memory of steven gibbs ( - ). [transcriber's note: this e-book, a pamphlet by daniel defoe, was originally published in , and was prepared from _the storm_, a modern reprint (london: penguin books ltd., ). archaic and inconsistent spelling, punctuation, capitalization, and hyphenation, as well as apparent printer errors, have been retained as they appear in the original.] the lay-man's sermon upon the late storm; held forth at an honest _coffee-house-conventicle_. _not so much a jest as 'tis thought to be._ printed in the year . nahum. i. iii _the lord has his way in the whirle-wind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet._ this text is not chosen more for the suitableness to the present callamity, which has been the portion of this place, than for the aptness of the circumstances, 'twas spoken of god going to chastise, a powerful, populous, wealthy and most reprobate city. _nineveh_ was the seat of a mighty empire, a wealthy encreasing people, opulent in trade, flourishing in power and proud in proportion. the prophet does not seem to deliver these words, to the _ninevites_, to convince them, or encline them to consider their own circumstances and repent, but he seems to speak, it to the _israelites_ inviteing them to triumph and insult over the heathen adversary, by setting forth the power of their god, in the most exalted terms. and that this is a just exposition of this text, seems plain from the words imediately going before, _the lord is slow to anger, and great in power and will not at all acquit the wicked_. these words could have no connexion with the text, tho' they are joyn'd with them in the same verse, if it were not meant of his being slow to anger, to his own people, and terrible to the heathen world, and this being spoken as an expression of his being not easily provoked as to his church, the subsequent part of the verse tells them how his power and vengance is matter of particular satisfaction to his people as being exercis'd in revenging the affront put upon his glory by his enemies, _god is jealous, and the lord revengeth, the lord revengeth and is furious, the lord will take vengeance on his adversaries and he reserveth wrath for his enemies_. tis plain this is meant of his enemies, but as if brought in with a parenthesis, tis spoken for the comfort of his church, the lord is slow to anger as to them, and to lift up their hearts in a further confidence that their enemies are all in his hand, he goes on discribing the terrors of his judgement. _the lord has his way in the whirl-wind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet._ eloquent flourishes upon the omnipotence of god. the short exposition i shall make of the words, tends only to remind us that the whirl-wind and storm which are here made use of, to express the magnipotent power of god are acted by his direction, _he has his way in them_, it may note indeed the invisible secrecy and swiftness of his providences, but to avoid long paraphrases, i confine my self to my own construction, as that which, as it is a just inference from the matter of the text, so 'tis most suitable to the design of this discourse. and as this sermon may be a little immethodical, because i purpose to make it almost all aplication so i shall advance some conclusions from the premises which i lay down, as the geneuine sence of the words. . the omnipotence of god gives christians sufficient ground to insult their enemies, _wherefore do the heathen mock thy people and say unto them where is now your god? behold our god is in the heavens, and doeth whatsoever he pleaseth_; as the prophet _elija_, banter'd the heathen priest of _baal_, with the impotence of their gods, cry aloud for _he is a god, either he is talking or he is pursuing, or he is in a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth and must be awakned_, so he insulted them about the power of the true god, _let it be known o lord says he this day that thou art god in israel_. . as god in all the works of his providence, makes use of the subserviency of means, so the whole creation is subordinate to the execution of his divine will, _the clouds are the dust of his feet and he rides upon the wings of the wind_, the most powerful elements are so subjected to his almighty power that the clouds are but as dust under his feet, tis as easy for him to govern and mannage them; as it is for a man to shake off the dust from his feet, or he can as easily subdue the fury of them as a man tramples the dust, they are small and triffling things, in his eyes. . the ways of god are unsearchable, the methods of his providence are secret and powerfull; his way is in the whirle-wind, and in the storm, tis invisible and iresistible, invisible as the wind, and iresistible as the storm. but waving these and abundance more usefull observations which might be justly drawn from so rich a text, i shall proceed upon one which tho' it favours something more of private authority, and i have not so authentick opinion of the learned commentators, on my side, yet i shall endeavour not to merit much censure, in the improvement of it, even from those who perhaps may not joyn with me in the exposition. according therefore to my own private opinion of these words; i shall for the present occasion only paraphrase them thus, that _the lord has a way_ or an end _in the whirle-wind, and in the storm_, nor is this a very unusual method of expressing things in scripture, where the way is exprest, to signify the design, or end of a thing. and from this exposition i advance this head. that as god by his power governs the elements, so in all their extraordinary motions, they are in a perticular manner acted by his soveraignity. and, . when the creation is put into any violent or supernatural agitation, god has always some extraordinary thing to bring to pass, _he has a meaning in all the remarkables of nature_. . we ought dilligently to observe the extraordinary actings of providence, in order to discover and deprecate the displeasure of almighty god, providences are never dumb, and if we can not discern the signals of his anger, we must be very blind. the voice of his judgements is heard in the voice of nature, and if we make our selves deaf, he is pleas'd to make them speak the louder, to awaken the stupifyed sences, and startle the world, which seem'd rather amus'd than amas'd, with the common course of things. this i take to be some of the true meaning of the way of god, in the whirle-wind, and in the storm. the design of this discourse therefore, is to put the nation in general upon proper resolutions; if we pretend to believe that there is any such thing as a collateral sympathy, a communication of circumstances, between a nations follies, and her fate. any harmony between merit and mischief, between the crimes of men and the vengeance of heaven; we cannot but allow this _extra_-pulpit admonition to be just. and let not any man object against this being call'd a sermon, and its being introduc'd from a text of scripture while the remainer of this discourse, seems wholly civil and political. if all our measures in civil affairs were deduc'd as inferences from sacred texts, i am of the opinion the text would be well improv'd, and publick matters never the worse guided. and for this reason, tho' the subject be not treated, with the gravity of a sermon, nor in so serious a manner, as would become a pulpit, yet it may be not the less suitable to the occasion and for the manner, it must be placed to the authors account. besides the title i think has provided for the method and if so he that expected it otherwise than it is tis his fault, and not mine. the term sermon which is but _sermo_, a speech, may justify all the novelty of my method if those who find fault please to give themselves leave to allow it, and since it has never profain'd the pulpit, i believe the text will receive no prejudice by it, i wish every sermon equally improv'd. and what tho' your humble servant be no man of the text; if he be a man of honesty, he may have a hand in making you all men of application. in publick callamities, every circumstance is a sermon, and every thing we see a preacher. the trembling habitations of an unthinking people preach to us, and might have made any nation in the world tremble but us; when we were rock'd out of our sleep as children are rock'd into it; and when the terrible hand of soveraign power rock'd many a wretch from one sleep to another, and made a grave of the bed, without the ceremony of waking in the passage. the shatter'd palaces of our princes preach to us, and tell us aloud, that without respect to dignity, he is able to put that dreadful text in execution; _that if a nation does wickedly they shall be destroy'd both they and their king_. the fallen oaks, which stood before to tell us they were the longest liv'd of all god's creatures, preach to us, and tell us that the most towring object of humane beauty and strength must lye humble and prostrate, when he is pleased to give a check to that splendor which was deriv'd from his power. the wrecks of our navies and fleets preach to us, that 'tis in vain we pretend to be wall'd about by the ocean, and ride masters of the sea: and that, if he who bestow'd that scituation upon us thinks fit, he can make that element which has been our strength, and the encreaser of our wealth, be the grave of our treasure, and the enemy of our commerce; he can put it into so violent agitation, by the blast of his mouth, that all our defence and the naval strength we have vallued our selves so much upon, shall at once be swallow'd up in the mouth of our friend the sea; and we shall find our destruction in the very thing from which we expected our defence. our seamen and soldiers, whose dead bodies embrace the _english_ shores, preach aloud to us, that whenever we think fit to embark them on any design, which heaven approves not of, he can blast the embrio, and devour those people whose hands are lifted up against justice and right. also they preach to us, not to build our hopes of success upon the multitude of ships or men, who are thus easily reduc'd, and the strength of a whole nation brought to ruine in a moment. these are the monitors of our missfortunes, and some of these admonitions would be well preach'd from the mouths of those whose tallent as well as office gives them reason to do it, and us to expect it. but since the sons of the prophets have not yet thought it proper to enter very far into this matter, not doubting but they will in due time find it as suitable to their inclination as 'tis to their duty, in the mean time let us see if no uncommon application may be made of so uncommon a circumstance. first, 'tis matter of wonder that any man can be so senceless, as to suppose there is nothing extraordinary in so signal an instance of a supream power; but 'tis much more remarkable that those who have religion enough to own it a judgment, are yet at a loss how to appropriate it's signification. every one thinks it to be a judgment upon the person or parties they see touch'd with it. _w----_ the carpenter was knock'd on the head with a stack of chimneys, and his wife saved; all the neighbours cried out 'twas a judgment upon him for keeping a whore; but if stacks of chimnies were to have fallen on the heads of all that keep whores, _miserere dei_. _s----_ was kill'd by the like accident, and he must be singl'd out for extortion; but think ye that he was a sinner above all the _gallileans_? the _jacobites_ and _non-jurants_ shall rise up in judgment against this generation, and shall condemn them, for they tell us, this storm is a judgment on the whole nation, for excluding their lawful soveraign, and abjuring his posterity: upon this head they have been preaching up repentance, and humiliation to us; and some of them are willing to reduce all to a very practical exhortation, and tell us, we ought to look upon it as a loud call to restore the right owner (as they call him) to the possession of his own again; that is, in short, to rebel against a mild, gentle, just and protestant queen, and call in the popish posterity of an abdicated tyrant. these gentlemen are men of uses and application, and know very well how to make an advantage of god's judgments, when they serve their turn. the _whigs_ and _occasional conformists_ shall rise up in judgment against this generation; for they are sensible of the present severe stroke of providence, and think 'tis a mark of heavens displeasure upon the nation, for the violent methods made use of by some people against them, for their religion, contrary to their native right, and the liberty of their consciences. some think a general blast follows all the endeavours of this nation against the common enemy, for their slighting and reproaching the glorious memory of the late king _william_, whose gallant endeavours for the general good of _europe_, and of _england_ in particular, were treacherously thwarted and disappointed while he was alive, and are basely and scandalously undervalued and slighted now he is dead; and of this sort i confess my self enclined to be one. from these general observations we may descend to particulars, and every one judges according to their own fancy. some will have it, that the slaughter and destruction among the fleet, is a judgment upon them, for going into the _streights_, and coming home again without doing any business; but those forget, that if they did all they were ordered to do, the fault lies in those who sent them, and not in they that went. some will have the damage among the colliers to be a judgment, upon those who have engross'd the trade, and made the poor pay so dear for coals; not enquiring whether those engrossers of the coals are not left safe on shore, while the poor seamen are drown'd, who know nothing of the matter. 'tis plain to me, who ever are punish'd by the storm, we that are left have a share in the judgment, and a trebble concern in the cause. if it could be said that those who are destroy'd, or who have suffered the loss of lives, limbs or goods, were the only people who gave any occasion to the divine justice thus severely to revenge it self, then all admonition to the rest of mankind would be useless, any farther than it directed them to be cautious how they provoked him in like manner; but have we not all had a hand in the general provocation, though not an equal share in the general calamity. sometimes the judgements of heaven, bear so much analogy to the crimes, that the punishment points out the offence, and 'tis easy to distinguish what it is the perticular hand of justice points at. and if we will seek for a perticular case, in which heaven seems to have singled out this way of punishment on the nation, as best proportion'd to the general national crime we are all guilty of? what seems more rational than to judge that tis a severe animadversion upon the feuds and storms of parties kept up among us in this nation, with such unnatural heat, and such unaccountable fury, that no man, who has the least compassion for his native country, but must with more than common grief, be concerned for it, since unless some speedy course be taken to bring a general composure upon the minds of men, the general ruin seems inevitable. if the matters in debate were of extraordinary consequence, there might be some pretence for espousing contrary parties with unusual heat; but while the difference lies in small, and, in some cases, indifferent things, tis a most inexcusable madness that the feuds shou'd be run up so high, that all manner of charity should perish and be lost among us. we have had an extraordinary bustle in the world about moderation, and all parties pretend to it, and now we are as busy about peace, and every one lays in a loud claim to it. i have seen, with some regret, the strange mysterious management of this age about moderation, and tho' some late authors have published that moderation is a vertue, it begins to be a question whether it is or no. i wish some body would make enquiry after the occasion that has brought this blessed word into so much contempt in the world; tis very hard that a word expressive of the most glorious principle in the world, should become the brand of reproach, and a badge of infamy to parties; be a nick-name it self, and be nick-nam'd on every side; and that at a time when the vertue it self, is perhaps the only thing left in the world, that can preserve this nation from destruction. 'tis too unhappy for _england_, that men of immoderate principles are so powerfull as they are. let the party be which it will, tis destruction even to themselves, to run up all their niceties and all their scruples to the extremes. every dispute becomes a feud, every spark a flame, every word a blow, every blow, a civil-war, and by this intestine confusion of principles, backt with the passion and fury of men, this unhappy nation is subdivided into an infinite number of parties, factions, intrests and seperate opinions. every man being thus bent upon the propagation of his own notion, for want of this healing spirit of moderation, falls foul upon his neighbour because he has not the same heat, and if he finds him better temper'd than himself, if he finds him less violent, less furious, than himself, he is imediately branded with the scandal of moderation. since then the change of times has made this practice, which in its very nature is a foundation of vertue, become a crime, let us examine who are, and who are not guilty of it. for the negatives of this vice of moderation they are something easier to be discover'd than ordinary, both in principles and in practice; and, without the scandal of a censorious writer, i may be allowed to say all the following instances may stand clear of this crime. . if mr. _sachaverell_, with his bloody flag, and banner of defiance, were indicted for moderation, i verily believe no jury would bring him in guilty. . if dr. _j----ne_, author of the character of a low-churchman, mr. ---- author of the new association, if a famous bishop who told us, 'twould never be well with _england_ till all the dissenters were serv'd like the _hugonots_ in _france_, if any of these were indicted for moderation, they might safely plead not guilty. . if sir _john friend_ and sir _william parkins_, had been only accus'd for moderation, they had never been hanged, nor _collyer_ and _cook_ had never absolv'd them at the gallows without repentance. . if he were hang'd for moderation, who ask'd the question, _whether if the play-house in dorset-garden, were let for a meeting-house, 'twould not do more harm than tis like to do as a theatre_, he would certainly dye innocently. . if _fuller_ had been voted an incorrigible rogue only for the vice of moderation, i should have thought the house of commons had done him wrong. . if the councellors of the late king, such as father _p----_, my lord _s----_ and all those that betray'd their master, by hurrying on his ruin and their own. if those gentlemen were charged with moderation, i doubt we should wrong them. . if some of the members of our late convocation shou'd be accused for moderation, i believe it might be no difficult task to vindicate them. . if this crime should be charged higher than we dare to mention, i am perswaded some persons of note would think themselves abused. . in short all those gentlemen, by whatsoever names or titles distinguish'd, who repine at the settlement, who reproach the tolleration, and who blame the queen for her promises of maintaining it, these abhor the thoughts of this scandalous crime of moderation, and are as innocent of it as the child unborne. . tis the opinion of some people, that there are some of our beloved friends in _scotland_, may be vindicated in this case, nay others are of the opinion, tis not a national crime in that country, that is, 'tis not a sin the _scots_ are much adicted to. . lastly, take our english clergy in general, some are ready to say they have no great cause of repentance for the sin of moderation. on the other hand, some people have so home a charge of this error laid upon them, that 'twill be very hard to clear themselves of it, and i am afraid they would be brought in guilty by a jury, almost without going away from the bar. as, . our observator, they say, is guilty of moderation, with relation to his wit, and especially as concerning his good manners; i hope he wont be prosecuted for it the next sessions, if he should, i doubt, 'twill go hard with him. . if our news-writers should be indited for moderation, as to truth of fact, i would advise them to plead guilty, and throw themselves upon the mercy of the court. . some of our captains, they say, are addicted to fight but moderately; i hope all the rest wont be infected, but i know not what to say to it. . some of our lawyers are apt to be very moderate in their justice, but being well read in the law are cunning enough to keep off an indictment, so there is no fear of them. . some of our general receivers, when they got the publick money in their hands, were apt to be very moderate in paying it out again. . some have been very moderate in giving in their accounts too, as may appear in former reigns, and perhaps in time to come too. some moderately wise, some moderatly honest, but most immoderately adicted to think themselves both. tho' i might be a little more serious upon the matter, yet this way of talking is not so much a jest neither as it looks like; and has its moral, in it self, which a wise man may see, and for the fool tis no matter whether he does or no. custome has prevailed upon us to such a degree, that almost in every part the very practice seem a scandal, and the word passes for a reproach. to say, among the sons of _levy_, such a man is a moderate church-man is to say he is no church-man, and some of our present bishops from the practice of moderation have been boldly call'd presbiterians in the pamphlets of our less moderate writers. in short, 'tis hard to find any party or profession of men among us, that care for the title; and those who but moderately espouse an intrest, are generally suspected by those who are of that side, as persons favouring their enemies. these moderate men, said a gentleman whose gown and band had given us reason to expect better language, they will ruin the church, this damn'd moderation, says he, spoils all, we should deal well enough with the dissenters, if it were not for these men of moderation, they are worse than dissenters, for they seem to be among us, and yet wont joyn heartily to do the work. moderation seems to be cast off on every side, and is used as a badge of reproach in every class, or degree of men in the world. in the church of _england_, 'tis call'd low-church. in the court, 'tis call'd whiggism. in the dissenters, 'tis call'd occasional conformity. in parties, 'tis call'd trimming. in religion, 'tis call'd latitudinarian. in opinion, 'tis call'd indifference, in the church of _scotland_, 'tis call'd prelacy. while moderation of principles seems thus the general sin of parties, let them consider whether heaven it self has not declar'd war against us all on this head, and fill'd us with immoderate judgements. where's all our prospect of success abroad, or prosperity at home? since our late thanksgiveing for victories, how has heaven treated us, but like a nation, that being puff'd up and exalted with prosperity, began to slight forreign judgements, and leaving providence to work by it self fell to making war at home with one another, as if we would prove that the scripture was not true _and that a kingdom might stand tho' it were divided against it self_. how has heaven declar'd that he is resolv'd not to bless this immoderate generation? how has all their measures been disappointed both abroad and at home, all their designes been blasted, and the anger of heaven so remarkably bent against them, that even the little success we have had, has been prescrib'd by providence to those few hands who act from principles of honesty and temper, as if god did thereby point out to us who they are he delights to bless. the _d----_ of _m----_ is a whig _say some of our people who hate all moderation_, he is so _dutchify'd_, we shall never have any good of him, why that may be, but yet you see there is not one article of our conduct has succeeded but what has been under his mannagement. and heaven has declar'd so eminently against all other branches of our affaires, that i wish i am mistaken when i say 'tis plain either he seems to mislike the cause or the persons employ'd, and that however severe he was pleas'd to anminadvert upon the publick affaires in the late violent tempest, it seems that _for all this his anger is not turned away but his hand is stretched out still_. but what has a sermon to do to enquire, may some say, and if it had, how shall it make appear whether god is displeased with our designs or the persons employed, with the cause or the carryers of it on. as to the cause, all men are judges of the justice of it, and all men know the foot of the present confederacy, at least our part must be just as it is to maintain our just rights, liberty, trade and religion. it must then be the persons, the _r----s_, the sir _g----s_, _g----ns_, the _r----ks_ of this war; that heaven is resolv'd shall not be the men, whom he will honour with the deliverance of his people. all wise princes in the world have made it a constant maxim in their governments, that when any of their great generals prove unfortunate, tho' never so wise, they lay them by, as persons that god does not think fit to bless with success, and 'tis not needful to examine whether it were not their fault, but to be unfortunate is to be told from heaven, that such a one is not the man, and a nation ought to understand it so. but sure when heaven singles men out by crossing their attempts _and marks them for unfortunate_, and we can give our selves good reasons why they are thus mark'd by the divine displeasure; when we can see their false steps, their general designs against god and their countries intrests, 'tis high time then for those who sit at the helm of government, to change hands and put their affaires into such persons conduct, against whom heaven has not declar'd so plainly its displeasure, nor the nation its dislike. why shou'd the queen be desir'd to chain down her own happiness and the nations interest, to the missfortune of a few men. perhaps god may bless the fleet under one admiral, when he will not under another. i know nothing against admiral _callemburgh_, he may be an honest and worthy-man, and ready enough to fight for the cause, for indeed most of the _dutch_ captains of ships are so, but since heaven has now 'twice refus'd to let him go, and driven him back again, if i were the governour of his masters affairs, he should not be sent a third time, least we should seem obstinately to employ somebody that god himself had declar'd against and had three times from heaven forbid to go. i hope no body will construe this to be a personal satyr upon _myn heer callemburgh_, but _take it among ye_, let it go, where it fitts best. if these are not the generation of men that must do the nations business, then 'tis plain our deliverance will never be wrought while they are employ'd; if god will not bless them he will never bless us till they are dismist. i doubt not we shall be deliver'd, and this nation shall yet triumph over her enemies; but while wrong instruments are employ'd the work will be delay'd. _god would have a house built him_ but _david_ was not the man and therefore the work was put off till _solomon_ was in the throne. god would have _israel_ go into the land of _canaan_ and possess it, but those generals and those captains were not the men; _moses_ and _aaron_, and the great men of the camp were not such as god approv'd off and therefore _israel_ could not go over _joardan_ till they had laid their bones in the wilderness. _england_ is hardly ever to pass over the _jourdan_ before her, till these immoderate men of strife and storms are laid by. if any man ask me why these men shou'd not perfect the nation peace as well as other men? _i do not say which men nor who_, but let them be who the enquirer please, i answer the question, with a question _how shou'd men of no moderaion bring us to peace_. how shou'd men of strife bring us peace and union: contraries may illustrate but contraries never incorporate; men of temper, are the safe men for this nation. men of heat are fit to embroil it, but not to cure it: they are something like our sea surgeons who fly to amputation of members upon every slight fracture, when a more proper application would effect the cure and save the joynt. 