me the date of your birth and if possible the hour, for I would for my own information if not for yours, cast your horoscope. I like to know for my own satisfaction, as far as may be, the future of those with whom I have to deal. If I perceive that misfortunes and perhaps death threaten them, it is clearly of no use my entering into relations with them. In your case, of course, it is with your mistress that I am chiefly concerned; still as your fortunes are at present so closely mixed up with hers, I may learn something of much utility to me from your horoscope." "I was born on the 8th of December, 1394, and shall be therefore seventeen in a fortnight's time. I was born a few minutes after midnight, for I have heard my mother say that the castle bell had sounded but a few minutes before I was born. She said that she had been anxious about it, because an old woman had predicted that if she ever had a child born on the 7th day of the month, it would be in every way unfortunate; so my mother was greatly pleased that I had escaped the consequences predicted." "And now," the Italian went on, having made a note in his tablets, "what said your lady?" "She bid me say, sir, that she was very sensible of the advantage that it would be to her to receive news or warning from one so well informed as yourself; and that she on her part promises that she will befriend and protect your daughter should you at any time bring her to her castle in England, or should she come alone with such tokens from you as that she might be known; and this promise my lady vows on the sacraments to keep." "Then we are in agreement," the Italian said; "and right glad am I to know that should aught befall me, my daughter will be in such good hands. As far as worldly means are concerned her future is assured, for I have laid out much of the money I have received in jewels of value, which will produce a sum that will be an ample dowry for her. Now I can give you some news. The Duke of Berri with the queen came two days since from Melun to Corbeil, and Louis of Bavaria came on here yesterday to the Duke of Aquitaine with a message to Burgundy and to the butchers, asking that they would allow him to attend the queen to Paris, and that she might reside in his house of Nasle. Burgundy was minded to grant her leave, but at a meeting of the chiefs of the guild of butchers this afternoon they resolved to refuse the request; and this evening they have broken every door and window of the Duke of Berri's house, and committed great damages there, so that it should not be habitable; they resolved that Berri should not enter Paris, but that the queen might come. I hear that it has been determined that the king shall be placed in the Louvre, where the citizens of Paris can keep guard over him and prevent any attempt by the Orleanists to carry him away. "All this will make no difference to your mistress directly; the point of it is that the power of these butchers, with whom go the guild of skinners and others, is so increasing that even the Duke of Burgundy is forced to give in to them. Some of the other guilds and the greater part of the respectable traders are wholly opposed to these men. They themselves may care little whether Orleans or Burgundy sways the court and the king, but this usurpation of the butchers, who have behind them the scum of Paris, is regarded as a danger to the whole city, and the feeling may grow into so hot a rage that there may be serious rioting in the streets. I tell you this that you may be prepared. Assuredly the butchers are not likely to interfere with any save such of the townspeople as they may deem hostile to them, and no harm would intentionally be done to her or to any other hostage of Burgundy. But the provost of the silversmiths is one of those who withstands them to the best of his power, and should matters come to serious rioting his house might be attacked. The leaders of the butchers' guild would be glad to see him killed, and their followers would still more like to have the sacking of his rich magazine of silver goods and the spoiling of his furniture. "I say not that things are likely to come to that yet, but there is no telling how far they may be carried. It is but a dark cloud in the distance at present, but it may in time burst into a storm that will deluge the streets of Paris with blood. I may tell you that, against you as English there is no strong feeling at present among the Burgundians, for I am informed that the duke has taken several bodies of English archers into his pay, and that at Soissons and other towns he has enlisted a score or two of these men. However, I am sure to gain information long before matters come to any serious point, except a sudden outbreak arise from a street broil. I may tell you that one result of the violence of the butchers to-day may be to cause some breach between them and the Burgundian nobles, who are, I am told, greatly incensed at their refusing to give permission to the Duke of Berri to come here after Burgundy had acceded to his request, and that these fellows should venture to damage the hotel of one of the royal dukes seemed to them to be still more intolerable. The Duke of Burgundy may truckle to these fellows, but his nobles will strongly resent their interference and their arrogant insolence, and the duke may find that if he is to retain their support he will have to throw over that of these turbulent citizens. Moreover, their conduct adds daily to the strength of the Orleanists among the citizens, and if a strong Armagnac force approaches Paris they will be hailed by no small portion of the citizens as deliverers." "In truth I can well understand, Signor Montepone, that the nobles should revolt against this association with butchers and skinners; 'tis past all bearing that fellows like these should thus meddle in public affairs." "The populace of Paris has ever been turbulent," the Italian replied. "In this it resembles the cities of Flanders, and the butchers are ever at the bottom of all tumults. Now I will introduce my daughter to you; it is well that you should know her, for in case of need she may serve as a messenger, and it may be that I may some day ask you to present her to your lady." He opened the door. "Katarina!" he said without raising his voice, and at once a girl came running up from the floor below. "This is my daughter, Master Aylmer; you have seen her before." Katarina was a girl of some fourteen years of age. She was dressed in black, and was tall and slight. Her complexion was fairer than that of her father, and she already gave promise of considerable beauty. Guy bowed to her as she made her reverence, while her face lit up with an amused smile. "Your father says I have seen you before, signora, but in sooth I know not where or how, since it was but this morning that I arrived in Paris." "We parted but half an hour since, monsieur." "Parted?" Guy repeated with a puzzled expression on his face. "Surely you are jesting with me." "Do you not recognize my messenger?" the Italian said with a smile. "My daughter is my assistant. In a business like mine one cannot trust a stranger to do one service, and as a boy she could come and go unmarked when she carries a message to persons of quality. She looks a saucy page in the daytime when she goes on the business, but after nightfall she is dressed as you saw her this evening. As a girl she could not traverse the streets unattended, and I am far too busy to bear her company; but as a boy she can go where she likes, and indeed it is only when we are alone, and there is little chance of my having visitors, that she appears in her proper character." "You must be very courageous, signora," Guy said; "but, indeed, I can well imagine that you can pass where you will without anyone suspecting you to be a girl, for the thought that this was so never entered my head." "I am so accustomed to the disguise," she said, "that I feel more comfortable in it than dressed as I now am, and it is much more amusing to be able to go about as I like than to remain all day cooped up here when my father is abroad." "And now, Master Aylmer, that you have made my daughter's acquaintance, and I have told you what news I have gathered, it needs not that I should detain you longer; the hour is getting late already, and your lady may well be getting anxious at your absence. Can you read?" "Yes, signor; the priest at my lady's castle in England, of which my father is castellan during my lord's absences, instructed me." "It is well; for sometimes a note can be slipped into a hand when it would not be safe to deliver a message by word of mouth. From time to time if there be anything new you shall hear from me, but there will be no occasion for you to come hither again unless there is something of importance on which I may desire to have speech with you, or you with me. Remain here, Katarina, until my return; I will see monsieur out, and bar the door after him." [Illustration: GUY AND LONG TOM COME TO THE RESCUE OF COUNT CHARLES.] Passing downstairs Guy looked in at the room where he had left the archer. The latter sprung to his feet as he entered with a somewhat dazed expression on his face, for indeed, he had fallen off into a sound sleep. "We are going now, Tom," Guy said. "I have concluded my business with this gentleman. We will not go back the way we came," he went on, as they issued into the street, "for I am sure we should never find our way through those alleys. Let us keep along here until we come to a broader street leading the way we wish to go; fortunately, with the river to our left, we cannot go very far wrong." They presently came to a street leading in the desired direction. They had scarcely entered it when they heard ahead of them the sound of a fray. A loud cry arose, and there was a clashing of sword-blades. "Come on, Tom!" Guy said; "it may be that some gentleman is attacked by these ruffians of the streets." Starting off at a run, they soon arrived at the scene of combat, the features of which they were able to see by the light of the lamp that hung in the centre of the street. A man was standing in a narrow doorway, which prevented his being attacked except in front, and the step on which he stood gave him a slight advantage over his adversaries. These were nearly a dozen in number, and were evidently, as Guy had supposed, street ruffians of the lowest class. Without hesitation Guy and the archer fell upon them, with a shout of encouragement to the defender of the doorway, who was evidently sorely pressed. Tom's quarter-staff sent two of the men rolling on the ground almost before they realized that they were attacked, while Guy ran another through the body. For a moment the assailants scattered, but then, seeing that they were attacked by only two men, they fell upon them with fury. Guy defended himself stoutly, but he would have fared badly had it not been for the efforts of Long Tom, whose staff descended with such tremendous force upon the heads of his assailants that it broke down their guard, and sent man after man on to the pavement. Guy himself received a sharp wound in the shoulder, but cut down another of his assailants; and the defender of the door, leaving his post of vantage, now joined them, and in a couple of minutes but four of the assailants remained on their feet, and these, with a shout of dismay, turned and took to their heels. Guy had now opportunely arrived. As the latter took off his hat he saw time to look at the gentleman to whose assistance he had so that the stranger was but a year or two older than himself. "By our Lady, sir," the young man said, "you arrived at a lucky moment, for I could not much longer have kept these ruffians at bay. I have to thank you for my life, which, assuredly, they would have taken, especially as I had disposed of two of their comrades before you came up. May I ask to whom I am so indebted? I am Count Charles d'Estournel." "My name is Guy Aylmer, sir; I am the son of Sir James Aylmer, an English knight, and am here as the esquire of Dame Margaret de Villeroy, who arrived but this morning in Paris." "And who is this stalwart fellow whose staff has done more execution than both our sword-blades?" the young count asked; "verily it rose and fell like a flail on a thrashing-floor." "He is one of Dame Margaret's retainers, and the captain of a band of archers in her service, but is at present here as one of her men-at-arms." "In truth I envy her so stout a retainer. Good fellow, I have to thank you much, as well as Monsieur Guy Aylmer, for your assistance." "One is always glad of an opportunity to stretch one's arms a bit when there is but a good excuse for doing so," the archer said; "and one needs no better chance than when one sees a gentleman attacked by such scum as these ruffians," and he motioned to the men lying stretched on the ground. "Ah, you are English!" D'Estournel said with a slight smile at Tom's very broken French. "I know all about you now," he went on, turning to Guy. "I was not present today when your lady had audience with Burgundy, but I heard that an English dame had arrived, and that the duke came but badly out of the encounter in words with her. But we had best be moving on or we may have the watch on us, and we should be called upon to account for these ten fellows lying here. I doubt not but half of them are only stunned and will soon make off, the other six will have to be carried away. We have a good account to give of ourselves, but the watch would probably not trouble themselves to ask any questions, and I have no fancy for spending a night locked up in the cage with perhaps a dozen unsavoury malefactors. Which way does your course lie, sir?" "We are lodged at the house of Maître Leroux, provost of the silversmiths." "Then you are going in the wrong direction. You return up this street, then turn to your right; his house is in the third street to the left. I shall do myself the honour of calling in the morning to thank you more fully for the service you have rendered me, which, should it ever fall into my power, you can count on my returning. My way now lies in the opposite direction." After mutual salutes they parted, and Guy followed the directions given to them. "That was a sharp skirmish, Master Guy," Long Tom said contentedly; "the odds were just enough to make it interesting. Did you escape scatheless?" "Not altogether, Tom, I had a sword-thrust in my shoulder; but I can do with it until I get back, when I will get you to bandage it for me." "That will I; I did not get so much as a scratch. A quarter-staff is a rare weapon in a fight like that, for you can keep well out of the reach of their swords. In faith I have not had so pleasant an exercise since that fight Dickon and I had in the market-place at Winchester last Lammas fair." "I am afraid Dame Margaret will scold us for getting into a fray." "Had it not been for your wound we need have said nothing about it; but you may be sure that you will have to carry your arm in a sling for a day or two, and she will want to know the ins and outs of the matter." "I think the affair has been a fortunate one, for it has obtained for me the friendship of a young Burgundian noble. Friendless as we are here, this is no slight matter, and I by no means grudge the amount of blood I have lost for such a gain. There is a light in Dame Margaret's casement; she said that she should sit up till my return, and would herself let me in, for the household would be asleep two hours ago; and as Maître Leroux and his wife have shown themselves so kindly disposed towards us, she should not like the household disturbed at such an hour. I was to whistle a note or two of _Richard Mon Roi_, and she would know that we were without." He whistled a bar or two of the air, they saw a shadow cross the casement, then the light disappeared, and in a minute they heard the bolts undrawn and the door opened. "You are late, Guy," she said; "I have been expecting you this hour past. Why, what has happened to you?" she broke off as she saw his face. "It is but a trifle, lady," he said; "a sword-thrust in the shoulder, and a little blood. Long Tom will bind it up. Our delay was caused partly by the fact that the Italian was engaged, and it was half-an-hour before I could see him. Moreover, we had been kept at the trysting-place, as the guide did not recognize me owing to Tom being with me; and lastly, we were somewhat delayed by the matter that cost me this sword-thrust, which I in no way grudge, since it has gained for us a friend who may be useful." Tom had by this time barred the door and had gone upstairs. "I am disappointed in you, Guy," Dame Margaret said severely when they entered the room. "I told you to keep yourself free from frays of all kinds, and here you have been engaged in one before we have been twelve hours in Paris." "I crave your pardon, madam, but it is not in human nature to stand by without drawing a sword on behalf of a young gentleman defending himself against a dozen cut-throats. I am sure that in such a case your ladyship would be the first to bid me draw and strike in. The matter did not last three minutes. Tom disposed of six of them with his quarter-staff, the gentleman had killed two before we arrived, and I managed to dispose of two others, the rest took to their heels. The young gentleman was Count Charles d'Estournel; he is, as it seems, in the Duke of Burgundy's train; and as we undoubtedly saved his life, he may turn out a good and useful friend." "You are right, Guy; I spoke perhaps too hastily. And now about the other matter." Guy told her all that had taken place. "And what is this man like?" she asked when he had concluded. "Now that I saw him without the astrologer's robe and in his ordinary costume he seemed to me a very proper gentleman," Guy replied. "He is my height or thereabouts, grave in face and of good presence. I have no doubt that he is to be trusted, and he has evidently resolved to do all in his power to aid you, should it be necessary to do so. He would scarce have introduced his daughter to me had it not been so." "He must be a strange man," Dame Margaret said thoughtfully. "He is certainly no common man, lady. As I have told you, he believes thoroughly in his science, and but adopts the costume in which I first saw him and the role of a quack vendor of nostrums in order that his real profession may not be known to the public, and so bring him in collision with the church." "It seems to me, Guy," Dame Margaret said the next morning, "that as you have already made the acquaintance of a young French noble, and may probably meet with others, 'twill be best that, when we have finished our breakfast, you should lose no time in sallying out and providing yourself with suitable attire. Spare not money, for my purse is very full. Get yourself a suit in which you can accompany me fitly if I again see the duke, or, as is possible, have an interview with the queen. Get two others, the one a quiet one, and not likely to attract notice, for your ordinary wear; the other a more handsome one, to wear when you go into the company of the young men of station like this Burgundian noble whom you succoured last night. Your father being a knight, you may well, as the esquire of my lord, hold your head as high as other young esquires of good family in the train of French nobles." On Agnes and Charlie coming into the room, the latter exclaimed, "Why have you got your arm in a scarf, Guy?" "He was in a fray last night, Charlie. He and Tom came upon a number of ruffians fighting a young gentleman, so they joined in and helped him, and Guy was wounded in the shoulder." "Did they beat the bad men, mother?" "Yes, dear; Guy had taken a sword with him, as it was after dark, and Tom had his quarter-staff." "Then the others can have had no chance," Charlie said decidedly. "I have often seen Long Tom playing with the quarter-staff, and he could beat anyone in the castle. I warrant he laid about him well. I should have liked to have been there to have seen it, mother." "It will be a good many years yet, Charlie, before you will be old enough to go out after dark in such a place as Paris." "But I saw real fighting at the castle, mother, and I am sure I was not afraid even when the cannon made a great noise." "No, you behaved very well, Charlie; but it is one thing to be standing on the top of a keep and another to be in the streets when a fray is going on all round." "Did you kill anyone, Guy?" the boy asked eagerly. "Some of them were wounded," Guy replied, "but I cannot say for certain that anyone was killed." "They ought to be killed, these bad men who attack people in the street. If I were King of France I would have all their heads chopped off." "It is not so easy to catch them, Charlie. When the watch come upon them when they are doing such things there is not much mercy shown to them." As soon as breakfast was over Guy went out, after learning from Maître Leroux the address of a tradesman who generally kept a stock of garments in store, in readiness for those passing through Paris, who might not have time to stop while clothes were specially made for them. He returned in the course of an hour, followed by a boy carrying a wooden case with the clothes that he had bought. He had been fortunate in getting two suits which fitted him perfectly. They had been made for a young knight who had been despatched by the duke to Flanders just after he had been measured for them, and the tailor said that he was glad to sell them, as for aught he knew it might be weeks or even months before the knight returned, and he could make other suits for him at his leisure. Thus he was provided at once with his two best suits; for the other he had been measured, and it was to be sent in a couple of days. On his return he went straight to his room, and attired himself in readiness to receive the visit of Count Charles d'Estournel. The suit consisted of an orange-coloured doublet coming down to the hips, with puce sleeves; the trousers were blue, and fitting closely to the legs; the shoes were of the great length then in fashion, being some eighteen inches from the heel to the pointed toe. The court suit was similar in make, but more handsome--the doublet, which was of crimson, being embroidered with gold; the closely-fitting trousers were striped with light blue and black; the cap with the suit in which he was now dressed was yellow, that with the court suit crimson, and both were high and conical, resembling a sugar-loaf in shape. From his sword-belt he carried a light straight sword, instead of the heavier one that would be carried in actual warfare, and on the right side was a long dagger. Charlie clapped his hands as he entered the sitting-room. "That will do very well, Master Esquire," Dame Margaret said with a smile; "truly you look as well fitted as if they had been made for you, and the colours are well chosen." Guy told her how he had obtained them. "You are very fortunate," she said, "and this afternoon, when I mean to take a walk to see the city, I shall feel that I am well escorted with you by my side." "Shall you take us, mother?" Charlie asked anxiously. "I intend to do so. You are so accustomed to be in the open air that you would soon pine if confined here, though indeed the air outside is but close and heavy compared with that at home. I have been speaking to Master Leroux while you have been away, and he tells me that a post goes once a week to Lille, and that he will send a letter for me to Sir Eustace under cover to a worthy trader of that town, who will forward it thence to Villeroy by a messenger. Therefore I shall write this morning; my lord will be pleased indeed to learn that we are so comfortably bestowed here, and that there is no cause for any uneasiness on his part." CHAPTER VIII -- A RIOT While Dame Margaret was speaking to Guy, one of the servitors came up with word that Count Charles d'Estournel was below desiring to speak with Master Guy Aylmer. "Show the count up. Or no, you had best go down yourself to receive him, Guy. Pray him to come up with you; it will be more fitting." Guy at once went down. "So this is my saviour of last night," the count said gaily as Guy joined him. "I could scarce get a view of your face then, as the lamps give such a poor light, and I should hardly have known you again. Besides, you were wrapped up in your cloak. But you told me that you were an esquire, and I see that you carry a sword. I want to take you out to introduce you to some of my friends. Can you accompany me now?" "I shall do so willingly, Count; but first will you allow me to present you to my lady mistress? She prayed me to bring you up to her apartments." "That shall I right willingly; those who were present yesterday speak of her as a noble lady." They went upstairs together. "My lady, this is Count Charles d'Estournel, who desires me to present him to you." "I am glad to meet you, Sir Count," Dame Margaret said, holding out her hand, which he raised to his lips, "seeing that my esquire, Master Guy Aylmer, was able to render you some slight service last night. This is my daughter Agnes, and my son Charles." "The service was by no means a slight one," the young count said, returning a deep salute that Agnes and Charlie made to him, "unless indeed you consider that my life is a valueless one, for assuredly without his aid and that of your tall retainer, my father would have been childless this morning. I was indeed in sore plight when they arrived; my arm was tiring, and I could not have defended myself very much longer against such odds, and as I had exasperated them by killing two of their comrades, I should have received no mercy at their hands. In my surprise at being so suddenly attacked I even forgot to raise a shout for the watch, though it is hardly likely that they would have heard me had I done so; the lazy knaves are never on the spot when they are wanted. However, we gave the ruffians a lesson that those of them who escaped are not likely to forget readily, for out of the fourteen who attacked me we accounted for ten, of whom your retainer levelled no less than six with that staff of his, and I doubt whether any of the other four came off scatheless. I imagine that those levelled by your retainer got up and made off,--that is, if they recovered their senses before the watch came,--but I am sure that the other four will never steal pouch or cut throat in future. 'Tis a shame that these rascals are suffered to interfere with honest men, and it would be far better if the city authorities would turn their attention to ridding the streets of these pests instead of meddling with things that in no way concern them." "It would no doubt be much wiser," Dame Margaret replied; "but since their betters are ever quarrelling among themselves, we can hardly wonder that the citizens do not attend to their own business." "No doubt you are right," the young count said with a smile; "but it is the highest who set the bad example, and we their vassals cannot but follow them, though I myself would far rather draw my sword against the enemies of France than against my countrymen. But methinks," and here he laughed, "the example of the wars that England has so often waged with Scotland might well cause you to take a lenient view of our misdoings." "I cannot gainsay you there, Sir Count, and truly those quarrels have caused more damage to England than your disputes between Burgundy and Orleans have, so far, inflicted on France; but you see I am a sufferer in the one case and not in the other. Even now I am ignorant why I have been brought here. There is a truce at present between England and France, and assuredly there are more English in the service of nobles of Burgundy than in those of Orleans, and at any rate I have seen no reason why there can at present be any doubt at all of the conduct of my lord, who has but lately defended his castle against the followers of Orleans.'" "So I have heard, madame, and I know that there are some of my friends who think that Duke John has behaved hardly in the matter; but he seldom acts without reason, though it may not be always that one which he assigns for any action." Then, changing the subject, he went on. "I have come to take Master Guy for a walk with me, and to introduce him to some of my friends. My father is absent at present, but on his return he will, I know, hasten to express his gratitude. I trust that you can spare your esquire to go out with me." "Certainly, so that he does but return in time to escort me for a walk through the streets this afternoon." "I will be sure to come back, madam," Guy said. "You have but to say the hour at which you will start; but indeed I think that I shall probably be in to dinner at one." "I cannot see," Guy said, when he had sallied out with the young count, "why they should have called upon Sir Eustace to furnish hostages. As the Duke of Burgundy has English archers in his pay, and France is at truce with England, there seems less reason than at other times to demand sureties of his loyalty, especially as he has shown that he is in no way well disposed to the Armagnacs." "Between ourselves, Guy, I think that the duke in no way expected that hostages would be given, and that he was by no means well pleased when a messenger arrived from the herald to say that he was returning with your lady and her children. What was his intention I know not, but in times like these it is necessary sometimes to reward faithful followers or to secure doubtful ones, and it may be that he would have been glad to have had the opportunity of finding so fair a castle and estate at his disposal. You know the fable of the wolf and the lamb; a poor excuse is deemed sufficient at all times in France when there is a great noble on one side and a simple knight on the other, and I reckon that the duke did not calculate upon the willingness of your Sir Eustace to permit his wife and children to come here, or upon the dame's willingness to do so, and in no way expected matters to turn out as they have done, for there is now no shadow of excuse for him to meddle with Villeroy. Indeed, I question whether the condition about hostages was of his devising; but it may well be that the king or the queen wished it inserted, and he, thinking that there was no chance of that alternative being accepted, yielded to the wish. Mind, all this is not spoken from my own knowledge, but I did hear that Duke John was much put out when he found that the hostages were coming, and there was some laughter among us at the duke being for once outwitted." "Then you do not love him overmuch, Count?" "He is our lord, Guy, and we are bound to fight in his cause, but our vows of fealty do not include the word love. The duke his father was a noble prince, just and honourable, and he was loved as well as honoured. Duke John is a different man altogether. He is brave, as he proved in Hungary, and it may be said that he is wise, but his wisdom is not of the kind that Burgundian nobles love. It might have been wise to remove Orleans from his path, although I doubt it, but it was a dastardly murder all the same; and although we are bound to support him, it alienated not a few. Then he condescends to consort with these sorry knaves the butchers, and others of low estate, to take them into his counsels, and to thrust them upon us, at which, I may tell you, there is grievous discontent. All this is rank treason to the duke, I have no doubt, but it is true nevertheless. Here we are at our first stopping-place. This is as it is kept by a Burgundian master, who has with him two or three of the best swordsmen in France, and here a number of us meet every morning to learn tricks of fence, and to keep ourselves in good exercise, which indeed one sorely needs in this city of Paris, where there is neither hawking nor hunting nor jousting nor any other kind of knightly sport, everyone being too busily in earnest to think of amusement. Several of my best friends are sure to be here, and I want to introduce you to them." When they entered the salon they found some thirty young knights and nobles gathered. Two or three pairs in helmet and body-armour were fighting with blunted swords, others were vaulting on to a saddle placed on a framework roughly representing a high war-horse; one or two were swinging heavy maces, whirling them round their heads and bringing them down occasionally upon great sand-bags six feet high, while others were seated on benches resting themselves after their exercises. D'Estournel's arrival was greeted with a shout, and several of those disengaged at once came over to him. "Laggard!" one exclaimed, "what excuse have you to make for coming so late? I noted not that De Jouvaux's wine had mounted into your head last night, and surely the duke cannot have had need of your valuable services this morning?" "Neither one nor the other befell, D'Estelle. But first let me introduce to you all my friend Guy Aylmer, an English gentleman, the son of a knight of that country, and himself an esquire of Sir Eustace de Villeroy. I am sure you will welcome him when I tell you that he saved my life last night when attacked by a band of cut-throats. Guy, these are my friends Count Pierre d'Estelle, Count Walter de Vesoul, the Sieur John de Perron, and the Knights Louis de Lactre, Sir Reginald Poupart, Sir James Regnier, Sir Thomas d'Autre, and Sir Philip de Noisies." "I can assure you of our friendship," the first-named of these gentlemen said cordially to Guy, "for indeed you have rendered us all a service in thus saving to us our friend D'Estournel. Tell us how the matter occurred, Charles; in sooth, we shall have to take these ruffians of Paris in hand. So long as they cut each other's throats no great harm is done, but if they take to cutting ours it is time to give them a lesson." "The matter was simple enough," D'Estournel said. "As you know, it was late before we broke up at De Jouvaux's last night, for I heard it strike half-past ten by the bell of St. Germain as I sallied out. I was making my way home like a peaceful citizen, when two men came out from a narrow lane and stumbled roughly across me. Deeming that they were drunk, I struck one a buffet on the side of his head and stretched him in the gutter." "That was not like a peaceful citizen, Charles," one of the others broke in. "Well, hardly, perhaps; but I forgot my character at the moment. However, an instant later there was a shout, and a dozen or so armed men poured out from the lane and fell upon me. I saw at once that I had been taken in a trap. Luckily there was a deep doorway close by, so I sprang into it, and, drawing my sword, put myself in a posture of defence before they were upon me. I ran the first through the body, and that seemed to teach the others some caution. Fortunately the doorway was so deep that only two could assail me at once, and I held my ground for some time pretty fairly, only receiving a few scratches. Presently I saw another opening, and, parrying a thrust, I ran my sword through the fellow's throat. He fell with a loud outcry, which was fortunate, for it came to the ears of my friend here, and brought him and a stout retainer--a prodigiously tall fellow, with a staff longer than himself--to my aid. They were but just in time, for the ruffians, furious at the fall of another of their companions, were pressing me hotly, and slashing so furiously with their swords that it was as much as I could do to parry them, and had no time to thrust back in reply. My friend here ran two of them through, his tall companion levelled six to the ground with his staff, while I did what I could to aid them, and at last the four that remained still on their legs ran off. I believe they thought that the man with the staff was the Evil One himself, who had got tired of aiding them in their villainous enterprises." "It was a narrow escape indeed, Charles," Count Walter de Vesoul said gravely, "and it was well for you that there was that doorway hard by, or your brave friend would have found but your body when he came along. It is evident, gentlemen, that when we indulge in drinking parties we must go home in couples. Of course, Charles, you must lay a complaint before the duke, and he must let the Parisians know that if they do not keep their cut-throats within bounds we will take to sallying out at night in parties and will cut down every man we find about the streets." "I will lay my complaint, but I doubt if much good will come of it. The duke will speak to the provost of the butchers, and nothing will be done." "Then we will take them in hand," the other said angrily. "If the Parisians won't keep order in their streets we will keep it for them. Such doings are intolerable, and we will make up parties to scour the streets at night. Men passing peaceably along we shall not of course molest, but any parties of armed men we find about we will cut down without hesitation." "I shall be heartily glad to join one of the parties whenever you are disposed, De Vesoul," D'Estournel said. "Perchance I may light on one or more of the four fellows who got away last night. Now I am ready to have a bout with swords." "We have all had our turn, Charles," the other said. "Then I must work with the mace," the count said. "My friend here, you see, did not come off as scatheless last night as I did, or else I would have asked him to have a bout with me. He held his own so well against two of them who fell on him together that I doubt not I should find him a sturdy adversary." "I fear not, Count," Guy said smiling. "I can use my sword, it is true, in English fashion, but I know little of feints and tricks with the sword such as I am told are taught in your schools." "A little practice here will amend that," D'Estournel said. "These things are well enough in a _salle d'armes_, and are useful when one man is opposed to another in a duel, but in a battle or _mêlée_ I fancy that they are of but little use, though indeed I have never yet had the chance of trying. We will introduce you to the master, and I hope that you will come here regularly; it will give real pleasure to all. This salon is kept up by the duke for our benefit, and as you are one of his most pressingly invited guests you are certainly free of it." They went up in a body to the master. "Maître Baudin," Count Charles said, "I have to introduce to you a gentleman who is our mutual friend, and who last night saved my life in a street brawl. He is at present an esquire of Sir Eustace de Villeroy, and has travelled hither with the knight's dame, who has come at the invitation of the duke. His father is an English knight, and as the friend of us all we trust that you will put him upon the list of your pupils." "I shall be pleased to do so, Count Charles, the more so since he has done you such service." "I am afraid that you will, find me a very backward pupil," Guy said. "I have been well taught in English fashion, but as you know, maître, we were more famed for downright hard hitting than for subtlety and skill in arms." "Downright hard hitting is not to be despised," the master said, "and in a battle it is the chief thing of all; yet science is not to be regarded as useless, since it not only makes sword-play a noble pastime, but in a single combat it enables one who is physically weak to hold his own against a far stronger antagonist." "That I feel greatly, maître. I shall be glad indeed of lessons in the art, and as soon as my shoulder is healed I shall take great pleasure in attending your school regularly, whenever my lady has no need of my presence. I am now in the position of the weak antagonist you speak of, and am therefore the more anxious to acquire the skill that will enable me to take my part in a conflict with full-grown men." "You showed last night that you could do that," Count Charles said with a smile. "Nay, men of that sort do not count," Guy said. "They are but rough swordsmen, and it was only their number that rendered them dangerous. There is little credit in holding one's own against ruffians of that kind." "Well, I will be lazy this morning," the young count said, "and do without my practice. Will you all come round to my rooms, gentlemen, and drink a glass or two of wine and make the better acquaintance of my friend? He is bound to be back at his lodgings by one, and therefore you need not be afraid that I am leading you into a carouse." Guy passed an hour in the count's lodgings and then returned to the provost's. The count accompanied him, saying that he had not yet seen his tall friend of the night before, and must personally thank him. Long Tom was called down, he being one of the two who had remained in for the morning. "I must thank you again for the service that you rendered me last night," the count said frankly, holding out his hand to the archer. "I hope that you will accept this ring in token of my gratitude; I have had it enlarged this morning so that it may fit one of your strong fingers. It may be useful some day to turn into money should you find yourself in a pinch." "I thank you, sir," Tom said. "I will wear it round my neck, for in truth rings are not for the use of men in my condition. As to gratitude, I feel that it is rather the other way, for my arms were beginning to get stiff for want of use. I only wish that the fray had lasted a bit longer, for I had scarce time to warm to it, and I hope that the next time your lordship gets into trouble I may have the good luck to be near at hand again." "I hope you may, my friend; assuredly I could want no better helper." After the count had taken his leave Guy went upstairs and told Lady Margaret how he had spent the morning. "I am very glad to hear what you say about the fencing school, Guy; it will be good for you to have such training. And indeed 'tis well that you should have some employment, for time would hang but wearily on your hands were you to remain long caged up here. I shall be very glad for you to go. It will make no difference to us whether we take our walk in the morning or in the afternoon." After dinner they went out. Guy escorted Dame Margaret, Agnes and Charlie followed, Long Tom and Jules Varoy bringing up the rear, both armed with swords and carrying in addition heavy cudgels. First of all they visited the cathedral, where Dame Margaret and her daughter knelt for some time in prayer before one of the shrines; then crossing the bridge again they followed along the broad pavement between the foot of the walls and the river, which served as a market, where hucksters of all sorts plied their trade; then entering the next gate on the wall they walked down the street to the Place de la Bastille, which had been finished but a few years. "'Tis a gloomy place and a strong one," Dame Margaret said with a shiver as she looked at its frowning towers; "the poor wretches who are once entombed there can have but little hope of escape. Surely there cannot be so many state prisoners as to need for their keeping, a building so large as that. Still, with so turbulent a population as this of Paris, it doubtless needs a strong castle to hold them." "It seems to me, madame, that, though useful doubtless as a prison, the castle was never really built for that purpose, but as a stronghold to overawe Paris." "That may be so, Guy; at any rate I am glad that they did not use it as our place of detention instead of the house of Maître Leroux." "They see well enough, madame, that you are more securely held than bolts and bars could detain you. I imagine that they would like nothing better than for you to get away back to Villeroy, since it would give them an excuse for an attack on the castle." "Doubtless that is so, Guy; I came freely, and I must stay freely until some change takes place that will leave it open to us to fly. But in sooth it seems to me that nothing short of the arrival of an English army could do that. Were the Armagnacs to get the better of the Burgundians our position would be even worse than it is now." "That is true enough, madame, for the Burgundians have no cause of hostility whatever to Sir Eustace and you, while we have given the Armagnacs good reasons for ill-will against us. Still, were they to come here it would be open to you to fly, for all Artois is Burgundian; and though the duke might not be able to hold his position here, Artois and Flanders would long be able to sustain themselves, and you would therefore be safe at Villeroy, for they would have other matters to attend to without meddling with those who only ask to be let alone." On their way back from the Bastille they saw a crowd in the street and heard loud shouts. "We had best turn off by this side street, madame," Guy said; "doubtless it is a body of the scoundrel butchers at their work of slaying some enemy under the pretext of his being an Orleanist. Do you hear their shouts of 'Paris and Burgundy!'?" Turning down a side street they made a circuit round the scene of the tumult, and then coming up into the main street again resumed their way. After walking a considerable distance they came to a large building. "What place is this, Guy?" "It is the Louvre, madame. It should be the abode of the King of France, but he is only sometimes lodged there; but often stays at one of the hotels of the great lords. These palaces are all fortified buildings. Our country castles are strong, but there is no air of gloom about them; these narrow streets and high houses seem to crush one down." "We will go back again, Guy; I do not think that I shall often go out in future." "You can take a boat on the river, madame, and row up or down into the country. They say it is pretty; once fairly away from Paris, there are hills and woods and villages." "That may be pleasant. If they would but let me go and live in one of those quiet spots I should be as contented as it is possible for me to be away from my husband. "Nothing can be kinder than are Maître Leroux and his wife, but one cannot but feel that one is a burden upon them. My hope is that when the king comes to his senses I may be able to obtain an interview with him, and even if I cannot have leave to return to Villeroy I may be allowed to take up my abode outside the walls, or at any rate to obtain a quiet lodging for ourselves." For the next three weeks the time passed quietly. Guy went every morning to the _salle d'armes_, for his wound being on his left shoulder he was able to use his sword arm as soon as it began to heal. "You underrated your skill," the fencing-master said when he had given him his first lesson. "It is true that you do not know the niceties of sword-playing, but indeed you are so quick of eye and wrist that you can afford to do without them. Still, doubtless after a couple of months' practice here you will be so far improved that he will need to be a good swordsman who holds his own with you." Guy paid only one visit during this time to the lodgings of the Italian. "You have not heard from me, Master Aylmer," the latter said, "because indeed there has been nothing of importance to tell you. The Armagnacs are, I hear, collecting a great army, and are likely ere long to march in this direction. The butchers are becoming more and more unpopular and more and more violent; not a day passes but many citizens are killed by them under the pretence that they are Armagnacs, but really because they had expressed themselves as hostile to the doings of these tyrants. I have cast your horoscope, and I find that the conjunction of the planets at your birth was eminently favourable. It seems to me that about this time you will pass through many perilous adventures, but you are destined to escape any dangers that threaten you. You will gain honour and renown, and come to fortune through a marriage. There are other things in your career that are uncertain, since I cannot tell at what date they are likely to occur and whether the planets that were favourable at your birth may again be in the ascendant; but, for as much as I have told you, I have no doubt whatever." "I thank you for the trouble that you have taken, Count Montepone," for Guy had now learned the rank that the Italian held in his own country, "and can only trust that your predictions will be verified. I would rather win fortune by my own hand than by marriage, though it will not come amiss." "Whatever way it may happen, you will be knighted," the astrologist said gravely, "after a great battle, and by the hand of a sovereign; though by whom the battle will be fought and who the sovereign may be I cannot say, but methinks that it will be the English king." "That I can wish more than anything," Guy said warmly. "Fortune is good, but to be knighted by a royal hand would be an honour greater than any other that could befall me." "Bear your destiny in mind," the Italian said earnestly, "remember that in many cases predictions bring about their own fulfilment; and truly I am rejoiced that I have found that the stars point out so prosperous a future for you." Guy was not free from the superstition of the time, and although in his English home he had seldom heard astrology mentioned, he had found since he had been in France that many even of the highest rank had an implicit belief in it, and he was convinced that at any rate the count himself believed in the power of the stars. He was gratified, therefore, to be told that his future would be prosperous; and, indeed, the predictions were not so improbable as to excite doubt in themselves. He was already an esquire, and unless he fell in combat or otherwise, it was probable that he would attain the honour of knighthood before many years had passed. The fact, however, that it was to be bestowed by royal hand added greatly to the value of the honour. Knighthood was common in those days; it was bestowed almost as a matter of course upon young men of good birth, especially if they took up the profession of arms. Every noble had some, while not a few had many knights in their service, discharging what would now be the duties of officers when their levies were called out, and they could themselves bestow the rank upon any man possessing a certain amount of land; but to be knighted by a distinguished leader, or by a sovereign, was a distinction greatly prized, and placed its recipient in quite another category to the knights by service. It was a testimony alike of valour and of birth, and was a proof that its bearer was a warrior of distinction. The prophecy that he would better his fortune by marriage weighed little with him; marriage was a matter that appeared to him at present to be a very remote contingency; at the same time it was pleasant to him to be told that his wife would be an heiress, because this would place him above the need of earning his living by his sword, and would enable him to follow his sovereign, not as one of the train of a powerful noble, but as a free knight. CHAPTER IX -- A STOUT DEFENCE The Duke of Burgundy had left Paris upon the day after he had received Dame Margaret, and as the king had a lucid interval, the Duke of Aquitaine, his son, was also absent with the army. In Paris there existed a general sense of uneasiness and alarm. The butchers, feeling that their doings had excited a strong reaction against them, and that several of the other guilds, notably that of the carpenters, were combining against them, determined to strike terror into their opponents by attacking some of their leaders. Several of these were openly murdered in the streets, and the houses of others were burnt and sacked. One evening when Guy had returned at nine o'clock from a supper at Count Charles's lodgings, it being the first time he had been out after dark since his first adventure, he had but just gone up to his room, when he heard a loud knocking at the door below. Going to the front window he looked out of the casement. "Who is it that knocks?" he asked. "It is I--the lad of Notre Dame." He recognized the voice and ran down and opened the door. "What is it, signora?" "My father bids me tell you, sir, that he but learned the instant before he despatched me that the butchers are going to attack this house this evening, under the pretext that there are English spies here, but really to slay the provost of the silversmiths, and to gratify their followers by the sack of his house. I fear that I am too late, for they were to march from the _abattoirs_ at nine, and it is already nearly half-past. Look! I see torches coming up the street." "It is too late, indeed, to fly, even if we wished to," Guy said. "Dame Margaret and the children retired to bed an hour ago. Will you take this ring," and he took off from his finger one that D'Estournel had given him, "and carry it at once to the lodgings of Count Charles d'Estournel? They are in the house on this side of the Hotel of St. Pol. He is still up, and has some of his friends with him. Tell him from me that this house is being attacked, and beg him to gather a party, if he can, and come to our assistance. Say that we shall defend it until the last." The girl took the ring and ran off at the top of her speed. The roar of the distant crowd could now be distinctly heard. Guy put up the strong bars of the door and then rushed upstairs. First he knocked at the door of Maître Leroux. "The butchers are coming to attack your house!" he shouted. "Call up your servants; bid them take to their arms." Then he ran up to the room where his men slept. Long Tom, who had met him at D'Estournel's door and accompanied him home, sprang to his feet from his pallet as Guy entered. "The butchers are about to attack the house, Tom; up all of you and arm yourselves; bring down your bow and arrows. Where do the men-servants sleep?" "There are five of them in the next room, and the two who serve in the shop are in the chamber beyond," the archer replied, as he hastily buckled on his armour. Guy rushed to the door and awoke the inmates of the rooms, telling them to arm and hasten down to defend the house, which was about to be attacked. A moment later Maître Leroux himself appeared and repeated the order. "Art sure of what you say, Master Guy?" he asked. "Look from the window and you will see them approaching," Guy replied, and going to the casement window which was at the front of the house he threw it open. Some four hundred yards away a dense throng was coming along; a score of torches lighted up the scene. "Resistance is vain," the silversmith said. "It is my life they seek; I will go down to them." "Resistance will not be in vain," Guy said firmly. "I have already sent for aid, and we shall have a body of Burgundian men-at-arms here to our assistance before long. Your life will not satisfy them; it is the plunder of your shop and house that they