'tis an ill sign especially for _england_ when wars abroad wont make us friends at home. foreign dangers us'd to unite us from whence queen _elizabeth_, has been said to leave this character of the nation behind her, that they were much easier to be govern'd in a time of war than in peace. but when this, which us'd to be the only cure of all our diseases, fails us, 'tis a sign the distemper is grown very strong, and there is some more than usual room for despair. the only way left the nation is to obtain from those in power, that moderation may cease being the pretence and be really the practice. it would be well all men would at least _be occasional conformists_, to this extraordinary principle; and when there is such a loud call to peace both from heaven and from the throne, they would do well to consider who are the men of peace and who are not: for certainly those immoderate gentlemen, who slight the proposals for a general union of charity, cannot pretend to be friends to the present intrest of their native country. these men, 'tis true, cry out of the danger of the church, but can they make it appear that the church is in any danger from moderation and temper; can they pretend that there is no way to secure her, but by pulling down all that differ with them, no way to save her but by the ruin of her protestant brethren; there are thousands of loyal honest church-men, who are not of this mind; who believe that moderation and charity to protestant dissenters is very consistant with the safety of the church and with the present general union which they earnestly desire. as to persons we have nothing to say to them, but this, without pretending to prophesy, may be safely advanced, that heaven it self, has eminently declared it self against the fury and immoderate zeal of those gentlemen, and told us as plainly as possible, unless we would expect a voice from on high, that he neither has nor designs to bless this generation nor their proceedings. when ever our rulers think fit to see it, and to employ the men and the methods which heaven approves, then we may expect success from abroad, peace at home, prosperity in trade, victory in war, plenty in the field, mild and comfortable seasons, calm air, smooth seas, and safe habitations. till then we are to expect our houses blown down, our pallaces shatter'd, our voyages broken, our navys ship-wreck'd, our saylors drown'd, our confedrates beaten, our trade ruin'd, our money spent and our enemies encreased. the grand dispute in this quarrelsome age, is against our brethren who dissent from the church; and from what principle do we act? it is not safe say they to let any of them be entrusted in the government, that is, it is not profitable to let any body enjoy great places but themselves. this is the bottom of the pretence, as to the safety of it. these are the people who cry out of the danger from the dissenters, but are not concerned at our danger from the _french_; that are frighted at the dissenters who as they pretend grow too formidable for the church, but are not disturb'd at the threatning growth of a conquering _popish_ enemy; that deprecate the clouds of whiggism and phanaticism, but apprehend nothing of the black clouds of god's threatning judgements, which plainly tell them _if they would suffer themselves to think_, that there is somthing in the general practice of the nation which does not please him, and for which the hand of his judgements is extended against us. these are strange dull-sighted men, whose intrest stands so directly between them and their understanding that they can see nothing but what that represents to them; god may thunder from heaven with storms upon storms, ruin our fleets, drown our sailors and blow us back from the best contriv'd expeditions in the world, but they will never believe the case affects them, never look into their own conduct to see if they have not help'd to bring these heavy strokes upon the nation. how many thousands have we in _england_, who if the whole _navy_ of _england_ had been at stake; had rather have lost it than the _bill against occasional conformity_; that had rather the _french_ should have taken _landau_ and beat the prince of _hess cassell_, than the queen should have made such a _speech for peace and union_; that had rather the _duke_ of _bavaria_ should have taken _ausburgh_, than that there should not have been _some affront put upon the house of lords_. and if such zealots, such christian furies are met with by providence, and see both the _fleet_ and the _occasional bill_ lost together is it not plain, what providence meant in it. he that can not see that god from on high has punish'd them in their own way and pointed out the crime in the vengeance must be more blind than usual, and must shut their eyes against their own consciences. 'tis plain heaven has suited his punishment to the offence, has punish'd the stormy temper of this party of men with _storms of his vengeance, storms on their navies, storms on their houses, storms on their confederates_, and i question not will at last with _storms in their consciences_. if there be any use to be made of this matter, 'tis to excite the nation to spue out from among them these men of storms, that peace, love, charity and a general union may succeed, and god may bless us, return to us and delight to dwell among us, that the favour of heaven may return to us, and the queen who has heartily declared her eyes open to this needful happiness, may enjoy the blessing of wise counsellors and faithful servants, that constant victory may crown all our enterprizes, and the general peace of europe may be established. if any one can tell us a way to bring all these blessed ends to pass, without a general peace of parties and interests at home, he is wellcome to do it, for i profess it is hid from my eyes. _finis._ the tides of barnegat by f. hopkinson smith contents i the doctor's gig ii spring blossoms iii little tod fogarty iv ann gossaway's red cloak v captain nat's decision vi a game of cards vii the eyes of an old portrait viii an arrival ix the spread of fire x a late visitor xi morton cobden's daughter xii a letter from paris xiii scootsy's epithet xiv high water at yardley xv a package of letters xvi the beginning of the ebb xvii breakers ahead xviii the swede's story xix the breaking of the dawn xx the undertow xxi the man in the slouch hat xxii the claw of the sea-puss the tides of barnegat chapter i the doctor's gig one lovely spring morning--and this story begins on a spring morning some fifty years or more ago--a joy of a morning that made one glad to be alive, when the radiant sunshine had turned the ribbon of a road that ran from warehold village to barnegat light and the sea to satin, the wide marshes to velvet, and the belts of stunted pines to bands of purple--on this spring morning, then, martha sands, the cobdens' nurse, was out with her dog meg. she had taken the little beast to the inner beach for a bath--a custom of hers when the weather was fine and the water not too cold--and was returning to warehold by way of the road, when, calling the dog to her side, she stopped to feast her eyes on the picture unrolled at her feet. to the left of where she stood curved the coast, glistening like a scimitar, and the strip of yellow beach which divided the narrow bay from the open sea; to the right, thrust out into the sheen of silver, lay the spit of sand narrowing the inlet, its edges scalloped with lace foam, its extreme point dominated by the grim tower of barnegat light; aloft, high into the blue, soared the gulls, flashing like jewels as they lifted their breasts to the sun, while away and beyond the sails of the fishing-boats, gray or silver in their shifting tacks, crawled over the wrinkled sea. the glory of the landscape fixed in her mind, martha gathered her shawl about her shoulders, tightened the strings of her white cap, smoothed out her apron, and with the remark to meg that he'd "never see nothin' so beautiful nor so restful," resumed her walk. they were inseparable, these two, and had been ever since the day she had picked him up outside the tavern, half starved and with a sore patch on his back where some kitchen-maid had scalded him. somehow the poor outcast brought home to her a sad page in her own history, when she herself was homeless and miserable, and no hand was stretched out to her. so she had coddled and fondled him, gaining his confidence day by day and talking to him by the hour of whatever was uppermost in her mind. few friendships presented stronger contrasts: she stout and motherly-looking--too stout for any waistline--with kindly blue eyes, smooth gray hair--gray, not white--her round, rosy face, framed in a cotton cap, aglow with the freshness of the morning--a comforting, coddling-up kind of woman of fifty, with a low, crooning voice, gentle fingers, and soft, restful hollows about her shoulders and bosom for the heads of tired babies; meg thin, rickety, and sneak-eyed, with a broken tail that hung at an angle, and but one ear (a black-and-tan had ruined the other)--a sandy-colored, rough-haired, good-for-nothing cur of multifarious lineage, who was either crouching at her feet or in full cry for some hole in a fence or rift in a wood-pile where he could flatten out and sulk in safety. martha continued her talk to meg. while she had been studying the landscape he had taken the opportunity to wallow in whatever came first, and his wet hair was bristling with sand and matted with burrs. "come here, meg--you measly rascal!" she cried, stamping her foot. "come here, i tell ye!" the dog crouched close to the ground, waited until martha was near enough to lay her hand upon him, and then, with a backward spring, darted under a bush in full blossom. "look at ye now!" she shouted in a commanding tone. "'tain't no use o' my washin' ye. ye're full o' thistles and jest as dirty as when i throwed ye in the water. come out o' that, i tell ye! now, meg, darlin'"--this came in a coaxing tone--"come out like a good dog--sure i'm not goin' in them brambles to hunt ye!" a clatter of hoofs rang out on the morning air. a two-wheeled gig drawn by a well-groomed sorrel horse and followed by a brown-haired irish setter was approaching. in it sat a man of thirty, dressed in a long, mouse-colored surtout with a wide cape falling to the shoulders. on his head was a soft gray hat and about his neck a white scarf showing above the lapels of his coat. he had thin, shapely legs, a flat waist, and square shoulders, above which rose a clean-shaven face of singular sweetness and refinement. at the sound of the wheels the tattered cur poked his head from between the blossoms, twisted his one ear to catch the sound, and with a side-spring bounded up the road toward the setter. "well, i declare, if it ain't dr. john cavendish and rex!" martha exclaimed, raising both hands in welcome as the horse stopped beside her. "good-mornin' to ye, doctor john. i thought it was you, but the sun blinded me, and i couldn't see. and ye never saw a better nor a brighter mornin'. these spring days is all blossoms, and they ought to be. where ye goin', anyway, that ye're in such a hurry? ain't nobody sick up to cap'n holt's, be there?" she added, a shade of anxiety crossing her face. "no, martha; it's the dressmaker," answered the doctor, tightening the reins on the restless sorrel as he spoke. the voice was low and kindly and had a ring of sincerity through it. "what dressmaker?" "why, miss gossaway!" his hand was extended now--that fine, delicately wrought, sympathetic hand that had soothed so many aching heads. "you've said it," laughed martha, leaning over the wheel so as to press his fingers in her warm palm. "there ain't no doubt 'bout that skinny fright being 'miss,' and there ain't no doubt 'bout her stayin' so. ann gossaway she is, and ann gossaway she'll die. is she took bad?" she continued, a merry, questioning look lighting up her kindly face, her lips pursed knowingly. "no, only a sore throat" the doctor replied, loosening his coat. "throat!" she rejoined, with a wry look on her face. "too bad 'twarn't her tongue. if ye could snip off a bit o' that some day it would help folks considerable 'round here." the doctor laughed in answer, dropped the lines over the dashboard and leaned forward in his seat, the sun lighting up his clean-cut face. busy as he was--and there were few busier men in town, as every hitching-post along the main street of warehold village from billy tatham's, the driver of the country stage, to captain holt's, could prove--he always had time for a word with the old nurse. "and where have you been, mistress martha?" he asked, with a smile, dropping his whip into the socket, a sure sign that he had a few more minutes to give her. "oh, down to the beach to git some o' the dirt off meg. look at him--did ye ever see such a rapscallion! every time i throw him in he's into the sand ag'in wallowin' before i kin git to him." the doctor bent his head, and for an instant watched the two dogs: meg circling about rex, all four legs taut, his head jerking from side to side in his eagerness to be agreeable to his roadside acquaintance; the agate-eyed setter returning meg's attentions with the stony gaze of a club swell ignoring a shabby relative. the doctor smiled thoughtfully. there was nothing he loved to study so much as dogs--they had a peculiar humor of their own, he often said, more enjoyable sometimes than that of men--then he turned to martha again. "and why are you away from home this morning of all others?" he asked. "i thought miss lucy was expected from school to-day?" "and so she is, god bless her! and that's why i'm here. i was that restless i couldn't keep still, and so i says to miss jane, 'i'm goin' to the beach with meg and watch the ships go by; that's the only thing that'll quiet my nerves. they're never in a hurry with everybody punchin' and haulin' them.' not that there's anybody doin' that to me, 'cept like it is to-day when i'm waitin' for my blessed baby to come back to me. two years, doctor--two whole years since i had my arms round her. wouldn't ye think i'd be nigh crazy?" "she's too big for your arms now, martha," laughed the doctor, gathering up his reins. "she's a woman--seventeen, isn't she?" "seventeen and three months, come the fourteenth of next july. but she's not a woman to me, and she never will be. she's my wee bairn that i took from her mother's dyin' arms and nursed at my own breast, and she'll be that wee bairn to me as long as i live. ye'll be up to see her, won't ye, doctor?" "yes, to-night. how's miss jane?" as he made the inquiry his eyes kindled and a slight color suffused his cheeks. "she'll be better for seein' ye," the nurse answered with a knowing look. then in a louder and more positive tone, "oh, ye needn't stare so with them big brown eyes o' yourn. ye can't fool old martha, none o' you young people kin. ye think i go round with my eyelids sewed up. miss jane knows what she wants--she's proud, and so are you; i never knew a cobden nor a cavendish that warn't. i haven't a word to say--it'll be a good match when it comes off. where's that meg? good-by, doctor. i won't keep ye a minute longer from miss gossaway. i'm sorry it ain't her tongue, but if it's only her throat she may get over it. go 'long, meg!" dr. cavendish laughed one of his quiet laughs--a laugh that wrinkled the lines about his eyes, with only a low gurgle in his throat for accompaniment, picked up his whip, lifted his hat in mock courtesy to the old nurse, and calling to rex, who, bored by meg's attentions, had at last retreated under the gig, chirruped to his horse, and drove on. martha watched the doctor and rex until they were out of sight, walked on to the top of the low hill, and finding a seat by the roadside--her breath came short these warm spring days--sat down to rest, the dog stretched out in her lap. the little outcast had come to her the day lucy left warehold for school, and the old nurse had always regarded him with a certain superstitious feeling, persuading herself that nothing would happen to her bairn as long as this miserable dog was well cared for. "ye heard what doctor john said about her bein' a woman, meg?" she crooned, when she had caught her breath. "and she with her petticoats up to her knees! that's all he knows about her. ye'd know better than that, meg, wouldn't ye--if ye'd seen her grow up like he's done? but grown up or not, meg"--here she lifted the dog's nose to get a clearer view of his sleepy eyes--"she's my blessed baby and she's comin' home this very day, meg, darlin'; d'ye hear that, ye little ruffian? and she's not goin' away ag'in, never, never. there'll be nobody drivin' round in a gig lookin' after her--nor nobody else as long as i kin help it. now git up and come along; i'm that restless i can't sit still," and sliding the dog from her lap, she again resumed her walk toward warehold. soon the village loomed in sight, and later on the open gateway of "yardley," the old cobden manor, with its two high brick posts topped with white balls and shaded by two tall hemlocks, through which could be seen a level path leading to an old colonial house with portico, white pillars supporting a balcony, and a sloping roof with huge chimneys and dormer windows. martha quickened her steps, and halting at the gate-posts, paused for a moment with her eyes up the road. it was yet an hour of the time of her bairn's arrival by the country stage, but her impatience was such that she could not enter the path without this backward glance. meg, who had followed behind his mistress at a snail's pace, also came to a halt and, as was his custom, picked out a soft spot in the road and sat down on his haunches. suddenly the dog sprang up with a quick yelp and darted inside the gate. the next instant a young girl in white, with a wide hat shading her joyous face, jumped from behind one of the big hemlocks and with a cry pinioned martha's arms to her side. "oh, you dear old thing, you! where have you been? didn't you know i was coming by the early stage?" she exclaimed in a half-querulous tone. the old nurse disengaged one of her arms from the tight clasp of the girl, reached up her hand until she found the soft cheek, patted it gently for an instant as a blind person might have done, and then reassured, hid her face on lucy's shoulder and burst into tears. the joy of the surprise had almost stopped her breath. "no, baby, no," she murmured. "no, darlin', i didn't. i was on the beach with meg. no, no--oh, let me cry, darlin'. to think i've got you at last. i wouldn't have gone away, darlin', but they told me you wouldn't be here till dinner-time. oh, darlin', is it you? and it's all true, isn't it? and ye've come back to me for good? hug me close. oh, my baby bairn, my little one! oh, you precious!" and she nestled the girl's head on her bosom, smoothing her cheek as she crooned on, the tears running down her cheeks. before the girl could reply there came a voice calling from the house: "isn't she fine, martha?" a woman above the middle height, young and of slender figure, dressed in a simple gray gown and without her hat, was stepping from the front porch to meet them. "too fine, miss jane, for her old martha," the nurse called back. "i've got to love her all over again. oh, but i'm that happy i could burst meself with joy! give me hold of your hand, darlin'--i'm afraid i'll lose ye ag'in if ye get out of reach of me." the two strolled slowly up the path to meet jane, martha patting the girl's arm and laying her cheek against it as she walked. meg had ceased barking and was now sniffing at lucy's skirts, his bent tail wagging slowly, his sneaky eyes looking up into lucy's face. "will he bite, martha?" she asked, shrinking to one side. she had an aversion to anything physically imperfect, no matter how lovable it might be to others. this tattered example struck her as particularly objectionable. "no, darlin'--nothin' 'cept his food," and martha laughed. "what a horrid little beast!" lucy said half aloud to herself, clinging all the closer to the nurse. "this isn't the dog sister jane wrote me about, is it? she said you loved him dearly--you don't, do you?" "yes, that's the same dog. you don't like him, do you, darlin'?" "no, i think he's awful," retorted lucy in a positive tone. "it's all i had to pet since you went away," martha answered apologetically. "well, now i'm home, give him away, please. go away, you dreadful dog!" she cried, stamping her foot as meg, now reassured, tried to jump upon her. the dog fell back, and crouching close to martha's side raised his eyes appealingly, his ear and tail dragging. jane now joined them. she had stopped to pick some blossoms for the house. "why, lucy, what's poor meg done?" she asked, as she stooped over and stroked the crestfallen beast's head. "poor old doggie--we all love you, don't we?" "well, just please love him all to yourselves, then," retorted lucy with a toss of her head. "i wouldn't touch him with a pair of tongs. i never saw anything so ugly. get away, you little brute!" "oh, lucy, dear, don't talk so," replied the older sister in a pitying tone. "he was half starved when martha found him and brought him home--and look at his poor back--" "no, thank you; i don't want to look at his poor back, nor his poor tail, nor anything else poor about him. and you will send him away, won't you, like a dear good old martha?" she added, patting martha's shoulder in a coaxing way. then encircling jane's waist with her arm, the two sisters sauntered slowly back to the house. martha followed behind with meg. somehow, and for the first time where lucy was concerned, she felt a tightening of her heart-strings, all the more painful because it had followed so closely upon the joy of their meeting. what had come over her bairn, she said to herself with a sigh, that she should talk so to meg--to anything that her old nurse loved, for that matter? jane interrupted her reveries. "did you give meg a bath, martha?" she asked over her shoulder. she had seen the look of disappointment in the old nurse's face and, knowing the cause, tried to lighten the effect. "yes--half water and half sand. doctor john came along with rex shinin' like a new muff, and i was ashamed to let him see meg. he's comin' up to see you to-night, lucy, darlin'," and she bent forward and tapped the girl's shoulder to accentuate the importance of the information. lucy cut her eye in a roguish way and twisted her pretty head around until she could look into jane's eyes. "who do you think he's coming to see, sister?" "why, you, you little goose. they're all coming--uncle ephraim has sent over every day to find out when you would be home, and bart holt was here early this morning, and will be back to-night." "what does bart holt look like?"--she had stopped in her walk to pluck a spray of lilac blossoms. "i haven't seen him for years; i hear he's another one of your beaux," she added, tucking the flowers into jane's belt. "there, sister, that's just your color; that's what that gray dress needs. tell me, what's bart like?" "a little like captain nat, his father," answered jane, ignoring lucy's last inference, "not so stout and--" "what's he doing?" "nothin', darlin', that's any good," broke in martha from behind the two. "he's sailin' a boat when he ain't playin' cards or scarin' everybody down to the beach with his gun, or shyin' things at meg." "don't you mind anything martha says, lucy," interrupted jane in a defensive tone. "he's got a great many very good qualities; he has no mother and the captain has never looked after him. it's a great wonder that he is not worse than he is." she knew martha had spoken the truth, but she still hoped that her influence might help him, and then again, she never liked to hear even her acquaintances criticised. "playing cards! that all?" exclaimed lucy, arching her eyebrows; her sister's excuses for the delinquent evidently made no impression on her. "i don't think playing cards is very bad; and i don't blame him for throwing anything he could lay his hands on at this little wretch of martha's. we all played cards up in our rooms at school. miss sarah never knew anything about it--she thought we were in bed, and it was just lovely to fool her. and what does the immaculate dr. john cavendish look like? has he changed any?" she added with a laugh. "no," answered jane simply. "does he come often?" she had turned her head now and was looking from under her lids at martha. "just as he used to and sit around, or has he--" here she lifted her eyebrows in inquiry, and a laugh bubbled out from between her lips. "yes, that's just what he does do," cried martha in a triumphant tone; "every minute he kin git. and he can't come too often to suit me. i jest love him, and i'm not the only one, neither, darlin'," she added with a nod of her head toward jane. "and barton holt as well?" persisted lucy. "why, sister, i didn't suppose there would be a man for me to look at when i came home, and you've got two already! which one are you going to take?" here her rosy face was drawn into solemn lines. jane colored. "you've got to be a great tease, lucy," she answered as she leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "i'm not in the back of the doctor's head, nor he in mine--he's too busy nursing the sick--and bart's a boy!" "why, he's twenty-five years old, isn't he?" exclaimed lucy in some surprise. "twenty-five years young, dearie--there's a difference, you know. that's why i do what i can to help him. if he'd had the right influences in his life and could be thrown a little more with nice women it would help make him a better man. be very good to him, please, even if you do find him a little rough." they had mounted the steps of the porch and were now entering the wide colonial hall--a bare white hall, with a staircase protected by spindling mahogany banisters and a handrail. jane passed into the library and seated herself at her desk. lucy ran on upstairs, followed by martha to help unpack her boxes and trunks. when they reached the room in which martha had nursed her for so many years--the little crib still occupied one corner--the old woman took the wide hat from the girl's head and looked long and searchingly into her eyes. "let me look at ye, my baby," she said, as she pushed lucy's hair back from her forehead; "same blue eyes, darlin', same pretty mouth i kissed so often, same little dimples ye had when ye lay in my arms, but ye've changed--how i can't tell. somehow, the face is different." her hands now swept over the full rounded shoulders and plump arms of the beautiful girl, and over the full hips. "the doctor's right, child," she said with a sigh, stepping back a pace and looking her over critically; "my baby's gone--you've filled out to be a woman." chapter ii spring blossoms for days the neighbors in and about the village of warehold had been looking forward to lucy's home-coming as one of the important epochs in the history of the manor house, quite as they would have done had lucy been a boy and the expected function one given in honor of the youthful heir's majority. most of them had known the father and mother of these girls, and all of them loved jane, the gentle mistress of the home--a type of woman eminently qualified to maintain its prestige. it had been a great house in its day. built in early revolutionary times by archibald cobden, who had thrown up his office under the crown and openly espoused the cause of the colonists, it had often been the scene of many of the festivities and social events following the conclusion of peace and for many years thereafter: the rooms were still pointed out in which washington and lafayette had slept, as well as the small alcove where the dashing bart de klyn passed the night whenever he drove over in his coach with outriders from bow hill to barnegat and the sea. with the death of colonel creighton cobden, who held a commission in the war of , all this magnificence of living had