long for, and you may be sure that they will put all to the sword if they once break in. Now let us run down and see what we can do to strengthen our defences." "The shutters and doors are all strong," the provost said as they hurried downstairs, followed by the four men-at-arms and the servants--for in those days men removed but few of their garments as they lay down on their rough pallets. "In the first place," Guy said, "we must pile everything that we can find below against these doors, so that when they yield we can still make a defence here, before we retire. Are there other stairs than these?" "No." "So much the better. As soon as we have blocked the door we will barricade the first landing and defend ourselves there. Jean Bart, do you take the command below for the present. Seize everything that you can lay hands on, logs from the wood-store, sacks of charcoal, cases, everything heavy that you can find, and pile them up against the door. Tom, do you come with us; an arrow or two will check their ardour, and it is not likely they have brought bows or cross-bows with them. Try to parley with them as long as you can, Maître Leroux, every minute is of value." "What is all this, Guy?" Dame Margaret asked as she entered the apartment. Having been aroused by the noise she had hastily attired herself, and had just come into the front room. "The butchers are about to attack the house, lady; we are going to defend it. I have sent to D'Estournel, and we may hope for aid before long." At this moment there was a loud knocking at the door and a hoarse roar of voices from the street. The silversmith went to the casement and opened it, and he and Guy looked out. A shout of fury arose from the street, with cries of "Death to the English spies!" "Death to the Armagnac provost!" Leroux in vain endeavoured to make his voice heard, and so tell the crowd that his guests were not spies, but had been lodged at his house by the Duke of Burgundy himself. A tall man on horseback, one of several who were evidently leaders of the mob, pressed his way through the crowd to the door and evidently gave some orders, and a din of heavy sledge-hammers and axes beating against it at once mingled with the shouts of the crowd. The horseman crossed again to the other side of the street and shook his fist threateningly at Leroux. "That is Jacques Legoix," the silversmith said, as he retired from the window; "one of the great leaders of the butchers; his family, and the St. Yons and Taiberts rule the market." "Tom," Guy said to the archer, who was standing behind him. "Begin by picking off that fellow on horseback opposite." Tom had already bent his bow and had an arrow in readiness, a moment later the shaft flew and struck the butcher between the eyes, and he fell dead from his horse. A yell of consternation and rage rose from the crowd. "Now you can distribute a few arrows among those fellows at the door," Guy said. The archer leant far out of the low casement. "It is awkward shooting, Master Guy," he said quietly, "but I daresay I can make a shift to manage it." Disregarding the furious yells of the crowd, he sent arrow after arrow among the men using the sledges and axes. Many of them had steel caps with projecting rims which sheltered the neck, but as they raised their weapons with both hands over their heads they exposed their chests to the marksman above, and not an arrow that was shot failed to bring down a man. When six had fallen no fresh volunteers came forward to take their places, although another horseman made his way up to them and endeavoured by persuasions and threats to induce them to continue the work. This man was clad in armour, and wore a steel cap in the place of the knightly helmet. "Who is that fellow?" Guy asked the merchant. "He is the son of Caboche, the head of the flayers, one of the most pestilent villains in the city." "Keep your eye on him, Tom, and when you see a chance send an arrow home." "That armour of his is but common stuff, Master Guy; as soon as I get a chance I will send a shaft through it." The man with a gesture of anger turned and gave instructions to a number of men, who pushed their way through the crowd, first picking up some of the fallen hammers and axes. The fate of his associate had evidently taught the horseman prudence, for as he moved away he kept his head bent down so as not to expose his face to the aim of the terrible marksman at the window. He halted a short distance away and was evidently haranguing the crowd round him, and in his vehemence raised his arm. The moment he did so Tom's bow twanged. The arrow struck him at the unprotected part under the arm-pit, and he fell headlong from his horse. Maddened with rage the crowd no longer hesitated, and again attacked the door. Just as they did so there was a roar of exultation down the street as twelve men brought up a solid gate that they had beaten in and wrenched from its hinges from a house beyond. [Illustration: "TOM'S BOW TWANGED, AND THE ARROW STRUCK THE HORSEMAN UNDER THE ARM-PIT."] "You can shoot as you like now, Tom. I will go down and see how the men are getting on below; the mob will have the door in sooner or later." Guy found that the men below had not wasted their time. A great pile of logs, sacks, and other materials was piled against the door, and a short distance behind stood a number of barrels of wine and heavy cases ready to be placed in position. "Get them upstairs, Jean," Guy said; "they will make a better barricade than the furniture, which we may as well save if possible." The nine men set to work, and in a very short time a strong barricade was formed across the top of the wide staircase. "Have you all the cases out of the shop?" "Yes, we have not left one there, Master Guy. If they are all full of silver there must be enough for a royal banqueting-table." Some, indeed, of the massive chests were so heavy that it required the efforts of six men to carry them upstairs. "How do matters go, Guy?" Dame Margaret asked quietly as he re-entered the apartment. "Very well," he replied. "I don't think the door will hold out much longer; but there is a strong barricade behind it which it will take them some time to force, and another on the landing here that we ought to be able to hold for an hour at least, and before that yields we will have another ready on the landing above." "I will see to that," she said. "I will take Agnes and Charlie up with me, and then, with the women, I will move out the clothes' and linen chests and build them up there." "Thank you, madame; I trust long before the barricade here is carried we shall have D'Estournel and his friends to our assistance. Indeed, I doubt whether they will be able to carry it at all; it is as solid and almost as strong as a stone wall, and as there are thirteen or fourteen of us to defend it, it seems to me that nothing short of battering the cases to pieces will enable them to force a way." "I wish I could do something," Agnes broke in; "it is hard not to be able to help while you are all fighting for us. I wish I had brought my bow with me, you know I can shoot fairly." "I think that it is just as well that you have not," Guy said with a smile. "I do not doubt your courage for a moment, but if you were placing yourself in danger we should all be anxious about you, and I would much rather know that you were safe with your mother upstairs." Guy now went to the window. Maître Leroux had been directing his servants in the formation of the barricades. "I can do nothing to protect the door," the archer said; "they have propped up that gate so as to cover the men who are hammering at it. I have been distributing my arrows among the crowd, and in faith there will be a good many vacancies among the butchers and flayers in the market tomorrow morning. I am just going up to fill my quiver again and bring down a spare armful of arrows." "Leave those on the landing here, Tom, and bring your full quiver down below. The door will not hold many minutes longer: I could see that it was yielding when I was down there just now. I don't think that we shall be able to make a long defence below, for with their hooked halberts they will be able to pull out the logs, do what we will." One of the servants now ran in. "They have broken the door down, sir. It is only kept in place by the things behind it." Guy ran out, climbed the barricade--which on the landing was four feet high, but as it was built on the edge of the top stair it was nine inches higher on that face--let himself drop on to the stairs, and ran down into the passage. "I think, Maître Leroux," he said, "that you and your men had better go up at once and station yourselves at the barricade. There is no room here for more than five of us to use our arms, and when we retire we shall have to do so quickly. Will you please fasten a chair on the top step in such a way that we can use it to climb over the barricade without delay? We are like to be hard pressed, and it is no easy matter to get over a five-foot wall speedily with a crowd of armed men pressing hotly on your heels." The provost told two of his men to pick out a square block of firewood, as nearly as possible the thickness of the height of one of the steps. After trying several they found one that would do, and on placing it on the stair next to the top it formed with the step above it a level platform. On this the chair was placed, a strong rope being attached to it so that it could be pulled up over the barricade when the last of the defenders had entered. By the time this was finished the battle below began in earnest. The infuriated assailants had pulled the doors outwards and were making desperate efforts to climb the pile of logs. This they soon found to be impossible, and began with their halberts to pull them down, and it was not long before they had dislodged sufficient to make a slope up which they could climb. Their work had not been carried on with impunity, for the archer had stationed himself on the top and sent his arrows thick and fast among them. "In faith, master," he said to Guy, who stood close behind, "methinks that I am doing almost as much harm as good, for I am aiding them mightily in making their slope, which will presently contain as many dead men as logs." As soon as they deemed the slope climbable the furious assailants charged up. They were met by Guy and the four men-at-arms. Tom had now slung his bow behind him and had betaken himself to his heavy axe, which crashed through the iron caps of the assailants as though they had been eggshells. But in such numbers did they press on that Guy saw that this barricade could not be much longer held. "Get ready to retire when I give the word!" he shouted to his companions. "Tom, you and Jules Varoy and Robert Picard run first upstairs. When you have climbed the barricade, do you, Tom, take your place on the top. Jean Bart and I will come up last, and you can cover us with your arrows. Tell Maître Leroux to remove the light into the room, so that they will not be able to see what there is to encounter, while these torches here and those held by the crowd will enable you to see well enough to take aim. Now!" he shouted, "fall back!" Tom and the two men-at-arms sprang up the stairs, Guy and Jean Bart followed more slowly, and halted a few steps from the top. "All up, master!" Tom shouted, and Jean and Guy were able to cross the barricade before the foremost of their pursuers reached them. There had indeed been confusion below, for several of those who had first climbed the barricade had, instead of pressing hotly in pursuit, run along the hall and through the door into the shop, in their eagerness to be the first to seize upon the plunder. They expected the others to follow their example, but one of their leaders placed himself in their way and threatened to cut them down if they did not first assault the stairs. "Fools!" he shouted, "do you think that the old fox has wasted the time we have given him? You may be sure that the richest prizes have been carried above." There was an angry altercation, which was continued until those who had first run into the shop returned with the news that it had been completely stripped of its contents. There was now no longer any hesitation in obeying their leader, and the men poured up the stairs in a mass. Suddenly some torches appeared above, and those in front saw with consternation the obstacle that stood between them and their prey. They had little time for consideration, however, for the arrows from the archer now smote them, and that with a force and rapidity that bewildered them. Five or six of those in front fell shot through the brain. "Heads down!" a voice shouted. There was no retreat for those in front, for the mass behind pressed them forward, and, instinctively obeying the order, they ran up. But neither helm nor breast-plate availed to keep out the terrible English arrows, which clove their way through the iron as if it had been pasteboard. Stumbling over the bodies of those who had fallen, the front rank of the assailants at last reached the barricade, but here their progress was arrested. A line of men stood behind the smooth wall of massive cases, and those who strove to climb it were smitten with axe or sword, while they themselves could not reach the defenders above them. They could but thrust blindly with pike or halbert, for if a face was raised to direct the aim one of the deadly arrows struck it instantly. In vain they strove by the aid of the halberts to haul down a case from its position, the weight was too great for one man's strength to move, and before several could grasp the handle of the halbert to aid them, the shaft was cut in two by the blow of an axe. Hopeless as the attempt seemed, it was persevered in, for the crowd below, ignorant of the nature of the obstacle, maddened with fury and with the wine which had been freely served out before starting, still pressed forward, each fearing that the silversmith's treasures would be appropriated before he could obtain his share. For half an hour the fight continued, then there was a roar in the street, and Dame Margaret, who, after seeing the barricade above completed, had come down to her room and was gazing along the street, ran out on to the landing. "Help is at hand!" she cried, "the knights are coming!" Then came the loud tramp of horses, mingled with shouts of "Burgundy!" The crowd at the entrance at once turned and ran out, and as the alarm reached those within, they too rushed down, until the stairs were untenanted save by the dead. Bidding the others hold their places lest the assailants should return, Guy ran in and joined Lady Margaret at the window. A fierce conflict was going on in the street, with shouts of "Burgundy!" "A rescue!" "A rescue!" The knights, who were followed by some fifty men-at-arms, rode into the mob, hewing them down with their swords. The humiliations that they had received from the arrogance and insolence of the butchers had long rankled in their minds, and they now took a heavy vengeance. The windows of all the houses opposite, from which men and women had been peering timidly out, were now crowded; women waving their handkerchiefs to the knights, and men loudly shouting greetings and encouragements. The whole of the traders of Paris were bitterly opposed to the domination of the market guilds, and while they cared but little for the quarrel between the rival dukes, the alliance between Burgundy and the butchers naturally drove them to sympathize with the opposite party. The proof afforded by the charge of the knights upon the mob delighted them, as showing that, allied with them though they might be, the Burgundians were determined no longer to allow the rioting and excesses of the men of the market guilds to continue. In two or three minutes all was over. The resistance, though fierce, was short, and the mob was driven down the side streets and chased until the trading quarter was cleared of them. As the knights returned Guy went down to the door, to which Maître Leroux had already descended to thank his rescuers for their timely aid. "I thank you, my lords and knights," the silversmith said, "for the timely succour you have rendered me. I would pray you to enter and to allow me to thank you in more worthy fashion, but indeed the stairs and passage are encumbered with dead." "Dame Margaret of Villeroy prays me to say that she also desires greatly to thank you," Guy said. "I feared that we should have been too late," Count Charles replied. "We lost no time when your messenger came, Guy, but it took some time to rouse the men-at-arms and to saddle our horses. You must have made a stout defence indeed, judging by the pile of dead that encumber your passage." "There are many more inside," Guy said, "and methinks that we could have held out for another hour yet if it had been needed. Indeed, the only thing that I feared was that they might set fire to the lower part of the house." "I should like to see your defences, Maître Leroux," Count Walter de Vesoul said, "What say you, my friends, shall we mount and see the scene of this battle? Methinks we might well gain something by it, for 'tis no slight thing that an unfortified house should for over an hour defend itself against a mob full a couple of thousand strong. I doubt not, too, that Master Leroux will serve us with a flagon of wine; and, moreover, we should surely pay our respects to this English lady,--who while a hostage of the duke has been thus sorely ill-treated by the scum of Paris,--if she will please receive us at this hour of the evening." The other knights, of whom there were ten in number, at once dismounted. The silversmith's servants brought torches, and after ordering two of them to broach a cask of wine and to regale the men-at-arms, the provost led the way upstairs. "Wait a moment, good provost," the Count de Vesoul said, "let us understand the thing from the beginning. I see that the knaves lying here and many of those in the road are pierced by arrows, which, as I note, have in some cases gone through iron cap or breast-piece; how comes that?" "That is the work of one of my lady's retainers. He is an English archer, and one of the most skilful. He comes from her English estate, and when she chose him as one of the four men-at-arms to accompany her, he begged leave to bring his bow and arrows, and has in truth, as you see, made good use of them." "That is the same tall fellow who, as I told you, Walter, did me such good service in that fray," said D'Estournel. "By Saint Anne, Guy, I would that I had a dozen such men among my varlets. Why, there are a round dozen lying outside the door." "There would have been more," Guy said, "had they not brought up that great gate and used it as a screen while they battered in the door here." "Then you built the barricade behind it?" Count Walter said as he climbed over the heap of logs. "Yes, Count, it was built against the door, but when that gave way they pulled it down with halberts until they could climb over it. But, as you see, no small portion of slope on the outside is composed of their bodies. The archer's arrows did good execution as they worked at it, and when they made the assault we--that is to say, Dame Margaret's four retainers and I--held it for some time, then we retired up the stairs and defended that barricade we had built across the top." The knights picked their way among the bodies that encumbered the stairs. "By Saint Denis, Charles, this is a strong work indeed!" the count said to D'Estournel, as they reached the top; "no wonder the knaves found it too much for them. What are all these massive cases?" "They contain the goods from my shop," Maître Leroux said. "Master Aylmer had them carried here while the archer was defending the door, and by so doing not only made, as you see, a stout breast-work, but saved them from being plundered." "They were well fitted for it," Guy said, "for they are very weighty; and though the fellows tried hard they could not move them with their hooks, and as fast as they strove to do so the provost's men and ours struck off the heads of the halberts with axes; and the work was all the more difficult as our archer had always a shaft fitted to let fly whenever they lifted their heads." "But how did you manage to get over safely when they won the barricade below?" D'Estournel asked; "it was not an easy feat to climb this wall with a crowd of foemen behind." Guy explained how they had arranged a chair to form a step. "There was, however," he went on, "no great need for haste. The archer and two others went first, and he took his stand on the top of the chests in readiness to cover the retreat of the fourth man-at-arms and myself. But happily many of the knaves wanted to sack the shop more than to follow us, and there was such confusion below, that we had time to climb over and pull up the chair before they had mustered to the attack." While they were talking Long Tom and the others had removed one of the chests and made a passage by which they could pass through, and Maître Leroux led them into his private apartments, which were similar to, although larger than, Dame Margaret's. A number of candles had already been lighted, and in a minute Mistress Leroux entered, followed by two of her maids carrying trays with great beakers of wine and a number of silver goblets, and she and the provost then poured out the wine and offered it with further expressions of thanks to the knights. "Say naught about it, madame," Count Walter said; "it was high time that a check was put on these rough fellows who lord it over Paris and deem themselves its masters. I doubt not that they will raise some outcry and lay their complaint before the duke; but you, I trust, and other worthy citizens, will be beforehand with them, and send off a messenger to him laying complaints against these fellows for attacking, plundering, and burning at their will the houses of those of better repute than themselves. We have come to your help not as officers of the duke, but as knights and gentlemen who feel it a foul wrong that such things should be done. Moreover, as Dame Margaret of Villeroy, a hostage of the duke, was lodged here at his request, it was a matter that nearly touched his honour that her life should be placed in danger by these scurvy knaves, and we shall so represent the matter to the duke." Just as the knights had drunk their wine, Guy, who had left them on the landing, entered, escorting Dame Margaret and her two children. Count Charles d'Estournel, after saluting her, presented his companions to her, and she thanked each very heartily for the succour they had brought so opportunely. "In truth, lady," the Count de Vesoul said, "methinks from what we saw that you might even have managed without us, so stoutly were you defended by your esquire and your retainers, aided as they were by those of the provost, though in the end it may be that these must have succumbed to numbers; for I can well imagine that your assailants, after the loss that they have suffered, would have spared no effort to avenge themselves, and might indeed, as a last resource, have fired the house. This they would no doubt have done long before had it not been that by so doing they would have lost all the plunder that they counted on. This stout defence will no doubt teach these fellows some moderation, for they will see that citizens' houses are not to be plundered without hard fighting and much loss. As for ourselves, we shall see the Duke of Burgundy's lieutenant to-morrow morning and lay the matter before him, praying him to issue a proclamation saying that in order to suppress the shameful disorders that have taken place, he gives notice that all who attack the houses of peaceful citizens will henceforth be treated as evildoers and punished accordingly." After some further conversation the knights prepared to leave. "I shall do myself the honour, sirs," Maître Leroux said, "of sending to your lodgings to-morrow the cups that you have used, as a small testimony of my gratitude to you, and as a memorial of the events of this evening." While they were upstairs the men-at-arms and servants had been employed in clearing the stairs, throwing the bodies that had encumbered it out into the street. The men-at-arms of the knights had, after drinking the wine that had been sent out to them, aided in clearing the passage; buckets of water had been thrown down on the stairs, and the servitors by a vigorous use of brooms had removed most of the traces of the fray. The work had just been finished, and Dame Margaret's men had, by Guy's orders, stationed themselves on the landing to do honour to the knights as they set out. "Ah, my tall friend," D'Estournel said to the archer, "so you have been at work again, and I can see that you are even more doughty with the bow than with that long staff of yours. Well, this time there must have been enough fighting to please even you." "It has been an indifferent good fight, my lord," Tom said; "but in truth, save for the stand on that pile of logs below, when things were for a time brisk, it has been altogether too one-sided to please me." "Most people would think that the one-sidedness was all the other way," D'Estournel laughed. "Well, men, you have all done your duty to your lady right well this night, and there is not one of us here who would not gladly have such brave fellows in his service. I see that you are all four wounded." "They are scarce to be called wounds, Sir Count, seeing that they are but flesh cuts from their halberts which we got in the fray below. These slaughterers can doubtless strike a good blow with a pole-axe, but they are but clumsy varlets with other weapons. But to give them their due, they fought stoutly if with but little skill or discretion." Several of the others also said a few words of commendation to the men. The provost and Guy escorted the knights to the door below. The latter had ordered twenty of their men-at-arms to remain in the house until morning, after which ten were to stay there until the doors had been repaired and refixed. As soon as the knights had ridden off the silversmith ordered several bundles of rushes to be strewn in the shop for the guard, and a meal of cold meat to be set for their supper. Two of them were posted as sentinels at the door. "I shall not open the shop to-morrow," he said as he ascended the stairs with Guy, "nor indeed shall I do so until things have settled down. There will be for some time a mighty animosity on the part of these butchers and skinners against me, and it is only reasonable that after such an attack I should close my shop. Those who have dealings with me will know that they can do their business with me in private. And now methinks we will retire to bed; 'tis past midnight, and there is no fear of our being disturbed again. If they send anyone to spy out whether we are on the watch, the sight of the Burgundian soldiers below will suffice to tell them that there is nothing to be done. The first thing tomorrow I will set the carpenters to work to make me an even stronger pair of doors than those that have been spoilt." CHAPTER X -- AFTER THE FRAY On going into Dame Margaret's apartments Guy found that she had again retired to rest, and at once threw himself on his bed without disrobing himself further than taking off his armour, for he felt that it was possible the assailants might return after finding that the Burgundian knights and men-at-arms had ridden away. He had told the men-at-arms to keep watch by turns at the top of the stairs, where the barricade still remained, and to run in to wake him should they hear any disturbance whatever at the door below. He slept but lightly, and several times went out to see that the watch was being well kept, and to look up and down the street to assure himself that all was quiet. "You did nobly last night, Guy," Dame Margaret said as she met him in the morning; "Sir Eustace himself could have done no better had he been here. When I next write to my lord I shall tell him how well you have protected us, and pray him to send word of it to your father." "I did my best, lady; but it is to Long Tom that it is chiefly due that our defence was made good. It was his shooting that caused the long delay in breaking open the door, and that enabled us to hold the barricade below, and he also stoutly aided in the defence of the landing." "Nevertheless, Guy, it was under your direction that all things were done. It is to the leader who directs that the first praise is due rather than to the strongest and bravest of his men-at-arms. It was, too, owing to your interference on behalf of Count Charles d'Estournel that we owe it that succour came to us; it was his friendship for you that prompted him to gather his friends to come to our aid; and it was the warning, short though it was, sent us by that strange Italian that enabled you to send to the count for aid. I must see his daughter and thank her personally for the part she played in the matter. No, Guy, had it not been for you this house would now have been an empty shell, and all of us would have been lying under its ruins. I have been thinking during the night that you must be most careful when you go abroad; you know that the son of that monster Caboche, the leader of the skinners, and doubtless many leaders of the butchers, among them Legoix, were killed, and their friends are certain to endeavour to take vengeance on you. They saw you at the window, they will know that you are my esquire, and will doubtless put down their defeat entirely to you. You cannot be too careful, and, above all, you must not venture out at night save on grave occasion. Agnes," she broke off as the girl entered the room, "you too must thank our brave esquire for having so stoutly defended us." "I do thank you most heartily, Guy," the girl said, "though I felt it very hard that I could do nothing to help you. It was terrible sitting here and hearing the fight so close to us, and the dreadful shouts and screams of those people, and to have nothing to do but to wait. Not that I was frightened, I felt quite confident that you would beat them, but it was so hard to sit quiet. I should not have minded so much if I could have been standing there to see the brave deeds that were being done." "Like the queen of a tournament, Agnes," her mother said with a smile. "Yes, indeed, it is one of the hardships of us women. It is only when a castle is besieged and her lord is away that a woman may buckle on armour and set an example to her retainers by showing herself on the wall and risking the enemies' bolts, or even, if necessary, taking her place with her retainers on the breach; at other times she must be passive and wait while men fight." "If I had only had my bow," Agnes said regretfully, "I could really have done something. You would have let me go out then, mother, would you not?" "I don't know, dear; no, I don't think I should. It was anxious work enough for me as it was. If you had gone out I must have done so, and then Charlie would have wanted to go too. No; it was much better that we all sat together as we did, waiting quietly for what might come, and praying for those who were fighting for us." "I was glad that Madame Leroux stayed upstairs with her maid instead of coming down here as you asked her, mother; she looked so scared and white that I do think it would have been worse than listening to the fighting to have had to sit and look at her." Dame Margaret smiled. "Yes, Agnes, but I think that she was more frightened for her husband than for herself, and I don't suppose that she had ever been in danger before. Indeed, I must say that to look out at that crowd of horrible creatures below, brandishing their weapons, shouting and yelling, was enough to terrify any quiet and peaceable woman. As a knight's wife and daughter it was our duty to be calm and composed and to set an example, but a citizen's wife would not feel the same obligation, and might show her alarm without feeling that she disgraced herself or her husband." On going out Guy found their host already engaged in a conference with a master carpenter as to the construction of the new doors. They were to be very strong and heavy, made of the best oak, and protected by thick sheets of iron; the hinges were to be of great strength to bear the weight. A smith had also arrived to receive instructions for making and setting very strong iron bars before the shop, the front of which would require to be altered to allow of massive shutters being erected on the inside. Iron gates were also to be fixed before the door. "That will make something like a fortress of it, Master Aylmer," the silversmith said, "and it will then need heavy battering-rams to break into it. Several others of my craft similarly protect their shops; and certainly no one can blame me, after the attack of last night, for taking every means to defend myself. I intend to enlist a party of ten fighting men to act as a garrison until these troubles are all over." "I think that you will act wisely in doing so," Guy said. "Your servants all bore themselves bravely last night, but they had no defensive armour and were unaccustomed to the use of weapons. Only I would advise you to be very careful as to the men that you engage, or you may find your guard within as dangerous as the mob without." "I will take every pains as to that, you may be sure, and will engage none save after a careful inquiry into their characters." The streets had already been cleared of the slain. All through the night little parties had searched for and carried off their dead, and when at early morning the authorities sent a party down to clear the street there remained but some twenty-five bodies, evidently by their attire belonging to the lowest class, and presumably without friends. That day petitions and complaints were sent to the king by the provosts of the merchants, the gold and silver smiths, the cloth merchants, the carpenters and others, complaining of the tumults caused by the butchers and their allies, and especially of the attack without cause or reason upon the house of Maître Leroux, the worshipful provost of the silversmiths. Several skirmishes occurred in the evening between the two parties, but an order was issued in the name of the king to the Maire and syndics of Paris rebuking them for allowing such disturbances and tumults, and ordering them to keep a portion of the burgher guard always under arms, and to repress such disturbances, and severely punish those taking part in them. Maître Leroux and his wife paid a formal visit to Dame Margaret early in the day to thank her for the assistance that her retainers had given in defending the house. "You were good enough to say, madame," the silversmith said, "that you regretted the trouble that your stay here gave us. We assured you then, and truly, that the trouble was as nothing, and that we felt your presence as an honour; now you see it has turned out more. Little did we think when you came here but a few days since that your coming would be the means of preserving our lives and property, yet so it has been, for assuredly if it had not been for your esquire and brave retainers we should have been murdered last night. As it is we have not only saved our lives but our property, and save for the renewal of the doors we shall not have been the losers even in the value of a crown piece. Thus, from being our guests you have become our benefactors; and one good result of what has passed is, that henceforth you will feel that, however long your stay here, and however much we may try to do for you, it will be but a trifle towards the discharge of the heavy obligation under which we feel to you." After a meeting of the city council that afternoon, a guard of ten men was sent to the silversmith's to relieve the Burgundian men-at-arms. Five of these were to be on duty night and day until the house was made secure by the new doors and iron grill erected in front of the shop. Guy proposed to Dame Margaret that he should give up his visit to the _salle d'armes_, but this she would not hear of. "I myself and the children will go no more abroad until matters become more settled, but it is on all accounts well that you should go to the school of arms. Already the friends that you have made have been the means of saving our lives, and it is well to keep them. We know not what is before us, but assuredly we need friends. Maître Leroux was telling me this morning that the Armagnacs are fast approaching, and that in a few days they will be within a short distance of Paris. Their approach will assuredly embitter the hostility between the factions here, and should they threaten the town there may be fierce fighting within the walls as well as without. At present, at any rate, there are likely to be no more disturbances such as that of last night, and therefore no occasion for you to remain indoors. Even these butchers, arrogant as they are, will not venture to excite the indignation that would be caused by another attack on this house. That, however, will make it all the more likely that they will seek revenge in other ways, and that the house will be watched at night and any that go out followed and murdered. "You and Tom the archer are no doubt safe enough from the attack of ordinary street ruffians, but no two men, however strong and valiant, can hope to defend themselves successfully against a score of cut-throats. But I pray you on your way to the school go round and thank, in my name, this Italian and his daughter, and say that I desire much to thank the young lady personally for the immense service she has rendered me and my children. Take the archer with you, for even in the daytime there are street brawls in which a single man who had rendered himself obnoxious could readily be despatched." "In faith, Master Guy," Long Tom said as they sallied out, "it seems to me that if our stay in Paris is a prolonged one I shall return home rich enough to buy me an estate, for never did money so flow into my pocket. We have been here but a short time, and I have gained as much and more than I should do in a year of hard service. First there was that young French count, the very next morning when he called here he gave me a purse with thirty crowns, telling me pleasantly that it was at the rate of five crowns for each skull I cracked on his behalf. Then this morning Maître Leroux came to me and said, 'Good fellow, it is greatly to your skill and valour that I owe my life, and that of my wife; this will help you to set up housekeeping; when you return home,' and he gave me a purse with a hundred crowns in it; what think you of that, master? The other three also got purses of fifty crowns each. If that is the rate of pay in Paris for a couple of hours' fighting, I do not care how often I take a share in a fray." "You are doing well indeed, Tom, but you must remember that sooner or later you might go into a fray and lose your life, and with it the chance of buying that estate you speak of." "We must all take our chances, master, and there is no winning a battle without the risk of the breaking of casques. Are we going to the house we went to the first night we came here, Master Guy? Methinks that this is the street we stopped at." "Yes, Tom. It was the man who lives here who sent me word that the butchers were going to attack the provost's house, by the same messenger who met us before Notre Dame, and who last night, after warning me, carried my message to Count Charles, praying him to come to our aid." "Then he did us yeoman service," the archer said warmly, "though I think not that they would have carried the barricade had they fought till morning." "Perhaps not, though I would not say so for certain, for they might have devised some plan such as they did for covering themselves while they assaulted the door. But even had they not done so they would have been sure before they retired to have fired the house." "That is what I thought of when they were attacking us," the archer said, "and wondered why they should waste men so freely when a torch would have done their business just as well for them." "That would have been so, Tom, had they only wished to kill us; but though, no doubt, the leaders desired chiefly the life of the provost, the mob simply fought for plunder. If they had found all the jeweller's store in his shop, they would have fired the house very quickly when they discovered that they could not get at us. But it was the plunder that they wanted, and it was the sight of those chests full of silver-ware that made them venture their lives so freely, in order to have the handling of it. I do not think that I shall be long here, Tom. Do not wait for me at the door, but stroll up and down, keeping a short distance away, so that I can see you when I come out." A decrepit old woman opened the door, and on Guy giving his name she said that she had orders to admit him if he called. The girl came out dressed in her female attire as he went upstairs. "Ah, signor," she said, "I am glad indeed to see that you are safe." "Thanks to you," he said warmly; "we are all your debtors indeed." "I had but to run a mile or two," she said; "but what was there in that? But indeed I had an anxious time, I so feared that I should be too late. When I had seen the Count d'Estournel and delivered your message to him and had shown him your ring, and he and his friends had declared that they would call up their men and come at once to your aid, I could not go back and wait until this morning to learn if they arrived in time, so I ran to your street again and hid in a doorway and looked out. Just as I got there they broke in the door and I saw some of them rush in. But there was a pause, though they were all pressing to enter. They went in very slowly, and I knew that you must be defending the entrance. At last there was a sudden rush, and I almost cried out. I thought that it was all over. A great many entered and then there was a pause again. The crowd outside became more and more furious; it was dreadful to hear their shouts and to see the waving of torches and weapons. "They seemed to be almost mad to get in. The crush round the door was terrible, and it was only when two or three horsemen rode in among them shouting, that the press ceased a little. One horseman obtained silence for a moment by holding up his hand. He told them that their friends inside were attacking a barricade, and would soon carry it, and then there would be silver enough for all; but that by pressing forward they did but hamper the efforts of their comrades. It seemed, oh, such a long, long time before I saw the Burgundians coming along, and I could not help throwing my cap up and shouting when they charged into the crowd. I waited until it was all over, and then I ran back home and had a rare scolding for being out so late; but I did not mind that much, after knowing that you were all safe." At this moment a voice from the landing above said: "Are you going to keep Master Aylmer there all day with your chattering, Katarina?" The girl made a little face and nodded to Guy to go upstairs. "Katarina is becoming a madcap," the astrologer said, as he led Guy into the room. "I cannot blame her altogether; I have made a boy of her, and I ought not to be shocked at her acting like one. But she gave me a rare fright last night when she did not return until close on midnight. Still, it was natural for her to wish to see how her mission had turned out." "Her quickness saved all our lives," Guy said. "Had it not been for her carrying my message to the Count d'Estournel we should have been burnt alive before morning." "It was unfortunate that I sent you the message so late, Master Aylmer. I was busy when a medical student who sometimes gathers news for me in the butchers' quarter came here, and left a missive for me. Had he sent up a message to me that it was urgent, I would have begged the personage I had with me to wait a moment while I read the letter. As it was, it lay downstairs till my visitor departed. When I learned the news I sent off Katarina at once. She had but a short time before come in, and was fortunately still in her boy's dress, so there was no time lost. I went out myself at ten o'clock to see what was going on, and must have been close to her without either of us knowing it. I looked on for a short time; but seeing that nothing could be done, and feeling sure that the house must be taken,--knowing nothing of the chance of the Burgundians coming to the rescue,--I returned here and was surprised to find that Katarina had not returned. "I did not think that she could have reached the shop and warned you before the mob arrived, and therefore I became greatly alarmed as the time went by without her appearing. Indeed, my only hope was that she must have been looking on at the fight and would return when it was all over, as indeed it turned out; and I should have rated her much more soundly than I did had she not told me how she had fetched the Burgundians and that they had arrived in time. I hear that there is a great stir this morning. The number of men they have lost, and specially the deaths of Legoix and of the young Caboche, have infuriated the butchers and skinners. They have already sent off two of their number to lay their complaint before the Duke of Burgundy of the conduct of some of his knights in attacking them when they were assailing the house of a noted Armagnac. But they feel that they themselves for the moment must remain quiet, as the royal order has emboldened the Maire, supported by the traders' guilds, and notably by the carpenters, who are a very strong body, to call out a portion of the city guard, and to issue an order that all making disturbances, whomsoever they may be and under whatsoever pretext they are acting, will be summarily hung if captured when so engaged. "In spite of this there will no doubt be troubles; but they will not venture again to attack the house of the silversmith, at any rate until an order comes from the Duke of Burgundy to forbid his knights from interfering in any way with their doings." "Which I trust he will not send," Guy said; "and I doubt if the knights will obey it if it comes. They are already much enraged at the insolence of the butchers, and the royal proclamation this morning will justify them in aiding to put down disturbances whatsoever may be the duke's orders. And now, Sir Count, I have come hither this morning on behalf of my lady mistress to thank you for sending the news, and still more for the service your daughter rendered in summoning the knights to her assistance. She desires much to return thanks herself to your daughter, and will either call here to see her or would gladly receive her at her lodging should you prefer that." "I should prefer it, Master Aylmer. Your lady can scarce pass through the streets unnoticed, for her English appearance marks her at once; and as all know she lodges at the silversmith's, she will be more particularly noticed after the events of last night, and her coming here will attract more attention to me than I care for. Therefore I will myself bring Katarina round and will do myself the honour of calling upon your lady. I can wrap the girl up in a cloak so that she shall not attract any observation, for no one knows, save the old woman below, that I have a daughter here; and with so many calling at the house, and among them some reckless young court gallants, I care not that it should be known, if for no other reason than, were it so, it would be soon suspected that the lad who goes so often in and out is the girl in disguise, and I could then no longer trust her in the streets alone." "You will find my lady in at whatever hour you come, signor, for she has resolved not to go abroad again until order is restored in Paris." "The decision is a wise one," the Italian said; "though indeed I think not that she would be in any danger, save that which every good-looking woman runs in troubled times like these, when crime is unpunished, and those in authority are far too occupied with their own affairs to trouble their heads about a woman being carried off. But it is different with you and your comrade. The butchers know well enough that it was your work that caused their failure last night. Your appearance at the window was noticed, and it was that tall archer of yours who played such havoc among them. Therefore I advise you to be ever on your guard, and to purchase a mail shirt and wear it under your doublet; for, however watchful you may be, an assassin may steal up behind you and stab you in the back. You may be sure that Caboche and the friends of Legoix will spare no pains to take vengeance upon you." Guy presently rejoined the archer in the street. "Henceforth, Tom," he said, "you must always put on breast-and-back piece when you go out. I have been warned that our lives will almost surely be attempted, and that I had best put on a mail shirt under my doublet." "Perhaps it would be best, Master Guy. I fear not three men if they stand up face to face with me, but to be stabbed in the back is a thing that neither strength nor skill can save one from. But as I care not to be always going about in armour I will expend some of my crowns in buying a shirt of mail also. 'Tis better by far than armour, for a man coming up behind could stab one over the line of the back-piece or under the arm, while if you have mail under your coat they will strike at you fair between the shoulders, and it is only by striking high up on the neck that they have any chance with you. A good coat of mail is money well laid out, and will last a lifetime; and even if it cost me all the silversmith's crowns I will have a right good one." Guy nodded. He was wondering in his own mind how he should be able to procure one. His father had given him a purse on starting, but the money might be needed for emergencies. He certainly could not ask his mistress for such a sum, for she too might have need of the money that she had brought with her. He was still turning it over in his mind when they reached the fencing-school. He was greeted with acclamations as he entered by the young count and his friends. "Here is our defender of houses," the former exclaimed. "Truly, Guy, you have given a lesson to the butchers that they sorely needed. They say that the king himself, who is in one of his good moods to-day, has interested himself mightily in the fray last night, and that he has expressed a wish to hear of it from the esquire who he has been told commanded the defence. So it is not unlikely that there will be a royal message for you to attend at the palace. Fortunately we had the first say in the matter this morning. My father returned last night, and as he is rather a favourite of his majesty, we got him to go to the king and obtain audience as soon as he arose, to complain of the conduct of the butchers in attacking the house of the provost of the silversmiths, and where, moreover, Dame Villeroy, who had arrived here in obedience to his majesty's own commands, was lodged. The king when he heard it was mightily offended. He said he had not been told of her coming, and that this insult to her touched his honour. He sent at once for the Maire and syndics, and upbraided them bitterly for allowing such tumults to take place, and commanded them to put a stop to them under pain of his severe displeasure. "That accounts, you see, for the Maire's proclamation this morning. The king desired my father to thank me and the other knights and gentlemen for having put down the riot, and said that he would at once send off a message to the Duke of Burgundy commanding him to pay no attention to any reports the butchers might send to him, but to give them a stern answer that the king was greatly displeased with their conduct, and that if any fresh complaint about them was made he would straightway have all their leaders hung. "It is one thing to threaten, and another to do, Guy; but at any rate, so long as the duke is away they will see that they had best keep quiet; for when the king is in his right senses and is not swayed by others, he is not to be trifled with. "You can imagine what an excitement there was last night when that boy you sent arrived. The ring was sent up first, and when I gave orders that he should be admitted he came in well-nigh breathless. There were six or eight of us, and all were on the point of leaving. Thinking that it might be something private, they had taken up their hats and cloaks. The boy, as he came in, said, 'Which of you is Count Charles d'Estournel?' 'I am,' I said. 'You are the bearer of a message from Guy Aylmer?' 'I am, my lord. He prays you hasten to his assistance, for the butchers and skinners are attacking Maître Leroux's house, and had begun to hammer on the door when I was still in the street. If they make their way in, they will surely kill all they find in there. They are shouting, 'Death to the Armagnacs! Death to the English spies!' "I called upon my comrades to join me, and all were eager to do so. We had long been smarting under the conduct of these ruffians, and moreover I was glad to discharge a part of my debt to you. So each ran to his lodgings and despatched servitors to summon their men-at-arms, and to order the horses to be saddled, and to gather in front of my lodging with all speed. Two or three of my friends who had left earlier were also summoned; but though we used all the speed we could it was more than an hour before all were assembled. The men-at-arms were scattered, and had to be roused; then there was the work of getting the stables open, and we had to force the doors in some places to do it. I was on thorns, as you may well imagine, and had little hope when we started that we should find any of you alive. Delighted indeed we were when, on getting near enough, we could see the crowd were stationary, and guessed at once that you were still holding out--though how you could have kept so large a number at bay was beyond us. We struck heartily and heavily, you may be sure, and chased the wolves back to their dens with a will. I hear that, what with those you slew in the house and street and those we cut down, it is reckoned that a couple of hundred were killed; though as to this none can speak with certainty, seeing that so many bodies were carried away before morning." "I trust that none of you received wounds, Count Charles?" "None of us; though several of the men-at-arms had gashes from the rascals' weapons, but naught, I think, that will matter." At this moment one of the attendants of the salon came in. "An usher from the palace is here, my lords and gentlemen. He has been to the lodging of Master Guy Aylmer, and has learned that he will most likely be here. If so, he has the king's command to conduct him to the palace, as His Majesty desires to have speech with him." "I told you so, Guy; my father's story has excited the king's curiosity, and he would fain hear all about it. Make the most of it, for His Majesty loves to be entertained and amused." "Had I better ask the usher to allow me to go back to my lodging to put on a gayer suit than this?" Guy asked. "Certainly not; the king loves not to be kept waiting. Fortunately no time has been wasted so far, as this is on the road from the silversmith's to the palace." The Louvre at that time bore no resemblance to the present building. It was a fortress surrounded by a strong embattled wall, having a lofty tower at each corner and others flanking its gates. On the water-face the towers rose from the edge of the river, so that there was no passage along the quays. The building itself was in the castellated form, though with larger windows than were common in such edifices. Eight turret-shaped buildings rose far above it, each surmounted with very high steeple-like roofs, while in the centre rose another large and almost perpendicular roof, terminating in a square open gallery. The building was further protected by four embattled towers on each side, so that if the outer wall were carried it could still defend itself. In the court-yard between the outer wall and the palace were rows of low barracks, where troops were lodged. Two regiments of the best soldiers of Burgundy were quartered here, as the duke feared that some sudden rising of the Armagnac party might put them in possession of the king's person, in which case the Orleanists would easily persuade him to issue proclamations as hostile to Burgundy as those which were now published in his name against the Orleanists. The Louvre, indeed, differed but slightly from palaces of several of the great nobles within the walls of Paris, as all of these were to some extent fortified, and stood as separate fortresses capable of offering a stout resistance to any attack by the populace. "I would rather face those villains of last night for another hour than go before the king," Guy said, as he prepared to follow the attendant; "but I trust that good may come of my interview, and that I can interest the king in the case of my mistress." Joining the usher, who was waiting at the entrance, and who saluted him courteously--for the manner in which the message had been communicated to the usher showed him that the young squire was in no disgrace with the king--Guy walked with him to the Louvre, which was a short half-mile distant. Accompanied as he was by a royal officer, the guard at the gate offered no interruption to his passage, and proceeding across the court-yard he entered the great doorway to the palace, and, preceded by the usher, ascended the grand staircase and followed him along a corridor to the apartments occupied by the king. CHAPTER XI -- DANGER THREATENED On being ushered into the royal apartment Guy was led up to the king, who was seated in a large arm-chair. He was stroking the head of a greyhound, and two or three other dogs lay at his feet. Except two attendants, who stood a short distance behind his chair, no one else was present. The king was pale and fragile-looking; there was an expression of weariness on his face, for in the intervals between his mad fits he had but little rest. He was naturally a kind-hearted man, and the troubles that reigned in France, the constant contention among the great lords, and even among the members of his own family, were a constant source of distress to him. Between the Duke of Burgundy, the queen, his nephew of Orleans, and the other royal dukes he had no peace, and the sense of his inability to remedy matters, and of his position of tutelage in the hands of whoever chanced for the moment to be in the ascendant, in no slight degree contributed to the terrible attacks to which he was subject. At the present moment the Duke of Burgundy was away, and therefore, feeling now comparatively free, he looked up with interest when the usher announced Guy Aylmer. "You are young, indeed, sir," he said, as Guy made a deep bow, "to be the hero of the story that I heard this morning. I hear that you have been slaying many of the good citizens of Paris!" "Some have certainly been slain, sire; but I think not that any of them could be considered as good citizens, being engaged, as they were, in attacking the house of the worshipful provost of the silversmiths, Maître Leroux." "I know him," the king said, "and have bought many rare articles of his handiwork, and more than once when I have needed it have had monies from him on usance. 'Tis a grave scandal that so good a citizen should thus be attacked in my city, but I will see that such doings shall not take place again. And now I would hear from your own lips how you and a few men defended the house so long, and, as I hear, with very heavy loss to those attacking it. I am told that you are English." "Yes, sire, I have the honour to be an esquire to Sir Eustace de Villeroy, and am here in attendance upon his dame, who, with her two children, have been brought as hostages to Paris under your royal order." A look of pain passed across the king's face. "Your lord is our vassal for his castle at Villeroy?" "He is, sire, and is also a vassal of England for the estates of his wife." "Since England and France are not at present on ill terms," the king said, "he may well discharge both duties without treason to either Henry or myself; but they told me that his vassalage to me has sat but lightly upon him." "His father and grandfather, sire, were vassals of England, as Villeroy was then within the English bounds, but he is, I am assured, ready faithfully to render any service that your majesty might demand of him, and is willing to submit himself, in all respects, to your will. But since he wishes not to take any part in the troubles between the princes, it seems that both regard him with hostility. Two months since his castle was attacked by some eight thousand men from Ham, led by Sir Clugnet de Brabant. These he repulsed with heavy loss, and deemed that in so doing he was acting in accordance with your majesty's proclamation, and was rendering faithful service to you in holding the castle against your enemies, and he had hoped for your majesty's approbation. He was then deeply grieved when your royal herald summoned him, in your name, either to receive a garrison or to send his wife and children hither as hostages." "I will see into the matter," the king said earnestly. "And so your mistress was bestowed at the house of Maître Leroux?" "She was, sire, and is most hospitably entertained by him." "Now let us hear of this defence. Tell me all that took place; withhold nothing." Guy related the details of the defence. [Illustration: "THE KING EXTENDED HIS HAND TO GUY, WHO WENT ON ONE KNEE TO KISS IT."] "Truly it was well done, young sir, and I owe you thanks for having given so shrewd a lesson to these brawlers, Maître Leroux has good reasons for being thankful to the duke for lodging your lady in his house, for he would doubtless have lost his life had you and your four men not been there. When the Duke of Burgundy returns I will take council with him touching this matter of your mistress. I know that he gave me good reasons at the time for the bringing of her hither, but in the press of matters I do not recall what they were. At any rate, as she is here as my hostage her safety must be ensured, and for the present I will give orders that a guard be placed at the house." He extended his hand to Guy, who went on one knee to kiss it and then retired. He took the news back to Dame Margaret. "I knew well enough that the poor king had nothing to do with the matter," she said. "Were it otherwise I would myself have asked for an audience with him; but I knew that it would be useless, he would but have replied to me as he has to you, that he must consult the duke." In the afternoon the Italian called with his daughter upon Dame Margaret. The former was now dressed in accordance with his rank as an Italian noble, and the girl, on laying aside her cloak, was also in the costume of a young lady of position. Guy presented the count to his mistress. "I am greatly indebted to you, Count Montepone," she said, "for the timely warning that you sent us, and still more for the service rendered to us by your daughter in summoning the Burgundian knights to our aid. Truly," she added with a smile, "it is difficult to believe that it was this young lady who was so busy on our behalf. I thank you, maiden, most heartily. And, believe me, should the time ever come when you require a friend; which I hope may never be the case, you will find one in me on whom you can confidently rely. "This is my daughter Agnes. She is, methinks, but a year or so younger than yourself, though she is as tall or taller, and she will gladly be your friend also." Katarina replied quietly and composedly, and Guy, as he watched her and Agnes talking together, was surprised at the way in which she adapted herself to circumstances. As a boy she assumed the character so perfectly that no one would suspect her of being aught else. She was a French gamin, with all the shrewdness, impudence, and self-confidence of the class. As he saw her at her father's in female attire something of the boy's nature seemed still to influence her. There was still a touch of sauciness in her manner, and something of defiance, as if she resented his knowledge of her in her other character. Now she had the quiet composure of a young lady of rank. As Dame Margaret had said, she was but little older than Agnes; but though less tall than the English girl, she looked a woman beside her. Guy stood talking with them while Dame Margaret and the count conversed apart. Gradually as they chatted Katarina's manner, which had at first been somewhat stiff, thawed, and Guy left her and Agnes together and went to look through the window. He could vaguely understand that Katarina at first, knowing that Dame Margaret and Agnes must be aware of her going about as a boy, was standing a little on her dignity. The simple straightforwardness of Agnes and her admiration of the other's boldness and cleverness had disarmed Katarina, and it was not long before they were chatting and laughing in girlish fashion. There was a difference in their laughter, the result of the dissimilar lives they had led. One had ever been a happy, careless child, allowed to roam about in the castle or beyond it almost unattended, and had only to hold herself as became the position of a maiden of rank on special occasions, as when guests were staying in the castle; the other had been for years her father's assistant, engaged in work requiring shrewdness and quickness and not unattended at times with danger. She had been brought into contact with persons of all ranks and conditions, and at times almost forgot her own identity, and was in thought as well as manner the quick-witted messenger of her father. After the latter had chatted for some time with Dame Margaret he beckoned her to him. "Dame Margaret has promised me to be your protector should aught befall me, child," he said, "and I charge you now in her hearing should anything happen to me to go at once to her castle at Villeroy, and should she not be there to her castle at Summerley, which lies but twelve miles from the English port of Southampton, and there to place yourself under her guardianship, and to submit yourself to her will and guidance wholly and entirely. It would be well indeed for you to have a quiet English home after our troubled life. To Italy you cannot go, our estates are long since confiscated; and did you return there you would find powerful enemies and but lukewarm friends. Besides, there would be but one mode of life open to you, namely, to enter a convent, which would, methinks, be of all others the least suited to your inclinations." "I can promise you a hearty welcome," Dame Margaret said kindly. "I trust that you may never apply for it; but should, as your father says, aught happen to him, come to me fearlessly, and be assured that you will be treated as one of my own family. We shall ever be mindful of the fact that you saved our lives last night, and that nothing that we can do for you will cancel that obligation." "I trust that I may never be called upon to ask your hospitality, Lady Margaret," the girl said quietly, "but I thank you with all my heart for proffering it, and I feel assured that I should find a happy home in England." "'Tis strange how it has all come about," her father said. "'Tis scarce a month since I saw Dame Margaret enter Paris with her children, and the thought occurred to me that it would be well indeed for you were you in the charge of such a lady. Then, as if in answer to my thoughts, I saw her young esquire in the crowd listening to me, and was moved at once to say words that would induce him to call upon me afterwards, when I saw that I might possibly in these troublous times be of use to his mistress. And thus in but a short time what was at first but a passing thought has been realized. It is true that there are among my clients those whose protection I could obtain for you; but France is at present as much torn by factions as is our native Italy, and none can say but, however highly placed and powerful a man may be to-day, he might be in disgrace to-morrow." Carefully wrapping his daughter up in her cloak again, the Italian took his leave, refusing the offer of Dame Margaret for two of her men-at-arms to accompany them. "There is no fear of trouble of any sort to-day," he said. "The loss that was suffered last night was so severe that the people will be quiet for a few days, especially as the king, as well as the city authorities, are evidently determined to put a stop to rioting. Moreover, the fact that the Burgundian nobles have, now that the duke is away, taken a strong part against the butchers' faction has for the moment completely cowed them. But, apart from this, it is my special desire to return to my house unnoticed. It is seldom that I am seen going in and out, for I leave home as a rule before my neighbours are about, and do not return till after nightfall. I make no secret of my being a vendor of drugs at the fairs, and there are few can suspect that I have visitors after dark." "I like your astrologer, Guy," Dame Margaret said when they had left. "Before I saw him I own that I had no great faith in his countship. Any man away from his native country can assume a title without anyone questioning his right to use it, so long as he is content to live in obscurity, and to abstain from attracting the attention of those who would be likely to make inquiries. But I have no doubt that our friend is, as he represents himself, the Count of Montepone, and I believe him to be sincere in the matter of his dealings with us. He tells me that he has received more than one hint that the reports that he deals with the stars and exercises divinations have come to the ears of the church, and it is likely ere long he may be forced to leave Paris, and indeed that he would have done so before now had it not been that some of those who have had dealings with him have exercised their influence to prevent things being pushed further. "No doubt it is true that, as he asserts, he in no way dabbles in what is called 'black art,' but confines himself to reading the stars; and he owned to me that the success he has obtained in this way is to some extent based upon the information that he obtains from persons of all classes. He is evidently a man whose nature it is to conspire, not so much for the sake of any prospect of gain or advantage, but for the pleasure of conspiring. He has dealings with men of both factions. Among the butchers he is believed to be an agent of the duke, who has assumed the character of a vendor of nostrums simply as a disguise, while among the Armagnacs he is regarded as an agent of Orleans. It is doubtless a dangerous game to play, but it both helps him in his profession of astrologer and gives him influence and power. I asked him why he thus mingled in public affairs. He smiled and said: 'We are always conspiring in Italy; we all belong to factions. I have been brought up in an atmosphere of conspiracy, and it is so natural to me that I could scarce live without it. I am rich: men who trade upon the credulity of fools have plenty of clients. My business of a quack doctor brings me in an income that many a poor nobleman would envy. I travel when I like; I visit alternately all the great towns of France, though Paris has always been my head-quarters. "'As an astrologer I have a wide reputation. The name of the Count Smarondi--for it is under that title that I practise--is known throughout France, though few know me personally or where I am to be found. Those who desire to consult me can only obtain access to me through some of those whose fortunes I have rightly foretold, and who have absolute faith in me, and even these must first obtain my consent before introducing anyone to me. All this mystery adds both to my reputation and to my fees. Could anyone knock at my door and ask me to calculate his horoscope he would prize it but little; when it is so difficult to obtain an introduction to me, and it is regarded as a matter of favour to be allowed to consult me, people are ready to pay extravagant sums for my advice. And,' he said with a smile, 'the fact that ten days or a fortnight always elapses between the time I am asked to receive a new client and his or her first interview with me, enables me to make such minute inquiries that I can not only gain their complete confidence by my knowledge of certain events in their past, but it will aid me in my divination of their future. "'I believe in the stars, madame, wholly and implicitly, but the knowledge to be gained from them is general and not particular; but with that general knowledge, and with what I know of men's personal character and habits, of their connections, of their political schemes and personal ambitions, I am able in the majority of cases so to supplement the knowledge I gain from the stars, as to trace their future with an accuracy that seems to them astonishing indeed. For example, madame, had I read in the stars that a dire misfortune impended over you last night, and had I learned that there was a talk among the butchers that the provost of the silversmiths was a strong opponent of theirs, and that steps would shortly be taken to show the Parisians the danger of opposing them, it would have needed no great foresight on my part to tell you that you were threatened with a great danger, and that the danger would probably take the form of an attack by the rabble on the house you occupied. I should naturally put it less plainly. I should tell you to beware of this date, should warn you that I saw threatening faces and raised weapons, and that the sounds of angry shouts demanding blood were in my ears. "'Any astrologer, madame, who works by proper methods can, from the conjunction of the stars at anyone's birth, calculate whether their aspect will be favourable or unfavourable at any given time, and may foretell danger or death; but it needs a knowledge of human nature, a knowledge of character and habits, and a knowledge of the questioner's surroundings to be able to go much farther than this. That I have had marvellous successes and that my counsels are eagerly sought depends, then, upon the fact that I leave nothing to chance, but that while enveloping myself in a certain amount of mystery I have a police of my own consisting of men of all stations, many, indeed most of whom, do not know me even by sight. They have no idea of the object of my inquiries, and indeed believe that their paymaster is the head of the secret police, or the agent of some powerful minister.' "You see, Guy, the count spoke with perfect frankness to me. His object naturally was to gain my confidence by showing himself as he is, and to explain why he wished to secure a home for his daughter. He took up his strange profession in the first place as a means of obtaining his living, and perhaps to secure himself from the search of private enemies who would have had him assassinated could he have been found; but he follows it now from his love for an atmosphere of intrigue, and for the power it gives him, because, as he told me, he has already amassed a considerable fortune, and could well retire and live in luxury did he choose. He said frankly that if he did not so interest himself his existence would be simply intolerable to him. "'I may take my daughter to England,' he said; 'I may stay there until I see her established in life, but when I had done so I should have to return here. Paris is always the centre of intrigues; I would rather live on a crust here than be a prince elsewhere.' "He certainly succeeded in convincing me wholly of his sincerity, as far as we are concerned. Devoted to intrigue himself, he would fain that his daughter should live her life in peace and tranquillity, and that the money for which he has no use himself should be enjoyed by her. 'I have lost my rank,' he said, 'forfeited it, if you will; but she is the Countess Katarina of Montepone, and I should like to know that she and my descendants after her should live the life that my ancestors lived. It is a weakness, a folly, I know; but we have all our weak points and our follies. At any rate I see that that fancy could not well be carried out in France or in Italy, but it may be in England.' At any rate, after all he has told me I feel that he has it in his power to be a very useful friend and ally to us here; I am convinced that he is truly desirous of being so." "And how did you like the girl, Agnes?" she said, raising her voice. Agnes had fetched Charlie in, and they were looking together down into the street while their mother was talking to Guy. "I hardly know, mother; she seemed to be so much older than I am. Sometimes when she talked and laughed, I thought I liked her very much, and then a minute later it seemed to me that I did not understand her one bit. But I do think that she would be very nice when one came to know her thoroughly." "She has lived so different a life to yourself, Agnes, that it is no wonder that you should feel at first that you have nothing in common with her. That she is very clever I have no doubt, and that she is brave and fearless we know. Can you tell us anything more, Guy?" "Not very much more, Lady Margaret. I should say that she was very true and loyal. I think that at present she enters into what she has to do in something of the same spirit as her father, and that she thoroughly likes it. I think that she is naturally full of fun and has high spirits, and that she enjoys performing these missions with which she is entrusted as a child enjoys a game, and that the fact that there is a certain amount of danger connected with them is in itself attractive to her. I am glad that you have told me what he said to you about himself, for I could not understand him before. I think I can now, and understanding him one can understand his daughter." At eight o'clock all retired to bed. They had had little sleep the night before, and the day had been full of events. Guy's last thought was that he was sorry for the king, who seemed to wish to do what was right, but who was a mere puppet in the hands of Burgundy or Queen Isobel, to be used as a lay figure when required by whichever had a temporary ascendency. For the next fortnight Guy worked hard in the _salle d'armes_, being one of the first to arrive and the last to depart, and after taking a lesson from one or other of the masters he spent the rest of the morning in practising with anyone who desired an adversary. Well trained as he was in English methods of fighting, he mastered with a quickness that surprised his teachers the various thrusts and parries that were new to him. At the end of that time he was able to hold his own with the young Count d'Estournel, who was regarded as an excellent swordsman. The attendance of the Burgundian nobles had now fallen off a good deal. The Armagnac army had approached Paris, St. Denis had opened its gates to them, and there were frequent skirmishes near the walls of Paris between parties of their knights and the Burgundians. Paris was just at present more quiet. Burgundy was still absent, and the future seemed so uncertain, that both factions in the city held their hands for a time. The news that a reconciliation between Orleans and Burgundy had been fully effected, and that the great lords would soon enter Paris together, was received with a joy that was modified by recollections of the past. Burgundy and Orleans had once before sworn a solemn friendship, and yet a week or two later Orleans lay dead in the streets of Paris, murdered by the order of Burgundy. Was it likely that the present patching up of the quarrel would have a much longer duration? On the former occasion the quarrel was a personal one between the two great houses, now all France was divided. A vast amount of blood had been shed, there had been cruel massacres, executions, and wrongs, and the men of one faction had come to hate those of the other; and although neither party had dared to put itself in the wrong by refusing to listen to the mediators, it was certain that the reconciliation was a farce, and that it was but a short truce rather than a peace that had been concluded. Nevertheless Paris rejoiced outwardly, and hailed with enthusiasm the entry of the queen, the Dukes of Aquitaine, Burgundy, Berri, and Bourbon. The Duke of Aquitaine was now acting as regent, though without the title, for the king was again insane. He had married Burgundy's daughter, but it was rumoured that he was by no means disposed to submit himself blindly to the advice of her father. The only effect of the truce between the parties was to add to the power of the Burgundian faction in Paris. But few of the Armagnac party cared to trust themselves in the city that had shown itself so hostile, but most of them retired to their estates, and the great procession that entered the town had been for the most part composed of adherents of Burgundy. Three days after their arrival in the town Guy, on leaving the _salle d'armes_, found Katarina in her boy's attire waiting for him at the corner of the street. "My father would speak with you, Master Guy," she said shyly, for in the past two months she had always been in her girl's dress when he had met her. "Pray go at once," she said; "I will not accompany you, for I have other matters to attend to." "Things are not going well," the count said when Guy entered the room; "the Orleanists are discouraged and the butchers triumphant. At a meeting last night they determined that a body of them should wait upon the Dukes of Aquitaine and Burgundy to complain of the conduct of the knights who fell upon them when attacking the silversmith's, and demand in the name of Paris their execution." "They would never dare do that!" Guy exclaimed indignantly. "They will assuredly do it, and I see not how they can be refused. The duke has no force that could oppose the Parisians. They might defend the Louvre and one or two of the strongly fortified houses, but the butchers would surround them with twenty thousand men. Burgundy's vassals might come to his assistance, but the gates of Paris would be closed, and it would need nothing short of an army and a long siege before they could enter Paris. When they had done so they might punish the leaders, but Burgundy would thereby lose for ever the support of the city, which is all-important to him. Therefore if you would save your friends you must warn them that it will be necessary for them to make their way out of Paris as quickly and as quietly as may be. In the next place, and principally, you yourself will assuredly be murdered. There was a talk of the meeting demanding your execution and that of your four men; but it was decided that there was no need to do this, as you could all be killed without trouble, and that possibly the Duke of Aquitaine might refuse on the ground that, as your lady had come here under safe-conduct as a royal hostage, you were entitled to protection, and it would be contrary to his honour to give you up. "There are others who have displeased the Parisians whose lives they will also demand, and there are several women among them; therefore, it is clear that even the sex of your lady will not save her and her children from the fury and longing for revenge, felt by the family of Legoix and by Caboche the skinner. The only question is, where can they be bestowed in safety? I know what you would say, that all this is monstrous, and that it is incredible that the Parisians will dare to take such steps. I can assure you that it is as I say; the peril is most imminent. Probably to-night, but if not, to-morrow the gates of Paris will be closed, and there will be no escape for any whom these people have doomed to death. In the first place, you have to warn your Burgundian friends; that done, you must see to the safety of your four men. The three Frenchmen may, if they disguise themselves, perchance be able to hide in Paris, but your tall archer must leave the city without delay, his height and appearance would betray him in whatever disguise he were clad. "Now as to your lady and the children, remain where they are they cannot. Doubtless were she to appeal to the Duke of Burgundy for protection he would place her in the Louvre, or in one of the other castles--that is, if she could persuade him of the intentions of the Parisians, which indeed it would be difficult for her to do; but even could she do so she would not be safe, for if he is forced to surrender some of his own knights and ladies of the court to these miscreants, he could not refuse to hand over Lady Margaret. They might, it is true, possibly escape from Paris in disguise, but I know that there is already a watch set at the gates. The only resource that I can see is that she should with her children come hither for a time. This is but a poor place for her, but I think that if anywhere she might be safe with me. No one knows that I have had any dealings whatever with you, and no one connects me in any way with politics. What should a vendor of nostrums have to do with such affairs? Thus, then, they might remain here without their presence being in the slightest degree suspected. At any rate I have as good means as any for learning what is being done at their councils, and should receive the earliest information were it decided that a search should be made here; and should this be done, which I think is most unlikely, I shall have time to remove them to some other place of concealment. "Lastly, as to yourself, I take it that nothing would induce you to fly with your Burgundian friends while your lady is in hiding in Paris?" "Assuredly not!" Guy said. "My lord appointed me to take charge of her and watch over her, and as long as I have life I will do so." "You will not be able to aid her, and your presence may even add to her danger. Still, I will not say that your resolution is not honourable and right. But, at least, you must not stay here, for your detection would almost certainly lead to hers. You, however, can be disguised; I can darken your skin and hair, and, in some soiled garb you may hope to pass without recognition. Where to bestow you I will talk over with my daughter. As soon as it becomes dusk this evening she will present herself at the house-door of Maître Leroux. She will bring with her disguises for your lady, the children, and yourself--I have many of them here--and as soon as it is quite dark she will guide here Dame Margaret with her daughter and son. You had best not sally out with them, but can follow a minute or two later and join them as soon as they turn down a side street. As to the men, you must arrange with them what they had best do. My advice is that they should this afternoon saunter out as if merely going for a walk. They ought to go separately; you can decide what they had best do when outside." CHAPTER XII -- IN HIDING The news of this terrible danger was so wholly unexpected that Guy for a moment felt almost paralyzed. "It seems almost incredible that such wickedness could take place!" he exclaimed. "My information is certain," the count replied. "I do not say that I think your Burgundian friends are in so much danger as some of those of the king's party, as Burgundy's influence with these Parisians goes for something; still, he might not be able to save them if they waited till the demand was made, although he might warn them if he learned that they were to be among those demanded." "Does the duke, then, know what is intended?" The count smiled. "We know what followed the last reconciliation," he said, "and can guess pretty shrewdly at what will happen now. _Then_ the duke murdered Orleans, _now_ he may take measures against the supporters of the present duke. It was certain that the struggle would begin again as soon as the kiss of peace had been exchanged. Last time he boldly avowed his share in the murder; this time, most conveniently for him, the Parisians are ready and eager to do his work for him. Dismiss from your mind all doubt; you can rely upon everything that I have told you as being true. Whether you can convince these young knights is a matter that concerns me not; but remember that if you fail to convince your mistress, her life and those of her children are forfeited; and that, so far as I can see, her only hope of safety is in taking refuge here." "I thank you with all my heart," Guy said, "and will now set about carrying out your advice. First, I will return to my lady and consult with her, and see what we had best do with the men. As to Count Charles d'Estournel and his friends, I will see them as soon as I have arranged the other matter. Their case is not so pressing, for, at least, when once beyond the gates they will be safe. I will see that my lady and the children shall be ready to accompany your daughter when she comes for them." "Look well up and down the street before you sally out," the count said; "see that there are but few people about. It is a matter of life and death that no one who knows you shall see you leave this house." Guy followed his advice, and waited until there was no one within fifty yards of the door, then he went out, crossed the street, took the first turning he came to, and then made his way back to the silversmith's as fast as he could. "What ails you, Guy?" Dame Margaret said as he entered the room, "you look sorely disturbed, and as pale as if you had received some injury." "Would that that were all, my lady. I have had news from the Count of Montepone of so strange and grave a nature that I would not tell you it, were it not that he is so much in earnest, and so well convinced of its truth that I cannot doubt it." He then related what the count had told him, and repeated the offer of shelter he had made. "This is, indeed, beyond all bounds," she said. "What, is it credible that the Duke of Burgundy and the king's son, the Duke of Aquitaine, can hand over to this murderous mob of Paris noble gentlemen and ladies?" "As to Burgundy, madame, it seems to me from what the count said that he himself is at the bottom of the affair, though he may not know that the Parisians demand the lives of some of his own knights as well as those of his opponents. As he did not of old hesitate to murder Orleans, the king's own brother, we need credit him with no scruples as to how he would rid himself of others he considers to stand in his way. As to Aquitaine, he is a young man and powerless. There are no Orleanist nobles in the town to whom he might look for aid; and if a king's brother was slain, why not a king's son? It seems to me that he is powerless." "That may be; but I cannot consent to what the count proposes. What! disguise myself! and hide from this base mob of Paris! It would be an unworthy action." "It is one that I knew you would shrink from, madame; but pardon me for saying that it is not your own life only, but those of your children that are at stake. When royal princes and dukes are unable to oppose these scoundrel Parisians, women and children may well bend before the storm." Dame Margaret sat for some time with knitted brows. At last she said: "If it must be, Guy, it must. It goes sorely against the grain; but for the sake of the children I will demean myself, and will take your advice. Now you had best summon the four men-at-arms and talk over their case with them." Guy went upstairs and fetched the four men down. "We have sure news, my friends," Dame Margaret said calmly, "that to-night we and many others shall be seized by the mob and slain." An exclamation of rage broke from the four men. "There will be many others slain before that comes about," Long Tom said. "That I doubt not, Tom, but the end would be the same. An offer of refuge has been made to me and the children, and for their sake, unwilling as I am to hide myself from this base mob, I have brought myself to accept it. My brave esquire will stay in Paris in disguise, and do what may be to protect us. I have now called you to talk about yourselves. The gates will speedily be guarded and none allowed to sally out, therefore what is to be done must be done quickly." "We will all stay and share your fate, madame. You could not think that we should leave you," Robert Picard said, and the others murmured their agreement. "You would add to my danger without being able to benefit me," she said, "and my anxiety would be all the greater. No, you must obey my commands, which are that you forthwith quit Paris. Beyond that I must leave you to judge your own course. As French men-at-arms none would question you when you were once beyond the gate. You may find it difficult to travel in this disturbed time, but you are shrewd enough to make up some story that will account for your movements, and so may work your way back to Villeroy. The difficulty is greater in the case of your English comrade--his height and that light hair of his and ruddy face would mark him anywhere, and if he goes with you would add to your danger, especially as his tongue would betray him as being English the first time he spoke. However, beyond ordering you to quit Paris, I must leave this matter in your hands and his, and he will doubtless take counsel with my esquire and see if any disguise can be contrived to suit him. I will see you again presently. You had best go with them, Guy, and talk the matter over." "This thing cannot be done, Master Guy," the archer said doggedly when they reached their apartments; "it is not in reason. What should I say when I got home and told them at Summerley that I saved my own skin and left our dear lady and the children to be murdered without striking a blow on their behalf? The thing is beyond all reason, and I will maintain it to be so." "I can understand what you say, Tom, for I feel exactly as you do. The question is, how is the matter to be arranged?" Then he broke into French, which the archer by this time understood well enough, though he could speak it but poorly. "Tom is saying that he will not go, men," he said, "and I doubt not that you feel as he does. At the same time our lady's orders must be carried out in the first place, and you must leave Paris. But I say not that you need travel to any distance; on the contrary, I should say that, if it can be arranged, you must return here in a few days, having so changed your attire and aspect that there is no fear of your being recognized, and bestow yourself in some lodging where I may find you if there be need of your services." "That is what will be best, Master Guy," Robert Picard said. "We have but to get steel caps of another fashion to pass well enough, and if need be we can alter the fashion of our hair. There are few here who have noticed us, and I consider that there is no chance whatever of our being recognized. There are plenty of men among the cut-throats here who have served for a while, and we can easily enough get up some tale that will pass muster for us three. That matter is simple enough, the question is, what are we to do with Tom? We cannot shorten his stature, nor give his tongue a French twist." "No, that is really the difficulty. We might dye that hair of his and darken his face, as I am going to do myself. There are tall men in France, and even his inches would not matter so much; the danger lies in his speech." "I would never open my mouth, Master Guy; if need were I would sooner cut out my tongue with a dagger." "You might bleed to death in the doing of it, Tom. No; we must think of something better than that. You might perhaps pass as a Fleming, if we cannot devise any other disguise." "Leave that to me, Master Guy, I shall think of something. I will at any rate hide somewhere near Paris, and the lads here will let me know where they are to be found, and I shall not be long before I join them in some such guise as will pass muster. But it will be necessary that we should know where you will be, so that you can communicate with us." "That I don't know myself yet; but I will be every evening in front of Notre Dame when the bell strikes nine, and one of you can meet me there and tell me where you are bestowed, so that I can always send for you in case of need. Now I think that you had better lose no time, for we know not at what hour a guard will be placed on the gate. You had better go out in pairs as if merely going for a walk. If you are stopped, as may well happen, return here; but as you come purchase a length of strong rope, so that you may let yourselves down from the wall. Now that peace has been made, there will be but slight watch save at the gates, and you should have no difficulty in evading the sight of any who may be on guard." "That will be easy enough," Robert Picard said confidently. "We had best not come back here, for there may be a watch set upon the house and they may follow us." "The only thing that troubles me," Tom said, "is that I must leave my bow behind me." "You can get another when you get back to Villeroy; there are spare ones there." "Yes, yes, but that is not the same thing, Master Guy; a man knows his own bow, and when he takes to a fresh one his shooting is spoilt until he gets to know it well. Every bow has its niceties; for rough shooting it makes but little matter, but when it comes to aiming at the slit in a knight's vizor at eighty yards one makes poor shooting with a strange bow." "Well, you must practise with your new one, that is all, Tom; and if you hide yours here it may be that you will be able to recover it before we start for Villeroy. You must leave your bundles behind, it would look suspicious if you were to attempt to take them with you. I should advise you to put on one suit over the other, it will not add greatly to your bulk. When you are ready to start, come below and our lady will say good-bye to you. Do not give her a hint that you are thinking of staying near Paris; if she asks any questions say that you intend to disguise Tom, and he will travel with you." A few minutes later there was a tapping at Dame Margaret's door; Guy opened it and the four men entered. "I wish you good fortunes, my friends," Dame Margaret said. "Here is a letter, Robert, that I have written to my lord telling him that you have all served me faithfully and well, and that I commend you to him. I have told him that you are leaving me by my special orders, and that you would willingly have stopped and shared my danger, but that, as I feel that force would avail nothing and your presence might lead to the discovery of my hiding-place, I bid you go. Here are four purses to pay the expenses of your journey and of any disguises you may find it necessary to adopt. And now farewell. Tarry not an instant, my heart will be lighter when I know that you are beyond the walls." She held out her hand to them; each in turn knelt and kissed it, the three Frenchmen in silence but with tears running down their cheeks. Tom was the last, and said as he rose: "I am obeying your orders, Lady Margaret, but never before have I felt, as I feel now, that I am doing a mean and cowardly action. I would rather stay by your side, though I knew that I should be cut in pieces this very night, than leave you thus." "I doubt it not, Tom. I know well how your inclinations lie, and yet I feel that it is necessary that you should go. If the great nobles cannot withstand this cruel mob of Paris, the arm of a single man can avail nothing, and your presence would bring danger rather than safety to me." "I feel that, my lady; did I not do so I would not go even at your command. You are my liege lady, and I have a right to give my life for you, and would do it were it not that I see that, as you say, my staying here would bring danger upon you." As soon as they had gone Dame Margaret said: "Now, Guy, I will detain you no longer; hasten and warn your friends." Guy hurried away; he found that Count Charles was on the point of mounting to go for a ride with some of his friends. "Stay a moment I beg of you, Count," Guy said as he hurried up, "I have a matter of most serious import to tell you." "Wait, my friends," the young count said to Sir Pierre Estelle, Count Walter de Vesoul, and the Sieur John de Perron, who were already mounted; "I shall not detain you many minutes." "Well, what is it, friend Guy?" he asked as he entered his room. "I have come to warn you of a great danger, Count. This evening a mob of Parisians, I know not how numerous, but at least of great strength, will demand from Burgundy and the Duke of Aquitaine the surrender to them of you and the others who took part in defeating them the other night, besides other gentlemen, and, as I hear, ladies." "_Pardieu_! if it be so the duke will give the impudent knaves their answer." "Ten thousand armed men are not apt to take an answer, Count. You know that many times already the Duke of Burgundy has been overborne by the leaders of these Parisians and forced to do things that must have displeased him, as they displeased you all, therefore I implore you to ride off while you may. Even now it is possible that the gales may be closed, but if so, they are not likely to be strongly guarded. It is evident that your going would at any rate save the duke from grave embarrassment." "Are you sure that this news is true?" the count asked. "Absolutely certain. If you would save yourself and your friends I pray you to call upon them at once to mount and ride in a body to one of the gates. You may bid some of your retainers mount and follow you at a short distance, and if you find the gates closed and the fellows will not let you out, call them up and fight your way out. You can stay for to-night at Sèvres, and if you find in the morning that I have not spoken truly you can return and upbraid me as you will. If, however, you find that strange events have happened here, then you had best ride away to Burgundy and stay there until you find that these villainous knaves here have been reduced to order, which methinks it will need an army to undertake." The count went to the window, opened it, and called his friends below to come up. "No, no," D'Estelle said laughing; "if we once come up we shall stay there. If you cannot come now, join us at the Lion d'Or at Sèvres, where you will find us eating the dinner that we have sent on to order." "The matter is urgent," D'Estournel said. "I am not joking with you, but pray you to come up at once." Seeing that the matter was serious the three knights dismounted and went up. They were at first absolutely incredulous when they heard from Count Charles what Guy had told them. "That the knaves owe us no good-will I know well enough," Count Walter said, "for they have over and over again laid their complaint against us before the duke; but it is hard to believe that they would dare to demand what Burgundy would never grant." Guy repeated the arguments that he had used with D'Estournel. "There is no limit," he said, "to the arrogance of these knaves, and in truth it cannot be denied that they are masters here, and that even the duke cannot altogether withstand them; and you know, moreover, how essential is their goodwill to him. But even should he ever so obstinately refuse their demands they might well take their way without his leave. What can he, with a handful of knights and a few hundred armed men, do against the mob of Paris? I earnestly pray you, gentlemen, to treat the matter as serious. Warn your eight friends without delay; bid your retainers mount and ride to the gate. If it is open, all the better, it is but a party of pleasure bound for Sèvres, and if you learn to-morrow morning that all is quiet here you can return. If it seems better to you, and this may save you much argument, merely ask your friends to mount and ride with you to dine there; if any refuse, say you have a motive that they will learn when they get there, and almost compel them to go with you. I pledge you my honour that you will have no reason to regret having taken my advice." "Well, what do you say, gentlemen?" Count Walter asked. "As Master Aylmer says, it will at worst be but a carouse, which I hope he will share with us." "That I would right gladly do," Guy replied, "but I have the safety of my lady and her children to look after, for she too, as well as our four men-at-arms, have incurred the enmity of these butchers. I have sent the men out of the town, and a place of safety has been prepared for her and the children. I shall see them safely bestowed there at nightfall." "Since you have thought such preparations necessary we will at any rate act on the information that you have given us, and will promise not to blame you unduly should it turn out that the affair you speak of does not come off. Let us lose no time, gentlemen; let us each go to two of our friends and take no denial from them to our invitation to dine with us at Sevres. Let us say nothing to them about bringing their men-at-arms and grooms with them. We can ourselves muster some thirty fighting men, and that should be enough with our own swords to bring these knaves to reason if they keep their gates shut against us." "As my arrangements are all made," Guy said, "and I have an hour to spare, I shall walk down towards the gate and see what comes of it." The four gentlemen at once mounted and rode off,--after giving directions to their grooms to order their men-at-arms to mount at once and to wait for them at a spot a quarter of a mile from the gate,--and Guy strolled off in the same direction. In half an hour he had the satisfaction of seeing the men-at-arms ride up and halt as ordered. Walking a little further on he saw that something unusual had happened. Groups of people were standing about talking, and each man who came up from the gate was questioned. Joining one of the groups he soon learned that the excitement was caused by the unusual closing of the gates, no one being allowed either to enter or pass out. None could account for this proceeding. It was certain that it had not been done by the orders either of the Dukes of Aquitaine or Burgundy,--for there were no royal guards or men-at-arms with the duke's cognizance,--but by men of the city, who, as all agreed, must be acting under the orders of the butchers. "It is a bold deed," one said, "for which they will have to account. It is a usurpation of authority, and one the Duke of Aquitaine, who is now king in all but name, will surely resent hotly." "How strong is the party?" one of the bystanders asked, putting the question that Guy had on his lips. "Some forty or fifty, all stout fellows with steel caps and breast-pieces, and well armed." Guy turned and walked back to the spot where the Burgundian men-at-arms were drawn up. In ten minutes D'Estournel and his party rode up. Guy was glad to see that he had with him the whole of his companions. He at once went up to them. "The gates are closed, Count, and held by forty or fifty of the townsmen in arms, so you see that my information was correct. Had you not better tell your friends of the truth now, for otherwise they might hesitate to take so grave a step as to attack them?" D'Estournel nodded, and, riding to the others, said in a low voice: "Gentlemen, we had not intended to let you into this little mystery until we had left Paris, but I find it necessary to do so now. I have learned surely that the rabble of Paris have resolved upon massacring us to-night for the share we took in that little affair at the provost of the silversmiths. To that end they have shut the gates, and hold it with some fifty armed men. It is as well that some of us have brought our men-at-arms here. I can hardly fancy that these rascals will try to prevent us from passing out, seeing that they have no warrant but their own for closing the gates against us, but if they do there is nothing for it but to open them ourselves. Let us ride forward at once, gentlemen, for these fellows may receive a reinforcement at any time." So saying, he put spurs to his horse, calling upon the men-at-arms to follow. His three companions, who were already in the secret, joined him at once; and the others, after a pause of astonishment and almost incredulity, followed, in no way loath at the chance of another fight with the followers of the butchers. As they approached the gate the townsmen hastily drew up in front of it. "What means this?" Count Walter de Vesoul said haughtily, as he reined up his horse a few paces from the line. "By what authority do you dare close the gates and thus stand armed before them?" "By the authority of the city of Paris," the leader of the party said insolently. "I recognize no such authority while the king and the Duke of Aquitaine, who holds his full powers, are resident here. Clear the way, my man, and open the gates, or I will ride over you." The butcher answered him with a derisive laugh. "It will cost you your lives if you attempt it," he said. "Gentlemen, draw your swords and give these rough fellows the lesson they need;" and, setting the example, he rode at the butcher and cut him down. The idea that the Burgundian knights would venture to force a passage in the teeth of the prohibition of the master of the butchers had apparently not so much as entered the minds of the guard, and as soon as the knights and their followers fell upon them, the greater portion of them flung down their arms and fled, a few only fighting stoutly until overpowered. As soon as the skirmish was over the