changed, and when morton cobden, the father of jane and lucy, inherited the estate, but little was left except the manor house, greatly out of repair, and some invested property which brought in but a modest income. on his death-bed morton cobden's last words were a prayer to jane, then eighteen, that she would watch over and protect her younger sister, a fair-haired child of eight, taking his own and her dead mother's place, a trust which had so dominated jane's life that it had become the greater part of her religion. since then she had been the one strong hand in the home, looking after its affairs, managing their income, and watching over every step of her sister's girlhood and womanhood. two years before she had placed lucy in one of the fashionable boarding-schools of philadelphia, there to study "music and french," and to perfect herself in that "grace of manner and charm of conversation," which the two maiden ladies who presided over its fortunes claimed in their modest advertisements they were so competent to teach. part of the curriculum was an enforced absence from home of two years, during which time none of her own people were to visit her except in case of emergency. to-night, the once famous house shone with something of its old-time color. the candles were lighted in the big bronze candelabra--the ones which came from paris; the best glass and china and all the old plate were brought out and placed on the sideboard and serving-tables; a wood fire was started (the nights were yet cold), its cheery blaze lighting up the brass fender and andirons before which many of colonel cobden's cronies had toasted their shins as they sipped their toddies in the old days; easy-chairs and hair-cloth sofas were drawn from the walls; the big lamps lighted, and many minor details perfected for the comfort of the expected guests. jane entered the drawing-room in advance of lucy and was busying herself putting the final touches to the apartment,--arranging the sprays of blossoms over the clock and under the portrait of morton cobden, which looked calmly down on the room from its place on the walls, when the door opened softly and martha--the old nurse had for years been treated as a member of the family--stepped in, bowing and curtsying as would an old woman in a play, the skirt of her new black silk gown that ann gossaway had made for her held out between her plump fingers, her mob-cap with its long lace strings bobbing with every gesture. with her rosy cheeks, silver-rimmed spectacles, self-satisfied smile, and big puffy sleeves, she looked as if she might have stepped out of one of the old frames lining the walls. "what do ye think of me, miss jane? i'm proud as a peacock--that i am!" she cried, twisting herself about. "do ye know, i never thought that skinny dressmaker could do half as well. is it long enough?" and she craned her head in the attempt to see the edge of the skirt. "fits you beautifully, martha. you look fine," answered jane in all sincerity, as she made a survey of the costume. "how does lucy like it?" "the darlin' don't like it at all; she says i look like a pall-bearer, and ye ought to hear her laughin' at the cap. is there anything the matter with it? the pastor's wife's got one, anyhow, and she's a year younger'n me." "don't mind her, martha--she laughs at everything; and how good it is to hear her! she never saw you look so well," replied jane, as she moved a jar from a table and placed it on the mantel to hold the blossoms she had picked in the garden. "what's she doing upstairs so long?" "prinkin'--and lookin' that beautiful ye wouldn't know her. but the width and the thickness of her"--here the wrinkled fingers measured the increase with a half circle in the air--"and the way she's plumped out--not in one place, but all over--well, i tell ye, ye'd be astonished! she knows it, too, bless her heart! i don't blame her. let her git all the comfort she kin when she's young--that's the time for laughin'--the cryin' always comes later." no part of martha's rhapsody over lucy described jane. not in her best moments could she have been called beautiful--not even to-night when lucy's home-coming had given a glow to her cheeks and a lustre to her eyes that nothing else had done for months. her slender figure, almost angular in its contour with its closely drawn lines about the hips and back; her spare throat and neck, straight arms, thin wrists and hands--transparent hands, though exquisitely wrought, as were those of all her race--all so expressive of high breeding and refinement, carried with them none of the illusions of beauty. the mould of the head, moreover, even when softened by her smooth chestnut hair, worn close to her ears and caught up in a coil behind, was too severe for accepted standards, while her features wonderfully sympathetic as they were, lacked the finer modeling demanded in perfect types of female loveliness, the eyebrows being almost straight, the cheeks sunken, with little shadows under the cheek-bones, and the lips narrow and often drawn. and yet with all these discrepancies and, to some minds, blemishes there was a light in her deep gray eyes, a melody in her voice, a charm in her manner, a sureness of her being exactly the sort of woman one hoped she would be, a quick responsiveness to any confidence, all so captivating and so satisfying that 'those who knew her forgot her slight physical shortcomings and carried away only the remembrance of one so much out of the common and of so distinguished a personality that she became ever after the standard by which they judged all good women. there were times, too--especially whenever lucy entered the room or her name was mentioned--that there shone through jane's eyes a certain instantaneous kindling of the spirit which would irradiate her whole being as a candle does a lantern--a light betokening not only uncontrollable tenderness but unspeakable pride, dimmed now and then when some word or act of her charge brought her face to face with the weight of the responsibility resting upon her--a responsibility far outweighing that which most mothers would have felt. this so dominated jane's every motion that it often robbed her of the full enjoyment of the companionship of a sister so young and so beautiful. if jane, to quote doctor john, looked like a lily swaying on a slender stem, lucy, when she bounded into the room to-night, was a full-blown rose tossed by a summer breeze. she came in with throat and neck bare; a woman all curves and dimples, her skin as pink as a shell; plump as a baby, and as fair, and yet with the form of a wood-nymph; dressed in a clinging, soft gown, the sleeves caught up at the shoulders revealing her beautiful arms, a spray of blossoms on her bosom, her blue eyes dancing with health, looking twenty rather than seventeen; glad of her freedom, glad of her home and jane and martha, and of the lights and blossoms and the glint on silver and glass, and of all that made life breathable and livable. "oh, but isn't it just too lovely to be at home!" she cried as she skipped about. "no lights out at nine, no prayers, no getting up at six o'clock and turning your mattress and washing in a sloppy little washroom. oh, i'm so happy! i can't realize it's all true." as she spoke she raised herself on her toes so that she could see her face in the mirror over the mantel. "why, do you know, sister," she rattled on, her eyes studying her own face, "that miss sarah used to make us learn a page of dictionary if we talked after the silence bell!" "you must know the whole book by heart, then, dearie," replied jane with a smile, as she bent over a table and pushed back some books to make room for a bowl of arbutus she held in her hand. "ah, but she didn't catch us very often. we used to stuff up the cracks in the doors so she couldn't hear us talk and smother our heads in the pillows. jonesy, the english teacher, was the worst." she was still looking in the glass, her fingers busy with the spray of blossoms on her bosom. "she always wore felt slippers and crept around like a cat. she'd tell on anybody. we had a play one night in my room after lights were out, and maria collins was claude melnotte and i was pauline. maria had a mustache blackened on her lips with a piece of burnt cork and i was all fixed up in a dressing-gown and sash. we never heard jonesy till she put her hand on the knob; then we blew out the candle and popped into bed. she smelled the candle-wick and leaned over and kissed maria good-night, and the black all came off on her lips, and next day we got three pages apiece--the mean old thing! how do i look, martha? is my hair all right?" here she turned her head for the old woman's inspection. "beautiful, darlin'. there won't one o' them know ye; they'll think ye're a real livin' princess stepped out of a picture-book." martha had not taken her eyes from lucy since she entered the room. "see my little beau-catchers," she laughed, twisting her head so that martha could see the tiny spanish curls she had flattened against her temples. "they are for bart holt, and i'm going to cut sister out. do you think he'll remember me?" she prattled on, arching her neck. "it won't make any difference if he don't," martha retorted in a positive tone. "but cap'n nat will, and so will the doctor and uncle ephraim and--who's that comin' this early?" and the old nurse paused and listened to a heavy step on the porch. "it must be the cap'n himself; there ain't nobody but him's got a tread like that; ye'd think he was trampin' the deck o' one of his ships." the door of the drawing-room opened and a bluff, hearty, round-faced man of fifty, his iron-gray hair standing straight up on his head like a shoe-brush, dressed in a short pea-jacket surmounted by a low sailor collar and loose necktie, stepped cheerily into the room. "ah, miss jane!" somehow all the neighbors, even the most intimate, remembered to prefix "miss" when speaking to jane. "so you've got this fly-away back again? where are ye? by jingo! let me look at you. why! why! why! did you ever! what have you been doing to yourself, lassie, that you should shed your shell like a bug and come out with wings like a butterfly? why you're the prettiest thing i've seen since i got home from my last voyage." he had lucy by both bands now, and was turning her about as if she had been one of ann gossaway's models. "have i changed, captain holt?" "no--not a mite. you've got a new suit of flesh and blood on your bones, that's all. and it's the best in the locker. well! well! well!" he was still twisting her around. "she does ye proud, martha," he called to the old nurse, who was just leaving the room to take charge of the pantry, now that the guests had begun to arrive. "and so ye're home for good and all, lassie?" "yes--isn't it lovely?" "lovely? that's no name for it. you'll be settin' the young fellers crazy 'bout here before they're a week older. here come two of 'em now." lucy turned her head quickly, just as the doctor and barton holt reached the door of the drawing-room. the elder of the two, doctor john, greeted jane as if she had been a duchess, bowing low as he approached her, his eyes drinking in her every movement; then, after a few words, remembering the occasion as being one in honor of lucy, he walked slowly toward the young girl. "why, lucy, it's so delightful to get you back!" he cried, shaking her hand warmly. "and you are looking so well. poor martha has been on pins and needles waiting for you. i told her just how it would be--that she'd lose her little girl--and she has," and he glanced at her admiringly. "what did she say when she saw you?" "oh, the silly old thing began to cry, just as they all do. have you seen her dog?" the answer jarred on the doctor, although he excused her in his heart on the ground of her youth and her desire to appear at ease in talking to him. "do you mean meg?" he asked, scanning her face the closer. "i don't know what she calls him--but he's the ugliest little beast i ever saw." "yes--but so amusing. i never get tired of watching him. what is left of him is the funniest thing alive. he's better than he looks, though. he and rex have great times together." "i wish you would take him, then. i told martha this morning that he mustn't poke his nose into my room, and he won't. he's a perfect fright." "but the dear old woman loves him," he protested with a tender tone in his voice, his eyes fixed on lucy. he had looked into the faces of too many young girls in his professional career not to know something of what lay at the bottom of their natures. what he saw now came as a distinct surprise. "i don't care if she does," she retorted; "no, i don't," and she knit her brow and shook her pretty head as she laughed. while they stood talking bart holt, who had lingered at the threshold, his eyes searching for the fair arrival, was advancing toward the centre of the room. suddenly he stood still, his gaze fixed on the vision of the girl in the clinging dress, with the blossoms resting on her breast. the curve of her back, the round of the hip; the way her moulded shoulders rose above the lace of her bodice; the bare, full arms tapering to the wrists;--the color, the movement, the grace of it all had taken away his breath. with only a side nod of recognition toward jane, he walked straight to lucy and with an "excuse me," elbowed the doctor out of the way in his eagerness to reach the girl's side. the doctor smiled at the young man's impetuosity, bent his head to lucy, and turned to where jane was standing awaiting the arrival of her other guests. the young man extended his hand. "i'm bart holt," he exclaimed; "you haven't forgotten me, miss lucy, have you? we used to play together. mighty glad to see you--been expecting you for a week." lucy colored slightly and arched her head in a coquettish way. his frankness pleased her; so did the look of unfeigned admiration in his eyes. "why, of course i haven't forgotten you, mr. holt. it was so nice of you to come," and she gave him the tips of her fingers--her own eyes meanwhile, in one comprehensive glance, taking in his round head with its closely cropped curls, searching brown eyes, wavering mouth, broad shoulders, and shapely body, down to his small, well-turned feet. the young fellow lacked the polish and well-bred grace of the doctor, just as he lacked his well-cut clothes and distinguished manners, but there was a sort of easy effrontery and familiar air about him that some of his women admirers encouraged and others shrank from. strange to say, this had appealed to lucy before he had spoken a word. "and you've come home for good now, haven't you?" his eyes were still drinking in the beauty of the girl, his mind neither on his questions nor her answers. "yes, forever and ever," she replied, with a laugh that showed her white teeth. "did you like it at school?" it was her lips now that held his attention and the little curves under her dimpled chin. he thought he had never seen so pretty a mouth and chin. "not always; but we used to have lots of fun," answered the girl, studying him in return--the way his cravat was tied and the part of his hair. she thought he had well-shaped ears and that his nose and eyebrows looked like a picture she had in her room upstairs. "come and tell me about it. let's sit down here," he continued as he drew her to a sofa and stood waiting until she took her seat. "well, i will for a moment, until they begin to come in," she answered, her face all smiles. she liked the way he behaved towards her--not asking her permission, but taking the responsibility and by his manner compelling a sort of obedience. "but i can't stay," she added. "sister won't like it if i'm not with her to shake hands with everybody." "oh, she won't mind me; i'm a great friend of miss jane's. please go on; what kind of fun did you have? i like to hear about girls' scrapes. we had plenty of them at college, but i couldn't tell you half of them." he had settled himself beside her now, his appropriating eyes still taking in her beauty. "oh, all kinds," she replied as she bent her head and glanced at the blossoms on her breast to be assured of their protective covering. "but i shouldn't think you could have much fun with the teachers watching you every minute," said bart, moving nearer to her and turning his body so he could look squarely into her eyes. "yes, but they didn't find out half that was going on." then she added coyly, "i don't know whether you can keep a secret--do you tell everything you hear?" "never tell anything." "how do i know?" "i'll swear it." in proof he held up one hand and closed both eyes in mock reverence as if he were taking an oath. he was getting more interested now in her talk; up to this time her beauty had dazzled him. "never! so help me--" he mumbled impressively. "well, one day we were walking out to the park--now you're sure you won't tell sister, she's so easily shocked?" the tone was the same, but the inflection was shaded to closer intimacy. again bart cast up his eyes. "and all the girls were in a string with miss griggs, the latin teacher, in front, and we all went in a cake shop and got a big piece of gingerbread apiece. we were all eating away hard as we could when we saw miss sarah coming. every girl let her cake go, and when miss sarah got to us the whole ten pieces were scattered along the sidewalk." bart looked disappointed over the mild character of the scrape. from what he had seen of her he had supposed her adventures would be seasoned with a certain spice of deviltry. "i wouldn't have done that, i'd have hidden it in my pocket," he replied, sliding down on the sofa until his head rested on the cushion next her own. "we tried, but she was too close. poor old griggsey got a dreadful scolding. she wasn't like miss jones--she wouldn't tell on the girls." "and did they let any of the fellows come to see you?" bart asked. "no; only brothers and cousins once in a long while. maria collins tried to pass one of her beaux, max feilding, off as a cousin, but miss sarah went down to see him and poor maria had to stay upstairs." "i'd have got in," said bart with some emphasis, rousing himself from his position and twisting his body so he could again look squarely in her face. this escapade was more to his liking. "how?" asked lucy in a tone that showed she not only quite believed it, but rather liked him the better for saying so. "oh i don't know. i'd have cooked up some story." he was leaning over now, toying with the lace that clung to lucy's arms. "did you ever have any one of your own friends treated in that way?" jane's voice cut short her answer. she had seen the two completely absorbed in each other, to the exclusion of the other guests who were now coming in, and wanted lucy beside her. the young girl waved her fan gayly in answer, rose to her feet, turned her head close to bart's, pointed to the incoming guests, whispered something in his ear that made him laugh, listened while he whispered to her in return, and in obedience to the summons crossed the room to meet a group of the neighbors, among them old judge woolworthy, in a snuff-colored coat, high black stock, and bald head, and his bustling little wife. bart's last whisper to lucy was in explanation of the little wife's manner--who now, all bows and smiles, was shaking hands with everybody about her. then came uncle ephraim tipple, and close beside him walked his spouse, ann, in a camel's-hair shawl and poke-bonnet, the two preceded by uncle ephraim's stentorian laugh, which had been heard before their feet had touched the porch outside. mrs. cromartin now bustled in, accompanied by her two daughters--slim, awkward girls, both dressed alike in high waists and short frocks; and after them the bunsbys, father, mother, and son--all smiles, the last a painfully thin young lawyer, in a low collar and a shock of whitey-brown hair, "looking like a patent window-mop resting against a wall," so lucy described him afterward to martha when she was putting her to bed; and finally the colfords and bronsons, young and old, together with pastor dellenbaugh, the white-haired clergyman who preached in the only church in warehold. when lucy had performed her duty and the several greetings were over, and uncle ephraim had shaken the hand of the young hostess in true pump-handle fashion, the old man roaring with laughter all the time, as if it were the funniest thing in the world to find her alive; and the good clergyman in his mildest and most impressive manner had said she grew more and more like her mother every day--which was a flight of imagination on the part of the dear man, for she didn't resemble her in the least; and the two thin girls had remarked that it must be so "perfectly blissful" to get home; and the young lawyer had complimented her on her wonderful, almost life-like resemblance to her grand-father, whose portrait hung in the court-house--and which was nearer the truth--to all of which the young girl replied in her most gracious tones, thanking them for their kindness in coming to see her and for welcoming her so cordially--the whole of lucy's mind once more reverted to bart. indeed, the several lobes of her brain had been working in opposition for the past hour. while one-half of her mind was concocting polite speeches for her guests the other was absorbed in the fear that bart would either get tired of waiting for her return and leave the sofa, or that some other girl friend of his would claim him and her delightful talk be at an end. to the young girl fresh from school bart represented the only thing in the room that was entirely alive. the others talked platitudes and themselves. he had encouraged her to talk of herself and of the things she liked. he had, too, about him an assurance and dominating personality which, although it made her a little afraid of him, only added to his attractiveness. while she stood wondering how many times the white-haired young lawyer would tell her it was so nice to have her back, she felt a slight pressure on her arm and turned to face bart. "you are wanted, please, miss lucy; may i offer you my arm? excuse me, bunsby--i'll give her to you again in a minute." lucy slipped her arm into bart's, and asked simply, "what for?" "to finish our talk, of course. do you suppose i'm going to let that tow-head monopolize you?" he answered, pressing her arm closer to his side with his own. lucy laughed and tapped bart with her fan in rebuke, and then there followed a bit of coquetry in which the young girl declared that he was "too mean for anything, and that she'd never seen anybody so conceited, and if he only knew, she might really prefer the 'tow head' to his own;" to which bart answered that his only excuse was that he was so lonely he was nearly dead, and that he had only come to save his life--the whole affair culminating in his conducting her back to the sofa with a great flourish and again seating himself beside her. "i've been watching you," he began when he had made her comfortable with a small cushion behind her shoulders and another for her pretty feet. "you don't act a bit like miss jane." as he spoke he leaned forward and flicked an imaginary something from her bare wrist with that air which always characterized his early approaches to most women. "why?" lucy asked, pleased at his attentions and thanking him with a more direct look. "oh, i don't know. you're more jolly, i think. i don't like girls who turn out to be solemn after you know them a while; i was afraid you might. you know it's a long time since i saw you." "why, then, sister can't be solemn, for everybody says you and she are great friends," she replied with a light laugh, readjusting the lace of her bodice. "so we are; nobody about here i think as much of as i do of your sister. she's been mighty good to me. but you know what i mean: i mean those don't-touch-me kind of girls who are always thinking you mean a lot of things when you're only trying to be nice and friendly to them. i like to be a brother to a girl and to go sailing with her, and fishing, and not have her bother me about her feet getting a little bit wet, and not scream bloody murder when the boat gives a lurch. that's the kind of girl that's worth having." "and you don't find them?" laughed lucy, looking at him out of the corners of her eyes. "well, not many. do you mind little things like that?" as he spoke his eyes wandered over her bare shoulders until they rested on the blossoms, the sort of roaming, critical eyes that often cause a woman to wonder whether some part of her toilet has not been carelessly put together. then he added, with a sudden lowering of his voice: "that's a nice posy you've got. who sent it?" and he bent his head as if to smell the cluster on her bosom. lucy drew back and a slight flush suffused her cheek; his audacity frightened her. she was fond of admiration, but this way of expressing it was new to her. the young man caught the movement and recovered himself. he had ventured on a thin spot, as was his custom, and the sound of the cracking ice had warned him in time. "oh, i see, they're apple blossoms," he added carelessly as he straightened up. "we've got a lot in our orchard. you like flowers, i see." the even tone and perfect self-possession of the young man reassured her. "oh, i adore them; don't you?" lucy answered in a relieved, almost apologetic voice. she was sorry she had misjudged him. she liked him rather the better now for her mistake. "well, that depends. apple blossoms never looked pretty to me before; but then it makes a good deal of difference where they are," answered bart with a low chuckle. jane had been watching the two and had noticed. bart's position and manner. his easy familiarity of pose offended her. instinctively she glanced about the room, wondering if any of her guests had seen it. that lucy did not resent it surprised her. she supposed her sister's recent training would have made her a little more fastidious. "come, lucy," she called gently, moving toward her, "bring bart over here and join the other girls." "all right, miss jane, we'll be there in a minute," bart answered in lucy's stead. then he bent his head and said in a low voice: "won't you give me half those blossoms?" "no; it would spoil the bunch." "please--" "no, not a single one. you wouldn't care for them, anyway." "yes, i would." here he stretched out his hand and touched the blossoms on her neck. lucy ducked her head in merry glee, sprang up, and with a triumphant curtsy and a "no, you don't, sir--not this time," joined her sister, followed by art. the guests were now separated into big and little groups. uncle ephraim and the judge were hob-nobbing around the fireplace, listening to uncle ephraim's stories and joining in the laughter which every now and then filled the room. captain nat was deep in a discussion with doctor john over some seafaring matter, and jane and mrs. benson were discussing a local charity with pastor dellenbaugh. the younger people being left to themselves soon began to pair off, the white-haired young lawyer disappearing with the older miss cromartin and bart soon following with lucy:--the outer porch and the long walk down the garden path among the trees, despite the chilliness of the night, seemed to be the only place in which they could be comfortable. during a lull in the discussion of captain nat's maritime news and while mrs. benson was talking to the pastor, doctor john seized the opportunity to seat himself again by jane. "don't you think lucy improved?" she asked, motioning the doctor to a place beside her. "she's much more beautiful than i thought she would be," he answered in a hesitating way, looking toward lucy, and seating himself in his favorite attitude, hands in his lap, one leg crossed over the other and hanging straight beside its fellow; only a man like the doctor, of more than usual repose and of a certain elegance of form, jane always said, could sit this way any length of time and be comfortable and unconscious of his posture. then he added slowly, and as if he had given the subject some consideration, "you won't keep her long, i'm afraid." "oh, don't say that," jane cried with a nervous start. "i don't know what i would do if she should marry." "that don't sound like you, miss jane. you would be the first to deny yourself. you are too good to do otherwise." he spoke