keys were brought out from the guard-room, and the gate unlocked and the massive bars taken down. In the meantime some of the men-at-arms had run up on to the wall, hoisted the portcullis, and lowered the drawbridge across the fosse. As soon as they returned and mounted the party rode through. As they did so, four men ran out from a lane near the wall and followed them; and Guy at once recognized in them the archer and his three companions. Greatly pleased, he returned to the city and informed Dame Margaret of what had taken place. "No doubt," he said, "when they found the gates shut they remembered what I had said, that I was going to warn Count Charles and his friends, and went back to observe what these were doing; and the sight of their retainers going towards the gate must have told them which way they intended to leave; and they, no doubt, went down and hid up near the gate to watch the conflict, and to take advantage of it, if a chance offered, to get off themselves." "That is indeed a satisfaction, Guy; and I am glad, too, that your friends got away. There can be no doubt now that the count's information was accurate; the gates having been closed, as he said they would be, vouches for this. Katarina has been here; she was dressed this time as an apprentice in the service of some trader, and brought a large box containing our disguises and yours. For you there is a bottle of dye for your hair, a mixture for darkening your skin, and clothes--the latter such as would be worn by a workman. Charlie is to wear a girl's dress, at which he is mightily offended; nor is Agnes better pleased, for a boy's suit has been sent for her. My disguise is simply a long cloak with a hood, such as is worn by the wives of small traders. Katarina explained that it had been thought better to change the sex of Agnes and Charlie, so that, when a hue and cry is raised for a missing woman, with a girl of fourteen, and a boy of ten, no one should associate the woman with two lads and a little girl, whom they passed in the street, as being the party for which search is being made. And now, Guy, do you not think that we should warn our good host of the danger that threatens, for, doubtless, he also has been marked out as a victim?" "I will see him at once, and will tell him as much as it is necessary for him to know. Assuredly it is now too late for him to escape beyond the walls, unless he were to take his wife with him, and bring his serving-men to let them down from the walls; but this, I should think, he will not do, he would rather take refuge in the house of some of his friends." The silversmith listened gravely when Guy told him that he had received sure information that the butchers would that evening make a slaughter of some of their opponents, that they would be in such force that resistance would be hopeless, and that the few royal troops and the followers of Burgundy would be insufficient to make head against them. "Your news does not surprise me, and though I know not how you came by it, I fear that it is true. The news that the city gates have been all shut and are being guarded by strong parties of the butchers' rabble, shows but too surely that there is danger in the air. In the first place, there is your lady to be thought of; I must endeavour to obtain for her also shelter among my friends." "We have already arranged for a hiding-place for her and the children, Maître Leroux. I may not name where it is to anyone, but suffice that it is a quiet house where there is little fear of any suspicions resting upon them, and where they will be able to remain until order is restored." "I fear that that will be a long time," the silversmith said. "The butchers boast that they can place 20,000 men under arms, and indeed the terror excited by them is so great, that very many who hate their doings as much as I do myself have been forced to make a semblance of joining them. Next about your men-at-arms, they are brave fellows and I owe them much." "They are all safe outside the walls. Some Burgundian knights, indignant that this rabble should dare stop them, cut their way out through the Port St. Denis, and our men took advantage of the gates being open to follow them." "And as to yourself, Master Aylmer?" "I have dyes to blacken my hair and a tincture for darkening my face. I have also a disguise by which I may pass as an apprentice to a trader. I shall at all hazards remain in Paris, but what I shall yet do I know not. And now about yourself and Madame Leroux--you will not, I hope, think of defending the house as you did before." "Certainly not; it would not avail to save our lives, and would assuredly cost those of my servitors and most likely of the women. I have friends, who will, I hope, gladly take us in. Maître Lepelletiere, the Master Carpenter, who has been doing my doors, is an old friend of mine, and after the last attack, urged me to withdraw for a time from the attention of the mob, and offered me refuge in his place. He lives in the Rue des Fosses; which is close to the old inner wall that is now for the most part in ruins. You pass along by the hospital, and when beyond the old wall turn to the right; 'tis the third doorway. There are no houses facing it, but it looks straight upon the wall, the ground between being some thirty or forty yards wide; and doubtless when the house was built, it was before the present wall was erected, and stood on the outer side of the fosse round the old one. There are many others of the same trade who live in that quarter, and as they are for the most part opposed to the butchers, I doubt not that my friend will have no difficulty in obtaining a lodging for you among them should no other have been settled upon." "Thank you indeed," Guy replied; "the arrangement has been made by others, and I know not for certain what has yet been decided upon, but should not a suitable place have been chosen I will gladly accept your offer." "And now I must set to work," the silversmith said. "In what way?" Guy asked in surprise. "In hiding my wares. In a city like Paris, with its sieges and its tumults, a prudent man having goods of great value will assuredly prepare a place of safety for them. I will set my men to work at once; the business must be finished before it becomes dark, for as soon as it does so we must leave the house and close it." "I have nothing to do at present, and shall be glad to help your men," Guy said. He followed the silversmith downstairs. Maître Leroux called his head man. "We must move, Jacques, and that quickly; you have heard that the gates are shut." "Yes, master, people are talking of nothing else." "I have news that there will be trouble to-night, so we must set to work at once to place the chests in safety. First let them clear out the wood-cellar." This was done in a few minutes by the seven men, then Jacques told the others to go back into the shop and pack up all the silver goods in the chests. As soon as they were gone Jacques looked inquiringly at his master, who nodded. Then he touched a brick in the wall some seven feet above the floor; it sprung back. "Will you lift me up?" the man said to Guy. The lad did as he was asked, and the man thrust his arm into the orifice. A moment later he asked Guy to set him down. "Go to the doorway," he said, and hurried across to where Maître Leroux was standing; then kneeling down he pushed his hand under the sill of the doorway and then stood up. "Do you hear that?" the silversmith said. "I hear a dull rumbling somewhere," Guy replied. As he spoke he saw half the floor, which was apparently of solid flags, beginning to rise. "This was done in my father's time," Maître Leroux said, "and it was made for him by Maître Lepelletiere's father with the aid of two or three good smiths, who put the machinery together at his house and were in ignorance where it was intended to be placed." The trap-door was now raised, and Guy to his astonishment saw a stream of running water three feet below the opening. "Whence comes this?" he asked in astonishment. "No wonder you are surprised," the silversmith said; "it was a piece of rare good-luck that my father hit upon it. A map that he had showed him that in the old days, before there were any houses on this side of the river, a narrow branch left the stream some hundred yards above the position of his house, made a circuit and came into it again as much below. He inquired among some old men, and learned that they had heard their grandfathers say that they knew that at some time or other this stream had been built over when Paris began to grow in this direction. After he had contrived this apparatus that you see, which is worked by a heavy counterpoise in the wall, he began to dig, and a foot below the surface came upon an arch of brickwork, so my father concluded that his house was exactly over the old stream. "On breaking through the crown he discovered, as you see, that the water still flowed through this tunnel, which is some three and a half yards wide and eight feet deep. My men, all of whom are trusty fellows, know of the existence of this hiding-place, but Jacques is the only one besides myself who knows the secret of the opening. Now, Jacques, fetch the chests along as fast as they are ready." The chests were soon brought up and one by one lowered. Chains were attached from the handle of each to that of the one that followed; they were almost the weight of the water and sank until within an inch-or two of the surface. Each was floated down as it was lowered, until twenty great chests had been taken down. Then one more heavy and ponderous than the rest was attached to the train, and a sloping board being placed from the cellar floor to the bottom of the stream, the case was allowed to slide down this until it rested on the bottom several feet beyond the trap-door. "There you see," the silversmith said, "even if they discovered the trap-door and broke up the floor with sledgehammers, which would be no easy matter, and probed the stream with lances, they would find nothing. As you saw, there is a chain to the end of the last box, which is, as it were, an anchor to the rest; this chain Jacques will now attach to a strong wire, and fasten that to a ring below the water's edge, and a foot beyond the trap-door, so that when danger is past we shall haul up the chain and recover the cases one by one in the order in which they have been sent down." As soon as Jacques had fastened the wire to the ring he touched another heavy spring under the sill, then pulled hard on the trap-door; this gradually began to sink, and in a minute was in its place again. At the same time the brick that had been pushed in above came out into its place again, dust was then swept into the crack at the edge of the trapdoor, and no one who had not seen the latter raised would have dreamt of its existence. CHAPTER XIII -- THE MASTERS OF PARIS The trap-door closed, the firewood was carried back again, and Guy went upstairs, where he found that Dame Margaret, Agnes, and Charlie had already put on their disguises. Their faces had been slightly darkened; Agnes had coiled her hair up under a cap, while Dame Margaret's would be completely hidden under the hood. She and Charlie could, have passed very well even in daylight, but Agnes by no means looked her character. Her mother had darkened the skin at the back of her neck as well as on her face, but the girl's evident discomfort and shyness were so unboylike that they would at once be noticed. Guy fetched a short cloak reaching only to his hips from his room and brought it in to her. "I think that you will be more comfortable in this," he said. "Yes, indeed," she exclaimed gratefully, as she put it over her shoulders; "I shall not mind now." It reached nearly down to her knees, and the high collar concealed the back of her head effectually. "I did not expect that you would be ready so soon," he said, turning to Dame Margaret; "it will not be dark for two hours yet." "No; but I thought it much better to be prepared to leave at any moment. Mistress Leroux has shown me a door opening from the yard into a very narrow lane behind. She says that it has not been used for years, but she has been down herself with the key and has unlocked it, so that we have only to let a bar down to open it, and if there should be an attack on the front of the house we can escape that way." "It would be best to leave that way in any case," Guy said, "and thereby you will avoid observation by anyone who may be watching. It is evident that the citizens of this quarter are very anxious and alarmed; looking from the window I have seen them standing in groups, or going in and out of each other's houses. They cannot know what is going to take place, but the closing of the gates by the butchers without any warrant has, of course, shown them that something serious is going to occur." "You had better disguise yourself at once, Guy." "I will do so, mistress, but I do not think that there is any fear of disturbance until evening; men who are engaged in work, that may some day bring punishment upon those concerned in it, prefer darkness. Besides, at that time all careful men will be in their houses, and will not dare to come out whatever sounds they may hear." Maître Leroux presently came up. "I have been out and trying to gather news. There are all sorts of rumours abroad, but none know aught with certainty. They say that the butchers have stationed guards at the end of all the streets leading to the market quarter, and they allow none to pass in or out. It is reported that Aquitaine has sent an officer to the butchers to demand under what warrant they have closed the gates of the city, and to order them to open them forthwith, and to withdraw the men stationed there. It is said that their answer was that they had acted for the good of the state, and for the safety of the king's person, and that they would presently call upon his highness and explain matters to him. This may be true or merely rumour, but it is generally believed. Everyone is talking of the fight at the gate of St. Denis. Some say that it was forced open by order of the Duke of Burgundy, while others affirm that Caboche, and that mischievous varlet John de Troyes, went in great haste to the duke when they received the news, that he declared to them that he knew nothing whatever of the affair, and that whatever was done was certainly done without his orders. Most of my men have already left; it were better that they should go off one by one than that they should move off together. 'Tis well that my wife bethought her of that back entrance. It has never been used in my time, for the lane is but three feet wide, and the houses beyond are of no very good repute. I talked at one time of having it bricked up, and only refrained from doing so from the thought that it might be useful on some such occasion as this. Your esquire has not gone out, I suppose, Lady Margaret?" "No, he is putting on his disguise--at least, he is colouring his hair and face, and so altering himself that he would not be known; but he will not put on his full disguise until later." Guy soon came out. He was in his ordinary garments, but having put on his best suit beneath them he looked broader and bulkier than usual, while his blackened hair and darkened face had made so great a change in his appearance that both Agnes and her mother agreed that they would not have known him. "You could certainly go anywhere, Guy, and mix with any crowd, and no one would have a suspicion that you were the young Englishman for whom the whole town was searching." Half an hour before it became dark, Guy went down to the front door. Standing there listening attentively, he presently heard three little knocks given, as by a hand on the door. He opened it a little, Katarina slipped in, and he again fastened it and put up the bar. "I brought the disguises early," she said, "as I thought they might be required in haste, but my father has learned that it will be eight o'clock before the butchers sally out with their forces from the markets." "All here are ready and prepared to start at a moment's notice, and have arranged to go out by a door behind, that leads into a narrow lane." "That is good!" the girl said. "I have been near for the last half-hour and have noticed two or three men hanging about, and by their furtive glances in the direction of the house I have no doubt that they are watching it. I had to wait until there happened to be a group of people before the door, and then slipped in behind them, and got in without, I am sure, their having seen me. I have been uneasy as to how we should leave, for if they saw a party of three or four issuing out together, one of them would be sure to follow." They were now upstairs. The fact that Agnes was in the same disguise as herself freed Katarina from the shame-facedness that she would otherwise have felt at being seen by Dame Margaret in her present attire. "You are well disguised," the latter said as she entered. "I no longer wonder that you are able to go about as a boy without suspicion; you look one to the life, while Agnes is so awkward that she would be detected in a moment." "She has not had the practice that I have had," Katarina said with a laugh; "the awkwardness will soon wear off if she has to dress like this for a short time. As for me, I have learnt all a boy's tricks and ways. I can whistle and shout with any of them, can quarrel, and bluster, be saucy on occasion, and have only once been in trouble." "How was that, Katarina?" "A boy who was a bit taller than I ran against me and declared that it was my fault, and gave me a cuff on the head. I might have run away, and of course I ought to have done so, but I was angry, for he really hurt me; so I had to do what any boy would have done, and I flew at him so fiercely, and cuffed and scratched and kicked so savagely that at last he turned and ran. He had hit me too, but I did not feel it at the time, and next morning I was all sorts of colours round the eyes. Father was very angry, but when I asked what else he would have done if he had been cuffed, he could not tell me. I had a very important message to carry that morning for him. At first he said I could not go out in that state; but, as I told him, I had never looked so much like a boy before." All were glad when it became dark enough for them to make a start. The men and maids had all been sent away, and none remained save Maître Leroux and his wife. They were not in any disguise, but were wrapped up in cloaks, and in the badly-lighted streets could pass unrecognized. "Do you go out first, Master Aylmer," the silversmith said. "I have no fear of anyone watching behind, for it is not likely that any of them know of this entrance to my house; still, it is as well to make certain. When you get out of the lane you had best stay there until the others have passed on, then you can follow them. We will wait for a few minutes after they have gone, and lock the door behind us. You have not forgotten where you are to find us." "No, I have the name and house right. Shall I ask for you as Maître Leroux?" "I have not thought of that. No, it will be better, perhaps, to ask for Philip Sampson; it were just as well that none should know my name there except Lepelletiere and his wife." As arranged Guy went out first; there was still light enough for him to make his way along the narrow lane without falling over piles of dirt and rubbish that at some points almost blocked it. The street into which it opened was also a very narrow one, and no one was about. In a minute Dame Margaret, walking with Katarina, and with Agnes close behind, holding Charlie's hand, passed him. "It is all quite clear," he said. Keeping some fifteen yards behind he followed them until they entered a broader street. There were a good many people about here. The nearest way would have been to have crossed the road and passed by another small street facing that from which they had come, but somewhat to his surprise they turned and went along the broader street. He soon acknowledged to himself that this was the wiser course, for there were so many people about that their passage would be unnoticed, while in the narrow lanes some rough fellow might have accosted them. Keeping always in frequented streets they made a long detour before they reached that in which the count resided, and it was with a feeling of great relief that Guy saw them enter the house. He himself, as arranged, did not approach it for another quarter of an hour, then he went and knocked on the door with his hand, which was at once opened by Katarina. "All is well," she said; "your lady is in the room where you first waited--my father is with her." As Guy entered the count was just saying: "Yes, it would certainly be best, madame, that your daughter should continue at present in that disguise. In the first place, she will get accustomed to it, and should she have occasion to move again she would be able to do so without attracting notice; in the second place, it would be desirable that, even accidentally, no one should know that there is a young lady of her age here. I have no visitors save on business, but possibly either she or your boy might come out on to the stairs when one is going up or down. It would be unfortunate that he should see them at all, but if it were but a boy he caught sight of he would not at any rate associate them with your party. These precautions may seem to you absurd, but it is often by little accidents that things are discovered when as it seemed everything had been provided against." "I shall not mind," Agnes said. "When I first went out it seemed dreadful, but when I found that nobody noticed me I began to be accustomed to it, and as your daughter is dressed as a boy too I shall not mind it." "I shall not like being dressed as a girl," Charlie said sturdily. The count smiled. "Well, we will see what we can do in your case; anyhow, you must keep on that dress--for a day or two. And now, Guy, about yourself. I have arranged for you to lodge with a man who gets news for me; it is in the butchers' quarter, which is the last place where anyone would think of looking for you. Besides, there you will see all that is going on. I have two other disguises in addition to that I sent you; one is that of a young butcher, another is that of one of the lads who live in misery, who sleep at the market where they can earn a few sous by doing odd jobs, and beg or steal when they can do nothing else. I hear that you have also arranged for a shelter in the quarter between the walls; that too may be very useful, and it will be well for you to go thither to-morrow and arrange so that you can have a place to go to when you choose; it will doubtless be much more pleasant for you there than in the market quarter. Lastly, I have got you a white hood, which may be most useful of all." Guy looked surprised. "Henceforth," the count went on, "white is to be the butchers' colour. All who march this evening are to be so clad, and as soon as it is known to-morrow, you will find three-fourths of the people wearing it, for not to do so will be taken as a sign of hostility to their faction. They will have started by this time, and if it pleases you to put on the butcher's dress and the white hood over it you can mingle in safety with them and see all that is done; then when they return to their quarter, you can go with them. The house to which you are to go is the third on the left-hand side of the Rue des Couteaux. My man lodges at the top of the house, the room to the left when you mount the stair--his name is Simon Bouclier. The lane is at the back of the butchers' market. The man has no idea who you are. I have simply told him that I will send a young man to help gather news for me of what is going on, that you would work separately, but that he was to do all in his power to aid you, and that at any time if he wanted to send a message to me and could not himself come, he was to intrust it to you, and similarly he was to bring any message that you might want to send to the spot where he meets my messenger. The man works for one of the Thiberts. He does not know who I am, but I think he believes me to be an agent of Burgundy's, and that I collect the information so that he may be privately informed of what is doing. I have encouraged that idea, because it is more likely to keep him truthful to me, since he would think that were he to play me false the duke would see that some harm or other befell him. Therefore, it is as well that you should drop a word as if by accident that will confirm that notion, and will lead him to believe that you too are working under the orders of the duke. This will lull any suspicion that he might feel on seeing, as he must do, that you live in a position far higher than would appear from your garb. And now, if you would see to-night's doings, you had best put on that disguise and the white hood, and be off without delay; you will find the things in the room above." In a few minutes Guy was ready to start. He could not help looking with disfavour at the greasy and stained garments, and he put them on with an expression of strong disgust. The two suits that he had taken off he made up into a bundle, placed the disguise he had brought with him with them, putting up separately that of which the count had spoken, and which was so ragged and dirty that he inwardly hoped he might never be obliged to assume it; then he went downstairs again. He had strapped round his waist a heavy sword placed beside the clothes, and carried in his hand a short pike. Dame Margaret smiled when he entered, and Katarina laughed aloud at the expression of his face. "Truly, Guy," the former said, "you might go anywhere in that garb without a soul suspecting you. This journey with me is leading you into strange disguises and adventures, which will give you much matter for talk when we are safely back at Summerley." "I have left my other disguises above," he said to the count. "The decent one of an apprentice I have placed with my own clothes, and will take them with me to any lodging that I may get among the carpenters, but that beggar suit I will take to Simon Bouclier's the next time I come. I suppose you would not wish me to come here during the day." "No, unless it is very important; and to that end I think you had better carry the apprentice's disguise also to your lodging in the market. You would not gain favour among the carpenters were you to go among them in the dress you now wear, and your calling upon me here in your apprentice's dress would excite no attention; therefore, if you have need to come here during the day, you had best come as an apprentice." Guy now went down into the street through which the butchers' force would pass. In a short time he heard a deep dull sound, and soon they came along, a host of armed men. He fell in unnoticed near the head of the column. Soon after he had joined them they halted, and three or four knights came up and entered into conversation with their leaders. Guy recognized among them Sir Robert de Mailly, Sir Charles de Lens, and several others of the household of the Duke of Burgundy. These talked for some time with the Sieur de Jacqueville, Governor of Paris, who had joined the butchers' faction and was now riding at the head of the column, whereupon the force went no farther, but turned and retraced its steps. Guy wondered greatly where the butchers could be going, but soon found that they were making for the Bastille. After much parley between De Jacqueville and the governor, the latter consented, on the order of the Duke of Burgundy's friends, to hand over to them Sir Peter des Essars and his brother Sir Anthony, who were both supporters of the Orleanists and had come to Paris secretly, and had by the orders of the Duke of Aquitaine been admitted as guests to the Bastille. These were marched back to the Louvre, the gates of which were opened by the orders of Burgundy's friends, and the two knights were thrown into the prison of the palace. On the way back the houses of a very rich upholsterer and of a cannon-founder of great repute, both of whom had withstood the butchers, were broken into and their owners both murdered. After this the mob marched to the house of Maître Leroux. No reply being given to their summons to open, an attack was made upon the door. While they were engaged in doing this, screens of wattles covered with two or three thicknesses of hides were placed so as to shelter the assailants from the arrows that had proved so deadly on the occasion of their last attack. It was thus evident that the outrage was a planned one. Guy looked on with some amusement until the door gave way under the action of some very heavy sledge-hammers wielded by a party of brawny smiths; the moment it did so the crowd made a tremendous rush. So great was the pressure that many were thrown down and trampled to death in the doorway. It was not long before several of the windows were thrown open and voices shouted down that the house was deserted. A yell of fury burst from the crowd below, but the pressure at the door was even greater than before. The loss incurred during the first attack had caused all but the bravest and most determined to hang back somewhat; now, however, that it seemed that the silversmith's stores could be ransacked without danger, all were anxious to have a hand in it. Presently one of the leaders appeared at a casement on the first floor and waved his arms for silence. The roar of voices ceased and the man cried: "Citizens, 'tis of no use to press forward into the house, not only has the traitor and those with him fled from the just vengeance of the people, but he has taken away with him the whole of his silverware." A yell of disappointment and rage rose, then as it ceased for a moment a voice shouted out: "They are trying to cheat us, my friends; those who got in first have divided up the spoil and wish us to have no share in it." This caused a fresh outburst of commotion. At a signal from the leader above a number of well-armed men, who were evidently a sort of body-guard, pressed forward to the door and drove back the crowd with blows from the staves of their pikes. Presently those who had entered began to pour out, and in a quarter of an hour the house was cleared. As soon as it was so the windows were lit up by a lurid light which showed that it had been fired on each floor, and the flames very soon burst out through the casements. Satisfied with having done this the butchers returned to their quarter, and Guy mounted to the chamber of Simon Bouclier. The man had evidently just returned, as he too wore a white hood. He had been carrying a torch in the procession, and this was stuck into a ring on the wall. [Illustration: "WELL, COMRADE," SAID SIMON, "I SUPPOSE YOU ARE THE MAN I WAS TOLD WOULD COME TO-NIGHT?"] "Well, comrade," he said as Guy entered, "I suppose you are the man I was told would come here to-night." "I am so," Guy said. "I should have been here before, but I joined the procession, as I guessed that you would be there also." "Yes," the man said; "though I should not have gone had I not thought that more would come of it. What have we done? Captured two knights and killed two bourgeois! Pooh, it did not need five thousand men for that." "No, but it was just as important as if we had killed a hundred." "How so?" the other asked. "Because it has shown the Armagnacs that Paris and Burgundy are as united as ever, and that they will stand no intrigues by the court party." "That is true. We are all sound here; there were but five thousand out to-night, because that was enough for the work, but there will be four times as many next time we go to the Louvre. To-morrow morning, you know, we are going to pay a visit to the Duke of Aquitaine at his hotel, to teach that young man that he has to do as we and Burgundy order him, or that it will be worse for him." "So I understand," Guy said carelessly. "As long as all hold together in this quarter everything will go right. My duty principally is to find out if there are any signs of wavering; there are no signs, of course, among the butchers, but some of the others are thought to be but half-hearted." "The butchers and skinners are all right, never fear," the man said; "and if there are others in the quarter who may not be quite so hot in the matter as we are, they know better than to open their mouths. Of course, in the other quarters there may be a strong party who would thwart us; the smiths and the carpenters and masons are ever jealous of us of the markets, but they have no leaders, and hold not together as we do. Besides, they know that we have Burgundy with us, so whatever they think they are not likely to say much, for if it came to a battle we could sweep them out of the city." "Yes, yes, I know that there is no fear of that, the great thing is to make sure that some of those who seem to be hottest in the matter, are not taking money from the other party; there are one or two I am specially to observe." "I understand you, comrade. I myself have never had much confidence in John de Troyes nor his medical students. He is good at talking, no one will deny that; but for myself I would rather that we kept among ourselves and had nothing to do with such cattle, who have no interest in the privileges of the guilds, and who take part with us no one knows why. But I am sleepy; that bundle of fresh rushes in the corner is yours, I got them in the hay-market to-day when I heard that you were coming. You can keep beside me to-morrow morning and I will get you a good place in the ranks. From whence shall I say that you come, as many will ask the question, seeing that your face is strange?" "You can say I am from Nancy." "Yes, that will be good enough; that is the right quarter of France for a man to have come from just at present." Guy was thoroughly fatigued with the long excitement of the day. At eleven in the morning everything had been going on as usual, now Dame Margaret and the two children were in hiding, her four men-at-arms fugitives, and Paris was virtually in a state of insurrection against the royal authority, stirred up thereto by the Duke of Burgundy, who had thus openly leagued himself with the scum of Paris. That what he had seen that evening was but the beginning of a series of crimes, Guy could not doubt; and although this man had expressed his confidence in the power of the market-men to sweep the craftsmen out of Paris, he felt sure from what he had heard, that this could not be done until a fierce and doubtful battle had been fought in the streets. At eight next morning he went out with his companion. "It is well not to go into a place where we shall meet many till your face is better known," the latter said; and he led the way to a small _trattoir_ a quarter of a mile away. Here they sat down and breakfasted, then they returned to the market where the White Hoods were mustering. Simon, who was evidently well known to most of the butchers, took his place near the head of the column, and at nine o'clock it got into motion. When it issued from its own quarters it was evident that its approach excited general apprehension. The streets were deserted as it passed along. None of the casements were opened, and although the traders dared not put up their shutters, none of them appeared at the doors, where their apprentices and workmen gathered to look at the procession. Passing along steadily and in good order, and headed as before by the knights of the Duke of Burgundy's household, they drew up before the palace of the Duke of Aquitaine. Caboche, John de Troyes, and one of the butchers entered the house. The guards having no orders, and seeing how strong was the force that was at their back, did not venture to oppose their entrance, and they pushed on into the private apartments of the duke and informed him that they, on behalf of the good town of Paris and for the welfare of his father and himself, required the delivery to them of certain traitors now in the hotel. The duke, furious at their insolence, told them that such affairs were not their business, and that there were no traitors in the hotel. In the meantime many of the White Hoods had followed their leaders, Simon and Guy entering with them. They scattered through the apartments and seized the duke's chancellor, the Duke of Bar, a cousin of the king, and twelve other knights and gentlemen, some of whom were in the apartment of the Duke of Aquitaine himself. While this was going on the Dukes of Burgundy and Lorraine arrived, and Aquitaine, turning to the former angrily, said: "Father-in-law, this insurrection has been caused by your advice; those of your household are the leaders of it; you shall some day repent of this. The state shall not be always governed according to your will and pleasure." However, in spite of his indignation and remonstrance, the twelve gentlemen were carried away and confined in different prisons; and presently discovering the king's secretary, they killed him and threw the body into the river. They compelled the Duke of Aquitaine himself to leave his palace, and with the king, his father, to take up his abode in the Hôtel de St. Pol. Placing a strong guard round it, so as to prevent them from leaving Paris, the mob then compelled all the nobles and even the prelates, they met, to put on white hoods, and their leaders sent off letters to the chief towns in France to inform them that what they had done was for the welfare of the king and kingdom, and requiring them to give aid should there be any necessity for it; they then published an edict in the name of the king ordering that it should be proclaimed in every bailiwick that no person, under penalty of death and confiscation of goods, should obey any summons from their superior lord to take up arms or to trouble the kingdom. The mad king was made to sign this after the Dukes of Aquitaine, Berri, and Lorraine, and other nobles of the council had put their names to it. At nine o'clock that evening Guy went to the square before Notre Dame. Here many groups of people were talking over the events of the day. Guy had, as soon as he left the market quarter, taken off his white hood, and before starting he put on his dress as an apprentice. There was no doubt that the opinion of the great majority of those in the square was hostile to the authors of the events of the day, and that the consternation among the citizens was very great. After thus forcing the great nobles to obey their will and outraging the palace of the Duke of Aquitaine, there was no saying to what length they would go, and fears were expressed that ere long they might sack the whole of the better quarters of Paris. It was so evident, however, that they had the support of the Duke of Burgundy that no one saw any way out of their trouble, and that nothing but the arrival of a powerful army of Orleanists could relieve them from their peril. As Guy had no real expectation of seeing any of his followers,--although the gates had been opened that afternoon after the seizure of the knights,--he attended more to the conversations going on about him than to the matter on which he had come. Presently, however, he saw a rough-looking fellow watching him attentively. He walked close to him, but not recognizing him would have passed on, had not the man taken a step forward and said in a low voice: "Villeroy!" "Is it you, Robert? In faith I did not recognize you in that attire." "And I was not sure that it was you, Master Guy; I should certainly not have known you by your face. Your figure and walk, when a short distance away, attracted my attention, and knowing your disguise was that of an apprentice I made sure it was you. Then as you came closer I doubted, and though I ventured upon saying the name of our lord, I scarce thought that you would reply." "Where are the others, Robert?" "They are walking about separately seeking for you. We are to meet on the steps of the cathedral at half-past nine." "What has become of Tom?" The man laughed. "If you will come along this way, master, you will see." They went to a quiet corner of the square. As they approached it they heard angry voices, and standing under a lamp Guy saw a tall man of wild and unkempt appearance, with black hair and a begrimed face, and a basket of vegetables strapped to his shoulders, threatening angrily with a staff three or four gamins who were making fun of him. He spoke in a wild, incoherent way, and seemed to be half-witted. "What are you worrying this poor fellow for?" Robert said angrily to the boys. "If you do not be off, and that quickly, I will lay my cudgel about your shoulders." This threat was much more efficacious than those of the half-witted man had been, and the boys at once took to their heels. The tall man shuffled towards the new-comers. "Is it really you, Tom?" Guy said in a low tone. "It is me, sure enough, Master Guy. I should not know myself, and am not surprised that you do not know me; in faith, my back aches with walking with a stoop, and my legs with shuffling along as if I had scarce the use of them, instead of stepping out manfully. Is all well? We have heard of strange doings--that the butchers have, with the countenance of Burgundy, bearded the Duke of Aquitaine, and even carried off some of his friends from before his face; also that the houses of three of those who had withstood them had been burned, among them that of Maître Leroux; also that two traders had been killed, though which two they were we have not been able to learn." "All is well, Tom; our lady and her children were safely bestowed, as was also the silversmith and his wife." "I am right glad of that; they were a worthy couple. And so his house is burned and sacked?" "Burned, but not sacked, Tom; for he had, before they came, stowed away in a hiding-place where they could not be found all those chests of his, and not a single piece of silver fell into the hands of the butchers." "That was well done," the archer said, rubbing his hands. "I should like to have seen the dogs' faces when they burst in and found nothing. And my bow, Master Guy?" "I fear that the flames will not have spared it. I went past the house to-day, and naught but the bare walls are standing." At this moment the bell of the cathedral struck the half-hour, and Robert Picard said: "Will you stay here, Master Guy? I must go and meet the others, and forthwith bring them to you here." CHAPTER XIV -- PLANNING MASSACRE In a short time Robert Picard returned with his two companions, and leaving the square, they all went along the quays to a quiet spot. "We cannot be overheard here," Guy said, "and now, in the first place, let me know how you have fared. I knew that you had got safely away, for I was near the gate of St. Denis when the Burgundians fought their way out, and I saw you follow." "We had no difficulty," Robert Picard said. "We went into the wood, and thence I went across to St. Cloud and bought these garments that you see us in, and we hid away our steel caps and harness in some bushes in the heart of the wood, where they are not likely to be found. Then after a long talk with Tom we agreed that he had best go as a half-witted man with a basket of vegetables for sale, and I went into St. Cloud again, dressed as I now am, and found a little shop where they sold rags and old garments, and got his outfit for a couple of francs, and dear at that. We thought in that way he would not have to say much, and that any confusion of speech would be set down to the fact that his brain was weak. Hearing that the gates were open this afternoon, we came in just before they were closed for the night. We have got a room in a lane which honest folk would not care to pass through even in daylight; 'tis a vile hole, but consorts well with our appearance." "I will try and find you a better place to-morrow, Robert. I am going to see the people with whom Maître Leroux is in hiding. I hear that they have no sympathy with these butchers, and when I tell them that you are stout fellows and good fighters methinks they will find quarters for you; and you may be able to put on safer disguises than those you wear at present, except that of Tom's, which I think we cannot better. Besides, he can lie there quietly, and need not, except when he chooses, sally out. I myself am lodging at present among the butchers. I hear that Caboche and the Legoix are furious at our having slipped through their fingers, and they declare that, as we cannot have escaped from Paris, they will lay hands on us very soon." "I should like to lay hands on a few of them myself, Master Guy," Tom said earnestly, "say out in that wood there with a quarter-staff, and to deal with four of them at a time. They have burnt my bow, and I shall not get even with them till I have cracked fully a dozen of their skulls." "I shall be likely to be near you in the quarter where I hope to get you lodging, Tom, for I too am going to have a room there, though I shall generally live where I now am, as I can there obtain news of all that is going on, and might be able to warn our lady in time if they should get any news that may set them on her track. Heard you aught at St. Cloud of any Orleanist gathering?" "I heard a good deal of talk about it, but naught for certain; but methinks that ere long they will be stirring again. The news that I have heard of the insolence of the mob here to the Duke of Aquitaine, and of the seizure of their friends who were with him, is like to set them on fire, for they will see that all the promises made by Burgundy meant nothing, and that, with the aid of the Parisians, he is determined to exercise all authority in the state, and to hold Aquitaine as well as the king in his hands." The next morning Guy went to the house of Maître de Lepelletiere, and inquired for Philip Sampson. Maître Leroux was in. "I have spoken to my friend about you," he said, after they had talked over the events of the last two days, "and he has arranged for a room for you in a house three doors away; and I have no doubt that your four men can be lodged there also, for 'tis a large house, and is let out, for the most part, as he told me, to journeymen carpenters. But since the troubles began there has been little building, and men who can find no work here have moved away to seek for it in places less afflicted by these troubles. That is one of the reasons why the carpenters have not made a firmer stand against the butchers. I will ask him to come up here. You already know him, as you have spoken with him several times when he was looking after his men putting up the new doors." The master carpenter soon came in. "I will gladly get a lodging for your men," he said, when Guy had explained the matter to him. "We may come to blows with these market people, and four stout fellows are not to be despised. There will be a meeting of the council of our guild this afternoon, and on my recommendation they will give me the necessary documents, saying that the men--you can give me their names--have received permission to work as carpenters in Paris. They can then put on dresses suitable for craftsmen, and the papers will suffice to satisfy anyone who may inquire as to their business. I think that your tall archer may safely lay aside the disguise you say he has assumed, it might be likely to get him into trouble; the change in the colour of the hair and the darkening of his eyebrows should be quite sufficient disguise, and if he is always when abroad with one of his comrades, he has but to keep his mouth shut, and if questioned the man with him can say that he is dumb." "That would be excellent," Guy said, "and I am greatly obliged to you. Doubtless, too, they will soon make acquaintance with some of the other workmen, and by mixing with these there will be less suspicion excited than if they always went about together." "I will tell my foreman to present them to the men who work for me, and they will soon get known in the quarter. Five or six of my men lodge in the house where I took the room for you. It might be useful, too, were I to give you a paper of apprenticeship, and if you were similarly introduced. In that case it might be convenient to exchange the small room that I have taken for you for a larger one; as an apprentice you would ordinarily lodge with your master, and if you did not you would scarce have a room to yourself, but were you to lodge with your four men it would seem natural enough." "That would be a capital plan, Maître Lepelletiere." "You see, in that way, too," the carpenter went on, "you would only have to place a plank on your shoulder and then go where you will without exciting the least attention. I will furnish you with a list of the houses where I have men at work, and this again would be an assistance to you. It is my foreman who took the lodging for you; I am expecting him here shortly for orders, and he shall go round with you. As you say that your fellows are dressed at present in rough fashion it will be as well that they should provide themselves with their new disguises before they come here, as, if they were seen in their present guise, it would prejudice them with the others in the house, for craftsmen look down greatly upon the rough element of the street." "They shall do so," Guy said, "and I will come with them myself this evening." Guy presently went in with the foreman and arranged for a large attic with a dormer window, at the top of the house. At midday he met Robert Picard and told him the arrangements that had been made, supplying him with money for the purchase of the four dresses. "As soon as it becomes dark," he said, "you had best go to some quiet spot and change them. Bring the clothes you now have on in a bundle, for they may yet prove useful, and meet me at eight o'clock at the corner of the Rue des Fosses." Guy then went to the Italian's and told Dame Margaret of the arrangements he had made. "Since you have managed it all so well, Guy, I am glad to hear that the men are all back in Paris. I before wished that they should make straight for Villeroy, but since they are so safely bestowed it were best perhaps that they should be within reach. Long Tom is the only one I shall feel anxious about, for of course he is less easy to disguise than the others." "He has plenty of shrewdness, my lady, and will, I have no doubt, play his part well. I know that I myself feel very glad that there are four true men upon whom we can rely if any difficulty should arise." "Some evening, mother," Agnes said, "when I have grown more accustomed to this boy's dress I will go with Katarina to this house so that I can carry a message there, should she happen to be away when there is need for sending one." Lady Margaret hesitated, but Guy said: "By your leave, my lady, I think that the idea is a very good one, saving that I myself will escort the two ladies there as soon as Mistress Agnes feels confident enough to go." "In that case I should have no objection, Guy. Under your charge I have no doubt Agnes would be perfectly safe, but I could hardly bring myself to let her go out without escort in so wild a city as this is at present." The Italian and his daughter presently joined them, and heard with satisfaction where Guy and the four men had obtained a safe lodging. "Still," he said, "I should advise you sometimes to sleep at your lodging by the market-place. Simon is not the sort of companion you would choose. I have only seen him once, and I was then so disguised that he would not recognize me again--for none of those with whom I have dealings know who I am or where I live--but that once was sufficient to show me that the fellow might be trusted to serve me well as long as he was paid well, especially as he believed that I was an agent of the duke's; still, he is a rough and very unsavoury rascal, and had I been able to think at the moment of anywhere else where you could for the time safely shelter I should not have placed you with him." "I do not mind," Guy said; "and at any rate with him I have opportunities of seeing what is going on, as, for example, when they insulted the Duke of Aquitaine, and it is certainly well to be able to learn what the intentions of the fellows are. As an Englishman I care naught for one party or the other, but as one of gentle blood it fills me with anger and disgust to see this rabble of butchers and skinners lording it over nobles and dragging knights and gentlemen away to prison; and if it were in my power I would gladly upset their design, were it not that I know that, for my lady's sake, it were well to hold myself altogether aloof from meddling in it." "You are right," the Italian said gravely. "I myself am careful not to meddle in any way with these affairs. I try to learn what is doing, because such knowledge is useful to me and gains me credit as well as money with those who consult me, and may possibly be the means of saving their lives if they do but take my warning. Thus, having learned what was proposed to be done yesterday morning, I was able to warn a certain knight who visited me the evening before that it might cost him his life were he to remain in Paris twelve hours. He was incredulous at first, for I would give him no clue as to the nature of the danger; however, by a little trick I succeeded in impressing him sufficiently for him to resolve to leave at daybreak. This he did; at least they searched for him in vain at the Duke of Aquitaine's, and therefore I have no doubt that he took my advice, engaged a boat, and made his escape by the river. It was his first A to me, and I doubt not that henceforth he will be a valuable client, and that he will bring many of his friends to me. If I mistake not, I shall have more opportunities of doing such services and of so increasing my reputation ere long." For a time things went on quietly. Tom and his companions were on friendly terms with the other men in the house, who all believed them to be carpenters who had come to Paris in search of employment. Long Tom was supposed by them to be dumb, and never opened his lips save when alone with his companions, and seldom left the house. The room was altogether unfurnished, but furniture was regarded as by no means a necessity in those days. Five bundles of rushes formed their beds, and Guy, as there was little to learn in the markets, generally slept there. An earthenware pan, in which burned a charcoal fire over which they did what cooking was necessary, a rough gridiron, and a cooking pot were the only purchases that it was necessary to make. Slices of bread formed their platters, and saved them all trouble in the matter of washing up. Washing was roughly performed at a well in the court-yard of the house. Things had now quieted down so much that a considerable number of great nobles resorted to Paris, for the king had now a lucid interval. Among them were the Dukes of Berri, Burgundy, and Lorraine, with Duke Louis of Bavaria, the queen's brother, with the Counts de Nevers, De Charolais, De St. Pol, the Constable of France, and many other great lords and prelates. The queen was also with her husband. "There will shortly be trouble again," the Italian said one day to Guy. "Simon told my daughter yesterday evening that the butchers were only biding their time to get as many fish into their net as possible, and that when they would draw it they would obtain a great haul. You have not been down there for some time; it were best that you put on your butcher's garb again and endeavour to find out what is intended." "I was expecting you," Simon said, when that evening Guy entered his room. "There will be a meeting at midnight in the butchers' hall, and I cannot take you in with me, but I will tell you what happens." "That will do as well as if I went myself," Guy said, "though in truth I should like well to see one of these councils." "No one is admitted save those known to be, like myself, thoroughly devoted to the cause." "That I can well understand, Simon; a traitor might mar all their plans." "Some time I may take you," Simon said, "for doubtless I could smuggle you in; but to-night--" and he hesitated, "to-night it will be specially important, and they have to be more particular than usual as to who are admitted." Guy noticed the hesitation, and replied carelessly that one occasion would be as good as another for him, and presently lay down in his corner. He wondered to himself what the business could be that his companion was evidently anxious that he should hear nothing of. He might wish that he should alone have the merit of reporting it, or it might be something that it was deemed the Duke of Burgundy himself, the butchers' friend and ally, would not approve of. At any rate he was determined, if possible, to find it all out; he therefore feigned sleep. At eleven o'clock Simon got up and went down; Guy waited for two or three minutes and then rose and followed. As soon as he was out of the door he made direct for the hall of the butchers' guild. He knew that Simon was not going straight there, as the meeting was not, he said, for an hour, and that he would be stopping to drink at some cabaret with his associates. The hall was but a short distance away. When Guy approached it he saw that as yet it was not lighted up. On three sides it was surrounded by a garden with high trees; near the front entrance some twenty men were gathered talking together. He, therefore, went round to the back; several trees grew near the wall, and the branches of one of these extended over it. With considerable difficulty Guy succeeded in climbing it, and made his way along the branch and got upon the top of the wall. This was about fourteen feet high, and, lowering himself by his arms, he dropped into the garden and crossed to the building. He took off his white hood and thrust it into his doublet. The windows were six feet from the ground, and were, as usual at this time, closed by wooden shutters on the inside. Putting his fingers on the sill he raised himself up. There was plenty of room for him to stand, and, holding on by the iron bars, he took out his dagger and began to cut a hole in the shutter. The wood was old, and after half an hour's hard work he succeeded in making a hole three inches long and an inch wide. By the time this was finished the hall had been lighted up with torches, and men were pouring in through the doors at the other end. Across the end next to him was a platform on which was a table. For a time no one came up there, for the members as they entered gathered in groups on the floor and talked earnestly together. After a few minutes ten men came up on to the platform; by this time the body of the hall was full, and the doors at the other end were closed. A man, whom Guy recognized as John de Troyes, stepped forward from the others on the platform and, standing in front of the table, addressed his comrades. "My friends," he said, "it is time that we were at work again. Paris is becoming infested by enemies of the people, and we must rid ourselves of them. The nobles are assembled for the purpose, as they say, of being present at the marriage of Louis of Bavaria with the widow of Peter de Navarre, but we know well enough that this is but a pretext; they have come to consult how best they can overthrow the power of our Duke of Burgundy and suppress the liberty of this great city. The question is, are we tamely to submit to this?" A deep shout of "No!" ran through the multitude. "You are right, we will not submit. Were we to do so we know that it would cost the lives of all those who have made themselves prominent in the defence of the liberties of Paris; they might even go so far as to suppress all our privileges and to dissolve our guilds. In this matter the Duke of Burgundy hesitates and is not inclined to go with us to the full, but we Parisians must judge for ourselves what is necessary to be done. The duke has furnished us with a list of twelve names; these men are all dangerous and obnoxious to the safety of Paris. But there must be a longer list, we must strike at our own enemies as well as at those of the duke, and the council has therefore prepared a list of sixty names, which I will read to you." Then, taking out a roll of paper, he read a list of lords and gentlemen, and also, to Guy's indignation, the names of several ladies of rank. "These people," he said when he had finished, "are all obnoxious, and must be cast into prison. They must be tried and condemned." Even among the greater portion of those present the boldness of a proposal that would array so many powerful families against them created a feeling of doubt and hesitation. The bolder spirits, however, burst into loud applause, and in this the others speedily joined, none liking to appear more lukewarm than the rest. Then up rose Caboche, a big, burly man with a coarse and brutal expression of face. "I say we want no trials," he cried, striking one hand on the palm of the other. "As to the number, it is well enough as a beginning, but I would it were six hundred instead of sixty. I would that at one blow we could destroy all the nobles, who live upon the people of France. It needs but a good example to be set in Paris for all the great towns in France to follow it. Still, paltry as the number is, it will, as I said, do as a beginning. But there must be no mistake; if trials they must have, it must be by good men and true, who will know what is necessary and do it; and who will not stand upon legal tricks, but will take as evidence the fact that is known to all, that those people are dangerous to Paris and are the enemies of the king and the Duke of Burgundy. Last time we went, we marched with five thousand men; this time we must go with twenty thousand. They must see what force we have at our command, and that Paris is more powerful than any lord or noble even of the highest rank, and that our alliance must be courted and our orders obeyed. The Duke of Burgundy may pretend to frown, but at heart he will know that we are acting in his interest as well as our own; and even if we risk his displeasure, well, let us risk it. He needs us more than we need him. Do what he will, he cannot do without us. He knows well enough that the Orleanists will never either trust or forgive him, and he committed himself so far with us last time that, say what he will, none will believe that he is not with us now. For myself, I am glad that De Jacqueville and his knights will not this time, as last, ride at our head; 'tis best to show them that Paris is independent even of Burgundy, and that what we will we can do." The hall rang with the loud acclamations, then John de Troyes got up again. "I agree, we all agree, with every word that our good friend has spoken, and can warrant me that the judges shall be men in whom we can absolutely trust, and that those who enter the prisons will not leave them alive. The day after to-morrow, Thursday, the 11th of May, we shall hold a great assembly, of which we shall give notice to the king and the royal dukes, and shall make our proposals to the Duke of Aquitaine. Now, my friends, let each come forward with a list of the number of his friends who he will engage shall be present on Thursday." At this point, Guy, seeing that the main business of the meeting had been declared, and that there now remained but to settle the details, got down from his post. With the aid of some ivy he climbed the wall and dropped down beyond it, and made his way back to his lodging. When Simon returned an hour later, Guy was apparently as fast asleep as before. When sleeping at the butchers' quarter he always rose at a very early hour, so that none who might have noticed him in his butcher's attire should see him go out in that of an apprentice, and he was obliged to walk about for some time before he could call at the count's. As soon as he thought that they would be likely to be stirring he knocked at the door. The old woman opened it. "Is your master up yet?" he asked. She nodded, and without further question he made his way upstairs to the Italian's chamber. "You are early, Master Aylmer," the latter said in surprise as he entered. "Have you news of importance?" "I have indeed, Count," and he at once related all that he had heard through the hole in the shutter. "The insolence of these people surpasses all bounds," the count said angrily as he walked up and down the room. "Were there any force in the town that could resist them I would warn the Duke of Aquitaine what was intended, but as it is, nothing would be gained by it. You can only remember the eight or ten names that you have given me?" "That is all; they were names that I was familiar with, while the others were strange to me." "Two or three of them I can at least save from the grasp of these rascals," he said, "but I will take them all down on my tablets. What need was there for you," he went on after he had done this, "to run such risk as you did--for you would assuredly have been killed without mercy had they caught you spying upon them--when Simon, who you say was present, could have sent me full particulars of all that passed?" Guy stated his reasons for fancying that upon this occasion Simon did not intend to send a full account. "I thought so before I started," he said, "but I was well assured of it when I heard that, although Burgundy had given the names of twelve persons whom he desired to be arrested, he would go no further in the matter, and that he had no knowledge of their further pretensions. It seems to me, Count, that, believing as he does that you are an agent of the duke's, he was unwilling to say anything about this matter, as Burgundy might thwart the intentions of the butchers. The man is heart and soul with them, and though he is willing to sell you information that can do no harm to their plans, he will say nothing that might enable Burgundy to thwart them." "If I thought that Burgundy could, or would do so, I would inform him as well as Aquitaine what is doing; but in the first place he has not the power, and in the second he would not have the will. What are a few score of lives to him, and those mostly of men of the Orleanist faction, in comparison with the support of Paris? I am vexed, too, at this failure of Simon, that is to say, if it be a failure. That we shall know by mid-day. My daughter will meet him in the Place de Grève at eleven, and we shall hear when she comes back how much he has told her. I am going after breakfast to my booth outside the walls, where you first saw me. I must send notes to the three gentlemen whom I know, begging them to see me there." "Can I take them for you? I have nothing to do, and shall be glad of anything to occupy me." "I shall be obliged if you will; you are sure to find them in at this hour." He sat down and wrote three short communications. The wording was identical, but the times fixed for the interview were an hour apart. They ran as follows: "_My Lord,--Consulting the stars last night I find that danger menaces you. It may be averted if you quit Paris when you receive this, for it seems to me that it is here only that your safety is menaced. Should you wish to consult me before doing so, come, I pray you, to my booth in the fair at two, but come mounted. _" Instead of a signature a cabalistic figure was drawn below it, and then the words were added: _The bearer can be trusted._ The slips of parchment were then rolled up and sealed; no addresses were put on. "If they question you," he said, "say nothing, save that I told you that the matter contained in the letter was sure and certain, and that a great risk of life would assuredly be run unless my advice was taken. Deliver them into the hands of those they concern, and trust them to no others, Master Aylmer. If you cannot obtain access to them, say to the varlets that they are to inform their lords that one from the man in the Rue des Essarts desires urgently to see them, and that should be sufficient if the message is given. If they refuse to take it, then I pray you wait outside for a while on the chance of the gentlemen issuing out. This, on which you see I have made one dot, is for the Count de Rennes, who is at present at the Hotel of St. Pol, being in the company of the Duke of Berri; this is for Sir John Rembault, who is at the Louvre, where he is lodging with the governor, who is a relation of his; the third is for the Lord of Roubaix, who is also lodged at the Louvre." "They shall have them," Guy said as he placed them in his doublet, "if I have to stop till midnight to get speech with them; the matter of waiting a few hours is but a trifle in comparison with the life of a man. I would that I could warn others." The Italian shook his head. "It could not be done without great danger," he said. "Were you to carry an anonymous letter to others you might be seized and questioned. The three to whom you now carry notes have all reason for knowing that my predictions are not to be despised, but the others would not accept any warning from an unknown person. They might take it for a plot, and you might be interrogated and even put to torture to discover who you are and whence you obtained this information. Things must go on as they are; assuredly this is no time for meddling in other people's affairs. We are only at the beginning of troubles yet, and know not how great they may grow. Moreover, you have no right to run a risk for strangers when your life may be of vital service to your mistress. Should you succeed in handing these three letters to the gentlemen to whom they are written by noon, I shall be glad if you will bring the news to me at my booth, and I shall then be able to tell, you how much information the butcher has sent of the proceedings last night." Guy went first to the Louvre. As many people were going in and out, no question was asked him, and on reaching the entrance he inquired of some varlets standing there for the lodgings of the Lord de Roubaix and Sir John Rembault. "I am in the service of the Lord de Roubaix; what would you with him?" "I am charged with a message for him; I was told to deliver it only to himself." "From whom do you come? I cannot disturb him with such a message from I know not who." "That is reasonable," Guy replied, "but if you tell him that I come from the man in the Rue des Essarts I warrant that he will see me. You don't suppose that I am joking with you," he went on as the varlet looked at him suspiciously, "when I should likely be whipped for my pains. If you will give the message to your lord I doubt not that he will give me audience." "Follow me," the varlet said, and led the way upstairs and through several corridors, then he motioned to him to wait, and entered a room. He returned in a minute. "My lord will see you," he said, and led the way into the room. "This is the person, my lord," he said, and then retired. The Lord of Roubaix was a tall man of some forty years of age. Guy bowed deeply and handed to him the roll of parchment. The count broke the seal and read it, and when he had finished looked fixedly at Guy. "The writer tells me that you are to be trusted?" "I hope so, my lord." "Do you know the contents of this letter?" "I know so much, my lord, that the writer told me to assure you that the matter was urgent, and that he could not be mistaken as to what was written in the letter." The count stood irresolute for a minute or two; then he said: "Tell him that I will act upon his advice. He has before now proved to me that his warnings are not to be neglected. You seem by your attire to be an apprentice, young sir, and yet your manner is one of higher degree." "Disguises are convenient in times like these, my lord," Guy said. "You are right, lad." He put his hand to his pouch, but Guy drew back with a smile. "No, my lord, had you offered me gold before you remarked that I was but playing a part, I should have taken it in order to keep up that part; as it is I can refuse it without your considering it strange that I should do so." The count smiled. "Whoever you are, you are shrewd and bold, young sir. I shall doubtless see you when I return to Paris." Guy then left, and delivered the other two missives. In each case those who received them simply returned an answer that they would be at the place at the hour named, and he then went beyond the walls, observing as he passed out through the gates that a party of White Hoods had stationed themselves there. However, they interfered with no one passing in or out. On reaching the booth he informed the count of the success of his visits. "I doubt, however," he said, "whether either of the three gentlemen will be here at the time appointed, for the White Hoods are watching at the gate." "I think that they will not stop anyone to-day, Master Aylmer. They intend to make a great haul to-morrow, and would not wish to excite suspicion by seizing anyone to-day. Were it known that they had done so, many others who have reason to believe they are obnoxious to Burgundy or to the Parisians, might conceal themselves or make their escape in various disguises. I hear that a request has been made that a deputation of the citizens of Paris shall be received by the Duke of Aquitaine to-morrow morning, and that the great lords may be present to hear the request and complaints of the city." CHAPTER XV -- A RESCUE Guy had found his mornings hang heavy on his hands, as of course he had been obliged to give up attending the fencing-school. Going down to the river now, he sat there watching the passing boats until nearly one o'clock, and then returned to the fair. Before reaching the booth Katarina joined him. "I have been watching for you, Monsieur Guy. Father said it was as well that you should not, twice in a day, be seen entering his place. He bade me tell you that the three gentlemen have been to him and will not re-enter Paris." "Did you see Simon this morning?" "Yes, he only told me that the market men would have an interview with the Duke of Aquitaine to-morrow, and would demand the arrest of those whom the Duke of Burgundy had pointed out as his enemies. He said that they would go in such force that the duke would be unable to refuse their request. Although it was so early, I think that the man had been drinking. My father, when I told him, said I should go no more to meet him." "I am very glad to hear it," Guy said. "He is a low scoundrel, and though I say not but that the information obtained from him may have been of some advantage, for indeed it was the means of my being enabled to save our lives and those of my Burgundian friends, I like not the thought of your going to meet him; and I am sure that if he were to take the idea into his thick head that it was not for the advantage of the Duke of Burgundy that the information he had given was being used, he is capable of denouncing you." "I did not mind meeting him,", the girl said. "I never went into the rough quarters, but always met him in one of the better squares or streets. Still, I am glad that I have not to go again. I think that he had been drinking all night, and with his unwashed face and his bloodshot eyes and his foul attire I was ashamed even in my present dress to speak with him." "I hope that I have done with him too," Guy said. "Of course, for my mistress's sake, I shall go again if there be aught to be learnt by it, but as it seems he is now no longer to be trusted it is not likely that any advantage is to be gained by visiting him. However, I shall hear what your father thinks this evening." Upon talking over the matter with the astrologer the latter at once said that he thought that it would be better for him not to go to Simon's again. "When he finds that my daughter meets him no more he will feel aggrieved. I myself shall go in disguise to-morrow to meet him in the Place de Grève, and tell him that for the present there will be no occasion for him to come to the rendezvous, as the events of the meeting which will have taken place before I see him show that there can be no doubt that the butchers are ready to go all lengths against the Orleanist party; but that if any change should occur, and private information be required, you would go to his lodging again, I shall make no allusion to his having given me none of the names save those furnished by the duke, or remark on the strangeness that, having been at the meeting, he should have heard nothing of the measures proposed against the others; his own conscience will no doubt tell him that his failure is one of the causes of my no longer desiring any messages from him. I have other means of gaining information, as I have one of the medical students who follow that cracked-brained fellow, John de Troyes, in my pay. Hitherto I have not employed him largely, but shall now, if need be, avail myself of his services. But I do not think that I shall have any occasion to do so. After the demand by the Parisians for so many nobles and gentlemen to be arrested, it will be clear to all adhering to Orleans that Paris is no longer a place for them, and even the followers of Burgundy will see that those the duke regarded as his servants have become his masters, and there will be but few persons of quality remaining in Paris, and therefore, save when some citizen wishes to consult me, I shall have little to do here save to carry on my work as a quack outside the gates. Even this I can drop for a time, for the people of Paris will not be inclined for pleasure when at any moment there may be fierce fighting in the streets. I shall be well content to look on for a time. I have been almost too busy of late. And it was but yesterday that I received news from a Carthusian monk,--whom I thought it as well to engage to let me know what is passing,--that there have been debates among some of the higher clergy upon reports received that persons, evidently disguised, call upon me at late hours, and that I practise diabolic arts. A determination has been arrived at that an inquisition shall be made into my doings, my house is to be searched, and myself arrested and tried by the judge for having dealings with the devil. This news much disturbed me; however, when you told me that the Archbishop of Bourges was among those on the list of accused, and also Boisratier, confessor to the queen, it is evident that these good ecclesiastics will have ample matter of another sort to attend to, and are not likely to trouble themselves about sorcery at present." On the following morning some twelve thousand White Hoods marched to the Hôtel de St. Pol, and the leaders, on being admitted, found all the great lords assembled. After making various propositions they presented a roll to the Duke of Aquitaine containing the names of those they charged with being traitors. He at first refused to take it; but so many of their followers at once poured into the great hall that he was obliged to do so, and to read out the names. Twenty of those mentioned in the list were at once, in spite of the protest of the duke, arrested and carried off; a proclamation was made by sound of trumpet in all the squares of Paris summoning the other forty named to appear within a few days, under penalty of having their property confiscated. A week later the king, having recovered his health, went to the church of Notre Dame, he and all the nobles with him wearing white hoods. Four days later the Parisians rose again, seized the gates, drew up the bridges, placed strong guards at each point, and a cordon of armed men outside the walls all round the city, to prevent any from escaping by letting themselves down from the walls. Parties of ten armed men were placed in every street, and the sheriffs and other leaders marched a large body of men to the Hôtel de St. Pol and surrounded it by a line three deep. They then entered and found the king, dukes, and nobles all assembled in the great hall. They then ordered a Carmelite friar, named Eustace, to preach to the king. He took for his text, "_Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain_," and upon this discoursed on the bad state of the government of the kingdom, and of the crimes committed. The Chancellor of France demanded of the friar when he had concluded who were those who had incited him thus to speak, and the leaders at once said they had done so, and called up a number of other leaders, who on bended knees declared to the king that Father Eustace had spoken their sentiments; that they had the sincerest love for the king and his family, and that what they had done had been for the welfare of himself and the kingdom. While this was going on, the Duke of Burgundy, at once indignant and alarmed at this insolence of the Parisians, had gone out, and, finding the lines of armed men surrounding the hotel, had earnestly entreated them to retire, saying that it was neither decent nor expedient that the king, who had but just recovered from his illness, should thus see them drawn up in battle array round his abode. Those he addressed replied like the leaders within, that they were there for the good of the kingdom, and then gave him a roll, saying that they should not depart until those written on it were delivered up to them. With the names of Louis of Bavaria, five knights, an archbishop and priest, were those of nine ladies of high rank, including the eldest daughter of the constable. The duke found that neither his authority nor powers were of the slightest avail, and returning to the queen, showed her the list. She was greatly troubled, and begged him to go with the Duke of Aquitaine and beg the Parisians in her name to wait for eight days, and that she would at the end of that time allow them to arrest her brother. The two dukes went out to the Parisians, but they positively refused to grant the request, and declared that they would go up to the queen's apartments and take those named by force, even in her or the king's presence, unless they were given up. On their return to the queen they found Louis of Bavaria and the king with her. On their report of the Parisians' demands the Duke of Bavaria went out and begged them to take him into custody, and that if he were found guilty they could punish him, but that if found innocent he should be allowed to go back to Bavaria, under a promise not to return to France again. He begged them to be content with taking him a prisoner, and to arrest no others. They would not, however, abate one jot of their pretensions, and the whole of those demanded were at once brought out, including the ladies. They were put two and two on horseback, each horse escorted by four men-at-arms, and were carried to various prisons. The Duke of Burgundy now, with his usual craft, professed to be well satisfied with what the Parisians had done, and handed over to them the Duke of Bar and the other prisoners confined in the Louvre, for whose security he had solemnly pledged himself. The Parisians then obliged the king to appoint twelve knights, nominated by themselves, and six examiners, to try the prisoners and punish all found guilty, while the dukes were obliged to draw up a statement and send it to the University for their seal of approval of what had been done. The University, however, to their honour, stood firm; and while king and nobles had quailed before the violence of the crowd, they declared in full council before the king that they would in nowise intermeddle or advise in the business; and that so far from having advised the arrests of the dukes and other prisoners, they were much displeased at what had taken place. The University was a power; its buildings were strong, and the students were numerous, and at all times ready to take part in brawls against the Parisians; and even the butchers, violent as they were, were afraid to take steps against it. They foresaw, however, that the position taken up by the University might lead some day to an inquiry into their conduct, and therefore obtained from the king an edict declaring that all that had been done was done by his approval and for the security of his person and the state, and that the arrests and imprisonments were therefore to be considered and regarded as having been done for the true honour and profit of the crown, and that he accordingly commanded all his councillors, judges, and officers to proclaim that this was so in all public places. This was signed by the king in council, the Dukes of Berri and Burgundy, and several other nobles and ecclesiastics, by the Chancellor of Burgundy, and other knights attached to the duke. Many nobles quitted Paris at once, either openly or in disguise, including many of the Burgundian party, who were to the last degree indignant at what was going on; for the mock trials were at once commenced, and many of the prisoners, without regard to sex, were daily either put to death in prison or drowned in the Seine. Some of the bodies were exhibited on gibbets, the heads of others were fixed on lances, and some of them were beheaded in the market-place. During this time Paris remained in a state of terror, bands of armed butchers parading the streets were loud in their threats as to what would be done to all who did not join heartily with them. None of the better class ventured from their houses, and the mob were absolute masters of the city. The leaders, however, maintained for the time a certain degree of order. For the time they were anxious to appear in the light of earnest friends of the king, and as carrying out in his name the punishment of his enemies. But many tumults, murders, and conflagrations occurred in the city, and the country in general soon perceived the real nature of their doings. It was known that the Orleanist forces were marching against the city. The Count d'Eu had left Paris and returned to his estates, where he raised two thousand men-at-arms and marched to Verneuil, where the Dukes of Orleans, Brittany, and Bourbon were assembled, with a number of great lords, among whom were the Counts of Vettus and D'Alençon, the king's sons. The former had made his escape from Paris, and brought letters from the Duke of Aquitaine declaring that he himself, with the king and queen, were prisoners in the hands of the Parisians. All these nobles met in a great assembly, and letters were written to the king, his great council, and to the Parisians, ordering them to allow the Duke of Aquitaine to go wherever he pleased, and to set at liberty the Dukes of Bar and Bavaria and all other prisoners. Should they refuse to comply, they declared war against the town of Paris, which they declared they would destroy, with all within it except the king and the princes of royal blood. The Parisians compelled the king to send a friendly answer, putting them off with excuses, and in the meantime to despatch commissaries to all the towns and baronies of France assuring them that the trials and executions of the traitors had been fairly conducted and their guilt proved, and calling upon the country to take up arms to aid Paris against various nobles who were traitorously advancing against it. During this time Guy remained quietly in his lodging with the four retainers, seldom stirring abroad. The men were now regarded by all their neighbours as honest carpenters, and they shared the indignation of the great body of the craft at this usurpation by the market men of the government of France, and at the murders of knights and ladies that were daily taking place. At present, however, the opponents of the butchers dared not resort to arms. So great had been the fear that they excited that most men, however much at heart opposed to them, had been constrained to appear to side with and agree with them, and as there was no means of knowing who could be counted upon to join the carpenters were these to take up arms, the latter could not venture alone to enter the lists against the armed host of the other party. One evening Guy, who had not been near the Italian's for over a fortnight, received a message from Dame Margaret to say that she wished to speak to him, for that she had determined, if any way of escape could be decided on, to quit Paris, and to endeavour to make her way to Villeroy. He was greatly pleased at the news. He had himself ventured to urge this step on the day after the Duke of Bar and his companions were seized, pointing out that it was evident that the Duke of Burgundy had neither the power nor the inclination to thwart the Parisians, and that although both parties were now nominally hostile to the English, neither were likely, at so critical a time, to give so much as a thought to Villeroy. Dame Margaret had agreed to this, but considered the difficulties of getting out of Paris and traversing the intervening country were so great that she preferred to wait until some change took place in the situation of Paris. But it was now too evident that the changes were entirely for the worse, and that if discovered the butchers would undoubtedly add her and her children to their long list of victims. His companions were equally glad when Guy told them the news. "The sooner the better, Master Guy," Long Tom said. "I own that I should like to have a tussle with these rascals before I go; their doings are so wicked that every honest man must want to get one fair blow at them. Still, I don't see any chance of that, for although the good fellows round here grumble under their breath, there does not seem any chance of their doing anything. There is not an hour passes that my heart is not in my mouth if I hear a step on the stairs, thinking that they may have found out where my lady is hidden." Guy had just turned into the street where the astrologer dwelt when he heard loud voices from a little group in front of him. Four armed men, whose white hoods showed that they were one of the butchers' patrols, were standing round a slight figure. "It is well you stopped him, comrade," a voice said, that Guy recognized at once as being that of Simon Bouclier. "I know the young fellow; he has been to me many a time on the part of a knave who professed to be an agent of Burgundy's, making inquiries of me as to the doings in our quarter. I have found out since that the duke employed no such agent, and this matter must be inquired into. We will take him with us to the market; they will soon find means of learning all about him and his employer." Guy felt at once that if Katarina were carried to the butchers, not only would the consequences to herself be terrible, but that she would be forced to make such disclosures as would lead to the arrest of the count, and to the discovery of Dame Margaret. He determined at all hazards to get her out of these men's hands. The girl made a sudden attempt to free herself, slipped from the grasp that one of the men had of her shoulder, dived between two others, and would have been off had not Simon seized her by the arm. Guy sprung forward and threw himself on the butcher, and with such force that Simon rolled over in the gutter. "Run, run!" he shouted at the same moment to Katarina, who darted down a lane to the left, while he himself ran forward and turned down the first lane to the right with the three men in hot pursuit of him. Young, active, and unencumbered by armour, he gained on them rapidly; but when he neared the end of the lane he saw some five or six White Hoods, whose attention had been called by the shouts of his pursuers, running to meet him. He turned and ran back till close to those who had been following him, and then suddenly sprung into a doorway when they were but three or four paces from him. They were unable to check their speed, and as they passed he brought his sword down on the neck of the one nearest, and as he fell to the ground Guy leapt out and ran up the street again. He had gone but ten paces when he met Simon, who rushed at him furiously with an uplifted axe. Springing aside as the blow descended he delivered a slashing cut on the butcher's cheek, dashed past him, and kept on his way. He took the first turning, and then another, leading, like that in which he had been intercepted, towards the river. His pursuers were fifty yards behind him, but he feared that at any moment their shouts would attract the attention of another patrol. More than once, indeed, he had to alter his direction as he heard sounds of shouts in front of him, but at last, after ten minutes' running, he came down on to the main thoroughfare at the point where the street leading to the bridge across to the island issued from it. [Illustration: "GUY DELIVERED A SLASHING BLOW ON THE BUTCHER'S CHEEK, AND DASHED PAST HIM."] His pursuers were still but a short distance away, for fresh parties who had joined them had taken up the chase, and Guy was no longer running at the speed at which he had started. His great fear was that he should be stopped at the gate at the end of the bridge; but as there was no fear of attack this had been left open, so as not to interfere with the traffic between that quarter of the city on the island and those on the opposite banks. Guy was now again running his hardest, in order to get across far enough ahead of his pursuers to enable him to hide himself, when a strong patrol of some twenty White Hoods issued from the gate at the other side of the bridge. Without a moment's hesitation he climbed the parapet and threw himself over. It would, he knew, be as bad for his mistress were he captured as if Katarina had fallen into their hands, for if caught he felt sure that tortures would be applied to discover who he was and where his mistress was hidden, and he had made up his mind that if he was overtaken he would fight until killed rather than be captured. When he came to the surface of the water Guy turned on his back and suffered himself to float down until he recovered his breath. When he did so he raised his head and, treading the water, listened attentively. He was now nearly a quarter of a mile below the bridge. There was no sound of shouting behind him, but he felt sure that the pursuit was in no way abandoned. Already torches were flashing on the quay between the wall and the river, and in a short time others appeared on his left. On both sides there were dark spaces where the walls of the great chateaux of the nobles extended down to the water's side, and obliged those pursuing him along the quays to make a detour round them to come down again to the bank. He could hardly succeed in reaching one of these buildings without being seen, for the light of the torches on the opposite shore would be almost certain to betray his movements as soon as he began to swim, and even if he did reach the shore unseen he might at once be handed over to the White Hoods by those in the hotel. He therefore remained floating on his back, and in twenty minutes was beyond the line of the city wall. He could now swim without fear of being discovered, and made for the southern shore. It was now the middle of June, and the water was fairly warm, but he was glad to be out of it. So far as Guy had heard he had not been caught sight of from the moment that he had sprung from the bridge. It might well be supposed that he had been drowned. Climbing up the bank he gained, after walking a quarter of a mile, the forest that surrounded Paris on all sides. Going some distance into it he threw himself down, after first taking off his doublet and hanging it on a bush to dry. He had escaped the first pressing danger, that of being taken and tortured into confession, and the rest was now comparatively easy. He had but to obtain another disguise of some sort and to re-enter Paris; he would then be in no greater danger than before, for in the sudden attack on Simon, and in the subsequent flight through the ill-lighted streets, he was certain that beyond the fact that he was young and active, and that he was evidently not a noble, no one could have noted any details of his dress, and certainly no one could have had as much as a glance at his face. He started at daybreak, walked through the woods up to Meudon, and thence to Versailles, which was then little more than a village. By the time that he reached it his clothes had thoroughly dried on him, and being of a dark colour they looked little the worse, save that his tight pantaloons had shrunk considerably. The stalls were just opening when he arrived there, and he presently came upon one where garments of all sorts were hanging. The proprietor's wife, a cheery-looking woman, was standing at the door. "I have need of some garments, madame," he said. "You look as if you did," she said with a smile, glancing at his ankles. "I see that you are an apprentice, and for that sort of gear you will have to go to Paris; we deal in country garments." "That will suit me well enough, madame. The fact is that, as you see, I am an apprentice; but having been badly treated, and having in truth no stomach for the frays and alarms in Paris (where the first man one meets will strike one down, and if he slays you it matters not if he but shout loud enough that he has killed an Orleanist), I have left my master, and have no intention of returning as an apprentice. But I might be stopped and questioned at every place I pass through on my way home did I travel in this 'prentice dress, and I would, therefore, fain buy the attire of a young peasant." The woman glanced up and down the street. "Come in," she said. "You know that it is against the law to give shelter to a runaway apprentice, but there are such wild doings in Paris that for my part I can see no harm in assisting anyone to escape, whether he be a noble or an apprentice, and methinks from your speech that you are as like to be the former as the latter. But," she went on, seeing that Guy was about to speak, "tell me naught about it. My husband, who ought to be here, is snoring upstairs, and I can sell what I will; therefore, look round and take your choice of garments, and go into the parlour behind the shop and don them quickly before anyone comes in. As to your own I will pay you what they are worth, for although those pantaloons are all too tight for those strong limbs of yours they may do for a slighter figure." Guy was soon suited, and in a few minutes left the shop in a peasant's dress, and made his way along the village until beyond the houses. Then he left the road, made a long detour, and returned to Sèvres. Here he first purchased a basket, which he took outside the place and hid in a bush. Then he went down into the market and bargained for vegetables, making three journeys backwards and forwards, and buying each time of different women, until his basket was piled up. Then he got a piece of old rope for two or three sous, slung the basket on his shoulders, crossed the ferry, and made for Paris. He felt strange without his sword, which he had dropped into the water on landing; for although in Paris every one now went armed, a sword would have been out of character with his dress, in the country, and still more so in the disguise in which he had determined to re-enter the town. He passed without question through the gate, and made his way to his lodgings. As he entered Long Tom leapt up with a cry of joy. "Thank God that you are safe, Master Guy! We have been grievously disturbed for your safety, for the count came here early this morning in disguise to ask if we had heard aught of you. He said that his daughter had returned last night saying that you had rescued her from the hands of the White Hoods, and that beyond the fact that they had followed you in hot pursuit she had no news of you, and that the countess was greatly alarmed as to your safety. The other three men-at-arms started at once to find out if aught could be learned of you. I would fain have gone also, but the count said that I must bide here in case you should come, and that there was trouble enough at present without my running the risk of being discovered. An hour since Robert Picard returned; he had been listening to the talk of the White Hoods, and had learned that one of their number had been killed and another sorely wounded by a man who had rescued a prisoner from the hands of a patrol. He had been chased by a number of them, and finally threw himself off the bridge into the Seine to avoid falling into their hands. The general idea was that he was one of the nobles in disguise, of whom they were in search, and that the capture would have been a very important one. "All agreed that he could never have come up alive, for there were bands of men with torches along both banks, and no sign of him had been perceived. However, they are searching the river down, and hope to come upon his body either floating or cast ashore. Robert went out again to try and gather more news, leaving me well-nigh distraught here." "The story is true as far as it goes, Tom. I did catch one of them a back-handed blow just under his helmet as he ran past me, and I doubt not that it finished him; as to the other, I laid his cheek open. It was a hot pursuit, but I should have got away had it not been that a strong patrol came out through the gate at the other end of the bridge just as I was in the middle, and there was no course but to jump for it. I thrust my sword into the sheath, and went over. It added somewhat to my weight in the water, and it sunk my body below the surface, but with the aid of my hands paddling I floated so that only my nose and mouth were above the water; so that it is little wonder that they could not make me out. I landed on the other bank a quarter of a mile beyond the walls, slept in the forest, started this morning from Versailles, where I got rid of my other clothes and bought these. I purchased this basket and the vegetables at Sèvres, then walked boldly in. No one could have seen my face in the darkness, and therefore I am safe from detection, perhaps safer than I was before." "Well done, Master Guy; they would have killed you assuredly if they had caught you." "It was not that that I was afraid of--it was of being taken prisoner. You see, if they had captured me and carried me before the butchers in order to inquire who I was before cutting my throat, they might have put me to the torture and forced me to say who I was, and where my mistress was in hiding. I hope if they had, that I should have stood out; but none can say what he will do when he has red-hot pincers taking bits out of his flesh, and his nails, perhaps, being torn out at the roots. So even if I could not have swam a stroke I should have jumped off the bridge." "You did well, Master Guy," the archer said admiringly; "for indeed they say that the strongest man cannot hold out against these devilish tortures." At this moment a step was heard on the stairs, and Jules Varoy entered. "The saints be praised!" he exclaimed as he recognized Guy. "I thought that you were drowned like a rat, Master Guy; and though Tom here told us that you could swim well, I never thought to see you again." Guy told him in a few words how he had escaped, and begged him to carry the news to his mistress. He was about to give him the address--for up till now he had refrained from doing so, telling them that it was from no doubt of their fidelity, but that if by any chance one of them fell into the hands of the White Hoods they might endeavour to wring from them the secret, and it was therefore best that they should not be burdened with it--but the man stopped him. "The count told us that he would be at his booth at the fair at eleven o'clock, and that if any of us obtained any news we were to take it to him there. He said that there were several parties of White Hoods in the streets, and that as he went past he heard them say that the boy of whom they were in search was a messenger of some person of importance at court, and that doubtless the man who had rescued him was also in the plot, and that a strict watch was to be kept on the quarter both for the boy and for the man, who was said to be tall and young. Simon, who had been wounded by him, had declared that he knew him to be connected with the boy; that he was a young man with dark hair, and was in the habit of using disguises, sometimes wearing the dress of an apprentice, and at other times that of a butcher's assistant. He said that he was about twenty-three." Guy smiled. He understood that the butcher, who was a very powerful man, did not like to own that the man who had killed one of his comrades and had severely wounded himself was but a lad. "As you go, Jules," he said, "will you see Maître Leroux and ask him if he can come hither, for I would consult him on the matter." CHAPTER XVI -- THE ESCAPE Maître Leroux came in shortly after Jules Varoy had left. He had not, until the man told him, heard of the events of the night before, and Guy had to tell him all about it before anything else was said. "It was a lucky escape, Master Aylmer, if one can call luck what is due to thought and quickness. Is there anything I can do for you?" "This black hue that I gave my hair has been of good service to me hitherto, but as it is a youth with black hair that they are now looking for, I would fain change its hue again." "What dye did you use?" "It was bought for me at a perfumer's in the Rue Cabot. As you see, it is fading now, and the ducking last night has greatly assisted to wash it out. The shopman said that it was used by court ladies and would last for a long time, but I have already had to renew it four or five times. I would now colour my hair a red or a reddish-brown; if I cannot do that I must crop it quite short. It matters nothing in this disguise whether it is altogether out of the fashion or not. What think you?" "Doubtless you could get dyes of any shade at the perfumer's you speak of, for he supplies most of the court ladies with dyes and perfumes; and I should say that reddish-brown dye would suit you well, since that differs a good deal from your hair's original colour and still more from what it is at present. I will ask one of Lepelletiere's daughters to fetch it for you. It would be better than cutting it short, though that might not go badly with your present disguise, but should you need to adopt any other it would look strange, since in our days there is scarce anyone but wears his hair down to his shoulders. In the meantime I would have you wash your hair several times with a ley of potash, but not too strong, or it will damage it. I warrant me that will take out the dye altogether; but be sure that you wash it well in pure water afterwards, so as to get rid of the potash, for that might greatly affect the new dye. I will send a boy up with some potash to you at once, so that you may be ready to apply the dye as soon as you get it." Late in the afternoon Guy sallied out in the disguise in which he had arrived. His hair was a tawny brown. He had left his basket behind him, and carried a heavy cudgel in his hand. He sauntered quietly along, stopping often to stare at the goods on the stalls, and at nobles who rode past followed generally by two or three esquires. No one would doubt that he was a young countryman freshly arrived in Paris. He had sent a message to the count by Jules Varoy that he would pass along the street in the disguise of a young peasant as the clock struck seven, and that if he saw no White Hoods about he would look up at the casement, return a minute or two afterwards, and then try if the door was unfastened. If so he would come in, while if it were fastened he should consider that it was judged unsafe for him to enter. He caught sight of Katarina's face at the window as he glanced up. There was a patrol of the White Hoods in sight, but it was far down the street, and after going a few yards past the house he crossed the road, and as he returned he pushed at the door. It yielded at once, and with a glance round to see that no one was watching he entered quickly and closed it behind him. "The Madonna be thanked that you are safe!" Katarina, now in her girl's dress, exclaimed as she seized his hand. "Oh, Monsieur Guy, how I have suffered! It was not until two o'clock that my father returned and told us that you were safe; I should never have forgiven myself if harm had come to you from your noble effort to save me. I heard their shouts as they ran in pursuit of you, and scarce thought it possible that you could escape when there was so many of their patrols about in the street. I cried all night at the thought that you should have thrown away your life to try to save mine, for I knew well enough what would have happened had that evil butcher dragged me to his quarter. After my father had been out early and brought back the news that you had leapt into the Seine we had some little hope, for Dame Margaret declared that she knew that you could swim well. We had no one we could send out, for the old woman is too stupid, and my father now strictly forbids me to stir outside the door. So here we all sat worn with anxiety until my father returned from the booth with the news. He could not come back earlier, and he had no one to send, for the black man must keep outside amusing the people as long as my father is there." All this was poured out so rapidly that it was said by the time they reached the door upstairs. Dame Margaret silently held out her hands to Guy as he entered, and Agnes kissed him with sisterly affection, while Charlie danced round and round him with boisterous delight. "I hardly knew how much you were to me and how much I depended upon you, Guy," Dame Margaret said presently, "until I feared that I had lost you. When, as