with a slight quiver in his voice, and yet with an emphasis that showed he believed it. "no; it is you who are good to think so," she replied in a softer tone, bending her head as she spoke, her eyes intent on her fan. "and now tell me," she added quickly, raising her eyes to his as if to bar any further tribute he might be on the point of paying to her--"i hear your mother takes greatly to heart your having refused the hospital appointment." "yes, i'm afraid she does. mother has a good many new-fashioned notions nowadays." he laughed--a mellow, genial laugh; more in the spirit of apology than of criticism. "and you don't want to go?" she asked, her eyes fixed on his. "want to go? no, why should i? there would be nobody to look after the people here if i went away. you don't want me to leave, do you?" he added suddenly in an anxious tone. "nobody does, doctor," she replied, parrying the question, her face flushing with pleasure. here martha entered the room hurriedly and bending over jane's shoulder, whispered something in her ear. the doctor straightened himself and leaned back out of hearing. "well, but i don't think she will take cold," jane whispered in return, looking up into martha's face. "has she anything around her?" "yes, your big red cloak; but the child's head is bare and there's mighty little on her neck, and she ought to come in. the wind's begun to blow and it's gettin' cold." "where is she?" jane continued, her face showing her surprise at martha's statement. "out by the gate with that dare-devil. he don't care who he gives cold. i told her she'd get her death, but she won't mind me." "why, martha, how can you talk so!" jane retorted, with a disapproving frown. then raising her voice so that the doctor could be brought into the conversation, she added in her natural tone, "whom did you say she was with?" "bart holt," cried martha aloud, nodding to the doctor as if to get his assistance in saving her bairn from possible danger. jane colored slightly and turned to doctor john. "you go please, doctor, and bring them all in, or you may have some new patients on your hands." the doctor looked from one to the other in doubt as to the cause of his selection, but jane's face showed none of the anxiety in martha's. "yes, certainly," he answered simply; "but i'll get myself into a hornet's nest. these young people don't like to be told what's good for them," he added with a laugh, rising from his seat. "and after that you'll permit me to slip away without telling anybody, won't you? my last minute has come," and he glanced at his watch. "going so soon? why, i wanted you to stay for supper. it will be ready in a few minutes." her voice had lost its buoyancy now. she never wanted him to go. she never let him know it, but it pained her all the same. "i would like to, but i cannot." all his heart was in his eyes as he spoke. "someone ill?" she asked. "yes, fogarty's child. the little fellow may develop croup before morning. i saw him to-day, and his pulse was not right, he's a sturdy little chap with a thick neck, and that kind always suffers most. if he's worse fogarty is to send word to my office," he added, holding out his hand in parting. "can i help?" jane asked, retaining the doctor's hand in hers as if to get the answer. "no, i'll watch him closely. good-night," and with a smile he bent his head and withdrew. martha followed the doctor to the outer door, and then grumbling her satisfaction went back to the pantry to direct the servants in arranging upon the small table in the supper-room the simple refreshments which always characterized the cobdens' entertainments. soon the girls and their beaux came trooping in to join their elders on the way to the supper-room. lucy hung back until the last (she had not liked the doctor's interference), jane's long red cloak draped from her shoulders, the hood hanging down her back, her cheeks radiant, her beautiful blond hair ruffled with the night wind, an aureole of gold framing her face. bart followed close behind, a pleased, almost triumphant smile playing about his lips. he had carried his point. the cluster of blossoms which had rested upon lucy's bosom was pinned to the lapel of his coat. chapter iii little tod fogarty with the warmth of jane's parting grasp lingering in his own doctor john untied the mare, sprang into his gig, and was soon clear of the village and speeding along the causeway that stretched across the salt marshes leading past his own home to the inner beach beyond. as he drove slowly through his own gate, so as to make as little noise as possible, the cottage, blanketed under its clinging vines, seemed in the soft light of the low-lying moon to be fast asleep. only one eye was open; this was the window of his office, through which streamed the glow of a lamp, its light falling on the gravel path and lilac bushes beyond. rex gave a bark of welcome and raced beside the wheels. "keep still, old dog! down, rex! been lonely, old fellow?" the dog in answer leaped in the air as his master drew rein, and with eager springs tried to reach his hands, barking all the while in short and joyful yelps. doctor john threw the lines across the dash-board, jumped from the gig, and pushing open the hall door--it was never locked--stepped quickly into his office, and turning up the lamp, threw himself into a chair at his desk. the sorrel made no attempt to go to the stable--both horse and man were accustomed to delays--sometimes of long hours and sometimes of whole nights. the appointments and fittings of the office--old-fashioned and practical as they were--reflected in a marked degree the aims and tastes of the occupant. while low bookcases stood against the walls surmounted by rows of test-tubes, mortars and pestles, cases of instruments, and a line of bottles labelled with names of various mixtures (in those days doctors were chemists as well as physicians), there could also be found a bust of the young augustus; one or two lithographs of heidelberg, where he had studied; and some line engravings in black frames--one a view of oxford with the thames wandering by, another a portrait of the duke of wellington, and still another of nell gwynn. scattered about the room were easy-chairs and small tables piled high with books, a copy of tacitus and an early edition of milton being among them, while under the wide, low window stood a narrow bench crowded with flowering plants in earthen pots, the remnants of the winter's bloom. there were also souvenirs of his earlier student life--a life which few of his friends in warehold, except jane cobden, knew or cared anything about--including a pair of crossed foils and two boxing-gloves; these last hung over a portrait of macaulay. what the place lacked was the touch of a woman's hand in vase, flower, or ornament--a touch that his mother, for reasons of her own, never gave and which no other woman had yet dared suggest. for an instant the doctor sat with his elbows on the desk in deep thought, the light illuminating his calm, finely chiselled features and hands--those thin, sure hands which could guide a knife within a hair's breadth of instant death--and leaning forward, with an indrawn sigh examined some letters lying under his eye. then, as if suddenly remembering, he glanced at the office slate, his face lighting up as he found it bare of any entry except the date. rex had been watching his master with ears cocked, and was now on his haunches, cuddling close, his nose resting on the doctor's knee. doctor john laid his hand on the dog's head and smoothing the long, silky ears, said with a sigh of relief, as he settled himself in his chair: "little tod must be better, rex, and we are going to have a quiet night." the anxiety over his patients relieved, his thoughts reverted to jane and their talk. he remembered the tone of her voice and the quick way in which she had warded off his tribute to her goodness; he recalled her anxiety over lucy; he looked again into the deep, trusting eyes that gazed into his as she appealed to him for assistance; he caught once more the poise of the head as she listened to his account of little tod fogarty's illness and heard her quick offer to help, and felt for the second time her instant tenderness and sympathy, never withheld from the sick and suffering, and always so generous and spontaneous. a certain feeling of thankfulness welled up in his heart. perhaps she had at last begun to depend upon him--a dependence which, with a woman such as jane, must, he felt sure, eventually end in love. with these thoughts filling his mind, he settled deeper in his chair. these were the times in which he loved to think of her--when, with pipe in mouth, he could sit alone by his fire and build castles in the coals, every rosy mountain-top aglow with the love he bore her; with no watchful mother's face trying to fathom his thoughts; only his faithful dog stretched at his feet. picking up his brierwood, lying on a pile of books on his desk, and within reach of his hand, he started to fill the bowl, when a scrap of paper covered with a scrawl written in pencil came into view. he turned it to the light and sprang to his feet. "tod worse," he said to himself. "i wonder how long this has been here." the dog was now beside him looking up into the doctor's eyes. it was not the first time that he had seen his master's face grow suddenly serious as he had read the tell-tale slate or had opened some note awaiting his arrival. doctor john lowered the lamp, stepped noiselessly to the foot of the winding stairs that led to the sleeping rooms above--the dog close at his heels, watching his every movement--and called gently: "mother! mother, dear!" he never left his office when she was at home and awake without telling her where he was going. no one answered. "she is asleep. i will slip out without waking her. stay where you are, rex--i will be back some time before daylight," and throwing his night-cloak about his shoulders, he started for his gig. the dog stopped with his paws resting on the outer edge of the top step of the porch, the line he was not to pass, and looked wistfully after the doctor. his loneliness was to continue, and his poor master to go out into the night alone. his tail ceased to wag, only his eyes moved. once outside doctor john patted the mare's neck as if in apology and loosened the reins. "come, old girl," he said; "i'm sorry, but it can't be helped," and springing into the gig, he walked the mare clear of the gravel beyond the gate, so as not to rouse his mother, touched her lightly with the whip, and sent her spinning along the road on the way to fogarty's. the route led toward the sea, branching off within the sight of the cottage porch, past the low, conical ice-houses used by the fishermen in which to cool their fish during the hot weather, along the sand-dunes, and down a steep grade to the shore. the tide was making flood, and the crawling surf spent itself in long shelving reaches of foam. these so packed the sand that the wheels of the gig hardly made an impression upon it. along this smooth surface the mare trotted briskly, her nimble feet wet with the farthest reaches of the incoming wash. as he approached the old house of refuge, black in the moonlight and looking twice its size in the stretch of the endless beach, he noticed for the hundredth time how like a crouching woman it appeared, with its hipped roof hunched up like a shoulder close propped against the dune and its overhanging eaves but a draped hood shading its thoughtful brow; an illusion which vanished when its square form, with its wide door and long platform pointing to the sea, came into view. more than once in its brief history the doctor had seen the volunteer crew, aroused from their cabins along the shore by the boom of a gun from some stranded vessel, throw wide its door and with a wild cheer whirl the life-boat housed beneath its roof into the boiling surf, and many a time had he helped to bring back to life the benumbed bodies drawn from the merciless sea by their strong arms. there were other houses like it up and down the coast. some had remained unused for years, desolate and forlorn, no unhappy ship having foundered or struck the breakers within their reach; others had been in constant use. the crews were gathered from the immediate neighborhood by the custodian, who was the only man to receive pay from the government. if he lived near by he kept the key; if not, the nearest fisherman held it. fogarty, the father of the sick child, and whose cabin was within gunshot of this house, kept the key this year. no other protection was given these isolated houses and none was needed. these black-hooded sisters of the coast, keeping their lonely vigils, were as safe from beach-combers and sea-prowlers as their white-capped namesakes would have been threading the lonely suburbs of some city. the sound of the mare's feet on the oyster-shell path outside his cabin brought fogarty, a tall, thin, weather-beaten fisherman, to the door. he was still wearing his hip-boots and sou'wester--he was just in from the surf--and stood outside the low doorway with a lantern. its light streamed over the sand and made wavering patterns about the mare's feet. "thought ye'd never come, doc," he whispered, as he threw the blanket over the mare. "wife's nigh crazy. tod's fightin' for all he's worth, but there ain't much breath left in him. i was off the inlet when it come on." the wife, a thick-set woman in a close-fitting cap, her arms bared to the elbow, her petticoats above the tops of her shoes, met him inside the door. she had been crying and her eyelids were still wet and her cheeks swollen. the light of the ship's lantern fastened to the wall fell upon a crib in the corner, on which lay the child, his short curls, tangled with much tossing, smoothed back from his face. the doctor's ears had caught the sound of the child's breathing before he entered the room. "when did this come on?" doctor john asked, settling down beside the crib upon a stool that the wife had brushed off with her apron. "'bout sundown, sir," she answered, her tear-soaked eyes fixed on little tod's face. her teeth chattered as she spoke and her arms were tight pressed against her sides, her fingers opening and shutting in her agony. now and then in her nervousness she would wipe her forehead with the back of her wrist as if it were wet, or press her two fingers deep into her swollen cheek. fogarty had followed close behind the doctor and now stood looking down at the crib with fixed eyes, his thin lips close shut, his square jaw sunk in the collar of his shirt. there were no dangers that the sea could unfold which this silent surfman had not met and conquered, and would again. every fisherman on the coast knew fogarty's pluck and skill, and many of them owed their lives to him. to-night, before this invisible power slowly closing about his child he was as powerless as a skiff without oars caught in the swirl of a barnegat tide. "why didn't you let me know sooner, fogarty? you understood my directions?" doctor john asked in a surprised tone. "you shouldn't have left him without letting me know." it was only when his orders were disobeyed and life endangered that he spoke thus. the fisherman turned his head and was about to reply when the wife stepped in front of him. "my husband got ketched in the inlet, sir," she said in an apologetic tone, as if to excuse his absence. "the tide set ag'in him and he had hard pullin' makin' the p'int. it cuts in turrible there, you know, doctor. tod seemed to be all right when he left him this mornin'. i had husband's mate take the note i wrote ye. mate said nobody was at home and he laid it under your pipe. he thought ye'd sure find it there when ye come in." doctor john was not listening to her explanations; he was leaning over the rude crib, his ear to the child's breast. regaining his position, he smoothed the curls tenderly from the forehead of the little fellow, who still lay with eyes closed, one stout brown hand and arm clear of the coverlet, and stood watching his breathing. every now and then a spasm of pain would cross the child's face; the chubby hand would open convulsively and a muffled cry escape him. doctor john watched his breathing for some minutes, laid his hand again on the child's forehead, and rose from the stool. "start up that fire, fogarty," he said in a crisp tone, turning up his shirt-cuffs, slipping off his evening coat, and handing the garment to the wife, who hung it mechanically over a chair, her eyes all the time searching doctor john's face for some gleam of hope. "now get a pan," he continued, "fill it with water and some corn-meal, and get me some cotton cloth--half an apron, piece of an old petticoat, anything, but be quick about it." the woman, glad of something to do, hastened to obey. somehow, the tones of his voice had put new courage into her heart. fogarty threw a heap of driftwood on the smouldering fire and filled the kettle; the dry splinters crackled into a blaze. the noise aroused the child. the doctor held up his finger for silence and again caressed the boy's forehead. fogarty, with a fresh look of alarm in his face, tiptoed back of the crib and stood behind the restless sufferer. under the doctor's touch the child once more became quiet. "is he bad off?" the wife murmured when the doctor moved to the fire and began stirring the mush she was preparing. "the other one went this way; we can't lose him. you won't lose him, will ye, doctor, dear? i don't want to live if this one goes. please, doctor--" the doctor looked into the wife's eyes, blurred with tears, and laid his hand tenderly on her shoulder. "keep a good heart, wife," he said; "we'll pull him through. tod is a tough little chap with plenty of fight in him yet. i've seen them much worse. it will soon be over; don't worry." mrs. fogarty's eyes brightened and even the fisherman's grim face relaxed. silent men in grave crises suffer most; the habit of their lives precludes the giving out of words that soothe and heal; when others speak them, they sink into their thirsty souls like drops of rain after a long drought. it was just such timely expressions as these that helped doctor john's patients most--often their only hope hung on some word uttered with a buoyancy of spirit that for a moment stifled all their anxieties. the effect of the treatment began to tell upon the little sufferer--his breathing became less difficult, the spasms less frequent. the doctor whispered the change to the wife, sitting close at his elbow, his impassive face brightening as he spoke; there was an oven chance now for the boy's life. the vigil continued. no one moved except fogarty, who would now and then tiptoe quickly to the hearth, add a fresh log to the embers, and as quickly move back to his position behind the child's crib. the rising and falling of the blaze, keeping rhythm, as it were, to the hopes and fears of the group, lighted up in turn each figure in the room. first the doctor sitting with hands resting on his knees, his aquiline nose and brow clearly outlined against the shadowy background in the gold chalk of the dancing flames, his black evening clothes in strong contrast to the high white of the coverlet, framing the child's face like a nimbus. next the bent body of the wife, her face in half-tones, her stout shoulders in high relief, and behind, swallowed up in the gloom, out of reach of the fire-. gleam, the straight, motionless form of the fisherman, standing with folded arms, grim and silent, his unseen eyes fixed on his child. far into the night, and until the gray dawn streaked the sky, this vigil continued; the doctor, assisted by fogarty and the wife, changing the poultices, filling the child's lungs with hot steam by means of a paper funnel, and encouraging the mother by his talk. at one time he would tell her in half-whispered tones of a child who had recovered and who had been much weaker than this one. again he would turn to fogarty and talk of the sea, of the fishing outside the inlet, of the big three-masted schooner which had been built by the men at tom's river, of the new light they thought of building at barnegat to take the place of the old one--anything to divert their minds and lessen their anxieties, stopping only to note the sound of every cough the boy gave or to change the treatment as the little sufferer struggled on fighting for his life. when the child dozed no one moved, no word was spoken. then in the silence there would come to their ears above the labored breathing of the boy the long swinging tick of the clock, dull and ominous, as if tolling the minutes of a passing life; the ceaseless crunch of the sea, chewing its cud on the beach outside or the low moan of the outer bar turning restlessly on its bed of sand. suddenly, and without warning, and out of an apparent sleep, the child started up from his pillow with staring eyes and began beating the air for breath. the doctor leaned quickly forward, listened for a moment, his ear to the boy's chest, and said in a quiet, restrained voice: "go into the other room, mrs. fogarty, and stay there till i call you." the woman raised her eyes to his and obeyed mechanically. she was worn out, mind and body, and had lost her power of resistance. as the door shut upon her doctor john sprang from the stool, caught the lamp from the wall, handed it to fogarty, and picking the child up from the crib, laid it flat upon his knees. he now slipped his hand into his pocket and took from it a leather case filled with instruments. "hold the light, fogarty," he said in a firm, decided tone, "and keep your nerve. i thought he'd pull through without it, but he'll strangle if i don't." "what ye goin' to do--not cut him?" whispered the fisherman in a trembling voice. "yes. it's his only chance. i've seen it coming on for the last hour--no nonsense now. steady, old fellow. it'll be over in a minute. ... there, my boy, that'll help you. now, fogarty, hand me that cloth. ... all right, little man; don't cry; it's all over. now open the door and let your wife in," and he laid the child back on the pillow. when the doctor took the blanket from the sorrel tethered outside fogarty's cabin and turned his horse's head homeward the sails of the fishing-boats lying in a string on the far horizon flashed silver in the morning sun, his groom met him at the stable door, and without a word led the mare into the barn. the lamp in his study was still burning in yellow mockery of the rosy dawn. he laid his case of instruments on the desk, hung his cloak and hat to a peg in the closet, and ascended the staircase on the way to his bedroom. as he passed his mother's open door she heard his step. "why, it's broad daylight, son," she called in a voice ending in a yawn. "yes, mother." "where have you been?" "to see little tod fogarty," he answered simply. "what's the matter with him?" "croup." "is he going to die?" "no, not this time." "well, what did you stay out all night for?" the voice had now grown stronger, with a petulant tone through it. "well, i could hardly help it. they are very simple people, and were so badly frightened that they were helpless. it's the only child they have left to them--the last one died of croup." "well, are you going to turn nurse for half the paupers in the county? all children have croup, and they don't all die!" the petulant voice had now developed into one of indignation. "no, mother, but i couldn't take any risks. this little chap is worth saving." there came a pause, during which the tired man waited patiently. "you were at the cobdens'?" "yes; or i should have reached fogarty's sooner." "and miss jane detained you, of course." "no, mother." "good-night, john." "say rather 'good-day,' mother," he answered with a smile and continued on to his room. chapter iv ann gossaway's red cloak the merrymakings at yardley continued for weeks, a new impetus and flavor being lent them by the arrival of two of lucy's friends--her schoolmate and bosom companion, maria collins, of trenton, and maria's devoted admirer, max feilding, of walnut hill, philadelphia. jane, in her joy over lucy's home-coming, and in her desire to meet her sister's every wish, gladly welcomed the new arrivals, although miss collins, strange to say, had not made a very good impression upon her. max she thought better of. he was a quiet, well-bred young fellow; older than either lucy or maria, and having lived abroad a year, knew something of the outside world. moreover, their families had always been intimate in the old days, his ancestral home being always open to jane's mother when a girl. the arrival of these two strangers only added to the general gayety. picnics were planned to the woods back of warehold to which the young people of the town were invited, and in which billy tatham with his team took a prominent part. sailing and fishing parties outside of barnegat were gotten up; dances were held in the old parlor, and even tableaux were arranged under max's artistic guidance. in one of these maria wore a spanish costume fashioned out of a white lace shawl belonging to jane's grand-mother draped over her head and shoulders, and made the more bewitching by a red japonica fixed in her hair, and lucy appeared as a dairy-maid decked out in one of martha's caps, altered to fit her shapely head. the village itself was greatly stirred. "have you seen them two fly-up-the-creeks?" billy tatham, the stage-driver, asked of uncle ephraim tipple as he was driving him down to the boat-landing. "no, what do they look like?" "the he-one had on a two-inch hat with a green ribbon and wore a white bob-tail coat that 'bout reached to the top o' his pants. looks like he lived on water-crackers and milk, his skin's that white. the she-one had a set o' hoops on her big as a circus tent. much as i could do to git her in the 'bus--as it was, she come in sideways. and her trunk! well, it oughter been on wheels--one o' them travellin' houses. i thought one spell i'd take the old plug out the shafts and hook on to it and git it up that-a-way." "some of lucy's chums, i guess," chuckled uncle ephraim. "miss jane told me they were coming. how long are they going to stay?" "dunno. till they git fed up and fattened, maybe. if they was mine i'd have killin' time to-day." ann gossaway and some of her cronies also gave free rein to their tongues. "learned them tricks at a finishin' school, did they?" broke out the dressmaker. (lucy had been the only young woman in warehold who had ever enjoyed that privilege.) "wearin' each other's hats, rollin' round in the sand, and hollerin' so you could hear 'em clear to the lighthouse. if i had my way i'd finish 'em, and that's where they'll git if they don't mind, and quick, too!" the dellenbaughs, cromartins, and bunsbys, being of another class, viewed the young couple's visit in a different light. "mr. feilding has such nice hands and wears such lovely cravats," the younger miss cromartin said, and "miss collins is too sweet for anything." prim mr. bunsby, having superior notions of life and deportment, only shook his head. he looked for more dignity, he said; but then this byronic young man had not been invited to any of the outings. in all these merrymakings and outings lucy was the central figure. her beauty, her joyous nature, her freedom from affectation and conventionality, her love of the out-of-doors, her pretty clothes and the way she wore them, all added to her popularity. in the swing and toss of her freedom, her true temperament developed. she was like a summer rose, making everything and everybody glad about her, loving the air she breathed as much for the color it put into her cheeks as for the new bound it gave to her blood. just as she loved the sunlight for its warmth and the dip and swell of the sea for its thrill. so, too, when the roses were a glory of bloom, not only would she revel in the beauty of the blossoms, but intoxicated by their color and fragrance, would bury her face in the wealth of their abundance, taking in great draughts of their perfume, caressing them with her cheeks, drinking in the honey of their petals. this was also true of her voice--a rich, full, vibrating voice, that dominated the room and thrilled the hearts of all who heard her. when she sang she sang as a bird sings, as much to relieve its own overcharged little body, full to bursting with the music in its soul, as to gladden the surrounding woods with its melody--because, too, she could not help it and because the notes lay nearest her bubbling heart and could find their only outlet through the lips. bart was her constant companion. under his instructions she had learned to hold the tiller in sailing in and out of the inlet; to swim over hand; to dive from a plank, no matter how high the jump; and to join in all his outdoor sports. lucy had been his constant inspiration in all of this. she had surveyed the field that first night of their meeting and had discovered that the young man's personality offered the only material in warehold available for her purpose. with him, or someone like him--one who had leisure and freedom, one who was quick and strong and skilful (and bart was all of these)--the success of her summer would be assured. without him many of her plans could not be carried out. and her victory over him had been an easy one. held first by the spell of her beauty and controlled later by her tact and stronger will, the young man's effrontery--almost impudence at times--had changed to a certain respectful subservience, which showed itself in his constant effort to please and amuse her. when they were not sailing they were back in the orchard out of sight of the house, or were walking together nobody knew where. often bart would call for her immediately after breakfast, and the two would pack a lunch-basket and be gone all day, lucy arranging the details of the outing, and bart entering into them with a dash and an eagerness which, to a man of his temperament, cemented the bond between them all the closer. had they been two fabled denizens of the wood--she a nymph and he a dryad--they could not have been more closely linked with sky and earth. as for jane, she watched the increasing intimacy with alarm. she had suddenly become aroused to the fact that lucy's love affair with bart was going far beyond the limits of prudence. the son of captain nathaniel holt, late of the black ball line of packets, would always be welcome as a visitor at the home, the captain being an old and tried friend of her father's; but neither bart's education nor prospects, nor, for that matter, his social position--a point which usually had very little weight with jane--could possibly entitle him to ask the hand of the granddaughter of archibald cobden in marriage. she began to regret that she had thrown them together. her own ideas of reforming him had never contemplated any such intimacy as now existed between the young man and her sister. the side of his nature which he had always shown her had been one of respectful attention to her wishes; so much so that she had been greatly encouraged in her efforts to make something more of him than even his best friends predicted could be done; but she had never for one instant intended that her friendly interest should go any further, nor could she have conceived of such an issue. and yet jane did nothing to prevent the meetings and outings of the young couple, even after maria's and max's departure. when martha, in her own ever-increasing anxiety, spoke of the growing intimacy she looked grave, but she gave no indication of her own thoughts. her pride prevented her discussing the situation with the old nurse and her love for lucy from intervening in her pleasures. "she has been cooped up at school so long, martha, dear," she answered in extenuation, "that i hate to interfere in anything she wants to do. she is very happy; let her alone. i wish, though, she would return some of the calls of these good people who have been so kind to her. perhaps she will if you speak to her. but don't worry about bart; that will wear itself out. all young girls must have their love-affairs." jane's voice had lacked the ring of true sincerity when she spoke about "wearing itself out," and martha had gone to her room more dissatisfied than before. this feeling became all the more intense when, the next day, from her window she watched bart tying on lucy's hat, puffing out the big bow under her chin, smoothing her hair from the flying strings. lucy's eyes were dancing, her face turned toward bart's, her pretty lips near his own. there was a knot or a twist, or a collection of knots and twists, or perhaps bart's fingers bungled, for minutes passed before the hat could be fastened to suit either of them. martha's head had all this time been thrust out of the easement, her gaze apparently fixed on a birdcage hung from a hook near the shutter. bart caught her eye and whispered to lucy that that "old spy-cat" was watching them; whereupon lucy faced about, waved her hand to the old nurse, and turning quickly, raced up the orchard and out of sight, followed by bart carrying a shawl for them to sit upon. after that martha, unconsciously, perhaps, to herself, kept watch, so far as she could, upon their movements, without, as she thought, betraying herself: making excuses to go to the village when they two went off together in that direction; traversing the orchard, ostensibly looking for meg when she knew all the time that the dog was sound asleep in the woodshed; or yielding to a sudden desire to give the rascal a bath whenever lucy announced that she and bart were going to spend the morning down by the water. as the weeks flew by and lucy had shown no willingness to assume her share of any of the responsibilities of the house,--any that interfered with her personal enjoyment,--jane became more and more restless and unhappy. the older village people had shown her sister every attention, she said to herself,--more than was her due, considering her youth,--and yet lucy had never crossed any one of their thresholds. she again pleaded with the girl to remember her social duties and to pay some regard to the neighbors who had called upon her and who had shown her so much kindness; to which the happy-hearted sister had laughed back in reply: "what for, you dear sister? these old fossils don't want to see me, and i'm sure i don't want to see them. some of them give me the shivers, they are so prim." it was with glad surprise, therefore, that jane heard lucy say in martha's hearing one bright afternoon: "now, i'm going to begin, sister, and you won't have to scold me any more. everyone of these old tabbies i will take in a row: mrs. cavendish first, and then the cromartins, and the balance of the bunch when i can reach them. i am going to rose cottage to see mrs. cavendish this very afternoon." the selection of mrs. cavendish as first on her list only increased jane's wonder. rose cottage lay some two miles from warehold, near the upper end of the beach, and few of their other friends lived near it. then again, jane knew that lucy had not liked the doctor's calling her into the house the night of her arrival, and had heretofore made one excuse after another when urged to call on his mother. her delight, therefore, over lucy's sudden sense of duty was all the more keen. "i'll go with you, darling," she answered, slipping her arm about lucy's waist, "and we'll take meg for a walk." so they started, lucy in her prettiest frock and hat and jane with her big red cloak over her arm to protect the young girl from the breeze from the sea, which in the early autumn was often cool, especially if they should sit out on mrs. cavendish's piazza. the doctor's mother met them on the porch. she had seen them enter the garden gate, and had left her seat by the window, and was standing on the top step to welcome them. rex, as usual, in the doctor's absence, did the honors of the office. he loved jane, and always sprang straight at her, his big paws resting on her shoulders. these courtesies, however, he did not extend to meg. the high-bred setter had no other salutation for the clay-colored remnant than a lifting of his nose, a tightening of his legs, and a smothered growl when meg ventured too near his lordship. "come up, my dear, and let me look at you," were mrs. cavendish's first words of salutation to lucy. "i hear you have quite turned the heads of all the gallants in warehold. john says you are very beautiful, and you know the doctor is a good judge, is he not, miss jane?" she added, holding out her hands to them both. "and he's quite right; you are just like your dear mother, who was known as the rose of barnegat long before you were born. shall we sit here, or will you come into my little salon for a cup of tea?" it was always a salon to mrs. cavendish, never a "sitting-room." "oh, please let me sit here," lucy answered, checking a rising smile at the word, "the view is so lovely," and without further comment or any reference to the compliments showered upon her, she took her seat upon the top step and began to play with rex, who had already offered to make friends with her, his invariable habit with well-dressed people. jane meanwhile improved the occasion to ask the doctor's mother about the hospital they were building near barnegat, and whether she and one or two of the other ladies at warehold would not be useful as visitors, and, perhaps, in case of emergency, as nurses. while the talk was in progress lucy sat smoothing rex's silky ears, listening to every word her hostess spoke, watching her gestures and the expressions that crossed her face, and settling in her mind for all time, after the manner of young girls, what sort of woman the doctor's mother might be; any opinions she might have had two years before being now outlawed by this advanced young woman in her present mature judgment. in that comprehensive glance, with the profound wisdom of her seventeen summers to help her, she had come to the conclusion that mrs. cavendish was a high-strung, nervous, fussy little woman of fifty, with an outward show of good-will and an inward intention to rip everybody up the back who opposed her; proud of her home, of her blood, and of her son, and determined, if she could manage it, to break off his attachment for jane, no matter at what cost. this last lucy caught from a peculiar look in the little old woman's eyes and a slightly scornful curve of the lower lip as she listened to jane's talk about the hospital, all of which was lost on "plain jane cobden," as the doctor's mother invariably called her sister behind her back. then the young mind-reader turned her attention to the house and grounds and the buildings lying above and before her, especially to the way the matted vines hung to the porches and clambered over the roof and dormers. later on she listened to mrs. cavendish's description of its age and ancestry: how it had come down to her from her grandfather, whose large estate was near trenton, where as a girl she had spent her life; how in those days it was but a small villa to which old nicholas erskine, her great-uncle, would bring his guests when the august days made trenton unbearable; and how in later years under the big trees back of the house and over the lawn--"you can see them from where you sit, my dear"--tea had been served to twenty or more of "the first gentlemen and ladies of the land." jane had heard it all a dozen times before, and so had every other visitor at rose cottage, but to lucy it was only confirmation of her latter-day opinion of her hostess. nothing, however, could be more gracious than the close attention which the young girl gave mrs. cavendish's every word when the talk was again directed to her, bending her pretty head and laughing at the right time--a courtesy which so charmed the dear lady that she insisted on giving first lucy, and then jane, a bunch of roses from her "own favorite bush" before the two girls took their leave. with these evidences of her delight made clear, lucy pushed rex from her side--he had become presuming and had left the imprint of his dusty paw upon her spotless frock--and with the remark that she had other visits to pay, her only regret being that this one was so short, she got up from her seat on the step, called meg, and stood waiting for jane with some slight impatience in her manner. jane immediately rose from her chair. she had been greatly pleaded at the impression lucy had made. her manner, her courtesy, her respect for the older woman, her humoring her whims, show her to be the daughter of a cobden. as to her own place during the visit, she had never given it a thought. she would always be willing to act as foil to her accomplished, brilliant sister if by so doing she could make other people love lucy the more. as they walked through the doctor's study, mrs. cavendish preceding them, jane lingered for a moment and gave a hurried glance about her. there stood his chair and his lounge where he had thrown himself so often when tired out. there, too, was the closet where he hung his coat and hat, and the desk covered with books and papers. a certain feeling of reverence not unmixed with curiosity took possession of her, as when one enters a sanctuary in the absence of the priest. for an instant she passed her hand gently over the leather back of the chair where his head rested, smoothing it with her fingers. then her eyes wandered over the room, noting each appointment in detail. suddenly a sense of injustice rose in her mind as she thought that nothing of beauty had ever been added to these plain surroundings; even the plants in the boxes by the windows looked half faded. with a quick glance at the open door she slipped a rose from the bunch in her hand, leaned over, and with the feeling of a devotee laying an offering on the altar, placed the flower hurried on the doctor's slate. then she joined mrs. cavendish. lucy walked slowly from the gate, her eyes every now and then turned to the sea. when she and jane had reached the cross-road that branched off toward the beach--it ran within sight of mrs. cavendish's windows--lucy said: "the afternoon is so lovely i'm not going to pay any more visits, sister. suppose i go to the beach and give meg a bath. you won't mind, will you? come, meg!" "oh, how happy you will make him!" cried jane. "but you are not dressed warm enough, dearie. you know how cool it gets toward evening. here, take my cloak. perhaps i'd better go with you--" "no, do you keep on home. i want to see if the little wretch will be contented with me alone. good-by," and without giving her sister time to protest, she called to meg, and with a wave of her hand, the red cloak flying from her shoulders, ran toward the beach, meg bounding after her. jane waved back in answer, and kept her eyes on the graceful figure skipping along the road, her head and shoulders in silhouette against the blue sea, her white skirts brushing the yellow grass of the sand-dune. all the mother-love in her heart welled up in her breast. she was so proud of her, so much in love with her, so thankful for her! all these foolish love affairs and girl fancies would soon be over and bart and the others like him out of lucy's mind and heart. why worry about it? some great strong soul would come by and by and take this child in his arms and make a woman of her. some strong soul-- she stopped short in her walk and her thoughts went back to the red rose lying on the doctor's desk. "will he know?" she said to herself; "he loves flowers so, and i don't believe anybody ever puts one on his desk. poor fellow! how hard he works and how good he is to everybody! little tod would have died but for his tenderness." then, with a prayer in her heart and a new light in her eyes, she kept on her way. lucy, as she bounded along the edge of the bluff, meg scurrying after her, had never once lost sight of her sister's slender figure. when a turn in the road shut her from view, she crouched down behind a sand-dune, waited until she was sure jane would not change her mind and join her, and then folding the cloak over her arm, gathered up her skirts and ran with all her speed along the wet sand to the house of refuge. as she reached its side, bart holt stepped out into the afternoon light. "i thought you'd never come, darling," he said, catching her in his arms and kissing her. "i couldn't help it, sweetheart. i told sister i was going to see mrs. cavendish, and she was so delighted she said she would go, too." "where is she?" he interrupted, turning his head and looking anxiously up the beach. "gone home. oh, i fixed that. i was scared to death for a minute, but you trust me when i want to get off." "why didn't you let her take that beast of a dog with her? we don't want him," he rejoined, pointing to meg, who had come to a sudden standstill at the sight of bart. "why, you silly! that's how i got away. she thought i was going to give him a bath. how long have you been waiting, my precious?" her hand was on his shoulder now, her eyes raised to his. "oh, 'bout a year. it really seems like a year, luce" (his pet name for her), "when i'm waiting for you. i was sure something was up. wait till i open the door." the two turned toward the house. "why! can we get in? i thought fogarty, the fisherman, had the key," she asked, with a tone of pleasant surprise in her voice. "so he has," he laughed. "got it now hanging up behind his clock. i borrowed it yesterday and had one made just like it. i'm of age." this came with a sly wink, followed by a low laugh of triumph. lucy smiled. she liked his daring; she liked, too, his resources. when a thing was to be done, bart always found the way to do it. she waited until he had fitted the new bright key into the rusty lock, her hand in his. "now, come inside," he cried, swinging wide the big doors. "isn't it a jolly place?" he slipped his arm about her and drew her to him. "see, there's the stove with the kindling-wood all ready to light when anything comes ashore, and up on that shelf are life-preservers; and here's a table and some stools and a lantern--two of 'em; and there's the big life-boat, all ready to push out. good place to come sundays with some of the fellows, isn't it? play all night here, and not a soul would find you out," he chuckled as he pointed to the different things. "you didn't think, now, i was going to have a cubby-hole like this to hide you in where that old spot-cat martha can't be watching us, did you?" he added, drawing her toward him and again kissing her with a sudden intensity. lucy slipped from his arms and began examining everything with the greatest interest. she had never seen anything but the outside of the house before and she always wondered what it contained, and as a child had stood up on her toes and tried to peep in through the crack of the big door. when she had looked the boat all over and felt the oars, and wondered whether the fire could be lighted quick enough, and pictured in her mind the half-drowned people huddled around it in their sea-drenched clothes, she moved to the door. bart wanted her to sit down inside, but she refused. "no, come outside and lie on the sand. nobody comes along here," she insisted. "oh, see how beautiful the sea is! i love that green," and drawing jane's red cloak around her, she settled herself on the sand, bart throwing himself at her feet. the sun was now nearing the horizon, and its golden rays fell across their faces. away off on the sky-line trailed the smoke of an incoming steamer; nearer in idled a schooner bound in to barnegat inlet with every sail set. at their feet the surf rose sleepily under the gentle pressure of the incoming tide, its wavelets spreading themselves in widening circles as if bent on kissing the feet of the radiant girl. as they sat and talked, filled with the happiness of being alone, their eyes now on the sea and now looking into each other's, meg, who had amused himself by barking at the swooping gulls, chasing the sand-snipe and digging holes in the sand for imaginary muskrats, lifted his head and gave a short yelp. bart, annoyed by the sound, picked up a bit of driftwood and hurled it at him, missing him by a few inches. the narrowness of the escape silenced the dog and sent him to the rear with drooping tail and ears. bart should have minded meg's warning. a broad beach in the full glare of the setting sun, even when protected by a house of refuge, is a poor place to be alone in. a woman was passing along the edge of the bluffs, carrying a basket in one hand and a green umbrella in the other; a tall, thin, angular woman, with the eye of a ferret. it was ann gossaway's day for visiting the sick, and she had just left fogarty's cabin, where little tod, with his throat tied up in red flannel, had tried on her mitts and played with her spectacles. miss gossaway had heard meg's bark and had been accorded a full view of lucy's back covered by jane's red cloak, with bart sitting beside her, their shoulders touching. lovers with their heads together interested the gossip no longer, except as a topic to talk about. such trifles had these many years passed out of the dress-maker's life. so miss gossaway, busy with her own thoughts, kept on her way unnoticed by either lucy or bart. when she reached the cross-road she met doctor john driving in. he tightened the reins on the sorrel and stopped. "lovely afternoon, miss gossaway. where are you from--looking at the sunset?" "no, i ain't got no time for spoonin'. i might be if i was miss jane and bart holt. just see 'em a spell ago squattin' down behind the house o' refuge. she wouldn't look at me. i been to fogarty's; she's on my list this week, and it's my day for visitin', fust in two weeks. that two-year-old of hers is all right ag'in after your sewing him up; they'll never get over tellin' how you set up all night with him. you ought to hear mrs. fogarty go on--'oh, the goodness of him!'" and she mimicked the good woman's dialect. "'if tod'd been his own child he couldn't a-done more for him.' that's the way she talks. i heard, doctor, ye never left him till daylight. you're a wonder." the doctor touched his hat and drove on. miss gossaway's sharp, rasping voice and incisive manner of speaking grated upon him. he liked neither her tone nor the way in which she spoke of the mistress of yardley. no one else dared as much. if jane was really on the beach and with bart, she had some good purpose in her mind. it may have been her day for visiting, and bart, perhaps, had accompanied her. but why had miss gossaway not met miss cobden at fogarty's, his being the only cabin that far down the beach? then his face brightened. perhaps, after all, it was lucy whom she had seen. he had placed that same red cloak around her shoulders the night of the reception at yardley--and when she was with bart, too. mrs. cavendish was sitting by her window when the doctor entered his own house. she rose, and putting down her book, advanced to meet him. "you should have come earlier, john," she said with a laugh; "such a charming girl and so pretty and gracious. why, i was quite overcome. she is very different from her sister. what do you think miss jane wants to do now? nurse in the new hospital when it is built! pretty position for a lady, isn't it?" "any position she would fill would gain by her presence," said the doctor gravely. "have they been gone long?" he asked, changing the subject. he never discussed jane cobden with his mother if he could help it. "oh, yes, some time. lucy must have kept on home, for i saw miss jane going toward the beach alone." "are you sure, mother?" there was a note of anxiety in his voice. "yes, certainly. she had that red cloak of hers with her and that miserable little dog; that's how i know. she must be going to stay late. you look tired, my son; have you had a hard day?" added she, kissing him on the cheek. "yes, perhaps i am a little tired, but i'll be all right. have you looked at the slate lately? i'll go myself," and he turned and entered his office. on the slate lay the rose. he picked it up and held it to his nose in a preoccupied way. "one of mother's," he said listlessly, laying it back among his papers. "she so seldom does that sort of thing. funny that she should have given it to me to-day; and after miss jane's visit, too." then he shut the office door, threw himself into his chair, and buried his face in his hands. he was still there when his mother called him to supper. when lucy reached home it was nearly dark. she came alone, leaving bart at the entrance to the village. at her suggestion they had avoided the main road and had crossed the marsh by the foot-path, the dog bounding on ahead and springing at the nurse, who stood in the gate awaiting lucy's return. "why, he's as dry as a bone!" martha cried, stroking meg's rough hair with her plump hand. "he didn't get much of a bath, did he?" "no, i couldn't get him into the water. every time i got my hand on him he'd dart away again." "anybody on the beach, darlin'?" "not a soul except meg and the sandsnipe." chapter v captain nat's decision when martha, with meg at her heels, passed ann gossaway's cottage the next morning on her way to the post-office--her daily custom--the dressmaker, who was sitting in the window, one eye on her needle and the other on the street, craned her head clear of the calico curtain framing the sash and beckoned to her. this perch of ann gossaway's was the eyrie from which she swept the village street, bordered with a double row of wide-spreading elms and fringed with sloping grassy banks spaced at short intervals by hitching-posts and horse-blocks. her own cottage stood somewhat nearer the flagged street path than the others, and as the garden fences were low and her lookout flanked by two windows, one on each end of her corner, she could not only note what went on about the fronts of her neighbors' houses, but much of what took place in their back yards. from this angle, too, she could see quite easily, and without more than twisting her attenuated neck, the whole village street from the cromartins' gate to the spire of the village church, as well as everything that passed up and down the shadow-flecked road: which child, for instance, was late for school, and how often, and what it wore and whether its clothes were new or inherited from an elder sister; who came to the bronsons' next door, and how long they stayed, and whether they brought anything with them or carried anything away; the peddler with his pack; the gunner on his way to the marshes, his two dogs following at his heels in a leash; dr. john cavendish's gig, and whether it was about to stop at uncle ephraim tipple's or keep on, as usual, and whirl into the open gate of cobden manor; billy tatham's passenger list, as the ricketty stage passed with the side curtains up, and the number of trunks and bags, and the size of them, all indicative of where they were bound and for how long; details of village life--no one of which concerned her in the least--being matters of profound interest to miss gossaway. these several discoveries she shared daily with a faded old mother who sat huddled up in a rocking-chair by the stove, winter and summer, whether it had any fire in it or not. uncle ephraim tipple, in his outspoken way, always referred to these two gossips as the "spiders." "when the thin one has sucked the life out of you," he would say with a laugh, "she passes you on to her old mother, who sits doubled up inside the web, and when she gets done munching there isn't anything left but your hide and bones." it was but one of uncle ephraim's jokes. the mother was only a forlorn, half-alive old woman who dozed in her chair by the hour--the relict of a fisherman who had gone to sea in his yawl some twenty years before and who had never come back. the daughter, with the courage of youth, had then stepped into the gap and had alone made the fight for bread. gradually, as the years went by the roses in her cheeks--never too fresh at any time--had begun to fade, her face and figure to shrink, and her brow to tighten. at last, embittered by her responsibilities and disappointments, she had lost faith in human kind and had become a shrew. since then her tongue had swept on as relentlessly as a scythe, sparing neither flower nor noxious weed, a movement which it was wise, sometimes, to check. when, therefore, martha, with meg now bounding before her, caught sight of ann gossaway's beckoning hand thrust out of the low window of her cottage--the spider-web referred to by uncle ephraim--she halted in her walk, lingered a moment as if undecided, expressed her opinion of the dressmaker to meg in an undertone, and swinging open the gate with its