I thought must be the case from what Katarina said, I believed you were killed or a prisoner in the hands of those terrible people, it seemed to me that we were quite left alone, although there still remained the four men. Neither Agnes nor I closed our eyes all night Charlie soon cried himself to sleep, Katarina sat up with us till nigh morning, and we had hard work to console her in any way, so deep was her grief at the thought that it was owing to her that you had run this peril. All night we could hear the count walking up and down in the room above. He had pointed out the peril that might arise to us all if you had fallen into the hands of the butchers, but at the time we could not dwell on that, though there were doubtless grounds for his fears." "Great grounds, madame. That is what I most feared when I was flying from them, and I was resolved that I would not be taken alive, for had I not gained the bridge I was determined to force them to kill me rather than be captured. It was fortunate, indeed, that I came along when I did, Katarina, for had I not heard what Simon said I should have passed on without giving a thought to the matter. There are too many evil deeds done in Paris to risk one's life to rescue a prisoner from the hands of a patrol of the White Hoods." "As for me, I did not realize it until it was all over," Katarina said. "I felt too frightened even to think clearly. It was not until the shouts of your pursuers had died away that I could realize what you had saved me from, and the thought made me so faint and weak that I was forced to sit down on a door-step for a time before I could make my way home. As to my father, he turned as pale as death when I came in and told him what had happened." Shortly afterwards the count, who had been engaged with a person of consequence, came down. He thanked Guy in the warmest terms for the service he had rendered his daughter. "Never was a woman in greater peril," he said, "and assuredly St. Anthony, my patron saint, must have sent you to her rescue. She is all that I have left now, and it is chiefly for her sake that I have continued to amass money, though I say not that my own fancy for meddling in such intrigues may not take some part in the matter. After this I am resolved of one thing, namely, that she shall take no further part in the business. For the last year I had often told myself that the time had come when I must find another to act as my messenger and agent. It was difficult, however, to find one I could absolutely trust, and I have put the matter off. I shall do so no longer; and indeed there is now the less occasion for it, since, as I have just learned, fresh negotiations have been opened for peace. That it will be a lasting one I have no hope, but the Orleanists are advancing in such force that Burgundy may well feel that the issue of a battle at present may go against him. But even though it last but a short time, there will come so many of the Orleanist nobles here with doubtless strong retinues that Paris will be overawed, and we shall have an end of these riots here. I shall, therefore, have no need to trouble as to what is going on at the markets. As to other matters I can keep myself well informed. I have done services to knights and nobles of one party as well as the other, and shall be able to learn what is being done in both camps. The important point at present is, Lady Margaret, that there is like to be a truce, at any rate for a time. As soon as this is made and the Duke of Aquitaine has gained power to act you may be sure that the leaders of the White Hoods will be punished, and there will be no more closing of gates and examination of those who pass in and out. Therefore, madame, you will then be able to do what is now well-nigh impossible, namely, quit the town. At present the orders are more stringent than ever, none are allowed to leave save with orders signed by John de Troyes, who calls himself keeper of the palace, Caboche, or other leaders and even peasants who come in with market goods must henceforth produce papers signed by the syndics of their villages saying they are the inhabitants of his commune, and therefore quiet and peaceable men going about their business of supplying the city with meat or vegetables, as the case may be. These papers must also be shown on going out again. Until a change takes place, then, there is no hope of your making your way out through the gates with your children; but as soon as the truce is concluded and the Orleanists come in you will be able to pass out without trouble." It was not, indeed, for another month that the truce was settled, although the terms were virtually agreed upon at Pontois, where the Dukes of Berri and Burgundy met the Dukes of Orleans and Bourbon and the other Orleanist nobles, and the conditions were considered at a council to which the delegates of the University and the municipality of Paris were admitted. The conduct of the insurgents of Paris was now repudiated by the Duke of Burgundy, and the severest, censure passed upon them, in the conditions of the treaty. The greatest alarm was excited in the market quarter, and this was increased when, immediately afterwards, the Dukes of Bar and Bavaria were liberated. On the 12th of August and on the 4th of September the rest of the prisoners still left alive were also set free. The bells of the churches rang a joyful peal. De Jacqueville, John de Troyes, Caboche, and many of the leaders of the butchers at once fled from Paris. Most of the knights who had been agents for the insurgents in the mock trials also left Paris, and shortly afterwards the duke himself, finding how strongly the tide had set against him, and fearing that he himself might shortly be seized and thrown into prison, went out from Paris under the pretence of hunting, and fled. During this time Guy had remained with the four men-at-arms. As soon as the power of the butchers diminished and the guards were removed from the gates, and all who pleased could enter or leave, Dame Margaret prepared for flight. Along with the Burgundian knights and nobles who returned after the truce was proclaimed came Count Charles d'Estournel, and several of those who had fled with him. Guy met the former riding through the street on the day after his return to Paris. Not caring to accost him there, he followed him and saw him dismount at his former lodging. As soon as he had entered Guy went up to the door. "What do you want?" one of the count's valets said. "I want to see your master, fellow," Guy said sharply, "and I will pull your ears for your insolence if you accost me in that style." The valet stared at him open-mouthed, then thinking that this peasant might be deputed by the terrible butchers to see his lord, he inquired in a changed tone what message he should give to the count. "Say to him that the man of the street fray wants to see him." A minute later the young count himself ran downstairs and warmly embraced Guy, to the astonishment of the valet. "My dear friend," he exclaimed, "I am indeed delighted to see you! Twice have you saved my life, for assuredly had we not got through the Port St. Denis that day not one of us would ever have left Paris alive, and we are all under the deepest obligation to you. But even after our skirmish at the gate we scarcely realized the danger that we had escaped, for we believed that even had the Parisians been insolent enough to demand our arrest for stopping them when engaged in attacking the houses of peaceable citizens, the duke would treat their demand with the scorn that it deserved. However, when next day we heard that some of the officers of his household had headed them when they forced their way into the Duke of Aquitaine's hotel, and carried off the Duke of Bar and others from before his eyes, and that the duke in all things assisted them, we knew that he would not have hesitated to deliver us up to the villains. "We held a council as to what we should do. We could not affirm that he had failed, as our lord, in giving us protection, for he had not done so, seeing that we had taken the matter in our own hands. Had he actually consented to hand us over to the Parisians, we should have issued a declaration laying the matter before all the great vassals of Burgundy and denouncing him as a false lord. There are many who would have been very glad to have taken up the matter, for his truckling to these knaves has greatly displeased all save the men who are mere creatures of his. However, as we had no proof that he was willing to surrender us to the fury of the mob of Paris, we could do nothing, and the crafty fox called upon my father the next day and expressed his satisfaction that we had all ridden away, though at the same time saying that there was no reason whatever for our having done so, as he should of course have refused to give any satisfaction to the mob of Paris, and he caused several letters to the same effect to be sent to my friends who escaped with me. "My father was very short with him, and told him that as it seemed the Parisians were the masters of the city, and that he had no power to restrain them, however monstrous their doings, he thought that we had all acted very wisely in going. He himself left Paris the next day, and several other nobles, relations or friends to some of us, took the earliest opportunity also of leaving for their estates. Now that the power of the butchers has been broken and that their leaders have fled, I came back again, chiefly to find out what had become of you, and whether you and your charges have passed through these evil times unharmed." "We have all been in hiding, and save for an adventure or two have passed the time quietly. Now that the gates are open we are going to make our escape, for you see everything points to the probability that the Orleanists will very shortly be supreme here, and after the defeat Sir Eustace gave Sir Clugnet de Brabant they might be glad still to retain our lady as hostage, though methinks they would treat her more honourably than the Duke of Burgundy has done." "Possibly they might, but I would not count upon it, for indeed wherever they have taken a town they have treated those who fell into their hands most barbarously. 'Tis true that they have some excuse for it in the treatment of so many knights and ladies here. Indeed it seems to me that France has been seized with madness, and that Heaven's vengeance will fall upon her for the evil things that are being done. And now, can we aid you in any way? The duke was extremely civil when I saw him on my arrival here yesterday. He said that I and my friends were wrong in not having trusted in him to protect us from the demands of the butchers. I told him frankly that as he had in other matters been so overborne by them, and had been unable to save noble knights and ladies from being murdered by them under the pretence of a trial that all men knew was a mockery, it was just as well that we had taken the matter into our own hands without adding it to his other burdens; and that I and my friends felt that we had no reason to regret the step we had taken, and we knew that our feelings were shared by many other nobles and knights in Burgundy. "He looked darkly at me, but at the present pass he did not care to say anything that would give offence, not only to me, but to my friends, who with their connections are too powerful to be alienated at a time when he may need every lance. I could not, however, well ask from him a free conduct for your people without naming them, but I might get such a pass from his chancellor, and if your former host, Maître Leroux, be still alive, he might doubtless get you one from the municipality. As an additional protection I myself shall certainly ride with you. It is for that that I have returned to Paris. I shall simply say to the chancellor that I am riding to Arras on my own business, and that though in most places I should be known to Burgundians, yet that it would be as well that I should have a pass lest I be met by any rude body of citizens or others who might not know me, and I shall request him to make it out for me personally and for all persons travelling in my train. So that, as far as Flanders at any rate, there should be no difficulty. I only propose that you should also get a document from the city in case of anything befalling us on the way. "I see not indeed what can befall us; but it is always well in such times as these, when such strange things occur, to provide for all emergencies. I may tell you that Louis de Lactre and Reginald Poupart have arrived with me in Paris bent on the same errand, and anxious like myself to testify their gratitude to you; so that we shall be a strong body, and could if necessary ride through France without any pass at all, since one or other of us is sure to find a friend in every town which we may traverse." "Truly, I am thankful indeed to you and to your friends, Count. I own that it has been a sore trouble to me as to how we should be able, however we might disguise ourselves, to travel through the country in these disturbed times, without papers of any kind, when bodies of armed men are moving to and fro in all directions, and travellers, whoever they may be, are questioned at every place on the road where they stop." "Do not speak of thanks, Guy; I twice owe you my life, and assuredly 'tis little enough to furnish you in return with an escort to Artois. Now, tell me all that you have been doing since we left." Guy gave a short account of all that had happened. "It has been fortunate for us both," the Count Charles said when he had finished, "that this astrologer should have made your acquaintance; it was his warning that enabled you to save us as well as your lady. I have heard several times of him as one who had wondrous powers of reading the stars, but now I see that it is not only the stars that assist him." "I can assure you that he himself believes thoroughly in the stars, Count; he says that by them he can read the danger that is threatening any person whose horoscope he has cast. I had not heard much of such things in England, but I cannot doubt that he has great skill in them. To my knowledge he has saved several lives thereby." "He certainly saved ours, Guy, and should he like to join your party and ride with us he will be heartily welcomed." "I will return at once," Guy said, "and give my lady the good news. I will not ask you to go with me now, for if the count--for he is really a nobleman though an exile--decides to stay here he would not care to attract the attention of his neighbours by the coming of a noble to his house in daylight. Though I cannot without his permission take you there, I will return here this evening at eight o'clock, if you will be at home at that hour." "I will be here, and De Lactre and Poupart will be here to meet you. I will go now direct to the chancellor and obtain the pass both in their names and mine, then we shall be ready to start whenever your lady is prepared. We have all brought some spare horses, so that you will have no trouble on that score. Your men-at-arms will, of course, ride with ours. We have brought eight horses, knowing the number of your company; if your Italian and his daughter go with us Lady Agnes and Charles can ride behind some of us." Dame Margaret, Agnes, and Charlie were delighted indeed when they heard from Guy of his meeting with the young Count d'Estournel, and of the latter's offer to escort them to Artois. "The saints be praised!" his lady said. "I have spoken little about it, Guy, but I have dreaded this journey far more than any of the dangers here. In times so disturbed I have perceived that we should run innumerable risks, and eager as I am to return to my lord I have doubted whether, with Agnes with me, I should be right in adventuring on such a journey. Now there can be no risk in it, saving only that of falling in with any of the bands of robbers who, as they say, infest the country, and even these would scarce venture to attack so strong a party. We shall be ready to start to-morrow, if Count d'Estournel is prepared to go so soon. We will be veiled as we ride out. It is most unlikely that anyone will recognize us, but 'tis as well for his sake that there should be no risk whatever of this being known. The count is out and will not return until six, therefore it will be best that you should go at once and warn the others that we start to-morrow." The pleasure of Long Tom and his companions at the news was scarcely less than had been that of Dame Margaret, and they started at once to recover their steel caps and armour from the place where they had been hidden, saying that it would take them all night to clean them up and make them fit for service. Then Guy went in to Maître Lepelletiere and saw the silversmith, who was also sincerely glad at the news he gave him. "I was but yesterday arranging for a house where I could open my shop again until my own was rebuilt," he said, "for there is an end now of all fear of disturbances, at any rate for the present, and I was heartily greeted by many old friends, who thought that I was dead. I will go down with Lepelletiere this afternoon to the offices of the municipality and ask for a pass for madame--what shall I call her?" "Call her Picard: it matters not what surname she takes." "Madame Picard, her daughter and son, and her cousin Jean Bouvray of Paris, to journey to St. Omer. It does not seem to me that the pass is likely to be of any use to you; at the same time it is as well to be fortified with it. Now that the tyranny of the market-men is over they will be glad to give us the pass without question." On the Italian's return that afternoon Dame Margaret herself told him of the offer the Count d'Estournel had made. He sat silent for a minute or two and then said: "I will talk it over with Katarina; but at present it does not seem to me that I can accept it. I am a restless spirit, and there is a fascination in this work; but I will see you presently." An hour later he came down with Katarina. "We have agreed to stay, Lady Margaret," he said gravely, "I cannot bring myself to go. It is true that I might continue my work in London, but as a stranger it would be long before I found clients, while here my reputation is established. Two of the knights I enabled to escape have already returned. One called upon me last night and was full of gratitude, declaring, and rightly, that he should have been, like so many of his friends, murdered in prison had I not warned him. I have eight requests already for interviews from friends of these knights, and as, for a time at any rate, their faction is likely to be triumphant here, I shall have my hands full of business. This is a pleasant life. I love the exercise of my art, to watch how the predictions of the stars come true, to fit things together, and to take my share, though an unseen one, in the politics and events of the day. I have even received an intimation that the queen herself is anxious to consult the stars, and it may be that I shall become a great power here. I would fain that my daughter should go under your protection, though I own that I should miss her sorely. However, she refuses to leave me, and against my better judgment my heart has pleaded for her, and I have decided that she shall remain. She will, however, take no further part in my business, but will be solely my companion and solace. I trust that with such protection as I shall now receive there is no chance of even the Church meddling with me, but should I see danger approaching I will send or bring her to you at once." "I shall be glad to see her whenever she comes, and shall receive her as a daughter. We owe our lives to your shelter and kindness, and we already love her." "The shelter and the kindness have already been far more than repaid by the inestimable service your esquire rendered us," the Italian said. "I have since blamed myself bitterly that I neglected to consult the stars concerning her. I have since done so, and found that a most terrible danger threatened her on that day; and had I known it, I would have kept her indoors and would on no account have permitted her to go out. However, I shall not be so careless of her safety in future. I see that, at any rate for some time, her future is unclouded. She herself will bitterly regret your absence, and has already been weeping sorely at the thought of your leaving. Save myself she has never had a friend, poor child, and you and your daughter have become very dear to her." Dame Margaret had no preparations to make, for in their flight from the silversmith's each had carried a bundle of clothes. Guy brought Count d'Estournel round in the evening, and the arrangements were then completed. It was thought better that they should not mount at the house, as this would be certain to attract considerable observation and remark, but that Count Charles should come round at seven in the morning and escort them to his lodging. There the horses would be in readiness, and they would mount and ride off. Guy then went round to the Rue des Fosses and warned the men of the hour at which they were to assemble at the count's. He found them all hard at work burnishing up their armour. "We shall make but a poor show, Master Guy, do what we will," Tom said; "and I doubt whether this gear will ever recover its brightness, so deeply has the rust eaten into it. Still, we can pass muster on a journey; and the swords have suffered but little, having been safe in their scabbards. I never thought that I should be so pleased to put on a steel cap again, and I only wish I had my bow slung across my shoulder." "It will be something for you to look forward to, Tom, and I doubt not that you will find among the spare ones at Villeroy one as good as your own, and that with practice you will soon be able to shoot as truly with it." Tom shook his head doubtfully. "I hope so, but I doubt whether I shall be suited again till I get home, and Master John the bowyer makes one specially suitable for me, and six inches longer than ordinary. Still, I doubt not that, if it be needed, I shall be able to make shift with one of those at Villeroy." The evening before the departure of Dame Margaret and her children, Maître Leroux and his wife, with a man bearing a large parcel, had called upon Dame Margaret at the house of the astrologer, whose address Guy had given, the provost that day. "We could not let you leave, Lady Margaret," his wife said, "without coming to wish you God speed. Our troubles, like yours, are over for the present, and I trust that the butchers will never become masters of Paris again, whatever may happen." "Maître Lepelletiere," said the silversmith, "is going to organize the whole of his craft, the workmen and apprentices, into an armed body, and the master of the smiths will do the same. I shall endeavour to prevail upon all the traders of my own guild and others to raise such a body among their servitors; and while we have no wish whatever to interfere in the political affairs of state, we shall at least see that the market people of Paris shall not become our masters again. Master Aylmer, I have brought hither for you a slight token of my regard and gratitude for the manner in which you saved not only our property but our lives. Within this package are two suits of armour and arms. One is a serviceable one suitable to your present condition of an esquire; the other is a knightly suit, which I hope you will wear in remembrance of us as soon as you obtain that honour, which I cannot but feel assured will not be far distant. Had you been obliged to leave Paris in disguise I should have made an endeavour to send them to you in England by way of Flanders; but as you will issue out in good company, and without examination or question asked, you can wear the one suit and have the other carried for you." Guy thanked the silversmith most heartily, for, having lost his armour at the burning of the house, he had felt some uneasiness at the thought of the figure that he would cut riding in the train of the three Burgundian knights. But at the same time his own purse had been exhausted in the purchase of the disguises for himself and the men-at-arms, and that of his mistress greatly reduced by the expenses of the keep of the men, and he had determined not to draw upon her resources for the purchase of armour. His thanks were repeated when, on the package being opened, the beauty of the knightly armour was seen. It was indeed a suit of which any knight might be proud. It was less ornate in its inlaying and chasing than some of the suits worn by nobles, but it was of the finest steel and best make, with every part and accessory complete, and of the highest workmanship and finish. "It is a princely gift, sir," Guy said as he examined it, "and altogether beyond my poor deserts." "That is not what I think, Master Aylmer. You have shown all through this business a coolness and courage altogether beyond your years, and which would have done honour to an experienced knight. My store of silver-ware that was saved by your exertions, to say nothing of our lives, was worth very many times the value of this armour, and I am sure that your lady will agree with me that this gift of ours has been well and honourably earned." "I do indeed, Maître Leroux," Dame Margaret said warmly; "and assure you that I am as pleased as Guy himself at the noble gift you have made him. I myself have said but little to him as to the service that he has rendered here, leaving that until we reach our castle in safety, when Sir Eustace, on hearing from me the story of our doings, will better speak in both our names than I can do." In the morning Dame Margaret and her children set out for the lodging of D'Estournel, escorted by the count and Guy, followed by a porter carrying the latter's second suit of armour and the valises of Dame Margaret. Guy himself had charge of a casket which the Count de Montepone had that morning handed to Dame Margaret. "These are gems of value," he said, "In the course of my business I more often receive gifts of jewels than of money. The latter, as I receive it, I hand to a firm here having dealings with a banker of Bruges, who holds it at my disposal. The gems I have hitherto kept; but as it is possible that we may, when we leave Paris, have to travel in disguise, I would fain that they were safely bestowed. I pray you, therefore, to take them with you to your castle in England, and to hold them for us until we come." Dame Margaret willingly took charge of the casket, which was of steel, strongly bound, and some nine inches square. "Its weight is not so great as you would think by its appearance," the Italian said, "for it is of the finest steel, and the gems have been taken from their settings. It will, therefore, I hope, be no great inconvenience to you." At parting, Katarina, who was greatly affected, had given Guy a small box. "Do not open it until you reach Villeroy," she said; "it is a little remembrance of the girl you saved from deadly peril, and who will never forget what she owes to you." On reaching the count's lodgings they found the other two knights in readiness. Dame Margaret's four men-at-arms were holding the horses. "I am glad to see you all again," she said as she came up. "This is a far better ending than our fortunes seemed likely to have at one time, and I thank you all for your faithful service." "I am only sorry, my lady, that we have had no opportunity of doing aught since we were cooped up," Tom replied; "nothing would have pleased us better than to have had the chance again of striking a stout blow in your defence." "We may as well mount at once, if it is your pleasure, Dame Margaret," Count d'Estournel said, "for the other men-at-arms are waiting for us outside the gates." The packages were at once fastened on the two pack-horses that were to accompany them; all then mounted. The three knights with Dame Margaret rode first, then Guy rode with Agnes by his side, and the four men-at-arms came next, Charlie riding before Jules Varoy, who was the lightest of the men-at-arms, while two of the count's servants brought up the rear, leading the sumpter horses. CHAPTER XVII -- A LONG PAUSE A quarter of a mile beyond the gate the party was joined by eighteen men-at-arms, all fully armed and ready for any encounter; eight of them fell in behind Dame Margaret's retainers, the other ten took post in rear of the sumpter horses. With such a train as this there was little fear of any trouble with bands of marauders, and as the road lay through a country devoted to Burgundy there was small chance of their encountering an Orleanist force. They travelled by almost the same route by which Dame Margaret had been escorted to Paris. At all the towns through which they passed the Burgundian knights and their following were well entertained, none doubting that they were riding on the business of their duke. One or other of the knights generally rode beside Guy, and except that the heat in the middle of the day was somewhat excessive, the journey was altogether a very pleasant one. From Arras they rode direct to Villeroy. As soon as their coming was observed from the keep the draw-bridge was raised, and as they approached Sir Eustace himself appeared on the wall above it to hear any message the new-comers might have brought him. As they came near, the knights reined back their horses, and Dame Margaret and Agnes rode forward, followed by Guy having Charlie in front of him. As he recognized them Sir Eustace gave a shout of joy, and a moment later the drawbridge began to descend, and as it touched the opposite side Sir Eustace ran across to the outwork, threw open the gate, and fondly embraced his wife and children, who had already dismounted. "Ah, my love!" he exclaimed, "you cannot tell how I have suffered, and how I have blamed myself for permitting you and the children to leave me. I received your first letter, saying that you were comfortably lodged at Paris, but since then no word has reached me. I of course heard of the dreadful doings there, of the ascendency of the butchers, of the massacres in the streets, and the murders of the knights and ladies. A score of times I have resolved to go myself in search of you, but I knew not how to set about it when there, and I should assuredly have been seized by Burgundy and thrown into prison with others hostile to his plans. But who are these with you?" "They are three Burgundian knights, who from love and courtesy, and in requital of a service done them by your brave esquire here, have safely brought us out of Paris and escorted us on our way. They are Count Charles d'Estournel, Sir John Poupart, and Sir Louis de Lactre." Holding his hand she advanced to meet them and introduced them to him. "Gentlemen," Sir Eustace said, "no words of mine can express the gratitude that I feel to you for the service that you have rendered to my wife and children. Henceforth you may command me to the extent of my life." "The service was requited before it was rendered, Sir Eustace," Count Charles said; "it has been service for service. In the first place your esquire, with that tall archer of yours, saved my life when attacked by a band of cutthroats in Paris. This to some small extent I repaid when, with my two good friends here and some others, we charged a mob that was besieging the house in which your dame lodged. Then Master Aylmer laid a fresh obligation on us by warning us that the butchers demanded our lives for interfering in that business, whereby we were enabled to cut our way out by the Port St. Denis and so save our skins. We could not rest thus, matters being so uneven, and therefore as soon as the king's party arrived in a sufficient force to put down the tyranny of the butchers, we returned to Paris, with the intention we have carried out--of finding Dame Margaret in her hiding-place, if happily she should have escaped all these perils, and of conducting her to you. And now, having delivered her into your hands, we will take our leave." "I pray you not to do so, Count," the knight said; "it would mar the pleasure of this day to me, were you, who are its authors, thus to leave me. I pray you, therefore, to enter and accept my hospitality, if only for a day or two." The knights had previously agreed among themselves that they would return that night to Arras; but they could not resist the earnestness of the invitation, and the whole party crossed the drawbridge and entered the castle, amid the tumultuous greeting of the retainers. "You have been away but a few months," Sir Eustace said to his wife, as they were crossing the bridge, "though it seems an age to me. You are but little changed by what you have passed through, but Agnes seems to have grown more womanly. Charlie has grown somewhat also, but is scarcely looking so strong!" "It has been from want of air and exercise; but he has picked up a great deal while we have been on the road, and I, too, feel a different woman. Agnes has shared my anxiety, and has been a great companion for me." "You have brought all the men back, as well as Guy?" "You should rather say that Guy has brought us all back, Eustace, for 'tis assuredly wholly due to him that we have escaped the dangers that threatened us." The knights and men-at-arms dismounted in the courtyard, and Sir Eustace and Dame Margaret devoted themselves at once to making them welcome with all honour. The maids hurried to prepare the guest-chambers, the servitors to get ready a banquet. Guy and his men-at-arms saw to the comfort of the knights' retainers and their horses, and the castle rang with sounds of merriment and laughter to which it had been a stranger for months. After the cup of welcome had been handed round Sir Eustace showed the knights over the castle. "We heard the details of the siege, Sir Eustace, from your esquire, and it is of interest to us to inspect the defences that Sir Clugnet de Brabant failed to capture, for, foe though he is to Burgundy, it must be owned that he is a very valiant knight, and has captured many towns and strong places. Yes, it is assuredly a strong castle, and with a sufficient garrison might well have defeated all attempts to storm it by foes who did not possess means of battering the walls, but the force you had was quite insufficient when the enemy were strong enough to attack at many points at the same time, and I am surprised that you should have made good your defence against so large a force as that which assailed you. "But it was doubtless in no slight degree due to your English archers. We saw in Paris what even one of these men could do." "I am all anxiety to know what took place there," Sir Eustace said, "and I shall pray you after supper to give me an account of what occurred." "We will tell you as far as we know of the matter, Sir Eustace; but in truth we took but little share in it, there was just one charge on our part and the mob were in flight. Any I can tell you that we did it with thorough good-will, for in truth we were all heartily sick of the arrogance of these butchers, who lorded over all Paris; even our Lord of Burgundy was constrained to put up with their insolence, since their aid was essential to him. But to us, who take no very great heed of politics and leave these matters to the great lords, the thing was well-nigh intolerable; and I can tell you that it was with hearty good-will we seized the opportunity of giving the knaves a lesson." As soon as the visitors had arrived, mounted men had ridden off to the tenants, and speedily returned with a store of ducks and geese, poultry, wild-fowl, brawn, and fish; the banquet therefore was both abundant and varied. While the guests supped at the upper table, the men-at-arms were no less amply provided for at the lower end of the hall, where all the retainers at the castle feasted royally in honour of the return of their lady and her children. The bowmen were delighted at the return of Long Tom, whom few had expected ever to see again, while the return of Robert Picard and his companions was no less heartily welcomed by their comrades. After the meal was concluded Dame Margaret went round the tables with her husband, saying a few words here and there to the men, who received her with loud shouts as she passed along. Then the party from the upper table retired to the private apartment of Sir Eustace, leaving the men to sing and carouse unchecked by their presence. When they were comfortably seated and flagons of wine had been placed on the board, the knight requested Count Charles to give him an account of his adventure with the cut-throats and the part he had subsequently played in the events of which he had spoken. D'Estournel gave a lively recital, telling not only of the fray with the White Hoods, but of what they saw when, after the defeat of the mob, they entered the house. "Had the passage and stairs been the breach of a city attacked by assault it could not have been more thickly strewn with dead bodies," the count said; "and indeed for my part I would rather have struggled up a breach, however strongly defended, than have tried to carry the barricade at the top of the stairs, held as it was. I believe that, even had we not arrived, Master Aylmer could have held his ground until morning, except against fire." "I wonder they did not fire the house," Sir Eustace remarked. "Doubtless the leaders would have done so as soon as they saw the task they had before them; but you see plunder was with the majority the main object of the attack, while that of the leaders was assuredly to get rid of the provost of the silversmiths, who had powerfully withstood them. The cry that was raised of 'Down with the English spies!' was but a pretext. However, as all the plate-cases with the silverware were in the barricade, there would have been no plunder to gather had they set fire to the house, and it was for this reason that they continued the attack so long; but doubtless in the end, when they were convinced that they could not carry the barricade, they would have resorted to fire." Then he went on to recount how Guy had warned himself and his friends of the danger that threatened, and how difficult it had been to persuade them that only by flight could their safety be secured; and how at last he and the two knights with him had returned to Paris to escort Dame Margaret. "Truly, Count, your narrative is a stirring one," Sir Eustace said; "but I know not as yet how Guy managed to gain the information that the house was going to be attacked and so sent to you for aid, or how he afterwards learned that your names were included with those of the Duke of Bar and others whom the butchers compelled the Duke of Aquitaine to hand over to them." "Dame Margaret or your esquire himself can best tell you that," the count said. "It is a strange story indeed." "And a long one," Dame Margaret added. "Were I to tell it fully it would last till midnight, but I will tell you how matters befell, and to-morrow will inform you of the details more at length." She then related briefly the incidents that had occurred from the day of her interview with the Duke of Burgundy to that of her escape, telling of the various disguises that had been used, the manner in which Guy had overheard the councils of the butchers before they surrounded the hotel of the Duke of Aquitaine and dragged away a large number of knights and ladies to prison, and how the four men-at-arms had re-entered Paris after their escape, and remained there in readiness to aid her if required. Guy himself was not present at the narration, as he had, after staying for a short time in the room, gone down into the banqueting-hall to see that the men's wants were well attended to, and to talk with the English men-at-arms and archers. "It seems to me," Sir Eustace said when his wife had finished the story, "that my young esquire has comported himself with singular prudence as well as bravery." "He has been everything to me," Dame Margaret said warmly; "he has been my adviser and my friend. I have learned to confide in him implicitly. It was he who secured for me in the first place the friendship of Count Charles, and then that of his friends. He was instrumental in securing for us the assistance of the Italian who warned and afterwards sheltered us--one of the adventures that I have not yet told, because I did not think that I could do so without saying more than that person would like known; but Guy rendered him a service that in his opinion far more than repaid him for his kindness to us. The messenger he employed was a near relation of his." And she then related how Guy had rescued this relation from the hands of the butchers, how he had himself been chased, and had killed one and wounded another of his assailants; and how at last he escaped from falling into their hands by leaping from the bridge into the Seine. "You will understand," she said, "that not only our host but we all should have been sacrificed had not the messenger been rescued. He would have been compelled by threats, and if these failed by tortures, to reveal who his employer was and where he lived, and in that case a search would have been made, we should have been discovered, and our lives as well as that of our host would have paid the penalty." "It is impossible to speak too highly of the young esquire," Sir John Poupart said warmly. "For a short time we all saw a good deal of him at the fencing-school, to which D'Estournel introduced him. He made great progress, and wonderfully improved his swordsmanship even during the short time he was there, and the best of us found a match in him. He was quiet and modest, and even apart from the service he had rendered to D'Estournel, we all came to like him greatly. He is a fine character, and I trust that ere long he may have an opportunity of winning his spurs, for the courage he has shown in the defence of his charges would assuredly have gained them for him had it been displayed in battle." The knights were persuaded to stay a few days at the castle, and then rode away with their retainers with mutual expressions of hope that they would meet again in quieter times. Guy had opened the little packet that Katarina had given him at starting. It contained a ring with a diamond of great beauty and value, with the words "With grateful regards." He showed it to Sir Eustace, who said: "It is worth a knight's ransom, lad, and more, I should say. Take it not with you to the wars, but leave it at home under safe guardianship, for should it ever be your bad luck to be made a prisoner, I will warrant it would sell for a sufficient sum to pay your ransom. That is a noble suit of armour that the silversmith gave you. Altogether, Guy, you have no reason to regret that you accompanied your lady to Paris. You have gained a familiarity with danger which will assuredly stand you in good stead some day, you have learned some tricks of fence, you have gained the friendship of half a score of nobles and knights; you have earned the lasting gratitude of my dame and myself, you have come back with a suit of armour such as a noble might wear in a tournament, and a ring worth I know not how much money. It is a fair opening of your life, Guy, and your good father will rejoice when I tell him how well you have borne yourself. It may be that it will not be long before you may have opportunities of showing your mettle in a wider field. The English have already made several descents on the coast, and have carried off much spoil and many prisoners, and it may not be long before we hear that Henry is gathering a powerful army and is crossing the seas to maintain his rights, and recover the lands that have during past years been wrested from the crown. "I propose shortly to return to England. My dame has borne up bravely under her troubles, but both she and Agnes need rest and quiet. It is time, too, that Charlie applied himself to his studies for a time and learnt to read and write well, for methinks that every knight should at least know this much. I shall take John Harpen back with me. Such of the men-at-arms and archers as may wish to return home must wait here until I send you others to take their places, for I propose to leave you here during my absence, as my castellan. It is a post of honour, Guy, but I feel that the castle will be in good hands; and there is, moreover, an advantage in thus leaving you, as, should any message be sent by Burgundian or Orleanist, you will be able to reply that, having been placed here by me to hold the castle in my absence, you can surrender it to no one, and can admit no one to garrison it, until you have sent to me and received my orders on the subject. Thus considerable delay may be obtained. "Should I receive such a message from you, I shall pass across at once to Calais with such force as I can gather. I trust that no such summons will arrive, for it is clear that the truce now made between the two French factions will be a very short one, and that ere long the trouble will recommence, and, as I think, this time Burgundy will be worsted. The Orleanists are now masters of Paris and of the king's person, while assuredly they have the support of the Duke of Aquitaine, who must long to revenge the indignities that were put upon him by Burgundy and the mob of Paris. They should therefore be much the stronger party, and can, moreover, issue what proclamations they choose in the king's name, as Burgundy has hitherto been doing in his own interest. The duke will therefore be too busy to think of meddling with us. Upon the other hand, if the Orleanists gain the mastery they are the less likely to interfere with us, as I hear that negotiations have just been set on foot again for the marriage of King Henry with Katherine of France. The English raids will therefore be stopped, and the French will be loath to risk the breaking off of the negotiations which might be caused by an assault without reason upon the castle of one who is an English as well as a French vassal, and who might, therefore, obtain aid from the garrison of Calais, by which both nations might be again embroiled." "If you think well, my lord, to leave me here in command I will assuredly do the best in my power to prove myself worthy of your confidence; but it is a heavy trust for one so young." "I have thought that over, Guy, but I have no fear that you will fail in any way. Were the garrison wholly a French one I might hesitate, but half the defenders of the castle are Englishmen; and in Tom, the captain of the archers, you have one of whose support at all times you will be confident, while the French garrison will have learned from the three men who went with you that they would as readily follow you as they would a knight of experience. Moreover, good fighters as the English are, they are far more independent and inclined to insubordination than the French, who have never been brought up in the same freedom of thought. Therefore, although I have no doubt that they will respect your authority, I doubt whether, were I to put a Frenchman in command, they would prove so docile, while with the French there will be no difficulty. I might, of course, appoint John Harpen, who is ten years your senior, to the command; but John, though a good esquire, is bluff and rough in his ways, and as obstinate as a mule, and were I to leave him in command he would, I am sure, soon set the garrison by the ears. As an esquire he is wholly trustworthy, but he is altogether unfitted for command, therefore I feel that the choice I have made of you is altogether for the best, and I shall go away confident that the castle is in good hands, and that if attacked it will be as staunchly defended as if I myself were here to direct the operations." Two days later Sir Eustace with his family started, under the guard of ten English and ten French men-at-arms, for Calais. Before starting he formally appointed Guy as castellan in his absence, and charged the garrison to obey his orders in all things, as if they had been given by himself. He also called in the principal tenants and delivered a similar charge to them. The English men-at-arms were well pleased to be commanded by one whom they had known from childhood, and whose father they had been accustomed to regard as their master during the absences of Sir Eustace and Dame Margaret. The archers had not, like the men-at-arms, been drawn from the Summerley estate, but the devotion of their leader to Guy, and the tales he had told them of what had taken place in Paris rendered them equally satisfied at his choice as their leader. As for the French men-at-arms, bred up in absolute obedience to the will of their lord, they accepted his orders in this as they would have done on any other point. Sir Eustace left Guy instructions that he might make any further addition to the defences that he thought fit, pointing out to him several that he had himself intended to carry out. "I should have set about these at once," he had said, "but it is only now that the vassals have completed the work of rebuilding their houses, and I would not call upon them for any service until that was completed. I have told them now that such works must be taken in hand, and that, as they saw upon the occasion of the last siege, their safety depends upon the power of the castle to defend itself, I shall expect their services to be readily and loyally rendered, especially as they have been remitted for over six months. It would be well also to employ the garrison on the works--in the first place, because they have long been idle, and idleness is bad for them; and in the second place because the vassals will all work more readily seeing that the garrison are also employed. While so engaged an extra measure of wine can be served to each man, and a small addition of pay. Here are the plans that I have roughly prepared. Beyond the moat I would erect at the centre of each of the three sides a strong work, similar to that across the drawbridge, and the latter I would also have strengthened. "These works, you see, are open on the side of the moat, so that if carried they would offer the assailants no shelter from arrows from the walls, while being triangular in shape they would be flanked by our fire. Each of these three forts should have a light drawbridge running across the moat to the foot of the wall, thence a ladder should lead to an entrance to be pierced through the wall, some fifteen feet above the level of the moat; by this means the garrison could, if assailed by an overwhelming force, withdraw into the castle. These outposts would render it--so long as they were held--impossible for storming-parties to cross the moat and place ladders, as they did on the last occasion. The first task will, of course, be to quarry stones. As soon as sufficient are prepared for one of these outworks you should proceed to erect it, as it would render one side at least unassailable and diminish the circuit to be defended. As soon as one is finished, with its drawbridge, ladder, and entrance, proceed with the next. I would build the one at the rear first. As you see from this plan, the two walls are to be twenty feet high and each ten yards long, so that they could be defended by some twenty men. After they are built I would further strengthen them by leading ditches from the moat, six feet deep and ten feet wide, round them. The earth from these ditches should be thrown inside the walls, so as to strengthen these and form a platform for the defenders to stand on. If the earth is insufficient for that purpose the moat can be widened somewhat." "I will see that your wishes are carried out, Sir Eustace; assuredly these little outworks will add greatly to the strength of the castle. Are the bridges to be made to draw up?" "No; that will hardly be necessary. Let them consist of two beams with planks laid crosswise. They need not be more than four feet wide, and the planks can therefore be easily pulled up as the garrison falls back. I have told the tenants that during the winter, when there is but little for their men to do, they can keep them employed on this work, and that I will pay regular wages to them and for the carts used in bringing in the stones." Guy was very glad that there was something specific to be done that would give him occupation and keep the men employed. Sir Eustace had informed the garrison of the work that would be required of them, and of the ration of wine and extra pay that would be given, and all were well satisfied with the prospect. For the English especially, having no friends outside, found the time hang very heavy on their hands, and their experience during the last siege had taught them that the additional fortifications, of the nature of which they were ignorant, however, would add to their safety. As soon, therefore, as Sir Eustace had left, Guy commenced operations. A few men only were kept on guard, and the rest went out daily to prepare the stones under the direction of a master mason, who had been brought from Arras by Sir Eustace. Some fifty of the tenants were also employed on the work, and as the winter closed in this number was doubled. The quarry lay at a distance of half a mile from the castle, and as fast as the stones were squared and roughly dressed they were taken in carts to the spot where they were to be used. Guy had the foundations for the walls dug in the first place, to a depth below that of the bottom of the moats, and filled up with cement and rubble. The trenches were then dug at a distance of five feet from the foot of the walls. With so many hands the work proceeded briskly, and before springtime the three works were all completed, with their bridges and ladders, passages pierced through the castle wall, and stone steps built inside by which those who passed through could either descend into the court yard or mount to the battlements. At the end of September fifteen archers and men-at-arms arrived from England to take the place of those who had desired to return home, and who on their coming marched away to Calais. From time to time reports were received of the events happening in Paris. Paris had been strongly occupied by the Orleanists, and a proclamation had at once been issued in the name of the king condemning all that had been done in the city, and denouncing by name all the ringleaders of the late tumults, and such of these as were found in Paris were arrested. Another proclamation was then issued enjoining all parties to keep the peace, to refrain from gathering in armed bodies, and to abstain from the use of expressions against each other that might lead to a breach of the peace. On the 13th of November, the year being 1413, fresh and more stringent orders were issued by the king against any assemblies of men-in-arms, and at the end of this month the Duke of Burgundy sent to the king a letter of complaint and accusation against his enemies. Those surrounding Charles persuaded him to send no answer whatever to what they considered his insolent letter. Some of the Burgundian knights had still remained in Paris, and on the advice of the Dukes of Berri and Orleans and other princes, the queen caused four knights of the suite of the Duke of Aquitaine to be carried away from the Louvre. This so much enraged the duke that he at first intended to sally out and call upon the populace of Paris to aid him to rescue the prisoners. The princes of the blood, however, restrained him from doing this; but although he pretended to be appeased he sent secret letters to the Duke of Burgundy begging him to come to his assistance. This served as an excuse for Burgundy to gather all his adherents and to march towards Paris, and as he collected the force he sent letters to all the principal towns saying that at the invitation of his son-in-law, the Duke of Aquitaine, and in consequence of the breach of the peace committed by his enemies, he was forced to take up arms to rescue his beloved daughter and the duke from the hands of those who constrained them. Upon the other hand, letters were written in the king's name to the various towns on the line by which Burgundy would advance from Artois, begging them not to open their gates to him. The Burgundian army advanced and occupied St. Denis, thence the duke sent detachments to the various gates of Paris in hopes that the populace would rise in his favour. However, the citizens remained quiet, and the duke, being unprovided with the engines and machines necessary for a siege, fell back again, placing strong garrisons in Compiègne and Soissons. Then the Orleanists took the offensive, besieged and captured town after town, and revenged the murder of their friends in Paris by wholesale massacres and atrocities of the worst description. The Burgundians in vain attempted to raise an army of sufficient strength to meet that of the king, who himself accompanied the Orleanist forces in the field. The fact that he was present with them had a powerful influence in preventing many lords who would otherwise have done so from joining Burgundy, for although all knew that the king was but a puppet who could be swayed by those who happened to be round him, even the shadow of the royal authority had great weight, and both parties carried on their operations in the king's name, protesting that any decrees hostile to themselves were not the true expression of his opinion, but the work of ambitious and traitorous persons who surrounded him. After occupying Laon, Peronne, and other places, the king's army entered Artois, captured Bapaume, and advanced against Arras, where Sir John of Luxemburg, who commanded a Burgundian garrison, prepared for the siege by sending away the greater part of the women and children, and destroying all the buildings and suburbs outside the walls. As soon as it was evident that the Orleanist army was marching against Artois, Guy despatched one of the English soldiers to Summerley to inform his lord that if, as it seemed, the Orleanists intended to subdue all the Burgundian towns and fortresses in the province, it was probable that Villeroy would be besieged. The messenger returned with twenty more archers, and brought a letter from Sir Eustace to Guy saying that Dame Margaret had been ill ever since her return from France, and that she was at present in so dangerous a state that he could not leave her. "I trust," he said, "that as the negotiations for the marriage of the king with the French princess are still going on, you will not be disturbed. The main body of the French army will likely be engaged on more important enterprises, and if you are attacked it will probably be only by strong plundering detachments; these you need not fear. Should you be besieged strongly, hold out as long as you can. I shall be sure to receive news of it from Calais, and will go at once to the king and pray for his protection, and beg him to write to the King of France declaring that, to his knowledge, I have ever been as loyal a vassal of France as of England. Should you find that the pressure upon you is too great, and that the castle is like to be taken, I authorize you to make surrender on condition that all within the castle are permitted to march away free and unmolested whithersoever they will." CHAPTER XVIII -- KATARINA As soon as the king's army approached Arras, Guy repeated all the precautions that had before been taken, but as this time there had been long warning, these were carried out more effectually. A considerable number of the cattle and sheep of the tenants were driven to Calais and there sold, the rest, with the horses, were taken into the castle. The crops were hastily got in, for it was near July, and these were thrashed and the grain brought in, with the household furniture and all belongings. A great store of arrows had been long before prepared, and Guy felt confident that he could hold out for a long time. The women and children took up their abode in the castle, and the former were all set to work to make a great number of sacks. A hundred cart-loads of earth were brought in, and this was stored in a corner of the court-yard. The earth was to be employed in filling the sacks, which were to be lowered from the walls so as to form a protection against heavy missiles, should an attempt be made to effect a breach. [Illustration: GUY WELCOMES THE COUNT OF MONTEPONE AND HIS DAUGHTER TO VILLEROY.] A few days after the king's army sat down before Arras, the look-out informed Guy that a horseman, together with a lady and two attendants, were riding towards the castle. Wondering who these visitors could be, Guy crossed the drawbridge to the outwork, where a small party were now stationed. As they rode up, he saw, to his surprise and pleasure, that they were the Count of Montepone and his daughter. He ran out to meet them. "I am delighted to see you, Count, and you also Mistress Katarina. I regret that Sir Eustace and Dame Margaret are not here to receive you properly." "We were aware that she was absent," the count said as he dismounted, while Guy assisted Katarina from her saddle. "I received a letter three months since; it came by way of Flanders from Sir Eustace, expressing his thanks for what slight services I had rendered to his wife. He told me that they had crossed over to England, and that you were his castellan here. But I thought that ere this he might have returned." "I heard from him but a few days ago," Guy said. "He is detained in England by the illness of Dame Margaret, or he would have hastened hither on hearing that the French army was moving north. I need scarcely ask how you are, Mistress Katarina, for you have changed much, and if I may say it without offence, for the better." The girl flushed a little and laughed, and her father said: "It is nigh three months since we left Paris; the country air has done her good. Since we left she has till now been in disguise again, and has ridden as my page, for I could not leave her behind, nor could I in an army, with so many wild and reckless spirits, take her in the dress of a girl." By this time they had crossed the drawbridge, the servants leading their horses after them. "My stay must be a short one," the count said as they entered the banqueting-hall, and Guy gave orders for a repast to be served. "I hoped that you were come to stay for a time, Count; I would do all in my power to make your visit a pleasant one." The Italian shook his head. "No, I must ride back tonight. I have come here for a double purpose. In the first place I must send Katarina to England; she is almost a woman now, and can no longer wander about with me in times like these. In the second place, I have come to tell you that I think you need have no fear of an attack upon the castle. That news you gave me, which enabled me to save those three Orleanist nobles, has, added to what I had before done in that way, helped me vastly. One of them is a great favourite with Aquitaine, and the latter took me under his special protection; and he and many other great lords, and I may tell you even the queen herself, consult me frequently. Shortly after you left I moved to a larger house, and as there was no longer any need for me to assume the character of a vendor of medicines I abandoned that altogether, and took handsome apartments, with my negro from the booth to open the door, and two other lackeys. "My knowledge of the stars has enabled me with some success to predict the events that have taken place, and Aquitaine and the queen have both implicit confidence in me and undertake nothing without my advice. The Duke of Orleans, too, has frequently consulted me. I have used my influence to protect this castle. I have told them that success will attend all their efforts, which it was easy enough to foresee, as Burgundy has no army in the field that can oppose them. But I said that I had described a certain point of danger. It was some time before I revealed what this was, and then said that it appeared to me that the evil in some way started from the west of Arras. I would go no further than this for many days, and then said that it arose from a castle held by one who was not altogether French, and that were an attack made upon it evil would arise. I saw that it would lead to a disturbance, I said, in the negotiations for the marriage, and perhaps the arrival of an English army. More than this I said the stars did not tell me. "Aquitaine made inquiries and soon found that my description applied to Villeroy, and he and the queen have issued strict orders that no plundering party is to come in this direction, and that on no account is the castle to be interfered with, and I shall take care that their intentions in this matter are not changed. I had the royal orders to accompany the army. This I should have done in any case, but of course I professed a certain reluctance, by saying that I had many clients in Paris. However, I received various rich presents, and was therefore prevailed upon to travel with them." "I thank you most heartily, Count, for, as you saw on crossing the court-yard, I have already called all the vassals in and made preparations to stand a siege. As to your daughter, I will, if you wish it, appoint two of the tenants' daughters as her attendants, and send an elderly woman as her companion, with an escort under Robert Picard,--one of those who were with me in Paris,--and four other men-at-arms to accompany her to Summerley and hand her over to the charge of Dame Margaret, who will, I trust, be in better health than when Sir Eustace wrote to me. It will be a great relief to our lord and lady to know that their presence is not urgently required here. The escort can start to-morrow at daybreak if you wish that they should do so." The count hesitated, and Guy went on: "I will appoint the woman and the two maids at once. Mistress Katarina can occupy Dame Margaret's chamber, and the woman and the maids can sleep in those adjoining it." "That will do well," the count said cordially. "We have ridden twenty miles already, and she could hardly go on to-day, while if she starts at daybreak they may reach Calais to-morrow." "I will give Picard a letter to the governor, asking him in my lord's name to give honourable entertainment to the young lady, who is under Dame Margaret's protection, and to forward her upon her journey to join them by the first vessel sailing to Southampton, or if there be none sailing thither, to send her at once by ship to Dover, whence they can travel by land. One of the four men-at-arms shall be an Englishman, and he can act as her spokesman by the way." "That will do most excellently," the count said, "and I thank you heartily. As soon as I have finished my meal I must ride for the camp again. I started early this morning in order not to be observed; in the first place because I did not wish my daughter to be seen in her female dress, and in the second because I would not that any should notice my coming in this direction, and indeed we rode for the first mile backwards along the road to Bapaume, and I shall return by the same way." "What will the end of these troubles be, Count?" "As I read the stars there will be peace shortly, and indeed it is clear to me that the Duke of Burgundy must by this time see that if the war goes on he will lose all Artois and perhaps Flanders, and that therefore he must make peace, and perhaps keep it until the royal army has marched away and dispersed; after that we may be sure that the crafty duke will not long remain quiet. I have a trusty emissary in Burgundy's household, and as soon as the duke comes to the conclusion that he must beg for peace I shall have intelligence of it, and shall give early news to the queen and to Aquitaine, who would hail it with gladness; for, seeing that the latter's wife is Burgundy's daughter, he does not wish to press him hard, and would gladly see peace concluded." An hour later the count rode off with his two followers, after taking an affectionate leave of his daughter, and telling her that it would not be long before he joined her--if only for a time--in England. Before he went Guy had chosen the woman who, with her two daughters, was to accompany Katarina, and had installed them in the private apartments. "What shall we do with ourselves for the day?" he asked the girl, who was, he saw, shy and ill at ease, now that her father had left. "If you are not tired we might take a ride. We have some hawks here, and now that the harvest has been gathered we shall doubtless find sport with the game-birds." "I am not at all tired," she said eagerly, "and should like it much." Calling upon Long Tom and another to accompany them, horses were brought up, and they started and remained out until supper-time, bringing home with them some seven or eight partridges that had been killed by the hawks. Guy suggested that perhaps she would prefer to have the meal served in her own apartments and to retire to bed early. She accepted the offer, and at once went to her room, which she did not leave again that evening. Guy, as he ate alone, wondered to himself at the change that some nine or ten months had made in her. "I suppose she feels strange and lonely," he said to himself. "She was merry enough when we were out hawking; but directly we got back again she seemed quite unlike herself. I suppose it is because I always used to treat her as if she were a boy, and now that she has grown up into a woman she wants to forget that time." The town of Arras resisted sturdily. The garrison made frequent sorties, took a good many prisoners, and inflicted heavy loss upon the besiegers before these could gather in sufficient numbers to drive them in again, and all assaults were repulsed with loss. The Castle of Belle Moote, near Arras, also repulsed all the efforts of the king's army to take it. Foraging parties of Orleanists committed terrible devastations in the country round, but gained no advantage in their attacks on any fortified place. On the 29th of August the Duke of Brabant arrived with some deputies from Flanders to negotiate a peace between Burgundy and the king. They were well received, and an armistice was at once arranged. The French troops were suffering severely from disease, and the failure of all their attempts to capture Arras made them ready to agree willingly upon a peace. This was accordingly concluded on the 4th of September, and the next day the royal army marched away. Three weeks after Katarina had gone to England, Sir Eustace himself, to Guy's great joy, arrived at the castle, bringing with him his esquire and eight men-at-arms, as well as the three serving-women and their escort. As soon as his pennon was seen Guy leapt on a horse that was standing saddled in the court-yard, and rode to meet them. As he came up he checked his horse in surprise, for his father was riding by the side of Sir Eustace. Recovering himself, however, he doffed his cap to his lord. "Welcome back, my lord!" he said. "I trust that our dear lady is better." "Much better, Guy. You see I have brought your father over with me." Guy bent low to his father. "I am right glad to see you," the latter said, "and to hear such good accounts of you. Dame Margaret and Mistress Agnes were never tired of singing your praises, and in truth I was not weary of hearing them." "Are you going to make a long stay, father?" "I shall stay for some little time, Guy. Our lady is going to be her own castellan for the present. And in truth things are so quiet in England that Summerley could well go on without a garrison, so Sir Eustace suggested that I should accompany him hither, where, however, just at present things have also a peaceful aspect. The young countess arrived safely, Guy, and was heartily welcomed, the more so since, as your letter told me, it is to her father that we owe it that we did not have the king's army battering our walls, or, even if they did not try that, devastating the fields and ruining the farmers." By this time they were at the gate. Long Tom had the garrison drawn up in the court-yard, and they hailed the return of their lord with hearty cheers, while the retainers of Summerley were no less pleased at seeing Sir John Aylmer. "And now, Guy," said Sir Eustace, "I will tell you why I have come hither. It is partly to see after the estate, to hear the complaints of my vassals and to do what I can for them, and in the next place I wanted to see these fortifications that you have raised, and, thirdly, I shall shortly ride to Paris in the train of the Earl of Dorset, the Lord Grey, Admiral of England, some bishops, and many other knights and nobles, amounting in the whole to 600 horse. They go to treat for the marriage of the princess of France with the English king. I had an audience with the king at Winchester as soon as we heard that the royal army was marching towards Artois, and he gave assurance that he would instruct the governor of Calais to furnish what assistance he could should the castle be attacked, and that he himself would at once on hearing of it send a remonstrance to the King of France, urging that I, as a vassal of his as well as of France, had avoided taking any part in the troubles, and had ever borne myself as a loyal vassal of his Majesty. "He was at Winchester when the young countess arrived, and I rode over to him to tell him that I had news that it was not probable that Villeroy would be attacked. It was then that his Majesty informed me that the Earl of Dorset with a large body of nobles would ere long cross the Channel for the purpose that I have named, and begged me to ride with them. The king, being disengaged at the time, talked with me long, and questioned me as to the former defence of the castle, and how Dame Margaret had fared when, as he had heard, she was obliged to go as a hostage to Paris. I told him all that had befallen her, at which he seemed greatly interested, and bade me present you to him at the first opportunity. "'He must be a lad after my own heart,' he said, 'and he shall have an opportunity of winning his spurs as soon as may be, which perchance is not so far away as some folks think.'" Guy thanked Sir Eustace for having so spoken of him to the English king, and asked: "What do you think he meant by those last words, my lord?" "That I cannot say, Guy; but it may well be that he thinks that this marriage which has been so long talked of may not take place, and that the negotiations have been continued solely for the purpose of keeping him quiet while France was busied with her own troubles. Moreover, I know that the king has been already enlisting men, that he is impatient at having been put off so often with soft words, and that embassy is intended to bring matters to a head; therefore if, as I gathered from some of my friends at his court, he is eager for fighting, it may be that his ambassadors will demand conditions which he is sure beforehand the King of France will not grant. At any rate I shall ride with Dorset to Paris; whatever the sentiments of the Burgundians or Orleanists may be towards me will matter nothing, riding as I shall do in the train of the earl. I am going to take you with me, as well as John Harpen, for I must do as well as others, and have had to lay out a goodly sum in garments fit for the occasion, for the king is bent upon his embassy making a brave show. Your father will be castellan here in my absence. I shall also take with me Long Tom and four of his archers, and five French men-at-arms. I have brought some Lincoln-green cloth to make fresh suits for the archers, and also material for those for the men-at-arms." Both Sir Eustace and Sir John Aylmer expressed great satisfaction at the manner in which the new outworks had been erected. "Assuredly it is a strong castle now, Sir Eustace," Sir John said, "and would stand a long siege even by a great army." "What is all that earth for in the corner, Guy?" Sir Eustace asked as they re-entered the castle after having made a survey of the new works. "I had that brought in, my lord, to fill sacks, of which I had three hundred made, so that if guns and battering machines were brought against us, we might cover the wall at the place they aimed at with sacks hanging closely together, and so break the force of the stones or the cannon balls." "Excellently well arranged, Guy. You thought, Sir John, that I was somewhat rash to leave the defence solely to the charge of this son of yours, but you see the lad was ready at all points, and I will warrant me that the castle would have held out under him as long a time as if you and I both had been in command of it." It was not until January, the year being 1414, that the Earl of Dorset and a great company arrived at Calais. As they passed not far from the castle they were joined by Sir Eustace and his retinue. The king's wishes had been carried out, and the knights and nobles were so grandly attired and their retinues so handsomely appointed that when they rode into Paris the people were astonished at the splendour of the spectacle. A few days after they reached the capital the king gave a great festival in honour of the visitors, and there was a grand tournament at which the king and all the princes of the blood tilted. The English ambassadors were splendidly entertained, but their proposals were considered inadmissible by the French court, for Henry demanded with Katherine the duchy of Normandy, the county of Pontieu, and the duchy of Aquitaine. No direct refusal was given, but the king said that he would shortly send over an embassy to discuss the conditions. Many handsome presents were made to all the knights and noblemen, and the embassy returned to England. Sir Eustace left them near Villeroy with his party, and stayed two days at the castle. Sir John Aylmer said that he would prefer that Guy should return home with Sir Eustace and that he himself should remain as castellan, for he thought that there was little doubt that war would soon be declared; he said that he himself was too old to take the field on active service, and preferred greatly that Guy should ride with Sir Eustace. Long Tom made a petition to his lord that he too should go to England for a time. "If there was any immediate chance of fighting here, my lord," he said, "I would most willingly remain, but seeing that at present all is quiet, I would fain return, were it but for a month; for I have a maid waiting for me, and have, methinks, kept her long enough, and would gladly go home and fetch her over here." The request was at once granted, and Sir Eustace, his two esquires, and the archer rode to Calais, and crossed with the company of the Earl of Dorset. For some months Guy remained quietly at Summerley. Agnes, though nearly sixteen, was still but a young girl, while Katarina had grown still more womanly during the last six months. The former always treated him as a brother, but the latter was changeable and capricious. Occasionally she would laugh and chat when the three were alone, as she had done of old in Paris, but more often she would tease and laugh at him, while sometimes she would be shy and silent. "I cannot make out the young countess, my lady," he said to Dame Margaret when Katarina had been teasing him even more than usual. "She was never like this in Paris, and I know not that I have done aught to offend her that she should so often pick up my words, and berate me for a meaning they never had." "You see, things have changed since then," Dame Margaret said with a smile; "'tis two years since you were in Paris, and Katarina, although but little older than Agnes, is already a young woman. You were then still under seventeen, now you are nineteen, and in growth and stature well-nigh a man. You can hardly expect her to be the same with you as when she was running about Paris in boy's attire, for then you regarded her rather as a comrade than as a girl. I think, perhaps, it is that she a little resents the fact that you knew her in that guise, and therefore feels all the less at her ease with you. Do not trouble about it, the thing will right itself in time; and besides, you will shortly be going off to the war." In fact, preparations were being already made for it. A French embassy of nobles and knights, with three hundred and fifty horsemen, had come over, and, after passing through London, had gone to Winchester, and there met the king and his great lords. The Archbishop of Bourges, who was their spokesman, at once set forth that the king could not hand over so large a portion of his kingdom, but that he would give with his daughter large estates in France, together with a great sum in ready money. This offer was refused, and preparations for war went on in both countries. France was, indeed, but in poor condition to defend itself, for the Duke of Aquitaine had seriously angered both parties. He had made a pretext to get the great lords to ride out from Paris, he being with them; but he had secretly returned, and had ordered the gates to be closed, had called the citizens to arms, and had resumed the supreme authority of the realm. Having done this, he sent his wife, Burgundy's daughter, to a castle at a distance, and surrounding himself with young nobles as reckless and dissipated as himself, led a life of disorder, squandering money on his pleasures, and heavily taxing the city for his wants. The Duke of Burgundy, indignant at the treatment of his daughter, sent an ambassador to demand that she should be taken back, and that all the persons, five hundred in number, who had been exempted from the terms of the treaty, should be allowed to return to Paris. Both requests were refused, and the consequence was that the Duke of Burgundy, with his partisans, returned to his own country in deep anger; he would take no part in the war against the English, although he permitted his vassals to do so. In July the English levies gathered at Southampton. The king was to have embarked immediately, and a great fleet had been collected for the purpose; but, as he was on the point of sailing, Henry obtained news of a plot against his life on the part of Sir Thomas Grey, Lord Scroop, and Richard, Earl of Cambridge, the king's cousin. As Scroop was in constant attendance upon the king and slept in his room, the conspirators had little doubt that their purpose could be carried out, their intention being to proclaim the Earl of March king, and to summon assistance from Scotland. The three conspirators were tried by a jury and were all found guilty. Grey was beheaded, but his companions claimed to be tried again by their peers. No time was lost in carrying out the trial; all the lords assembled at Southampton were called together, and, after hearing the evidence, at once found the two nobles guilty, and they were immediately beheaded. Orders were then given for the embarkation. Sir Eustace had brought with him thirty archers and as many men-at-arms, and, as they were waiting on the strand for the boats that were to take them out to the ships to which they had been appointed, the king, who was personally superintending the operations, rode past. Sir Eustace saluted him. "Is this your following, Sir Eustace?" the king asked. "It is, my lord king, and would that it were larger. Had we landed at Calais I should have been joined by another fifty stout Englishmen from Villeroy, and should we in our marches pass near it I will draw them to me. Your majesty asked me to present to you my esquire, Guy Aylmer, who, as I had the honour of telling you, showed himself a brave and trusty gentleman, when, during the troubles, he was in Paris with my wife. Step forward, Guy!" The latter did so, saluted the king, and stood erect in military attitude. "You have begun well," the king said graciously; "and I hereby request your lord that in the day of battle he will permit you to fight near me, and if you bear yourself as well when fighting for your king as you did when looking after your lady mistress, you shall have your share of honours as well as of blows." The king then rode on, and Sir Eustace and Guy took their places in a boat where the men had already embarked. "This is something like, Master Guy," said Long Tom, who was in command of the archers. "It was well indeed that I asked to come home to England when I did, else had I been now mewed up at Villeroy while my lord was fighting the French in the open field. Crecy was the last time an English king commanded an army in battle against France; think you that we shall do as well this time?" "I trust so, Tom; methinks we ought assuredly not to do worse. It is true that the French have been having more fighting of late than we have, but the nobles are less united now than they were then, and are likely to be just as headstrong and incautious as they were at Crecy. I doubt not that we shall be greatly outnumbered, but numbers go for little unless they are well handled. The Constable d'Albrett is a good soldier, but the nobles, who are his equals in rank, will heed his orders but little when their blood is up and they see us facing them. We may be sure, at any rate, that we shall be well led, for the king has had much experience against the Scotch and Welsh, and has shown himself a good leader as well as a brave fighter. I hope, Tom, that you have by this time come to be well accustomed to your new bow." "That have I. I have shot fourscore arrows a day with it from the time I reached home, not even omitting my wedding day, and I think that now I make as good shooting with it as I did with my old one. 'Tis a pity we are not going to Calais; if we had been joined by thirty archers there we should have made a brave show, and more than that, they would have done good service, for they are picked men. A few here may be as good, but not many. You see when we last sailed with our lord the times were peaceful, and we were able to gather the best shots for fifty miles round, but now that the king and so many of the nobles are all calling for archers we could not be so particular, and have had to take what we could get; still, I would enlist none who were not fair marksmen." This conversation took place as they were dropping down Southampton waters. Their destination was known to be Harfleur, which, as it was strongly fortified and garrisoned, was like to offer a sturdy resistance. The fleet was a great one, consisting of from twelve to fourteen hundred sail, which the king had collected from all the ports of England and Ireland, or hired from Holland and Friesland. The army consisted of six thousand five hundred horsemen and twenty-four thousand footmen of all kinds. On the 13th of August the fleet anchored in the mouth of the Seine, three miles from Harfleur. The operation of landing the great army and their horses occupied three days, the French, to the surprise of all, permitting the operation to be carried on without let or hindrance, although the ground was favourable for their attacks, As soon as the landing was effected the army took up its position so as to prevent any supplies from entering the town. They had with them an abundance of machines for battering the walls, and these were speedily planted, and they began their work. The garrison had been reinforced by four hundred knights and picked men-at-arms, and fought with great determination and valour, making several sorties from the two gates of the town. There were, however, strong bodies of troops always stationed near to guard the engines from such attacks, and the French sorties were not only repulsed, but their knights had much difficulty in winning their way back to the town. The enemy were unable to use their cannon to much effect, for a large supply of gunpowder sent by the French king was, on the day after the English landed, captured on its way into the town. The besiegers lost, however, a good many men from the crossbowmen who manned the walls, although the English archers endeavoured to keep down their shooting by a storm of arrows. The most formidable enemy, however, that the English had to contend with was dysentery, brought on by the damp and unhealthy nature of the ground upon which they were encamped. No less than two thousand men died, and a vastly larger number were so reduced by the malady that they were useless for fighting. The siege, however, was carried on uninterruptedly. The miners who had been brought over drove two galleries under the walls, and the gates were so shattered by stones and cannon-balls that they scarce hung together. The garrison surrendered after having by the permission of the English king sent a messenger to the King of France, who was at Vernon, to say that unless they were succoured within three days they must surrender, as the town was already at the mercy of the English, and received for answer that no army was as yet gathered that could relieve them. In addition to the ravages of dysentery the English army had suffered much from want of food. Large bodies of French troops were gathered at Rouen and other places, and when knights and men-at-arms went out to forage, they fell upon them and drove them back. Still a large amount of booty was gathered, together with enough provisions to afford a bare subsistence to the army. A considerable amount of booty was also obtained when Harfleur fell. The greater portion of the inhabitants of the town were forced to leave it, the breaches in the walls were repaired and new gates erected. A portion of the treasure obtained was divided by the king among the troops. The prisoners and the main portion of the booty--which, as Harfleur was the chief port of Normandy, and indeed of all the western part of France, was very great--he sent direct to England, together with the engines of war. The sick and ailing were then embarked on ships, with a considerable fighting force under the Earl of Warwick. They were ordered to touch at Calais, where the fighting-men were to be landed and the sick carried home, and Henry then prepared to march to Calais by land. CHAPTER XIX -- AGINCOURT The English king waited some time for an answer to a challenge he had sent to the Duke of Aquitaine to decide their quarrel by single combat; but Aquitaine cared more for pleasure than for fighting, and sent no answer to the cartel. It was open to Henry to have proceeded by sea to Calais, and it was the advice of his counsellors that he should do so; but the king declared that the French should never say that he was afraid to meet them, and that as the country was his by right he would march wherever he pleased across it; and so, after leaving a thousand archers and five hundred men-at-arms under the command of the Duke of Exeter, he set out on the 6th of October on his adventurous journey. Accounts differ as to the number that started with him, some French historians put it as high as 17,000, but it is certain that it could not have exceeded nine thousand men, of whom two thousand were men-at-arms and the rest archers. Now, while the siege of Harfleur had been going on, the arrangements for the embarkation of the troops and stores carried out, and the town put in a state of defence, troops had been marching from all points of France at the command of the French king to join him at Rouen, so that here and in Picardy two great armies were already assembled, the latter under the command of the constable. The English force marched by the sea-shore until it arrived at the river Somme. No great resistance was encountered, but large bodies of the enemy's horse hovered near and cut off all stragglers, and rendered it difficult to obtain food, so that sickness again broke out among the troops. On reaching the Somme Henry followed its left bank up, intending to cross at the ford of La Blanche-Tache, across which Edward the Third had carried his army before fighting at Crecy. The French, as on the previous occasion, held the ford; but they this time had erected defences on each of the banks, and had strong posts driven into the bed of the river. Still ascending along the river bank the English found every bridge broken and every ford fortified, while a great body of troops marched parallel with them on the right bank of the river. At Pont St. Remy, Ponteau de Mer, and several other points they tried in vain to force a passage. Seven days were spent in these attempts; the troops, suffering terrible hardships, were disheartened at their failure to cross the river, and at finding themselves getting farther and farther from the sea. On the morning of the 19th, however, a ford was discovered which had not been staked. The English vanguard at once made a dash across it, repulsed its defenders on the other bank, and the whole army with its baggage, which was of scanty dimensions, swarmed across the river. Sir Eustace, with his little force, now reduced to half its number, was, as it happened, in front of the army when the ford was discovered, and, followed by his two esquires and ten mounted men-at-arms, dashed into the river, while the archers, slinging their bows behind them, drew their axes and followed. For a short time there was a desperate conflict, but as reinforcements hurried across, the fight became more even and the French speedily gave way. When the king had crossed he thanked Sir Eustace for his prompt action. "Had you waited to send back for orders," he said, "the French would have come up in such numbers that the ford would not have been won without heavy loss, whereas by dashing across the moment it was discovered, you took the defenders by surprise and enabled us to get over without the loss of a single man." The constable, disconcerted at finding that all his plans for keeping the English on the left bank of the river were foiled, fell back to St. Pol in Artois. Henry followed, but without haste. His small force was greatly reduced by sickness, while by this time the whole of the royal army had marched round and joined that of the constable. On the day after the passage had been effected three heralds arrived in the English camp to acquaint the king with the resolution of the constable and of the Dukes of Orleans and Brabant to give his army battle before he reached Calais. Henry replied that fear of them would not induce him to move out of his way or to change the order of his march; he intended to go on straight by the road to Calais, and if the French attempted to stop him it would be at their peril; he accordingly continued to advance at the same rate as before. The constable fell back from St. Pol and took up his post between the villages of Ruissanville and Agincourt, where, having received all the reinforcements he expected, he determined to give battle. On the 24th the English crossed the Ternois at Blangi, and soon afterwards came in sight of the enemy's columns. These fell back as he advanced, and towards evening he halted at the village of Maisoncelles, within half a mile of the enemy's position. Fortunately provisions had been obtained during the day's march; these were cooked and served out, and the English lay down to sleep. The king sent for Sir Eustace. "You know this ground well, I suppose, Sir Eustace," he said, "for your Castle of Villeroy is not many miles distant?" "'Tis but six miles away," the knight replied. "It is a good ground to fight on, for facing it are fields, and on either flank of these are large woods, so that there will be little space for the enemy to move." "That is just what I would have," the king said. "Were they but half as strong as they are I should feel less confident that we should defeat them; their numbers will hinder them, and the deep wet ground will hamper their movements. As for ourselves, I would not have a man more with me if I could; the fewer we are the greater the glory if we conquer, while if we are defeated the less the loss to England. Does your young esquire also know the ground, Sir Eustace?" "Yes, sire; he has, I know, often ridden here when hawking." "Then let him go with four of my officers, who are about to reconnoitre the ground and see where we had best fight." Guy was accordingly called up and started with the officers. He first took them up to the wood on the right of the French division, then they moved across its front at a distance of fifty yards only from the French line. The contrast between it and the English camp was great. In the latter all was quiet. The men after a hearty meal had lain down to sleep, heeding little the wet ground and falling rain, exhausted by their long marching, and in good spirits,--desperate though the odds seemed against them,--that they were next day to meet their foes. In the French camp all was noise and confusion. Each body of troops had come on the ground under its own commander, and shouts, orders, and inquiries sounded from all quarters. Many of the Frenchmen never dismounted all the night, thinking it better to remain on horseback than to lie down on wet ground. Great fires were lighted and the soldiers gathered round these, warming themselves and drinking, and calculating the ransoms to be gained by the capture of the king and the great nobles of England. Knights and men-at-arms rode about in search of their divisions, their horses slipping and floundering in the deep clay. Passing along the line of the French army Guy and the officers proceeded to the wood on the left, and satisfied themselves that neither there nor on the other flank had any large body of men been posted. They then returned and made their report to the king. Guy wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down and slept until the moon rose at three o'clock, when the whole army awoke and prepared for the day's work. The English king ordered the trumpeters and other musicians who had been brought with the army to play merry tunes, and these during the three hours of darkness cheered the spirits of the men and helped them to resist the depressing influence of the cold night air following upon their sleep on the wet ground. The French, on the other hand, had no manner of musical instruments with their army, and all were fatigued and depressed by their long vigil. The horses had suffered as-much as the men from damp, sleeplessness, and want of forage. There was, however, no want of confidence in the French army--all regarded victory as absolutely certain. As the English had lost by sickness since they left Harfleur fully a thousand men out of the 9,000, and as against these were arrayed at least a hundred thousand--some French historians estimate them at 150,000--comprising most of the chivalry of France, the latter might well regard victory as certain. There were, however, some who were not so confident; among these was the old Duke of Berri, who had fought at Poitiers sixty years before, and remembered how confident the French were on that occasion, and how disastrous was the defeat. His counsel that the English should be allowed to march on unmolested to Calais, had been scouted by the French leaders, but he had so far prevailed that the intention that Charles should place himself at the head of the army was abandoned. "It would be better," the duke had urged, "to lose the battle than to lose the king and the battle together." As soon as day broke the English were mustered and formed up, and three masses were celebrated at different points in order that all might hear. When this was done the force was formed up into three central divisions and two wings, but the divisions were placed so close together that they practically formed but one. The whole of the archers were placed in advance of the men-at-arms. Every archer, in addition to his arms, carried a long stake sharpened at both ends, that which was to project above the ground being armed with a sharp tip of iron. When the archers had taken up their positions these stakes were driven obliquely into the ground, each being firmly thrust in with the strength of two or three men. As the archers stood many lines deep, placed in open order and so that each could shoot between the heads of the men in front of him, there were sufficient stakes in front of the line to form a thick and almost impassable _chevaux-de-frise_. The baggage and horses were sent to the rear, near the village of Maisoncelles, under a guard of archers and men-at-arms. When all the arrangements were made, the king rode along the line from rank to rank, saying a few words of encouragement to each group of men. He recounted to them the victories that had been won against odds as great as those they had to encounter, and told them that he had made up his own mind to conquer or die, for that England should never have to pay ransom for him. The archers he fired especially by reminding them that when the Orleanists had taken Soissons a few months before they had hung up like dogs three hundred English archers belonging to the garrison. He told them that they could expect no mercy, for that, as the French in other sieges had committed horrible atrocities upon their own countrymen and countrywomen, they would assuredly grant no mercy to the English; while the latter on their march had burned no town nor village, and had injured neither man nor woman, so that God would assuredly fight for them against their wicked foes. The king's manner as much as his words aroused the enthusiasm of the soldiers; his expression was calm, confident, and cheerful, he at least evidently felt no doubt of the issue. The Duke of Berri had most strongly urged on the council that the French should not begin the attack. They had done so at Crecy and Poitiers with disastrous effect, and he urged them to await the assault of the English. The latter, however, had no intention of attacking, for Henry had calculated upon the confusion that would surely arise when the immense French army, crowded up between the two woods, endeavoured to advance. The men were therefore ordered to sit down on the ground, and food and some wine were served, out to them. The constable was equally determined not to move; the French therefore also sat down, and for some hours the two armies watched each other. The constable had, however, some difficulty in maintaining his resolution. The Duke of Orleans and numbers of the hot-headed young nobles clamoured to be allowed to charge the English. He himself would gladly have waited until joined by large reinforcements under the Duke of Brittany and the Marshal de Loigny, who were both expected to arrive in the course of the day. As an excuse for the delay, rather than from any wish that his overtures should be accepted, he sent heralds to the English camp to offer Henry a free passage if he would restore Harfleur, with all the prisoners that he had made there and on his march, and resign his claims to the throne of France. Henry replied that he maintained the conditions he had laid down by his ambassadors, and that he would accept none others. He had, in fact, no wish to negotiate, for he, too, knew that the French would very shortly be largely reinforced, and that were he to delay his march, even for a day or two, his army would be starved. Perceiving at last that the constable was determined not to begin the battle, he sent off two detachments from the rear of his army, so that their movements should be concealed from the sight of the French. One of these, composed of archers, was to take post in the wood on the left hand of the French, the other was to move on through the wood, to come down in their rear, and to set on fire some barns and houses there, and so create a panic. He waited until noon, by which time he thought that both detachments would have reached the posts assigned to them, and then gave the orders for the advance. The archers were delighted when their commander, Sir Thomas Erpingham, repeated the order. None of them had put on his armour, and many had thrown off their jerkins so as to have a freer use of their arms either for bow or axe. Each man plucked up his stake, and the whole moved forward in orderly array until within bow-shot of the enemy. Then the archers again stuck their stakes into the ground, and, taking up their position as before, raised a mighty shout as they let fly a volley of arrows into the enemy. The shout was echoed from the wood on the French left, and the archers there at once plied their bows, and from both flank and front showers of arrows fell among the French. As originally formed up, the latter's van should have been covered by archers and cross-bowmen, but, from the anxiety of the knights and nobles to be first to attack, the footmen had been pushed back to the rear, a position which they were doubtless not sorry to occupy, remembering how at Crecy the cross-bowmen had been trampled down and slain by the French knights, desirous of getting through them to attack the English. Therefore, there stood none between the archers and the French array of knights, and the latter suffered heavily from the rain of arrows. Sir Clugnet de Brabant was the first to take the offensive, and with twelve hundred men-at-arms charged down upon the archers with loud shouts. The horses, however, were stiff and weary from standing so long in order; the deep and slippery ground, and the weight of their heavily-armed riders caused them to stagger and stumble, and the storm of arrows that smote them as soon as they got into motion added to the disorder. So accurate was the aim of the archers, that most of the arrows struck the knights on their helmets and vizors. Many fell shot through the brain, and so terrible was the rain of arrows that all had to bend down their heads so as to save their faces. Many of the archers, too, shot at the horses; some of these were killed and many wounded, and the latter swerving and turning aside added to the confusion. And when at length Sir Clugnet and the leaders reached the line of stakes in front of the archers, only about a hundred and fifty of the twelve hundred men were behind them. The horses drew up on reaching the hedge of stakes. Their riders could give them no guidance, for without deigning to move from their order the archers continued to keep up their storm of arrows, which at such close quarters pierced all but the very finest armour, while it was certain death to the knights to raise their heads to get a glance at the situation. The horses, maddened with the pain of the arrows, soon settled the matter. Some turned and rushed off madly, carrying confusion into the ranks of the first division, others galloped off to the right or left, and of the twelve hundred men who charged, three only broke through the line of stakes, and these were instantly killed by the bill-hooks and axes of the archers. The second line of battle was now in disorder, broken by the fugitive men and horses of Sir Clugnet's party, smitten with the arrows to which they had been exposed as that party melted away, and by those of the English archers in the wood on their flank. The confusion heightened every moment as wounded knights tried to withdraw from the fight, and others from behind struggled to take their places in front. Soon the disorder became terrible. The archers plucked up their stakes and ran forward; the French line recoiled at their approach in order to get into fairer order; and the archers, with loud shouts of victory, slung their bows behind them, dropped the stakes, and with axe and bill-hook rushed at the horsemen. These were too tightly wedged together to use their lances, and as they had retired they had come into newly-ploughed ground, which had been so soaked by the heavy rain that the horses sank in the deep mud to their knees, many almost to their bellies. Into the midst of this helpless crowd of armed men the English archers burst. Embarrassed by their struggling horses, scarcely able to wield their arms in the press, seeing but scantily, and that only in front through the narrow slits of their vizors, the chivalry of France died almost unresistingly. The Constable of France and many of the highest nobles and most distinguished knights fell, and but few of the first line made their escape: these, passing through the second division, in order to draw up behind, threw this also into some confusion. The Duke de Brabant, who had just arrived on the field, charged down upon the flank of the archers. These met him fearlessly, and he and most of those with him were killed. This fight had, however, given time to the second division to close up their ranks. The archers would have attacked them, but the king caused the signal for them to halt to be sounded, and riding up formed them in order again. The French were unable to take advantage of the moment to try and recover their lost ground, for the horses were knee-deep in the ground, upon which they had all night been trampling, and into which the weight of their own and their riders' armour sunk them deeply. "Now, my lords," the king said, turning to those around him, "our brave archers have done their share; it is our turn;" and then, as arranged, all dismounted and marched forward against the enemy. In accordance with his orders, Sir Eustace de Villeroy and Guy were posted close to the king, while John Harpen led the men-at-arms from Summerley. For a time the battle raged fiercely. In the centre fought the king with his nobles and knights; while the archers, who had most of them thrown off their shoes and were able to move lightly over the treacherous ground, threw themselves upon the enemy's flanks, and did dreadful execution there. In the centre, however, the progress of the English was slower. The French knights made the most desperate efforts to attack the king himself, and