ball and chain, made her way over the grass-plot and stood outside the window, level with the sill. "well, it ain't none of my business, of course, martha sands," miss gossaway began, "and that's just what i said to mother when i come home, but if i was some folks i'd see my company in my parlor, long as i had one, 'stead of hidin' down behind the house o' refuge. i said to mother soon's i got in, 'i'm goin' to tell martha sands fust minute i see her. she ain't got no idee how them girls of hers is carryin' on or she'd stop it.' that's what i said, didn't i, mother?" martha caught an inarticulate sound escaping from a figure muffled in a blanket shawl, but nothing else followed. "i thought fust it was you when i heard that draggle-tail dog of yours barkin', but it was only miss jane and bart holt." "down on the beach! when?" asked martha. she had not understood a word of miss gossaway's outburst. "why, yesterday afternoon, of course--didn't i tell ye so? i'd been down to fogarty's; it's my week. miss jane and bart didn't see me--didn't want to. might a' been a pair of scissors, they was that close together." "miss jane warn't on the beach yesterday afternoon," said martha in a positive tone, still in the dark. "she warn't, warn't she? well, i guess i know miss jane cobden. she and bart was hunched up that close you couldn't get a bodkin 'tween 'em. she had that red cloak around her and the hood up ever her head. not know her, and she within ten feet o' me? well, i guess i got my eyes left, ain't i?" martha stood stunned. she knew now who it was. she had taken the red cloak from lucy's shoulders the evening before. then a cold chill crept over her as she remembered the lie lucy had told--"not a soul on the beach but meg and the sandsnipe." for an instant she stood without answering. but for the window-sill on which her hand rested she would have betrayed her emotion in the swaying of her body. she tried to collect her thoughts. to deny jane's identity too positively would only make the situation worse. if either one of the sisters were to be criticised jane could stand it best. "you got sharp eyes and ears, ann gossaway, nobody will deny you them, but still i don't think miss jane was on the beach yesterday." "don't think, don't you? maybe you think i can't tell a cloak from a bed blanket, never havin' made one, and maybe ye think i don't know my own clo'es when i see 'em on folks. i made that red cloak for miss jane two years ago, and i know every stitch in it. don't you try and teach ann gossaway how to cut and baste or you'll git worsted," and the gossip looked over her spectacles at martha and shook her side-curls in a threatening way. miss gossaway had no love for the old nurse. there had been a time when martha "weren't no better'n she oughter be, so everybody said," when she came to the village, and the dressmaker never let a chance slip to humiliate the old woman. martha's open denunciation of the dressmaker's vinegar tongue had only increased the outspoken dislike each had for the other. she saw now, to her delight, that the incident which had seemed to be only a bit of flotsam that had drifted to her shore and which but from martha's manner would have been forgotten by her the next day, might be a fragment detached from some floating family wreck. before she could press the matter to an explanation martha turned abruptly on her heel, called meg, and with the single remark, "well, i guess miss jane's of age," walked quickly across the grass-plot and out of the gate, the ball and chain closing it behind her with a clang. once on the street martha paused with her brain on fire. the lie which lucy had told frightened her. she knew why she had told it, and she knew, too, what harm would come to her bairn if that kind of gossip got abroad in the village. she was no longer the gentle, loving nurse with the soft caressing hand, but a woman of purpose. the sudden terror aroused in her heart had the effect of tightening her grip and bracing her shoulders as if the better to withstand some expected shock. she forgot meg; forgot her errand to the post-office; forgot everything, in fact, except the safety of the child she loved. that lucy had neglected and even avoided her of late, keeping out of her way even when she was in the house, and that she had received only cool indifference in place of loyal love, had greatly grieved her, but it had not lessened the idolatry with which she worshipped her bairn. hours at a time she had spent puzzling her brain trying to account for the change which had come over the girl during two short years of school. she had until now laid this change to her youth, her love of admiration, and had forgiven it. now she understood it; it was that boy bart. he had a way with him. he had even ingratiated himself into miss jane's confidence. and now this young girl had fallen a victim to his wiles. that lucy should lie to her, of all persons, and in so calm and self-possessed a manner; and about bart, of all men--sent a shudder through her heart, that paled her cheek and tightened her lips. once before she had consulted jane and had been rebuffed. now she would depend upon herself. retracing her steps and turning sharply to the right, she ordered meg home in a firm voice, watched the dog slink off and then walked straight down a side road to captain nat holt's house. that the captain occupied a different station in life from herself did not deter her. she felt at the moment that the honor of the cobden name lay in her keeping. the family had stood by her in her trouble; now she would stand by them. the captain sat on his front porch reading a newspaper. he was in his shirt-sleeves and bareheaded, his straight hair standing straight out like the bristles of a shoe-brush. since the death of his wife a few years before he had left the service, and now spent most of his days at home, tending his garden and enjoying his savings. he was a man of positive character and generally had his own way in everything. it was therefore with some astonishment that he heard martha say when she had mounted the porch steps and pushed open the front door, her breath almost gone in her hurried walk, "come inside." captain holt threw down his paper and rising hurriedly from his chair, followed her into the sitting-room. the manner of the nurse surprised him. he had known her for years, ever since his old friend, lucy's father, had died, and the tones of her voice, so different from her usual deferential air, filled him with apprehension. "ain't nobody sick, is there, martha?" "no, but there will be. are ye alone?" "yes." "then shut that door behind ye and sit down. i've got something to say." the grizzled, weather-beaten man who had made twenty voyages around cape horn, and who was known as a man of few words, and those always of command, closed the door upon them, drew down the shade on the sunny side of the room and faced her. he saw now that something of more than usual importance absorbed her. "now, what is it?" he asked. his manner had by this time regained something of the dictatorial tone he always showed those beneath him in authority. "it's about bart. you've got to send him away." she had not moved from her position in the middle of the room. the captain changed color and his voice lost its sharpness. "bart! what's he done now?" "he sneaks off with our lucy every chance he gets. they were on the beach yesterday hidin' behind the house o' refuge with their heads together. she had on miss jane's red cloak, and ann gossaway thought it was miss jane, and i let it go at that." the captain looked at martha incredulously for a moment, and then broke into a loud laugh as the absurdity of the whole thing burst upon him. then dropping back a step, he stood leaning against the old-fashioned sideboard, his elbows behind him, his large frame thrust toward her. "well, what if they were--ain't she pretty enough?" he burst out. "i told her she'd have 'em all crazy, and i hear bart ain't done nothin' but follow in her wake since he seen her launched." martha stepped closer to the captain and held her fist in his face. "he's got to stop it. do ye hear me?" she shouted. "if he don't there'll be trouble, for you and him and everybody. it's me that's crazy, not him." "stop it!" roared the captain, straightening up, the glasses on the sideboard ringing with his sudden lurch. "my boy keep away from the daughter of morton cobden, who was the best friend i ever had and to whom i owe more than any man who ever lived! and this is what you traipsed up here to tell me, is it, you mollycoddle?" again martha edged nearer; her body bent forward, her eyes searching his--so close that she could have touched his face with her knuckles. "hold your tongue and stop talkin' foolishness," she blazed out, the courage of a tigress fighting for her young in her eyes, the same bold ring in her voice. "i tell ye, captain holt, it's got to stop short off, and now! i know men; have known 'em to my misery. i know when they're honest and i know when they ain't, and so do you, if you would open your eyes. bart don't mean no good to my bairn. i see it in his face. i see it in the way he touches her hand and ties on her bonnet. i've watched him ever since the first night he laid eyes on her. he ain't a man with a heart in him; he's a sneak with a lie in his mouth. why don't he come round like any of the others and say where he's goin' and what he wants to do instead of peepin' round the gate-posts watchin' for her and sendin' her notes on the sly, and makin' her lie to me, her old nurse, who's done nothin' but love her? doctor john don't treat miss jane so--he loves her like a man ought to love a woman and he ain't got nothin' to hide--and you didn't treat your wife so. there's something here that tells me"--and she laid her hand on her bosom--"tells me more'n i dare tell ye. i warn ye now ag'in. send him to sea--anywhere, before it is too late. she ain't got no mother; she won't mind a word i say; miss jane is blind as a bat; out with him and now!" the captain straightened himself up, and with his clenched fist raised above his head like a hammer about to strike, cried: "if he harmed the daughter of morton cobden i'd kill him!" the words jumped hot from his throat with a slight hissing sound, his eyes still aflame. "well, then, stop it before it gets too late. i walk the floor nights and i'm scared to death every hour i live." then her voice broke. "please, captain, please," she added in a piteous tone. "don't mind me if i talk wild, my heart is breakin', and i can't hold in no longer," and she burst into a paroxysm of tears. the captain leaned against the sideboard again and looked down upon the floor as if in deep thought. martha's tears did not move him. the tears of few women did. he was only concerned in getting hold of some positive facts upon which he could base his judgment. "come, now," he said in an authoritative voice, "let me get that chair and set down and then i'll see what all this amounts to. sounds like a yarn of a horse-marine." as he spoke he crossed the room and, dragging a rocking-chair from its place beside the wall, settled himself in it. martha found a seat upon the sofa and turned her tear-stained face toward him. "now, what's these young people been doin' that makes ye so almighty narvous?" he continued, lying back in his chair and looking at her from under his bushy eyebrows, his fingers supporting his forehead. "everything. goes out sailin' with her and goes driftin' past with his head in her lap. fogarty's man who brings fish to the house told me." she had regained something of her old composure now. "anything else?" the captain's voice had a relieved, almost condescending tone in it. he had taken his thumb and forefinger from his eyebrow now and sat drumming with his stiffened knuckles on the arm of the rocker. "yes, a heap more--ain't that enough along with the other things i've told ye?" martha's eyes were beginning to blaze again. "no, that's just as it ought to be. boys and girls will be boys and girls the world over." the tone of the captain's voice indicated the condition of his mind. he had at last arrived at a conclusion. martha's head was muddled because of her inordinate and unnatural love for the child she had nursed. she had found a spookship in a fog bank, that was all. jealousy might be at the bottom of it or a certain nervous fussiness. whatever it was it was too trivial for him to waste his time over. the captain rose from his chair, crossed the sitting-room, and opened the door leading to the porch, letting in the sunshine. martha followed close at his heels. "you're runnin' on a wrong tack, old woman, and first thing ye know ye'll be in the breakers," he said, with his hand on the knob. "ease off a little and don't be too hard on 'em. they'll make harbor all right. you're makin' more fuss than a hen over one chicken. miss jane knows what she's about. she's got a level head, and when she tells me that my bart ain't good enough to ship alongside the daughter of morton cobden, i'll sign papers for him somewhere else, and not before. i'll have to get you to excuse me now; i'm busy. good-day," and picking up his paper, he re-entered the house and closed the door upon her. chapter vi a game of cards should miss gossaway have been sitting at her lookout some weeks after martha's interview with captain nat holt, and should she have watched the movements of doctor john's gig as it rounded into the open gate of cobden manor, she must have decided that something out of the common was either happening or about to happen inside yardley's hospitable doors. not only was the sorrel trotting at her best, the doctor flapping the lines along her brown back, his body swaying from side to side with the motion of the light vehicle, but as he passed her house he was also consulting the contents of a small envelope which he had taken from his pocket. "please come early," it read. "i have something important to talk over with you." a note of this character signed with so adorable a name as "jane cobden" was so rare in the doctor's experience that he had at once given up his round of morning visits and, springing into his waiting gig, had started to answer it in person. he was alive with expectancy. what could she want with him except to talk over some subject that they had left unfinished? as he hurried on there came into his mind half a dozen matters, any one of which it would have been a delight to revive. he knew from the way she worded the note that nothing had occurred since he had seen her--within the week, in fact--to cause her either annoyance or suffering. no; it was only to continue one of their confidential talks, which were the joy of his life. jane was waiting for him in the morning-room. her face lighted up as he entered and took her hand, and immediately relaxed again into an expression of anxiety. all his eagerness vanished. he saw with a sinking of the heart, even before she had time to speak, that something outside of his own affairs, or hers, had caused her to write the note. "i came at once," he said, keeping her hand in his. "you look troubled; what has happened?" "nothing yet," she answered, leading him to the sofa, "it is about lucy. she wants to go away for the winter." "where to?" he asked. he had placed a cushion at her back and had settled himself beside her. "to trenton, to visit her friend miss collins and study music. she says warehold bores her." "and you don't want her to go?" "no; i don't fancy miss collins, and i am afraid she has too strong an influence over lucy. her personality grates on me; she is so boisterous, and she laughs so loud; and the views she holds are unaccountable to me in so young a girl. she seems to have had no home training whatever. why lucy likes her, and why she should have selected her as an intimate friend, has always puzzled me." she spoke with her usual frankness and with that directness which always characterized her in matters of this kind. "i had no one else to talk to and am very miserable about it all. you don't mind my sending for you, do you?" "mind! why do you ask such a question? i am never so happy as when i am serving you." that she should send for him at all was happiness. not sickness this time, nor some question of investment, nor the repair of the barn or gate or out-buildings--but lucy, who lay nearest her heart! that was even better than he had expected. "tell me all about it, so i can get it right," he continued in a straightforward tone--the tone of the physician, not the lover. she had relied on him, and he intended to give her the best counsel of which he was capable. the lover could wait. "well, she received a letter a week ago from miss collins, saying she had come to trenton for the winter and had taken some rooms in a house belonging to her aunt, who would live with her. she wants to be within reach of the same music-teacher who taught the girls at miss parkham's school. she says if lucy will come it will reduce the expenses and they can both have the benefit of the tuition. at first lucy did not want to go at all, now she insists, and, strange to say, martha encourages her." "martha wants her to leave?" he asked in surprise. "she says so." the doctor's face assumed a puzzled expression. he could account for lucy's wanting the freedom and novelty of the change, but that martha should be willing to part with her bairn for the winter mystified him. he knew nothing of the flirtation, of course, and its effect on the old nurse, and could not, therefore, understand martha's delight in lucy's and bart's separation. "you will be very lonely," he said, and a certain tender tone developed in his voice. "yes, dreadfully so, but i would not mind if i thought it was for her good. but i don't think so. i may be wrong, and in the uncertainty i wanted to talk it over with you. i get so desolate sometimes. i never seemed to miss my father so much as now. perhaps it is because lucy's babyhood and childhood are over and she is entering upon womanhood with all the dangers it brings. and she frightens me so sometimes," she continued after a slight pause. "she is different; more self-willed, more self-centred. besides, her touch has altered. she doesn't seem to love me as she did--not in the same way." "but she could never do anything else but love you," he interrupted quickly, speaking for himself as well as lucy, his voice vibrating under his emotions. it was all he could do to keep his hands from her own; her sending for him alone restrained him. "i know that, but it is not in the old way. it used to be 'sister, darling, don't tire yourself,' or 'sister, dear, let me go upstairs for you,' or 'cuddle close here, and let us talk it all out together.' there is no more of that. she goes her own way, and when i chide her laughs and leaves me alone until i make some new advance. help me, please, and with all the wisdom you can give me; i have no one else in whom i can trust, no one who is big enough to know what should be done. i might have talked to mr. dellenbaugh about it, but he is away." "no; talk it all out to me," he said simply. "i so want to help you"--his whole heart was going out to her in her distress. "i know you feel sorry for me." she withdrew her hand gently so as not to hurt him; she too did not want to be misunderstood--having sent for him. "i know how sincere your friendship is for me, but put all that aside. don't let your sympathy for me cloud your judgment. what shall i do with lucy? answer me as if you were her father and mine," and she looked straight into his eyes. the doctor tightened the muscles of his throat, closed his teeth, and summoned all his resolution. if he could only tell her what was in his heart how much easier it would all be! for some moments he sat perfectly still, then he answered slowly--as her man of business would have done: "i should let her go." "why do you say so?" "because she will find out in that way sooner than in any other how to appreciate you and her home. living in two rooms and studying music will not suit lucy. when the novelty wears off she will long for her home, and when she comes back it will be with a better appreciation of its comforts. let her go, and make her going as happy as you can." and so jane gave her consent--it is doubtful whether lucy would have waited for it once her mind was made up--and in a week she was off, doctor john taking her himself as far as the junction, and seeing her safe on the road to trenton. martha was evidently delighted at the change, for the old nurse's face was wreathed in smiles that last morning as they all stood out by the gate while billy tatham loaded lucy's trunks and boxes. only once did a frown cross her face, and that was when lucy leaned over and whispering something in bart's ear, slipped a small scrap of paper between his fingers. bart crunched it tight and slid his hand carelessly into his pocket, but the gesture did not deceive the nurse: it haunted her for days thereafter. as the weeks flew by and the letters from trenton told of the happenings in maria's home, it became more and more evident to jane that the doctor's advice had been the wisest and best. lucy would often devote a page or more of her letters to recalling the comforts of her own room at yardley, so different from what she was enduring at trenton, and longing for them to come again. parts of these letters jane read to the doctor, and all of them to martha, who received them with varying comment. it became evident, too, that neither the excitement of bart's letters, nor the visits of the occasional school friends who called upon them both, nor the pursuit of her new accomplishment, had satisfied the girl. jane was not surprised, therefore, remembering the doctor's almost prophetic words, to learn of the arrival of a letter from lucy begging martha to come to her at once for a day or two. the letter was enclosed in one to bart and was handed to the nurse by that young man in person. as he did so he remarked meaningly that miss lucy wanted martha's visit to be kept a secret from everybody but miss jane, "just as a surprise," but martha answered in a positive tone that she had no secrets from those who had a right to know them, and that he could write lucy she was coming next day, and that jane and everybody else who might inquire would know of it before she started. she rather liked bart's receiving the letter. as long as that young man kept away from trenton and confined himself to warehold, where she could keep her eyes on him, she was content. to jane martha said: "oh, bless the darlin'! she can't do a day longer without her martha. i'll go in the mornin'. it's a little pettin' she wants--that's all." so the old nurse bade meg good-by, pinned her big gray shawl about her, tied on her bonnet, took a little basket with some delicacies and a pot of jelly, and like a true mother hubbard, started off, while jane, having persuaded herself that perhaps "the surprise" was meant for her, and that she might be welcoming two exiles instead of one the following night, began to put lucy's room in order and to lay out the many pretty things she loved, especially the new dressing-gown she had made for her, lined with blue silk--her favorite color. all that day and evening, and far into the next afternoon, jane went about the house with the refrain of an old song welling up into her heart--one that had been stifled for months. the thought of the round-about way in which lucy had sent for martha did not dull its melody. that ruse, she knew, came from the foolish pride of youth, the pride that could not meet defeat. underneath it she detected, with a thrill, the love of home; this, after all, was what her sister could not do without. it was not bart this time. that affair, as she had predicted and had repeatedly told martha, had worn itself out and had been replaced by her love of music. she had simply come to herself once more and would again be her old-time sister and her child. then, too--and this sent another wave of delight tingling through her--it had all been the doctor's doing! but for his advice she would never have let lucy go. half a dozen times, although the november afternoon was raw and chilly, with the wind fresh from the sea and the sky dull, she was out on the front porch without shawl or hat, looking down the path, covered now with dead leaves, and scanning closely every team that passed the gate, only to return again to her place by the fire, more impatient than ever. meg's quick ear first caught the grating of the wheels. jane followed him with a cry of joyous expectation, and flew to the door to meet the stage, which for some reason--why, she could not tell--had stopped for a moment outside the gate, dropping only one passenger, and that one the nurse. "and lucy did not come, martha!" jane exclaimed, with almost a sob in her voice. she had reached her side now, followed by meg, who was springing straight at the nurse in the joy of his welcome. the old woman glanced back at the stage, as if afraid of being overheard, and muttered under her breath: "no, she couldn't come." "oh, i am so disappointed! why not?" martha did not answer. she seemed to have lost her breath. jane put her arm about her and led her up the path. once she stumbled, her step was so unsteady, and she would have fallen but for jane's assistance. the two had now reached the hand-railing of the porch. here martha's trembling foot began to feel about for the step. jane caught her in her arms. "you're ill, martha!" she cried in alarm. "give me the bag. what's the matter?" again martha did not answer. "tell me what it is." "upstairs! upstairs!" martha gasped in reply. "quick!" "what has happened?" "not here; upstairs." they climbed the staircase together, jane half carrying the fainting woman, her mind in a whirl. "where were you taken ill? why did you try to come home? why didn't lucy come with you?" they had reached the door of jane's bedroom now, martha clinging to her arm. once inside, the nurse leaned panting against the door, put her bands to her face as if she would shut out some dreadful spectre, and sank slowly to the floor. "it is not me," she moaned, wringing her hands, "not me--not--" "who?" "oh, i can't say it!" "lucy?" "yes" "not ill?" "no; worse!" "oh, martha! not dead?" "o god, i wish she were!" an hour passed--an hour of agony, of humiliation and despair. again the door opened and jane stepped out--slowly, as if in pain, her lips tight drawn, her face ghastly white, the thin cheeks sunken into deeper hollows, the eyes burning. only the mouth preserved its lines, but firmer, more rigid, more severe, as if tightened by the strength of some great resolve. in her hand she held a letter. martha lay on the bed, her face to the wall, her head still in her palms. she had ceased sobbing and was quite still, as if exhausted. jane leaned over the banisters, called to one of the servants, and dropping the letter to the floor below, said: "take that to captain holt's. when he comes bring him upstairs here into my sitting-room." before the servant could reply there came a knock at the front door. jane knew its sound--it was doctor john's. leaning far over, grasping the top rail of the banisters to steady herself, she said to the servant in a low, restrained voice: "if that is dr. cavendish, please say to him that martha is just home from trenton, greatly fatigued, and i beg him to excuse me. when the doctor has driven away, you can take the letter." she kept her grasp on the hand-rail until she heard the tones of his voice through the open hall door and caught the note of sorrow that tinged them. "oh, i'm so sorry! poor martha!" she heard him say. "she is getting too old to go about alone. please tell miss jane she must not hesitate to send for me if i can be of the slightest service." then she re-entered the room where martha lay and closed the door. another and louder knock now broke the stillness of the chamber and checked the sobs of the nurse; captain holt had met jane's servant as he was passing the gate. he stopped for an instant in the hall, slipped off his coat, and walked straight upstairs, humming a tune as he came. jane heard his firm tread, opened the door of their room, and she and martha crossed the hall to a smaller apartment where jane always attended to the business affairs of the house. the captain's face was wreathed in a broad smile as he extended his hand to jane in welcome. "it's lucky ye caught me, miss jane. i was just goin' out, and in a minute i'd been gone for the night. hello, mother martha! i thought you'd gone to trenton." the two women made no reply to his cheery salutation, except to motion him to a seat. then jane closed the door and turned the key in the lock. when the captain emerged from the chamber he stepped out alone. his color was gone, his eyes flashing, his jaw tight set. about his mouth there hovered a savage, almost brutal look, the look of a bulldog who bares his teeth before he tears and strangles--a look his men knew when someone of them purposely disobeyed his orders. for a moment he stood as if dazed. all he remembered clearly was the white, drawn face of a woman gazing at him with staring, tear-drenched eyes, the slow dropping of words that blistered as they fell, and the figure of the nurse wringing her hands and moaning: "oh, i told ye so! i told ye so! why didn't ye listen?" with it came the pain of some sudden blow that deadened his brain and stilled his heart. with a strong effort, like one throwing off a stupor, he raised his head, braced his shoulders, and strode firmly along the corridor and down the stairs on his way to the front door. catching up his coat, he threw it about him, pulled his hat on, with a jerk, slamming the front door, plunged along through the dry leaves that covered the path, and so on out to the main road. once beyond the gate he hesitated, looked up and down, turned to the right and then to the left, as if in doubt, and lunged forward in the direction of the tavern. it was sunday night, and the lounging room was full. one of the inmates rose and offered him a chair--he was much respected in the village, especially among the rougher class, some of whom had sailed with him--but he only waved his hand in thanks. "i don't want to sit down; i'm looking for bart. has he been here?" the sound came as if from between closed teeth. "not as i know of, cap'n," answered the landlord; "not since sundown, nohow." "do any of you know where he is?" the look in the captain's eyes and the sharp, cutting tones of his voice began to be noticed. "do ye want him bad?" asked a man tilted back in a chair against the wall. "yes." "well, i kin tell ye where to find him," "where?" "down on the beach in the refuge shanty. he and the boys have a deck there sunday nights. been at it all fall--thought ye knowed it." out into the night again, and without a word of thanks, down the road and across the causeway to the hard beach, drenched with the ceaseless thrash of the rising sea. he followed no path, picked out no road. stumbling along in the half-gloom of the twilight, he could make out the heads of the sand-dunes, bearded with yellow grass blown flat against their cheeks. soon he reached the prow of the old wreck with its shattered timbers and the water-holes left by the tide. these he avoided, but the smaller objects he trampled upon and over as he strode on, without caring where he stepped or how often he stumbled. outlined against the sand-hills, bleached white under the dull light, he looked like some evil presence bent on mischief, so direct and forceful was his unceasing, persistent stride. when the house of refuge loomed up against the gray froth of the surf he stopped and drew breath. bending forward, he scanned the beach ahead, shading his eyes with his hand as he would have done on his own ship in a fog. he could make out now some streaks of yellow light showing through the cracks one above the other along the side of the house and a dull patch of red. he knew what it meant. bart and his fellows were inside, and were using one of the ship lanterns to see by. this settled in his mind, the captain strode on, but at a slower pace. he had found his bearings, and would steer with caution. hugging the dunes closer, he approached the house from the rear. the big door was shut and a bit of matting had been tacked over the one window to deaden the light. this was why the patch of red was dull. he stood now so near the outside planking that he could hear the laughter and talk of those within. by this time the wind had risen to half a gale and the moan on the outer bar could be heard in the intervals of the pounding surf. the captain crept under the eaves of the roof and listened. he wanted to be sure of bart's voice before he acted. at this instant a sudden gust of wind burst in the big door, extinguishing the light of the lantern, and bart's voice rang out: "stay where you are, boys! don't touch the cards. i know the door, and can fix it; it's only the bolt that's slipped." as bart passed out into the gloom the captain darted forward, seized him with a grip of steel, dragged him clear of the door, and up the sand-dunes out of hearing. then he flung him loose and stood facing the cowering boy. "now stand back and keep away from me, for i'm afraid i'll kill you!" "what have i done?" cringed bart, shielding his face with his elbow as if to ward off a blow. the suddenness of the attack had stunned him. "don't ask me, you whelp, or i'll strangle you. look at me! that's what you been up to, is it?" bart straightened himself, and made some show of resistance. his breath was coming back to him. "i haven't done anything--and if i did--" "you lie! martha's back from trenton and lucy told her. you never thought of me. you never thought of that sister of hers whose heart you've broke, nor of the old woman who nursed her like a mother. you thought of nobody but your stinkin' self. you're not a man! you're a cur! a dog! don't move! keep away from me, i tell ye, or i may lose hold of myself." bart was stretching out his hands now as if in supplication. he had never seen his father like this--the sight frightened him. "father, will you listen--" he pleaded. "i'll listen to nothin'--" "will you, please? it's not all my fault. she ought to have kept out of my way--" "stop! take that back! you'd blame her, would ye--a child just out of school, and as innocent as a baby? by god, you'll do right by her or you'll never set foot inside my house again!" bart faced his father again. "i want to tell you the whole story before you judge me. i want to--" "you'll tell me nothin'! will you act square with her?" "i must tell you first. you wouldn't understand unless--" "you won't? that's what you mean--you mean you won't! damn ye!" the captain raised his clenched fist, quivered for an instant as if struggling against something beyond his control, dropped it slowly to his side and whirling suddenly, strode back up the beach. bart staggered back against the planking, threw out his hand to keep from falling, and watched his father's uncertain, stumbling figure until he was swallowed up in the gloom. the words rang in his ears like a knell. the realization of his position and what it meant, and might mean, rushed over him. for an instant he leaned heavily against the planking until he had caught his breath. then, with quivering lips and shaking legs, he walked slowly back into the house, shutting the big door behind him. "boys," he said with a forced smile, "who do you think's been outside? my father! somebody told him, and he's just been giving me hell for playing cards on sunday." chapter vii the eyes of an old portrait before another sunday night had arrived warehold village was alive with two important pieces of news. the first was the disappearance of bart holt. captain nat, so the story ran, had caught him carousing in the house of refuge on sunday night with some of his boon companions, and after a stormy interview in which the boy pleaded for forgiveness, had driven him out into the night. bart had left town the next morning at daylight and had shipped as a common sailor on board a british bark bound for brazil. no one had seen him go--not even his companions of the night before. the second announcement was more startling. the cobden girls were going to paris. lucy cobden had developed an extraordinary talent for music during her short stay in trenton with her friend maria collins, and miss jane, with her customary unselfishness and devotion to her younger sister, had decided to go with her. they might be gone two years or five--it depended on lucy's success. martha would remain at yardley and take care of the old home. bart's banishment coming first served as a target for the fire of the gossip some days before jane's decision had reached the ears of the villagers. "i always knew he would come to no good end," miss gossaway called out to a passer-by from her eyrie; "and there's more like him if their fathers would look after 'em. guess sea's the best place for him." billy tatham, the stage-driver, did not altogether agree with the extremist. "you hearn tell, i s'pose, of how captain nat handled his boy t'other night, didn't ye?" he remarked to the passenger next to him on the front seat. "it might be the way they did things 'board the black ball line, but 'tain't human and decent, an' i told cap'n nat so to-day. shut his door in his face an' told him he'd kill him if he tried to come in, and all because he ketched him playin' cards on sunday down on the beach. bart warn't no worse than the others he run with, but ye can't tell what these old sea-dogs will do when they git riled. i guess it was the rum more'n the cards. them fellers used to drink a power o' rum in that shanty. i've seen 'em staggerin' home many a monday mornin' when i got down early to open up for my team. it's the rum that riled the cap'n, i guess. he wouldn't stand it aboard ship and used to put his men in irons, i've hearn tell, when they come aboard drunk. what gits me is that the cap'n didn't know them fellers met there every night they could git away, week-days as well as sundays. everybody 'round here knew it 'cept him and the light-keeper, and he's so durned lazy he never once dropped on to 'em. he'd git bounced if the gov'ment found out he was lettin' a gang run the house o' refuge whenever they felt like it. fogarty, the fisherman's, got the key, or oughter have it, but the light-keeper's responsible, so i hearn tell. git-up, billy," and the talk drifted into other channels. the incident was soon forgotten. one young man more or less did not make much difference in warehold. as to captain nat, he was known to be a scrupulously honest, exact man who knew no law outside of his duty. he probably did it for the boy's good, although everybody agreed that he could have accomplished his purpose in some more merciful way. the other sensation--the departure of the two cobden girls, and their possible prolonged stay abroad--did not subside so easily. not only did the neighbors look upon the manor house as the show-place of the village, but the girls themselves were greatly beloved, jane being especially idolized from warehold to barnegat and the sea. to lose jane's presence among them was a positive calamity entailing a sorrow that most of her neighbors could not bring themselves to face. no one could take her place. pastor dellenbaugh, when he heard the news, sank into his study chair and threw up his hands as if to ward off some blow. "miss jane going abroad!" he cried; "and you say nobody knows when she will come back! i can't realize it! we might as well close the school; no one else in the village can keep it together." the cromartins and the others all expressed similar opinions, the younger ladies' sorrow being aggravated when they realized that with lucy away there would be no one to lead in their merrymakings. martha held her peace; she would stay at home, she told mrs. dellenbaugh, and wait for their return and look after the place. her heart was broken with the loneliness that would come, she moaned, but what was best for her bairn she was willing to bear. it didn't make much difference either way; she wasn't long for this world. the doctor's mother heard the news with ill-concealed satisfaction. "a most extraordinary thing has occurred here, my dear," she said to one of her philadelphia friends who was visiting her--she was too politic to talk openly to the neighbors. "you have, of course, met that miss cobden who lives at yardley--not the pretty one--the plain one. well, she is the most quixotic creature in the world. only a few weeks ago she wanted to become a nurse in the public hospital here, and now she proposes to close her house and go abroad for nobody knows how long, simply because her younger sister wants to study music, as if a school-girl couldn't get all the instruction of that kind here that is necessary. really, i never heard of such a thing." to mrs. benson, a neighbor, she said, behind her hand and in strict confidence: "miss cobden is morbidly conscientious over trifles. a fine woman, one of the very finest we have, but a little too strait-laced, and, if i must say it, somewhat commonplace, especially for a woman of her birth and education." to herself she said: "never while i live shall jane cobden marry my john! she can never help any man's career. she has neither the worldly knowledge, nor the personal presence, nor the money." jane gave but one answer to all inquiries--and there were many. "yes, i know the move is a sudden one," she would say, "but it is for lucy's good, and there is no one to go with her but me." no one saw beneath the mask that hid her breaking heart. to them the drawn face and the weary look in her eyes only showed her grief at leaving home and those who loved her: to mrs. cavendish it seemed part of jane's peculiar temperament. nor could they watch her in the silence of the night tossing on her bed, or closeted with martha in her search for the initial steps that had led to this horror. had the philadelphia school undermined her own sisterly teachings or had her companions been at fault? perhaps it was due to the blood of some long-forgotten ancestor, which in the cycle of years had cropped out in this generation, poisoning the fountain of her youth. bart, she realized, had played the villain and the ingrate, but yet it was also true that bart, and all his class, would have been powerless before a woman of a different temperament. who, then, had undermined this citadel and given it over to plunder and disgrace? then with merciless exactness she searched her own heart. had it been her fault? what safeguard had she herself neglected? wherein had she been false to her trust and her promise to her dying father? what could she have done to avert it? these ever-haunting, ever-recurring doubts maddened her. one thing she was determined upon, cost what it might--to protect her sister's name. no daughter of morton cobden's should be pointed at in scorn. for generations no stain of dishonor had tarnished the family name. this must be preserved, no matter who suffered. in this she was sustained by martha, her only confidante. doctor john heard the news from jane's lips before it was known to the villagers. he had come to inquire after martha. she met him at the porch entrance, and led him into the drawing-room, without a word of welcome. then shutting the door, she motioned him to a seat opposite her own on the sofa. the calm, determined way with which this was done--so unusual in one so cordial--startled him. he felt that something of momentous interest, and, judging from jane's face, of serious import, had happened. he invariably took his cue from her face, and his own spirits always rose or fell as the light in her eyes flashed or dimmed. "is there anything the matter?" he asked nervously. "martha worse?" "no, not that; martha is around again--it is about lucy and me." the voice did not sound like jane's. the doctor looked at her intently, but he did not speak. jane continued, her face now deathly pale, her words coming slowly. "you advised me some time ago about lucy's going to trenton, and i am glad i followed it. you thought it would strengthen her love for us all and teach her to love me the better. it has--so much so that hereafter we will never be separated. i hope now you will also approve of what i have just decided upon. lucy is going abroad to live, and i am going with her." as the words fell from her lips her eyes crept up to his face, watching the effect of her statement. it was a cold, almost brutal way of putting it, she knew, but she dared not trust herself with anything less formal. for a moment he sat perfectly still, the color gone from his cheeks, his eyes fixed on hers, a cold chill benumbing the roots of his hair. the suddenness of the announcement seemed to have stunned him. "for how long?" he asked in a halting voice. "i don't know. not less than two years; perhaps longer." "two years? is lucy ill?" "no; she wants to study music, and she couldn't go alone." "have you made up your mind to this?" he asked, in a more positive tone. his self-control was returning now. "yes." doctor john rose from his chair, paced the room slowly for a moment, and crossing to the fireplace with his back to jane, stood under her father's portrait, his elbows on the mantel, his head in his hand. interwoven with the pain which the announcement had given him was the sharper sorrow of her neglect of him. in forming her plans she had never once thought of her lifelong friend. "why did you not tell me something of this before?" the inquiry was not addressed to jane, but to the smouldering coals. "how have i ever failed you? what has my daily life been but an open book for you to read, and here you leave me for years, and never give me a thought." jane started in her seat. "forgive me, my dear friend!" she answered quickly in a voice full of tenderness. "i did not mean to hurt you. it is not that i love all my friends here the less--and you know how truly i appreciate your own friendship--but only that i love my sister more; and my duty is with her. i only decided last night. don't turn your back on me. come and sit by me, and talk to me," she pleaded, holding out her hand. "i need all your strength." as she spoke the tears started to her eyes and her voice sank almost to a whisper. the doctor lifted his head from his palm and walked quickly toward her. the suffering in her voice had robbed him of all resentment. "forgive me, i did not mean it. tell me," he said, in a sudden burst of tenderness--all feeling about himself had dropped away--"why must you go so soon? why not wait until spring?" he had taken his seat beside her now and sat looking into her eyes. "lucy wants to go at once," she replied, in a tone as if the matter did not admit of any discussion. "yes, i know. that's just like her. what she wants she can never wait a minute for, but she certainly would sacrifice some pleasure of her own to please you. if she was determined to be a musician it would be different, but it is only for her pleasure, and as an accomplishment." he spoke earnestly and impersonally, as he always did when she consulted him on any of her affairs, he was trying, too, to wipe from her mind all remembrance of his impatience. jane kept her eyes on the carpet for a moment, and then said quietly, and he thought in rather a hopeless tone: "it is best we go at once." the doctor looked at her searchingly--with the eye of a scientist, this time, probing for a hidden meaning. "then there is something else you have not told me; someone is annoying her, or there is someone with whom you are afraid she will fall in love. who is it? you know how i could help in a matter of that kind." "no; there is no one." doctor john leaned back thoughtfully and tapped the arm of the sofa with his fingers. he felt as if a door had been shut in his face. "i don't understand it," he said slowly, and in a baffled tone. "i have never known you to do a thing like this before. it is entirely unlike you. there is some mystery you are keeping from me. tell me, and let me help." "i can tell you nothing more. can't you trust me to do my duty in my own way?" she stole a look at him as she spoke and again lowered her eyelids. "and you are determined to go?" he asked in his former cross-examining tone. "yes." again the doctor kept silence. despite her assumed courage and determined air, his experienced eye caught beneath it all the shrinking helplessness of the woman. "then i, too, have reached a sudden resolve," he said in a manner almost professional in its precision. "you cannot and shall not go alone." "oh, but lucy and i can get along together," she exclaimed with nervous haste. "there is no one we could take but martha, and she is too old. besides she must look after the house while we are away." "no; martha will not do. no woman will do. i know paris and its life; it is not the place for two women to live in alone, especially so pretty and light-hearted a woman as lucy." "i am not afraid." "no, but i am," he answered in a softened voice, "very much afraid." it was no longer the physician who spoke, but the friend. "of what?" "of a dozen things you do not understand, and cannot until you encounter them," he replied, smoothing her hand tenderly. "yes, but it cannot be helped. there is no one to go with us." this came with some positiveness, yet with a note of impatience in her voice. "yes, there is," he answered gently. "who?" she asked slowly, withdrawing her hand from his caress, an undefined fear rising in her mind. "me. i will go with you." jane looked at him with widening eyes. she knew now. she had caught his meaning in the tones of his voice before he had expressed it, and had tried to think of some way to ward off what she saw was coming, but she was swept helplessly on. "let us go together, jane," he burst out, drawing closer to her. all reserve was gone. the words which had pressed so long for utterance could no longer be held back. "i cannot live here alone without you. you know it, and have always known it. i love you so--don't let us live apart any more. if you must go, go as my wife." a thrill of joy ran through her. her lips quivered. she wanted to cry out, to put her arms around his neck, to tell him everything in her heart. then came a quick, sharp pain that stifled every other thought. for the first time the real bitterness of the situation confronted her. this phase of it she had not counted upon. she shrank back a little. "don't ask me that!" she moaned in a tone almost of pain. "i can stand anything now but that. not now--not now!" her hand was still under his, her fingers lying limp, all the pathos of her suffering in her face: determination to do her duty, horror over the situation, and above them all her overwhelming love for him. he put his arm about her shoulders and drew her to him. "you love me, jane, don't you?" "yes, more than all else in the world," she answered simply. "too well"--and her voice broke--"to have you give up your career for me or mine." "then why should we live apart? i am willing to do as much for lucy as you would. let me share the care and responsibility. you needn't, perhaps, be gone more than a year, and then we will all come back together, and i take up my work again. i need you, my beloved. nothing that i do seems of any use without you. you are my great, strong light, and have always been since the first day i loved you. let me help bear these burdens. you have carried them so long alone." his face lay against hers now, her hand still clasped tight in his. for an instant she did not answer or move; then she straightened a little and lifted her cheek from his. "john," she said--it was the first time in all her life she had called him thus--"you wouldn't love me if i should consent. you have work to do here and i now have work to do on the other side. we cannot work together; we must work apart. your heart is speaking, and i love you for it, but we must not think of it now. it may come right some time--god only knows! my duty is plain--i must go with lucy. neither you nor my dead father would love me if i did differently." "i only know that i love you and that you love me and nothing else should count," he pleaded impatiently. "nothing else shall count. there is nothing you could do would make me love you less. you are practical and wise about all your plans. why has this whim of lucy's taken hold of you as it has? and it is only a whim; lucy will want something else in six months. oh, i cannot--cannot let you go. i'm so desolate without you--my whole life is yours--everything i do is for you. o jane, my beloved, don't shut me out of your life! i will not let you go without me!" his voice vibrated with a certain indignation, as if he had been unjustly treated. she raised one hand and laid it on his forehead, smoothing his brow as a mother would that of a child. the other still lay in his. "don't, john," she moaned, in a half-piteous tone. "don't! don't talk so! i can only bear comforting words to-day. i am too wretched--too utterly broken and miserable. please! please, john!" he dropped her hand and leaning forward put both of his own to his head. he knew how strong was her will and how futile would be his efforts to change her mind unless her conscience agreed. "i won't," he answered, as a strong man answers who is baffled. "i did not mean to be impatient or exacting." then he raised his head and looked steadily into her eyes. "what would you have me do, then?" "wait." "but you give me no promise." "no, i cannot--not now. i am like one staggering along, following a dim light that leads hither and thither, and which may any moment go out and leave me in utter darkness." "then there is something you have not told me?" "o john! can't you trust me?" "and yet you love me?" "as my life, john." when he had gone and she had closed the door upon him, she went back to the sofa where the two had sat together, and with her hands clasped tight above her head, sank down upon its cushions. the tears came like rain now, bitter, blinding tears that she could not check. "i have hurt him," she moaned. "he is so good, and strong, and helpful. he never thinks of himself; it is always of me--me, who can do nothing. the tears were in his eyes--i saw them. oh, i've hurt him--hurt him! and yet, dear god, thou knowest i could not help it." maddened with the pain of it all she sprang up, determined to go to him and tell him everything. to throw herself into his arms and beg forgiveness for her cruelty and crave the protection of his strength. then her gaze fell upon her father's portrait! the cold, steadfast eyes were looking down upon her as if they could read her very soul. "no! no!" she sobbed, putting her hands over her eyes as if to shut out some spectre she had not the courage to face. "it must not be--it cannot be," and she sank back exhausted. when the paroxysm was over she rose to her feet, dried her eyes, smoothed her hair with both hands, and then, with lips tight pressed and faltering steps, walked upstairs to where martha was getting lucy's things ready for the coming journey. crossing the room, she stood with her elbows on the mantel, her cheeks tight pressed between her palms, her eyes on the embers. martha moved from the open trunk and stood behind her. "it was doctor john, wasn't it?" she asked in a broken voice that told of her suffering. "yes," moaned jane from between her hands. "and ye told him about your goin'?" "yes, martha." her frame was shaking with her sobs. "and about lucy?" "no, i could not." martha leaned forward and laid her hand on jane's shoulder. "poor lassie!" she said, patting it softly. "poor lassie! that was the hardest part. he's big and strong and could 'a' comforted ye. my heart aches for ye both!" chapter viii an arrival with the departure of jane and lucy the old homestead took on that desolate, abandoned look which comes to most homes when all the life and joyousness have gone from them. weeds grew in the roadway between the lilacs, dandelions flaunted themselves over the grass-plots; the shutters of the porch side of the house were closed, and the main gate always thrown wide day and night in ungoverned welcome, was seldom opened except to a few intimate friends of the old nurse. at first pastor dellenbaugh had been considerate enough to mount the long path to inquire for news of the travelers and to see how martha was getting along, but after the receipt of the earlier letters from jane telling of their safe arrival and their sojourn in a little village but a short distance out of paris, convenient to the great city, even his visits ceased. captain holt