pressed forward to reach the royal banner. His brother, the Duke of Clarence, was wounded, and would have been killed had not the king himself, with a few of his knights, taken post around him, and kept off the attacks of his foes until he recovered his feet. Almost immediately afterwards a band of eighteen knights, under the banner of the Lord of Croye, who had bound themselves by an oath to take or kill the king, charged down upon him. One of them struck him so heavy a blow on the head with a mace that the king was beaten to his knee, but his knights closed in round him, and every one of his assailants was killed. The Duke of Alençon next charged down with a strong following; he cut his way to the royal standard, and struck the Duke of York dead with a blow of his battle-axe. Henry sprung forward, but Alençon's weapon again fell, and striking him on the head clipped off a portion of the crown which Henry wore round his helmet. But before the French knight could repeat the stroke Guy Aylmer sprung forward and struck so heavy a blow full on the duke's vizor that he fell from his horse dead. His fall completed the confusion and dismay among the French, and the second division of their army, which had hitherto fought gallantly, now gave way. Many were taken prisoners. The third division, although alone vastly superior in numbers to the English, seeing the destruction of the others, began to draw off. They had moved but a short distance when loud shouts were heard in the English rear. Two or three French knights, with a body of several hundred armed peasants, had suddenly fallen upon the English baggage and horses which had been left at Maisoncelles. Many of the guard had gone off to join in the battle, so that the attack was successful, a portion of the baggage, including the king's own wardrobe, and a great number of horses being captured. Ignorant of the strength of the attacking party, Henry believed that it was the reinforcements under the Duke of Brittany that had come up. At the same moment the third division of the French, whose leaders were also similarly deceived, halted and faced round. Believing that he was about to be attacked in front and rear by greatly superior forces, Henry gave the order that all prisoners should be killed, and the order was to a great extent executed before the real nature of the attack was discovered and the order countermanded. The third division of the French now continued its retreat, and the battle was over. There remained but to examine the field and see who had fallen. The king gave at once the name of Agincourt to the battle, as this village possessed a castle, and was therefore the most important of those near which the fight had taken place. Properly the name should have been Azincourt, as this was the French spelling of the village. The loss of the French was terrible, and their chivalry had suffered even more than at Poitiers. Several of the relations of the French king were killed. The Duke of Brabant, the Count de Nevers, the Duke of Bar and his two brothers, the constable, and the Duke of Alençon all perished. No less than a hundred and twenty great lords were killed, and eight thousand nobles, knights, and esquires lost their lives, with some thousands of lower degree, while the Duke of Orleans, the Duke of Bourbon, and many others were taken prisoners. The accounts of the English loss differ considerably, the highest placing it at sixteen hundred, the lowest at one-fourth of that number. The plunder taken by them in the shape of costly armour, arms, rich garments, and the trappings of horses, was great; but of food there was but little, many of the victors lay down supperless around the village of Maisoncelles. The knights who had led the peasants to the attack of the baggage-train, instead of joining in the fight, and had thereby caused the unfortunate massacre of so many prisoners, fell into great disgrace among the French for their conduct, and were imprisoned for some years by the Duke of Burgundy. That evening the English king knighted many esquires and aspirants of noble families, among them Guy Aylmer, who was indeed the first to receive the honour. "No one fought more bravely than you did, young knight," he said, as Guy rose to his feet after receiving the accolade; "I will see that you have lands to support your new dignity. Twice you were at my side when I was in the greatest danger, and none have won their spurs more fairly." John Harpen would also have been among those knighted, but he declined the honour, saying that he was not come of gentle blood, and wished for nothing better than to remain his lord's esquire so long as he had strength to follow him in the field. The next morning the army marched to Calais. The king turned aside with Sir Eustace, and with a strong party rode to Villeroy. Guy had gone on with the men-at-arms at daybreak, and a banquet had been prepared, and twenty cartloads of grain and a hundred bullocks sent off to meet the army on its march. "'Tis a fine castle, Sir Eustace," the king said as he rode in, "but truly it is perilously situated. If after this I can make good terms with France I will see that the border shall run outside your estates; but if not, methinks that it were best for you to treat with some French noble for its sale, and I will see that you are equally well bestowed in England, for in truth, after fighting for us at Agincourt, you are like to have but little peace here." "I would gladly do so, my lord king," Sir Eustace replied. "During the last three years it has been a loss rather than a gain to me. I have had to keep a large garrison here; the estate has been wasted, and the houses and barns burned. Had it not been that there was for most of the time a truce between England and France I should have fared worse. And now I may well be attacked as soon as your majesty and the army cross to England." "You will have a little breathing time," the king said; "they will have enough to do for a while to mourn their losses. I will not leave behind any of your brave fellows who have fought so hard here, but when I arrive at Calais will order two hundred men of the garrison to come over to reinforce you until you can make arrangements to get rid of the castle, if it is not to remain within my territory." Sir Eustace introduced Sir John Aylmer as the father of the newly-made knight. "You have a gallant son, Sir John," the king said, "and one who is like to make his way to high distinction. I doubt not that before we have done with the French he will have fresh opportunities of proving his valour." After the meal was over the king went round the walls. "'Tis a strong place," he said, "and yet unless aid reached you, you could not resist an army with cannon and machines." "I have long seen that, your majesty, and have felt that I should have to choose between England and France, for that, when war broke out again, I could not remain a vassal of both countries." "It shall be my duty to show you that you have not chosen wrongly, Sir Eustace. I cannot promise to maintain you here, for you might be attacked when I have no army with which I could succour you. As soon as I return home and learn which of those who have fallen have left no heirs, and whose lands therefore have come into my gift, I will then make choice of a new estate for you." The army marched slowly to Calais. It was weakened by sickness and hunger, and every man was borne down by the weight of the booty he carried. On arriving there the king held a council, and it was finally determined to return to England. The force under his command was now but the skeleton of an army. Fresh men and money were required to continue the war, and he accordingly set sail, carrying with him his long train of royal and noble prisoners. The news of the victory created the greatest enthusiasm in England. At Dover the people rushed into the sea and carried the king to shore on their shoulders. At Canterbury and the other towns through which he passed he received an enthusiastic welcome, while his entry into London was a triumph. Every house was decorated, the conduits ran with wine instead of water, and the people were wild with joy and enthusiasm. Great subsidies were granted him by Parliament, and the people in their joy would have submitted to any taxation. However, throughout his reign Henry always showed the greatest moderation; he kept well within constitutional usages, and his pleasant, affable manner secured for him throughout his reign the love and devotion of his subjects. On his arrival at Calais Guy discovered that among the prisoners was his friend Count Charles d'Estournel. "I am grieved indeed to see you in this plight," he exclaimed as he met him. "'Tis unfortunate truly, Aylmer, but it might have been worse; better a prisoner than among the dead at Agincourt," the light-hearted young count said; "but truly it has been an awful business. Who could have dreamt of it? I thought myself that the council were wrong when they refused all the offers of the towns to send bodies of footmen to fight beside us; had they been there, they might have faced those terrible archers of yours, for they at least would have been free to fight when we were all but helpless in that quagmire. I see that you have knightly spurs on, and I congratulate you." "Now, Count, what can I do to ensure your release at once? Whose prisoner are you?" "I surrendered to one John Parsons, an esquire, and I shall, of course, as soon as we get to England, send home to raise money for my ransom." "I know him well," Guy said; "his lord's tent was pitched alongside that of Sir Eustace, before Harfleur, and we saw much of each other, and often rode together on the march. If I gave him my guarantee for your ransom, I doubt not that he will take your pledge, and let you depart at once." "I should be glad indeed if you would do so, Aylmer." "At any rate he will take the guarantee of Sir Eustace," Guy said, "which will, I know, be given readily, after the service you rendered to his dame, and it may be that you will have it in your power to do him a service in return." He then told the count of the intention of Sir Eustace to sell the estate, or rather to arrange for its transfer. "It is held directly from the crown," he said, "but just at present the crown is powerless. Artois is everywhere Burgundian, and it would certainly be greatly to the advantage of Burgundy that it should be held by one of his followers, while it would be to the safety of France that it should be held by a Frenchman, rather than by one who is also a vassal of England." "I should think that that could be managed," the count said thoughtfully. "I will speak to my father. I am, as you know, his second son, but through my mother, who is a German, I have an estate on the other side of the Rhine. This I would gladly exchange--that is to say, would part with to some German baron--if I could obtain the fief of Villeroy. I have no doubt that Burgundy would not only consent, but would help, for, as you know by the manner in which your lady was made a hostage, he looked with great jealousy on this frontier fortress, which not only gives a way for the English into Artois, but which would, in the hands of an Orleanist, greatly aid an invasion of the province from Pontoise and the west. And, although the court would just at present object to give the fief to a Burgundian, it is powerless to interfere, and when the troubles are over, the duke would doubtless be able to manage it." Guy had no difficulty in arranging the matter with D'Estournel's captor, to whom Sir Eustace and he both gave their surety that his ransom should be paid; and, before sailing, Guy had the satisfaction of seeing his friend mount and ride for St. Omar with a pass through the English territory from the governor. CHAPTER XX -- PENSHURST After accompanying the king to London Sir Eustace and Guy rode to Summerley, where Long Tom and his companions had already arrived, having marched thither direct from Dover. There were great rejoicings at the castle. Not only the tenants, but people from a long way round came in to join in welcoming home two of the heroes of Agincourt. The archer had already brought news of Guy having been knighted, and he was warmly, congratulated by Dame Margaret and by Agnes, who received him with her usual sisterly affection. Katarina, also, congratulated him, but it was with less warmth of manner. In the evening, how ever, her mood changed, and she said to him: "Though I do not say much, you know that I am pleased, Sir Guy." [Illustration: "KATARINA SWEPT A DEEP CURTSEY, AND WENT OFF WITH A MERRY LAUGH."] "I am not sure, Countess Katarina--since we are to be ceremonious to each other--that I do quite know, for since I returned from France last time, I have seldom understood you; one moment you seem to me just as you used to be, at another you hold me at a distance, as if I were well-nigh a stranger." Katarina shrugged her shoulders. "What would you have, Guy? One can't be always in the same humour." "You are always in the same humour to Dame Margaret and Agnes," he said; "so far as I can see I am the only one whom you delight to tease." "Now that you are a belted knight, Sir Guy, I shall not presume to tease you any more, but shall treat you with the respect due to your dignity." Then she swept a deep curtsey, and turning, went off with a merry laugh, while Guy looked after her more puzzled than ever. That evening he received the news that during the absence of Sir Eustace and himself Sir William Bailey, a young knight whose estates lay near, had asked for the hand of Agnes, and that, although Dame Margaret had been unable to give an answer during her lord's absence, Agnes would willingly submit herself to her father's orders to wed Sir William. Guy remained for some months quietly at Summerley. The Emperor Sigismund had paid a visit to England, and then to Paris, to endeavour to reconcile the two countries. His mediation failed. Henry offered, as a final settlement, to accept the execution, on the part of France, of the treaty of Trepigny. Nothing, however, came of it, for there was no government in France capable of making a binding treaty. In spite of the disgrace and the slaughter of the nobles at Agincourt there was no abatement of the internal dissensions, and the civil war between Burgundy and Armagnac was still raging, the only change in affairs being that the vicious and incapable Duke of Aquitaine had died, and the queen had once again gone over to the Burgundian faction. Count Charles d'Estournel had carried into effect the mission with which he had charged himself. Burgundy had eagerly embraced the opportunity of attaching to his side the castle and estates of Villeroy, and he and the Count d'Estournel between them raised a sum of money which was paid to Sir Eustace for the relinquishment to Burgundy of the fief, which was then bestowed upon Count Charles. The sum in no way represented what would now be considered the value of the estate, but in those days, when fiefs reverted to the crown or other feudal superior upon the death of an owner without heirs, or were confiscated upon but slight pretence, the money value was far under the real value of the estate. Sir Eustace was well satisfied, however, with the sum paid him. Had his son Henry lived he had intended that the anomalous position of the lord of Villeroy, being also a vassal of England, should have been got rid of by one of his sons becoming its owner, and a vassal of France, while the other would inherit Summerley, and grow up a vassal of England only. Henry's death had put an end to the possibility of this arrangement, and Charlie would now become, at his father's death, Lord of Summerley and of such other English lands as could be obtained with the money paid for the surrender of the fief of Villeroy. In the first week of July there were great rejoicings at Summerley over the marriage of Agnes with Sir William Bailey. The king had not forgotten his promise to Sir Eustace, and had raised him to the title of Baron Eustace of Summerley, and had presented him with a royal manor near Winchester. Guy was summoned to court to take part in the festivities that were held during the visit of Sigismund, and the king said to him pleasantly one day: "I have not forgotten you, Sir Guy; but I have had many to reward, and you know importunate suitors, and those who have powerful connections to keep their claims ever in front, obtain an advantage over those who are content to hold themselves in the back-ground." "I am in all ways contented, your majesty. I have lived all my life in the household at Summerley, and am so much one of my lord's family that I have no desire to quit it. Moreover, my father has just returned from Villeroy with the garrison of the castle, and it is a great pleasure to me to have his society again." "I thought that some day you would have married Dame Margaret's fair daughter, after acting as their protector in the troubles in Paris, but I hear that she is betrothed to Sir William Bailey." "Such an idea never entered my mind, your majesty. She was but a child in those days, not so much in years as in thought, and brought up together as we were I have always regarded her rather in the light of a sister." Guy's quiet stay at Summerley came to an end suddenly. A fortnight after the marriage of Agnes, Harfleur was besieged by the French by land and water, and the Earl of Dorset, its governor, sent to England for aid. The king sent hasty orders to his vassals of Kent, Surrey, and Hampshire, to march with their retainers to Rye, where a fleet was to gather for their conveyance. A body of archers and men-at-arms were also sent thither by the king, and the Duke of Bedford, his brother, appointed to the command of the expedition. Sir Eustace was suffering somewhat from the effects of a fever, the seeds of which he had contracted in France, and he accordingly sent his contingent, thirty archers and as many men-at-arms, under the command of Guy. "I had hoped that we had done with Harfleur," Long Tom said as they started on their march to the seaport. "I don't mind fighting, that comes in the way of business, but to see men rotting away like sheep with disease is not to my fancy." "We shall have no fighting on land, Tom," Guy replied, "at least I expect not. When the French see that the garrison is reinforced they will probably give up the siege, though we may have a fight at sea with the French ships that are blockading the town and preventing provisions from reaching the garrison. Doubtless we shall take a good store of food with us, and the French will know well enough that as we had such hard work in capturing the town, they can have no chance whatever of taking it by assault when defended by us." Guy and his party had a small ship to themselves, with which he was well content, as, being but a newly-made knight, he would, had he been in a large ship, have been under the orders of any others who chanced to be with him; while he was now free to act as he chose. The voyage was favourable, but when the fleet arrived off the mouth of the Seine they found that the work before them was far more serious than they had expected. In addition to their own fleet, which was itself considerably stronger than the English, the besiegers had hired the aid of some great Genoese vessels, and a number of galleys, caravels, and many high-decked ships from Spain. They occupied a strong position off the town, and could be supported by some of the siege batteries. The English fleet lay to at the mouth of the Seine, and at night the captains of the troops on board the various ships were rowed to Bedford's ship, which displayed a light at the mast-head, so that the fleet could all lie in company round her. Here after much discussion a plan for the battle next day was agreed upon. The enterprise would have been a very hazardous one, but, happily, at daybreak the French ships were seen coming out to give battle. Confident in their superior numbers, and anxious to revenge their defeat at Agincourt, the French commanders were eager to reap the whole glory of victory without the assistance of their allies, whose ships remained anchored in the river. Bedford at once made the signal to attack them, and a desperate fight ensued. Great as was the slaughter in those days in battles on land, it was far greater in sea-fights. Except to knights and nobles, from whom ransom could be obtained, quarter was never given to prisoners either by land or sea, consequently as soon as soldiers in a land battle saw that fortune was going against them they fled. But on sea there was no escape; every man knew that it was either death or victory, and therefore fought with determination and obstinacy to the end. The two first French ships that arrived were speedily captured, but when the rest came up a desperate battle took place. Guy was on the point of ordering his ship to be laid alongside a French craft little larger than his own, when his eye fell upon a great ship carrying the flag of a French admiral, and at once diverting the course of his vessel, he ran alongside her. The archers were on the bow and stern castles of his ship, and as they came within a short distance of the Frenchman, they sent their arrows thick and fast into the crowded mass on her deck. Two grapnels, to each of which were attached twenty feet of chain, were thrown into the shrouds of the French vessel, and Guy shouted to the men-at-arms in the waist to keep the enemy from boarding by holding the vessels apart by thrusting out light spars and using their spears. The French had a few cross-bowmen on board, but Guy, running up on to the castle at the bow, where Long Tom himself was posted, bade him direct the fire of his men solely against them, and in a very short time the discharge of missiles from the French ship ceased. In vain the French attempted to bring the ships alongside each other by throwing grapnels; the ropes of these were cut directly they fell, and although many of the English spears were hacked in two, others were at once thrust out, and the spars, being inclined so as to meet the hull of the enemy below the water-line, could not be reached by their axes. The wind was light, and there was no great difference in point of sailing. The English sailors were vigilant, and when the Frenchman brailed up his great sail, so as to fall behind, they at once followed his example. At the end of a quarter of an hour the effect of the arrows of the thirty archers was so great that there was much confusion on board the enemy, and Guy thought that, comparatively small as his force was, an attack might be made. So the spars were suddenly drawn in and the chains hauled upon. The archers caught up their axes and joined the men-at-arms, and as the vessels came together they all leapt with a great shout upon the enemy's deck. The French knights, whose armour had protected them to some extent from the slaughter that the arrows had effected among the soldiers, fought bravely and rallied their men to resistance; but with shouts of "Agincourt!" the men-at-arms and archers, led by Guy,--who now for the first time fought in his knightly armour,--were irresistible. They had boarded at the enemy's stern so as to get all their foes in front of them, and after clearing the stern castle they poured down into the waist and gradually won their way along it. After ten minutes' hard fighting the French admiral and knights were pent up on the fore castle, and defended the ladder by which it was approached so desperately that Guy ordered Tom, with a dozen of the archers, to betake themselves to the English fore castle and to shoot from there, and in a short time the French leaders lowered their swords and surrendered. The French flag at the stern had been hauled down and that of England hoisted as soon as they boarded, and the latter was now run up to the mast-head amid the loud hurrahs of the English. The moment the French surrendered, Guy called to his men to cease from slaying and to disarm the prisoners, who were still much more numerous than themselves. The common men he told to take to their boats and row away, while the admiral and knights were conducted to the cabin, and a guard placed over them. As soon as this was done Guy looked round; the battle was still raging and many of the French ships had been captured, but others were defending themselves desperately. Twelve of Guy's men had been killed, and several of the others more or less severely wounded, and seeing that his countrymen did not need his assistance, he ordered the decks to be cleared and the dead bodies thrown overboard. In a quarter of an hour, the last French ship had been taken. There was now breathing time for half an hour, during which the Duke of Bedford, whose ship lay not far from Guy's prize, had himself rowed on board. "All have done well to-day, Sir Guy Aylmer, but assuredly the feat you have performed surpasses any of the others, seeing that you have captured this great ship with one of the smallest in our fleet. Their crew must have been three or four times as strong as yours, which was, as I know, but sixty strong. Has the Count de Valles fallen?" "No, my lord duke, he is, with six of his knights, a prisoner in the cabin." "I will see him later," the duke said; "we are now going to attack the Genoese and Spaniards. Is there aught that I can do for you?" "Some twenty of my men are dead or disabled," Guy said, "and I must leave ten in charge of this prize. I have suffered the French soldiers, after disarming them and the sailors, to leave in their boats, and ten men will therefore be sufficient to hold her. If your grace can spare me thirty men-at-arms I will go on in my own ship to attack the Genoese." "I will do so," the duke replied. "I will send ten to keep this ship, and twenty to fill the places of those of your men who have fallen. I can spare ten from my own ship and will borrow twenty from such of the others as can best spare them." In a few minutes the thirty men came on board, with a sub-officer to take charge of the prize. Guy returned with his own men and twenty new-comers to his vessel, and sailed in with the fleet to attack the great ships of the Genoese and Spaniards at their moorings. As they approached they were received with a heavy cannonade from the enemy's ships and shore batteries, but without replying they sailed on and ranged themselves alongside the enemy, their numbers permitting them to lay a vessel on each side of most of the great caravels. Their task was by no means an easy one, for the sides of these ships were fifteen feet above those of the low English vessels, and they were all crowded with men. Nevertheless, the English succeeded in boarding, forcing their way in through port-holes and windows, clambering up the bows by the carved work, or running out on their yards and swinging themselves by ropes on to the enemy's deck, while the cannon plied them with shot close to the water-line. Most of the ships were taken by boarding, some were sunk with all on board, a few only escaped by cutting their cables and running up the Seine into shallow water. The loss of life on the part of the French and their allies in this brilliant British victory was enormous. With the exception of those on board the few ships which escaped, and the men sent off in the boats by Guy, the whole of the crews of the French, Genoese, and Spaniards, save only the nobles and knights put to ransom, were killed, drowned, or taken prisoners, and during the three weeks that the English fleet remained off Harfleur, the sailors were horrified by the immense number of dead bodies that were carried up and down by the tide. Harfleur was revictualled and put into a state of defence, and the Duke of Bedford then sailed with his fleet to England, having achieved the greatest naval victory that England had ever won save when Edward the Third, with the Black Prince, completely defeated a great Spanish fleet off the coast of Sussex, with a squadron composed of ships vastly inferior both in size and number to those of the Spaniards, which contained fully ten times the number of fighting men carried by the English vessels. This great naval victory excited unbounded enthusiasm in England. The king gave a great banquet to the Duke of Bedford and his principal officers, and by the duke's orders Guy attended. Before they sat down to the table the duke presented his officers individually to the king. Guy, as the youngest knight, was the last to be introduced. "The duke has already spoken to me of the right valiant deeds that you accomplished, Sir Guy Aylmer," the king said as he bowed before him, "and that with but a small craft and only sixty men-at-arms and archers you captured the ship of the French admiral, which he estimates must have carried at least three hundred men. We hereby raise you to the rank of knight-banneret, and appoint you to the fief of Penshurst in Hampshire, now vacant by the death without heirs of the good knight Sir Richard Fulk. And we add thereto, as our own gift, the two royal manors of Stoneham and Piverley lying adjacent to it, and we enjoin you to take for your coat-of-arms a great ship. The fief of Penshurst is a sign of our royal approval of your bravery at Harfleur, the two manors are the debt we owe you for your service at Agincourt. We have ordered our chancellor to make out the deeds, and tomorrow you will receive them from him and take the oaths." Guy knelt and kissed the hand that the king held out to him, and acknowledged the royal gift in fitting words. On the following day, after taking the oaths for his new possessions, he mounted, and the next day rode into Summerley. Here to his surprise he found the Count of Montepone, who had arrived, by way of Calais and Dover, a few days previously. He was suffering from a severe wound, and when Guy entered rose feebly from a chair by the fire, for it was now October and the weather was cold. His daughter was sitting beside him, and Lady Margaret was also in the room. Lord Eustace and Sir John Aylmer had met Guy as he dismounted below. "So you have gone through another adventure and come out safely," the count said after Guy had greeted him. "Truly you have changed greatly since you left Paris, well-nigh three years ago. It was well that Maître Leroux had the armour made big for you, for I see that it is now none too large. I too, you see, have been at war; but it was one in which there was small honour, though, as you see, with some risk, for it was a private duel forced upon me by one of the Armagnac knights. Up to that time my predictions had wrought me much profit and no harm. I had told Aquitaine and other lords who consulted me that disaster would happen when the French army met the English. That much I read in the stars. And though, when Henry marched north from Harfleur with so small a following, it seemed to me that victory could scarce attend him against the host of France, I went over my calculations many times and could not find that I had made an error. It was owing greatly to my predictions that the duke readily gave way when the great lords persuaded him not to risk his life in the battle. "Others whom I had warned went to their death, in some cases because they disbelieved me, in others because they preferred death to the dishonour of drawing back. One of the latter, on the eve of the battle, confided to a hot-headed knight in his following that I had foretold his death; and instead of quarrelling with the stars, the fool seemed to think that I had controlled them, and was responsible for his lord's death. So when in Paris some months since, he publicly insulted me, and being an Italian noble as well as an astrologer, I fought him the next day. I killed him, but not before I received a wound that laid me up for months, and from which I have not yet fairly recovered. While lying in Paris I decided upon taking a step that I had for some time been meditating. I could, when Katarina left Paris with your lady, have well gone with her, with ample means to live in comfort and to furnish her with a fortune not unfitted to her rank as my daughter. "During the past three years the reputation I gained by my success in saving the lives of several persons of rank, increased so rapidly that money has flowed into my coffers beyond all belief. There was scarcely a noble of the king's party who had not consulted me, and since Agincourt the Duke of Aquitaine and many others took no step whatever without coming to me. But I am weary of the everlasting troubles of which I can see no end, and assuredly the aspect of the stars affords no ground for hope that they will terminate for years; therefore, I have determined to leave France, and to practise my art henceforth solely for my own pleasure, I shall open negotiations with friends in Mantua, to see whether, now that twelve years have elapsed since I had to fly, matters cannot be arranged with my enemies; much can often be done when there are plenty of funds wherewith to smooth away difficulties. Still, that is in the future. My first object in coming to England was to see how my daughter was faring, and to enjoy a period of rest and quiet while my wound was healing, which it has begun to do since I came here. I doubted on my journey, which has been wholly performed in a litter, whether I should arrive here alive." "And now, father," Katarina said, "let us hear what Sir Guy has been doing since he left; we have been all full of impatience since the news came four days ago that the Duke of Bedford had destroyed a great fleet of French, Spanish, and Genoese ships." "Guy has had his share of fighting, at any rate," Lord Eustace said, as he entered the room while the girl was speaking, "for fifteen of our men have fallen; and, as Long Tom tells me, they had hot work of it, and gained much credit by capturing single-handed a great French ship." "Yes, we were fortunate," Guy said, "in falling across the ship of the French admiral, Count de Valles. Our men all fought stoutly, and the archers having cleared the way for us and slain many of their crew, we captured them, and I hold the count and five French knights to ransom." "That will fill your purse rarely, Guy. But let us hear more of this fighting. De Valles's ship must have been a great one, and if you took it with but your own sixty men it must have been a brilliant action." Guy then gave a full account of the fight, and of the subsequent capture of one of the Spanish carracks with the aid of another English ship. "If the Duke of Bedford himself came on board," Lord Eustace said, "and sent you some reinforcements, he must have thought highly of the action; indeed he cannot but have done so, or he would not have come personally on board. Did he speak to the king of it?" "He did, and much more strongly, it seems to me, than the affair warranted, for at the banquet the day before yesterday his majesty was graciously pleased to appoint me a knight-banneret, and to bestow upon me the estates of Penshurst, adding thereto the royal manors of Stoneham and Piverley." "A right royal gift!" Lord Eustace said, while exclamations of pleasure broke from the others. "I congratulate you on your new honour, which you have right worthily earned. Sir John, you may well be proud of this son of yours." "I am so, indeed," Sir John Aylmer said heartily. "I had hoped well of the lad, but had not deemed that he would mount so rapidly. Sir Richard Fulk had a fine estate, and joined now to the two manors it will be as large as those of Summerley, even with its late additions." "I am very glad," Dame Margaret said, "that the king has apportioned you an estate so near us, for it is scarce fifteen miles to Penshurst, and it will be but a morning ride for you to come hither." "Methinks, wife," Lord Eustace said with a smile, "we were somewhat hasty in that matter of Sir William Bailey, for had we but waited Agnes might have done better." "She chose for herself," Dame Margaret replied with an answering smile. "I say not that in my heart I had not hoped at one time that she and Guy might have come together, for I had learnt to love him almost as if he had been my own, and would most gladly have given Agnes to him had it been your wish as well as theirs; but I have seen for some time past that it was not to be, for they were like brother and sister to each other, and neither had any thought of a still closer relation. Had it not been so I should never have favoured Sir William Bailey's suit, though indeed he is a worthy young man, and Agnes is happy with him. You have not been to your castle yet, Guy?" she asked, suddenly changing the subject. "No, indeed, Lady Margaret, I rode straight here from London, deeming this, as methinks that I shall always deem it, my home." "We must make up a party to ride over and see it to-morrow," Lord Eustace said. "We will start early, wife, and you and Katarina can ride with us. Charlie will of course go, and Sir John. We could make a horse-litter for the count, if he thinks he could bear the journey. "Methinks that I had best stay quietly here," the Italian said. "I have had enough of litters for a time, and the shaking might make my wound angry again." "Nonsense, child!" he broke off as Katarina whispered that she would stay with him; "I need no nursing now; you shall ride with the rest." Accordingly the next day the party started early. Charlie was in high spirits; he had grown into a sturdy boy, and was delighted at the good fortune that had befallen Guy, whom he had regarded with boundless admiration since the days in Paris. Katarina was in one of her silent moods, and rode close to Lady Margaret. Long Tom, who was greatly rejoiced on hearing of the honours and estates that had been bestowed on Guy, rode with two of his comrades in the rear of the party. Penshurst was a strong castle, though scarcely equal in size to Summerley; it was, however, a more comfortable habitation, having been altered by the late owner's father, who had travelled in Italy, with a view rather to the accommodation of its inmates than its defence, and had been furnished with many articles of luxury rare in England. "A comfortable abode truly, Guy!" his father said. "It was well enough two hundred years since, when the country was unsettled, for us to pen ourselves up within walls, but there is little need of it now in England, although in France, where factions are constantly fighting against each other, it is well that every man should hold himself secure from attack. But now that cannon are getting to so great a point of perfection, walls are only useful to repel sudden attacks, and soon crumble when cannon can be brought against them. Me thinks the time will come when walls will be given up altogether, especially in England, where the royal power is so strong that nobles can no longer war with each other." "However, Guy," Lord Eustace said, "'tis as well at present to have walls, and strong ones; and though I say not that this place is as strong as Villeroy, it is yet strong enough to stand a siege." Guy spent an hour with the steward, who had been in charge of the castle since the death of Sir Richard Fulk, and who had the day before heard from a royal messenger that Sir Guy had been appointed lord of the estates. The new owner learned from him much about the extent of the feu, the number of tenants, the strength that he would be called upon to furnish in case of war, and the terms on which the vassals held their tenure. "Your force will be well-nigh doubled," the steward said in conclusion, "since you tell me that the manors of Stoneham and Piverley have also fallen to you." "'Tis a fair country," Guy said as the talk ended, "and one could wish for no better. I shall return to Summerley to-day, but next Monday I will come over here and take possession, and you can bid the tenants, and those also of the two manors, to come hither and meet me at two o'clock." "Well, daughter," the Count of Montepone said to Katarina as she was sitting by his couch in the evening, "so you think that Penshurst is a comfortable abode?" "Yes, father, the rooms are brighter and lighter than these and the walls are all hung with arras and furnished far more comfortably." "Wouldst thou like to be its mistress, child?" A bright flush of colour flooded the girl's face. "Dost mean it, father?" she asked in a voice hardly above a whisper. "Why not, child? You have seen much of this brave young knight, whom, methinks, any maiden might fall in love with. Art thou not more sensible to his merits than was Mistress Agnes?" "He saved my life, father." "That did he, child, and at no small risk to his own: Then do I understand that such a marriage would be to your liking?" "Yes, father," she said frankly, "but I know not that it would be to Sir Guy's." "That is for me to find out," he said. "I asked Lady Margaret a few days ago what she thought of the young knight's inclinations, and she told me that she thought indeed he had a great liking for you, but that in truth you were so wayward that you gave him but little chance of showing it." "How could I let him see that I cared for him, father, when I knew not for certain that he thought aught of me, and moreover, I could not guess what your intentions for me might be." "I should not have sent you where you would often be in his company, Katarina, unless I had thought the matter over deeply. It was easy to foresee that after the service he had rendered you you would think well of him, and that, thrown together as you would be, it was like enough that you should come to love each other. I had cast your horoscope and his and found that you would both be married about the same time, though I could not say that it would be to each other. I saw enough of him during that time in Paris to see that he was not only brave, but prudent and discreet. I saw, too, from his affection to his mistress, that he would be loyal and honest in all he undertook, that it was likely that he would rise to honour, and that above all I could assuredly trust your happiness to him. He was but a youth and you a girl, but he was bordering upon manhood and you upon womanhood. I marked his manner with his lady's daughter and saw that she would be no rival to you. Had it been otherwise I should have yielded to your prayers, and have kept you with me in France. Matters have turned out according to my expectation. I can give you a dowry that any English noble would think an ample one with his bride; and though Guy is now himself well endowed he will doubtless not object to such an addition as may enable him, if need be, to place in the field a following as large as that which many of the great nobles are bound to furnish to their sovereign. I will speak to him on the subject to-morrow, Katarina." Accordingly, the next morning at breakfast the count told Guy that there was a matter on which he wished to consult him, and the young knight remained behind when the other members of the family left the room to carry out their avocations. "Hast thought of a mistress for your new castle, Sir Guy?" the count began abruptly. Guy started at the sudden question, and did not reply at once. "I have thought of one, Count," he said; "but although, so far, all that you told me long ago in Paris has come true, and fortune has favoured me wonderfully, in this respect she has not been kind, for the lady cares not for me, and I would not take a wife who came not to me willingly." "How know you that she cares not for you?" the count asked. "Because I have eyes and ears, Count. She thinks me but a boy, and a somewhat ill-mannered one. She mocks me when I try to talk to her, shuns being left alone with me, and in all ways shows that she has no inclination towards me, but very much the contrary." "Have you asked her straightforwardly?" the count inquired with a smile. "No, I should only be laughed at for my pains, and it would take more courage than is required to capture a great French ship for me to put the matter to her." "I fancy, Sir Guy, that you are not greatly versed in female ways. A woman defends herself like a beleaguered fortress. She makes sorties and attacks, she endeavours to hide her weakness by her bravados, and when she replies most disdainfully to a summons to capitulate, is perhaps on the eve of surrender. To come to the point, then, are you speaking of my daughter?" "I am, Sir Count," Guy said frankly. "I love her, but she loves me not, and there is an end of it. 'Tis easy to understand that, beautiful as she is, she should not give a thought to me who, at the best, can only claim to be a stout man-at-arms; as for my present promotion, I know that it goes for nothing in her eyes." "It may be as you say, Sir Guy; but tell me, as a soldier, before you gave up the siege of a fortress and retired would you not summon it to surrender?" "I should do so," Guy replied with a smile. "Then it had better be so in this case, Sir Guy. You say that you would willingly marry my daughter. I would as willingly give her to you. The difficulty then lies with the maiden herself, and it is but fair to you both that you should yourself manfully ask her decision in the matter." He went out of the room, and returned in a minute leading Katarina. "Sir Guy has a question to ask you, daughter," he said; "I pray you to answer him frankly." He then led her to a seat, placed her there and left the room. Guy felt a greater inclination to escape by another door than he had ever felt to fly in the hour of danger, but after a pause he said: "I will put the question, Katarina, since your father would have me do it, though I know well enough beforehand what the answer will be. I desire above all things to have you for a wife, and would give you a true and loyal affection were you willing that it should be so, but I feel only too well that you do not think of me as I do of you. Still, as it is your father's wish that I should take your answer from your lips, and as, above all things, I would leave it in your hands without any constraint from him, I ask you whether you love me as one should love another before plighting her faith to him?" "Why do you say that you know what my answer will be, Guy? Would you have had me show that I was ready to drop like a ripe peach into your mouth before you opened it? Why should I not love you? Did you not save my life? Were you not kind and good to me even in the days when I was more like a boy than a girl? Have you not since with my humours? I will answer your question as frankly as my father bade me." She rose now. "Take my hand, Guy, for it is yours. I love and honour you, and could wish for no better or happier lot than to be your wife. Had you asked me six months ago I should have said the same, save that I could not have given you my hand until I had my father's consent." During the next month Guy spent most of his time at Penshurst getting everything in readiness for its mistress. Lord Eustace advanced him the monies that he was to receive for the ransoms of Count de Valles and the five knights, and the week before the wedding he went up with the Count of Montepone to London, and under his advice bought many rich hangings and pieces of rare furniture to beautify the private apartments. The count laid out a still larger sum of money on Eastern carpets and other luxuries, as well as on dresses and other matters for his daughter. On jewels he spent nothing, having already, he said, "a sufficient store for the wife of a royal duke." On his return Guy called upon the king at his palace at Winchester, and Henry declared that he himself would ride to Summerley to be present at the wedding. "You stood by me," he said, "in the day of battle, it is but right that I should stand by you on your wedding-day. Her father will, of course, give her away, and it is right that he should do so, seeing that she is no ward of mine; but I will be your best man. I will bring with me but a small train, for I would not inconvenience the Baron of Summerley and his wife, and I will not sleep at the castle; though I do not say that I will not stay to tread a measure with your fair bride." Two days later a train of waggons was seen approaching Summerley; they were escorted by a body of men-at-arms with two officers of the king. Lord Eustace, in some surprise, rode out to meet them, and was informed that the king had ordered them to pitch a camp near the castle for himself and his knights, and that he intended to tarry there for the night. As soon as the waggons were unloaded the attendants and men-at-arms set to work, and in a short time the royal tent and six smaller ones were erected and fitted with their furniture. Other tents were put up a short distance away for the grooms and attendants. This greatly relieved Lady Margaret, for she had wondered where she could bestow the king and his knights if, at the last moment, he determined to sleep there. For the next three days the castle was alive with preparations. Oxen and swine were slaughtered, vast quantities of game, geese, and poultry were brought in, two stags from the royal preserves at Winchester were sent over by the king, and the rivers for miles round were netted for fish. At ten o'clock Guy rode in with fifty mounted men, the tenants of Penshurst, Stoneham, and Piverley, and these and all the tenants of Summerley rode out under Lord Eustace and Guy to meet the king. They had gone but a mile when he and his train rode up. He had with him the Earl of Dorset and five of the nobles who had fought at Agincourt and were all personally acquainted with Guy. The church at Summerley was a large one, but it was crowded as it had never been before. The king and his nobles stood on one side of the altar, while Lord Eustace, his wife, Agnes, and Charlie were on the other. Guy's tenants occupied the front seats, while the rest of the church was filled by the tenants of Summerley, their wives and daughters, and the retainers of the castle, among them Long Tom, with his pretty wife beside him. When everything was in order the Count of Montepone entered the church with his daughter, followed by the six prettiest maidens on the Summerley estate. "In truth, Sir Guy," the king whispered as the bride and her father came up the aisle, "your taste is as good in love as your arms are strong in war, for my eyes never fell on a fairer maid." After the ceremony there was a great banquet in the hall, while all the tenants, with their wives and families, sat down to long tables spread in the court-yard. After the meal was over and the tables removed, the king and the party in the banqueting-hall went out on the steps and were received with tremendous cheering. Guy first returned thanks for himself and his bride for the welcome that they had given him, and then, to the delight of the people, the king stepped forward. "Good people," he said, "among whom there are, I know, some who fought stoutly with us at Agincourt, you do well to shout loudly at the marriage of this brave young knight, who was brought up among you, and who has won by his valour great credit, and our royal favour. Methinks that he has won, also, a prize in his eyes even greater than the honours that we have bestowed upon him, and I doubt not that, should occasion occur, he will win yet higher honours in our service." A great shout of "God bless the king!" went up from the assembly. Then the party returned to the hall, while casks of wine were broached in the court-yard. As Lord Eustace had sent for a party of musicians from Winchester, first some stately dances were performed in the hall, as many as could find room being allowed to come into it to witness them. The king danced the first measure with Katarina, the Earl of Dorset led out Lady Margaret, and Guy danced with Lady Agnes, while the other nobles found partners among the ladies who had come in from the neighbourhood. After a few dances the party adjourned to the court-yard, where games of various kinds, dancing and feasting were kept up until a late hour, when the king and his companions retired to their tents. At an early hour next morning the king and his retinue rode back to Winchester. Until he signed the marriage contract before going to the church, Guy was altogether ignorant of the dowry that Katarina was to bring, and was astonished at the very large sum of money, besides the long list of jewels, entered in it. "She will have as much more at my death," the count said quietly; "there is no one else who has the slightest claim upon me." Consequently, in the course of the wars with France, Guy was able to put a contingent of men-at-arms and archers, far beyond the force his feudal obligations required, in the field. Long Tom was, at his own request, allowed by his lord to exchange his small holding for a larger one at Penshurst, and always led Guy's archers in the wars. Sir John Aylmer remained at Summerley, refusing Guy's pressing invitation to take up his abode at Penshurst. "No, lad," he said; "Lord Eustace and I have been friends and companions for many years, and Lady Margaret has been very dear to me from her childhood. Both would miss me sorely did I leave them, the more so as Agnes is now away. Moreover, it is best that you and your fair wife should be together also for a time. 'Tis best in all respects. You are but two hours' easy riding from Summerley, and I shall often be over to see you." Four years after his marriage the king promoted Guy to the rank of Baron of Penshurst, and about the same time the Count of Montepone, who had been for some months in Italy, finding that his enemies at Mantua were still so strong that he was unable to obtain a reversal of the decree of banishment that had been passed against him, returned to Penshurst. "I have had more than enough of wandering, and would fain settle down here, Guy, if you will give me a chamber for myself, and one for my instruments. I shall need them but little henceforth, but they have become a part of myself and, though no longer for gain, I love to watch the stars, and to ponder on their lessons; and when you ride to the wars I shall be company for Katarina, who has long been used to my society alone, and I promise you that I will no longer employ her as my messenger." Once established at Penshurst the count employed much of his time in beautifying the castle, spending money freely in adding to the private apartments, and decorating and furnishing them in the Italian style, until they became the wonder and admiration of all who visited them. In time he took upon himself much of the education of Katarina's children, and throughout a long life Guy never ceased to bless the day when he and Dame Margaret were in danger of their lives at the hands of the White Hoods of Paris. THE END.