never darkened the door; nor did he ever willingly stop to talk to martha when he met her on the road. she felt the slight, and avoided him when she could. this resulted in their seldom speaking to each other, and then only in the most casual way. she fancied he might think she wanted news of bart, and so gave him no opportunity to discuss him or his whereabouts; but she was mistaken. the captain never mentioned his name to friend or stranger. to him the boy was dead for all time. nor had anyone of his companions heard from him since that stormy night on the beach. doctor john's struggle had lasted for months, but he had come through it chastened and determined. for the first few days he went about his work as one in a dream, his mind on the woman he loved, his hand mechanically doing its duty. jane had so woven herself into his life that her sudden departure had been like the upwrenching of a plant, tearing out the fibres twisted about his heart, cutting off all his sustenance and strength. the inconsistencies of her conduct especially troubled him. if she loved him--and she had told him that she did, and with their cheeks touching--how could she leave him in order to indulge a mere whim of her sister's? and if she loved him well enough to tell him so, why had she refused to plight him her troth? such a course was unnatural, and out of his own and everyone else's experience. women who loved men with a great, strong, healthy love, the love he could give her, and the love he knew she could give him, never permitted such trifles to come between them and their life's happiness. what, he asked himself a thousand times, had brought this change? as the months went by these doubts and speculations one by one passed out of his mind, and only the image of the woman he adored, with all her qualities--loyalty to her trust, tenderness over lucy and unquestioned love for himself--rose clear. no, he would believe in her to the end! she was still all he had in life. if she would not be his wife she should be his friend. that happiness was worth all else to him in the world. his was not to criticise, but to help. help as she wanted it; preserving her standard of personal honor, her devotion to her ideals, her loyalty, her blind obedience to her trust. mrs. cavendish had seen the change in her son's demeanor and had watched him closely through his varying moods, but though she divined their cause she had not sought to probe his secret. his greatest comfort was in his visits to martha. he always dropped in to see her when he made his rounds in the neighborhood; sometimes every day, sometimes once a week, depending on his patients and their condition--visits which were always prolonged when a letter came from either of the girls, for at first lucy wrote to the old nurse as often as did jane. apart from this the doctor loved the patient caretaker, both for her loyalty and for her gentleness. and she loved him in return; clinging to him as an older woman clings to a strong man, following his advice (he never gave orders) to the minutest detail when something in the management or care of house or grounds exceeded her grasp. consulting him, too, and this at jane's special request--regarding any financial complications which needed prompt attention, and which, but for his services, might have required jane's immediate return to disentangle. she loved, too, to talk of lucy and of miss jane's goodness to her bairn, saying she had been both a sister and a mother to her, to which the doctor would invariably add some tribute of his own which only bound the friendship the closer. his main relief, however, lay in his work, and in this he became each day more engrossed. he seemed never to be out of his gig unless at the bedside of some patient. so long and wearing had the routes become--often beyond barnegat and as far as westfield--that the sorrel gave out, and he was obliged to add another horse to his stable. his patients saw the weary look in his eyes--as of one who had often looked on sorrow--and thought it was the hard work and anxiety over them that had caused it. but the old nurse knew better. "his heart's breakin' for love of her," she would say to meg, looking down into his sleepy eyes--she cuddled him more than ever these days--"and i don't wonder. god knows how it'll all end." jane wrote to him but seldom; only half a dozen letters in all during the first year of her absence among them one to tell him of their safe arrival, another to thank him for his kindness to martha, and a third to acknowledge the receipt of a letter of introduction to a student friend of his who was now a prominent physician in paris, and who might be useful in case either of them fell ill. he had written to his friend at the same time, giving the address of the two girls, but the physician had answered that he had called at the street and number, but no one knew of them. the doctor reported this to jane in his next letter, asking her to write to his friend so that he might know of their whereabouts should they need his services, for which jane, in a subsequent letter, thanked him, but made no mention of sending to his friend should occasion require. these subsequent letters said very little about their plans and carefully avoided all reference to their daily life or to lucy's advancement in her studies, and never once set any time for their coming home. he wondered at her neglect of him, and when no answer came to his continued letters, except at long intervals, he could contain himself no longer, and laid the whole matter before martha. "she means nothing, doctor, dear," she had answered, taking his hand and looking up into his troubled face. "her heart is all right; she's goin' through deep waters, bein' away from everybody she loves--you most of all. don't worry; keep on lovin' her, ye'll never have cause to repent it." that same night martha wrote to jane, giving her every detail of the interview, and in due course of time handed the doctor a letter in which jane wrote: "he must not stop writing to me; his letters are all the comfort i have"--a line not intended for the doctor's eyes, but which the good soul could not keep from him, so eager was she to relieve his pain. jane's letter to him in answer to his own expressing his unhappiness over her neglect was less direct, but none the less comforting to him. "i am constantly moving about," the letter ran, "and have much to do and cannot always answer your letters, so please do not expect them too often. but i am always thinking of you and your kindness to dear martha. you do for me when you do for her." after this it became a settled habit between them, he writing by the weekly steamer, telling her every thought of his life, and she replying at long intervals. in these no word of love was spoken on her side; nor was any reference made to their last interview. but this fact did not cool the warmth of his affection nor weaken his faith. she had told him she loved him, and with her own lips. that was enough--enough from a woman like jane. he would lose faith when she denied it in the same way. in the meantime she was his very breath and being. one morning two years after jane's departure, while the doctor and his mother sat at breakfast, mrs. cavendish filling the tea-cups, the spring sunshine lighting up the snow-white cloth and polished silver, the mail arrived and two letters were laid at their respective plates, one for the doctor and the other for his mother. as doctor john glanced at the handwriting his face flushed, and his eyes danced with pleasure. with eager, trembling fingers he broke the seal and ran his eyes hungrily over the contents. it had been his habit to turn to the bottom of the last page before he read the preceding ones, so that he might see the signature and note the final words of affection or friendship, such as "ever your friend," or "affectionately yours," or simply "your friend," written above jane's name. these were to him the thermometric readings of the warmth of her heart. half way down the first page--before he had time to turn the leaf--he caught his breath in an effort to smother a sudden outburst of joy. then with a supreme effort he regained his self-control and read the letter to the end. (he rarely mentioned jane's name to his mother, and he did not want his delight over the contents of the letter to be made the basis of comment.) mrs. cavendish's outburst over the contents of her own envelope broke the silence and relieved his tension. "oh, how fortunate!" she exclaimed. "listen, john; now i really have good news for you. you remember i told you that i met old dr. pencoyd the last time i was in philadelphia, and had a long talk with him. i told him how you were buried here and how hard you worked and how anxious i was that you should leave barnegat, and he promised to write to me, and he has. here's his letter. he says he is getting too old to continue his practice alone, that his assistant has fallen ill, and that if you will come to him at once he will take you into partnership and give you half his practice. i always knew something good would come out of my last visit to philadelphia. aren't you delighted, my son?" "yes, perfectly overjoyed," answered the doctor, laughing. he was more than delighted--brimming over with happiness, in fact--but not over his mother's news; it was the letter held tight in his grasp that was sending electric thrills through him. "a fine old fellow is dr. pencoyd--known him for years," he continued; "i attended his lectures before i went abroad. lives in a musty old house on chestnut street, stuffed full of family portraits and old mahogany furniture, and not a comfortable chair or sofa in the place; wears yellow nankeen waist-coats, takes snuff, and carries a fob. oh, yes, same old fellow. very kind of him, mother, but wouldn't you rather have the sunlight dance in upon you as it does here and catch a glimpse of the sea through the window than to look across at your neighbors' back walls and white marble steps?" it was across that same sea that jane was coming, and the sunshine would come with her! "yes; but, john, surely you are not going to refuse this without looking into it?" she argued, eyeing him through her gold-rimmed glasses. "go and see him, and then you can judge. it's his practice you want, not his house." "no; that's just what i don't want. i've got too much practice now. somehow i can't keep my people well. no, mother, dear, don't bother your dear head over the old doctor and his wants. write him that i am most grateful, but that the fact is i need an assistant myself, and if he will be good enough to send someone down here, i'll keep him busy every hour of the day and night. then, again," he continued, a more serious tone in his voice, "i couldn't possibly leave here now, even if i wished to, which i do not." mrs. cavendish eyed him intently. she had expected just such a refusal nothing that she ever planned for his advancement did he agree to. "why not?" she asked, with some impatience. "the new hospital is about finished, and i am going to take charge of it." "do they pay you for it?" she continued, in an incisive tone. "no, i don't think they will, nor can. it's not, that kind of a hospital," answered the doctor gravely. "and you will look after these people just as you do after fogarty and the branscombs, and everybody else up and down the shore, and never take a penny in pay!" she retorted with some indignation. "i am afraid i will, mother. a disappointing son, am i not? but there's no one to blame but yourself, old lady," and with a laugh he rose from his seat, jane's letter in his hand, and kissed his mother on the cheek. "but, john, dear," she exclaimed in a pleading petulance as she looked into his face, still holding on to the sleeve of his coat to detain him the longer, "just think of this letter of pencoyd's; nothing has ever been offered you better than this. he has the very best people in philadelphia on his list, and you would get--" the doctor slipped his hand under his mother's chin, as he would have done to a child, and said with a twinkle in his eye--he was very happy this morning: "that's precisely my case--i've got the very best people in three counties on my list. that's much better than the old doctor." "who are they, pray?" she was softening under her son's caress. "well, let me think. there's the distinguished mr. tatham, who attends to the transportation of the cities of warehold and barnegat; and the right honorable mr. tipple, and mrs. and miss gossaway, renowned for their toilets--" mrs. cavendish bit her lip. when her son was in one of these moods it was all she could do to keep her temper. "and the wonderful mrs. malmsley, and--" mrs. cavendish looked up. the name had an aristocratic sound, but it was unknown to her. "who is she?" "why, don't you know the wonderful mrs. malmsley?" inquired the doctor, with a quizzical smile. "no, i never heard of her." "well, she's just moved into warehold. poor woman, she hasn't been out of bed for years! she's the wife of the new butcher, and--" "the butcher's wife?" "the butcher's wife, my dear mother, a most delightful old person, who has brought up three sons, and each one a credit to her." mrs. cavendish let go her hold on the doctor's sleeve and settled back in her chair. "and you won't even write to dr. pencoyd?" she asked in a disheartened way, as if she knew he would refuse. "oh, with pleasure, and thank him most kindly, but i couldn't leave barnegat; not now. not at any time, so far as i can see." "and i suppose when jane cobden comes home in a year or so she will work with you in the hospital. she wanted to turn nurse the last time i talked to her." this special arrow in her maternal quiver, poisoned with her jealousy, was always ready. "i hope so," he replied, with a smile that lighted up his whole face; "only it will not be a year. miss jane will be here on the next steamer." mrs. cavendish put down her tea-cup and looked at her son in astonishment. the doctor still kept his eyes on her face. "be here by the next steamer! how do you know?" the doctor held up the letter. "lucy will remain," he added. "she is going to germany to continue her studies." "and jane is coming home alone?" "no, she brings a little child with her, the son of a friend, she writes. she asks that i arrange to have martha meet them at the dock." "somebody, i suppose, she has picked up out of the streets. she is always doing these wild, unpractical things. whose child is it?" "she doesn't say, but i quite agree with you that it was helpless, or she wouldn't have protected it." "why don't lucy come with her?" the doctor shrugged his shoulders. "and i suppose you will go to the ship to meet her?" the doctor drew himself up, clicked his heels together with the air of an officer saluting his superior--really to hide his joy--and said with mock gravity, his hand on his heart: "i shall, most honorable mother, be the first to take her ladyship's hand as she walks down the gangplank." then he added, with a tone of mild reproof in his voice: "what a funny, queer old mother you are! always worrying yourself over the unimportant and the impossible," and stooping down, he kissed her again on the cheek and passed out of the room on the way to his office. "that woman always comes up at the wrong moment," mrs. cavendish said to herself in a bitter tone. "i knew he had received some word from her, i saw it in his face. he would have gone to philadelphia but for jane cobden." chapter ix the spread of fire the doctor kept his word. his hand was the first that touched jane's when she came down the gangplank, martha beside him, holding out her arms for the child, cuddling it to her bosom, wrapping her shawl about it as if to protect it from the gaze of the inquisitive. "o doctor! it was so good of you!" were jane's first words. it hurt her to call him thus, but she wanted to establish the new relation clearly. she had shouldered her cross and must bear its weight alone and in her own way. "you don't know what it is to see a face from home! i am so glad to get here. but you should not have left your people; i wrote martha and told her so. all i wanted you to do was to have her meet me here. thank you, dear friend, for coming." she had not let go his hand, clinging to him as a timid woman in crossing a narrow bridge spanning an abyss clings to the strong arm of a man. he helped her to the dock as tenderly as if she had been a child; asking her if the voyage had been a rough one, whether she had been ill in her berth, and whether she had taken care of the baby herself, and why she had brought no nurse with her. she saw his meaning, but she did not explain her weakness or offer any explanation of the cause of her appearance or of the absence of a nurse. in a moment she changed the subject, asking after his mother and his own work, and seemed interested in what he told her about the neighbors. when the joy of hearing her voice and of looking into her dear face once more had passed, his skilled eyes probed the deeper. he noted with a sinking at the heart the dark circles under the drooping lids, the drawn, pallid skin and telltale furrows that had cut their way deep into her cheeks. her eyes, too, had lost their lustre, and her step lacked the spring and vigor of her old self. the diagnosis alarmed him. even the mould of her face, so distinguished, and to him so beautiful, had undergone a change; whether through illness, or because of some mental anguish, he could not decide. when he pressed his inquiries about lucy she answered with a half-stifled sigh that lucy had decided to remain abroad for a year longer; adding that it had been a great relief to her, and that at first she had thought of remaining with her, but that their affairs, as he knew, had become so involved at home that she feared their means of living might be jeopardized if she did not return at once. the child, however, would be a comfort to both martha and herself until lucy came. then she added in a constrained voice: "its mother would not, or could not care for it, and so i brought it with me." once at home and the little waif safely tucked away in the crib that had sheltered lucy in the old days, the neighbors began to flock in; uncle ephraim among the first. "my, but i'm glad you're back!" he burst out. "martha's been lonelier than a cat in a garret, and down at our house we ain't much better. and so that bunch of roses is going to stay over there, is she, and set those frenchies crazy?" pastor dellenbaugh took both of jane's hands into his own and looking into her face, said: "ah, but we've missed you! there has been no standard, my dear miss jane, since you've been gone. i have felt it, and so has everyone in the church. it is good to have you once more with us." mrs. cavendish could hardly conceal her satisfaction, although she was careful what she said to her son. her hope was that the care of the child would so absorb jane that john would regain his freedom and be no longer subservient to miss cobden's whims. "and so lucy is to stay in paris?" she said, with one of her sweetest smiles. "she is so charming and innocent, that sweet sister of yours, my dear miss jane, and so sympathetic. i quite lost my heart to her. and to study music, too? a most noble accomplishment, my dear. my grandmother, who was an erskine, you know, played divinely on the harp, and many of my ancestors, especially the dagworthys, were accomplished musicians. your sister will look lovely bending over a harp. my grandmother had her portrait painted that way by peale, and it still hangs in the old house in trenton. and they tell me you have brought a little angel with you to bring up and share your loneliness? how pathetic, and how good of you!" the village women--they came in groups--asked dozens of questions before jane had had even time to shake each one by the hand. was lucy so in love with the life abroad that she would never come back? was she just as pretty as ever? what kind of bonnets were being worn? etc., etc. the child in martha's arms was, of course, the object of special attention. they all agreed that it was a healthy, hearty, and most beautiful baby; just the kind of a child one would want to adopt if one had any such extraordinary desires. this talk continued until they had gained the highway, when they also agreed--and this without a single dissenting voice--that in all the village jane cobden was the only woman conscientious enough to want to bring up somebody else's child, and a foreigner at that, when there were any quantity of babies up and down the shore that could be had for the asking. the little creature was, no doubt, helpless, and appealed to miss jane's sympathies, but why bring it home at all? were there not places enough in france where it could be brought up? etc., etc. this sort of gossip went on for days after jane's return, each dropper-in at tea-table or village gathering having some view of her own to express, the women doing most of the talking. the discussion thus begun by friends was soon taken up by the sewing societies and church gatherings, one member in good standing remarking loud enough to be heard by everybody: "as for me, i ain't never surprised at nothin' jane cobden does. she's queerer than dick's hat-band, and allus was, and i've knowed her ever since she used to toddle up to my house and i baked cookies for her. i've seen her many a time feed the dog with what i give her, just because she said he looked hungry, which there warn't a mite o' truth in, for there ain't nothin' goes hungry round my place, and never was. she's queer, i tell ye." "quite true, dear mrs. pokeberry," remarked pastor dellenbaugh in his gentlest tone--he had heard the discussion as he was passing through the room and had stopped to listen--"especially when mercy and kindness is to be shown. some poor little outcast, no doubt, with no one to take care of it, and so this grand woman brings it home to nurse and educate. i wish there were more jane cobdens in my parish. many of you talk good deeds, and justice, and christian spirit; here is a woman who puts them into practice." this statement having been made during the dispersal of a wednesday night meeting, and in the hearing of half the congregation, furnished the key to the mystery, and so for a time the child and its new-found mother ceased to be an active subject of discussion. ann gossaway, however, was not satisfied. the more she thought of the pastor's explanation the more she resented it as an affront to her intelligence. "if folks wants to pick up stray babies," she shouted to her old mother on her return home one night, "and bring 'em home to nuss, they oughter label 'em with some sort o' pedigree, and not keep the village a-guessin' as to who they is and where they come from. i don't believe a word of this outcast yarn. guess miss lucy is all right, and she knows enough to stay away when all this tomfoolery's goin' on. she doesn't want to come back to a child's nussery." to all of which her mother nodded her head, keeping it going like a toy mandarin long after the subject of discussion had been changed. little by little the scandal spread: by innuendoes; by the wise shakings of empty heads; by nods and winks; by the piecing out of incomplete tattle. for the spread of gossip is like the spread of fire: first a smouldering heat--some friction of ill-feeling, perhaps, over a secret sin that cannot be smothered, try as we may; next a hot, blistering tongue of flame creeping stealthily; then a burst of scorching candor and the roar that ends in ruin. sometimes the victim is saved by a dash of honest water--the outspoken word of some brave friend. more often those who should stamp out the burning brand stand idly by until the final collapse and then warm themselves at the blaze. here in warehold it began with some whispered talk: bart holt had disappeared; there was a woman in the case somewhere; bart's exile had not been entirely caused by his love of cards and drink. reference was also made to the fact that jane had gone abroad but a short time after bart's disappearance, and that knowing how fond she was of him, and how she had tried to reform him, the probability was that she had met him in paris. doubts having been expressed that no woman of jane cobden's position would go to any such lengths to oblige so young a fellow as bart holt, the details of their intimacy were passed from mouth to mouth, and when this was again scouted, reference was made to miss gossaway, who was supposed to know more than she was willing to tell. the dressmaker denied all responsibility for the story, but admitted that she had once seen them on the beach "settin' as close together as they could git, with the red cloak she had made for miss jane wound about 'em. "'twarn't none o' my business, and i told martha so, and 'tain't none o' my business now, but i'd rather die than tell a lie or scandalize anybody, and so if ye ask me if i saw 'em i'll have to tell ye i did. i don't believe, howsomever, that miss jane went away to oblige that good-for-nothin' or that she's ever laid eyes on him since. lucy is what took her. she's one o' them flyaways. i see that when she was home, and there warn't no peace up to the cobdens' house till they'd taken her somewheres where she could git all the runnin' round she wanted. as for the baby, there ain't nobody knows where miss jane picked that up, but there ain't no doubt but what she loves it same's if it was her own child. she's named it archie, after her grandfather, anyhow. that's what martha and she calls it. so they're not ashamed of it." when the fire had spent itself, only one spot remained unscorched: this was the parentage of little archie. that mystery still remained unsolved. those of her own class who knew jane intimately admired her kindness of heart and respected her silence; those who did not soon forgot the boy's existence. the tavern loungers, however, some of whom only knew the cobden girls by reputation, had theories of their own; theories which were communicated to other loungers around other tavern stoves, most of whom would not have known either of the ladies on the street. the fact that both women belonged to a social stratum far above them gave additional license to their tongues; they could never be called in question by anybody who overheard, and were therefore safe to discuss the situation at their will. condensed into illogical shape, the story was that jane had met a foreigner who had deserted her, leaving her to care for the child alone; that lucy had refused to come back to warehold, had taken what money was coming to her, and, like a sensible woman, had stayed away. that there was not the slightest foundation for this slander did not lessen its acceptance by a certain class; many claimed that it offered the only plausible solution to the mystery, and must, therefore, be true. it was not long before the echoes of these scandals reached martha's ears. the gossips dare not affront miss jane with their suspicions, but martha was different. if they could irritate her by speaking lightly of her mistress, she might give out some information which would solve the mystery. one night a servant of one of the neighbors stopped martha on the road and sent her flying home; not angry, but terrified. "they're beginnin' to talk," she broke out savagely, as she entered jane's room, her breath almost gone from her run to the house. "i laughed at it and said they dare not one of 'em say it to your face or mine, but they're beginnin' to talk." "is it about barton holt? have they heard anything from him?" asked jane. the fear of his return had always haunted her. "no, and they won't. he'll never come back here ag'in. the captain would kill him." "it isn't about lucy, then, is it?" cried jane, her color going. martha shook her head in answer to save her breath. "who, then?" cried jane, nervously. "not archie?" "yes, archie and you." "what do they say?" asked jane, her voice fallen to a whisper. "they say it's your child, and that ye're afraid to tell who the father is." jane caught at the chair for support and then sank slowly into her seat. "who says so?" she gasped. "nobody that you or i know; some of the beach-combers and hide-by-nights, i think, started it. pokeberry's girl told me; her brother works in the shipyard." jane sat looking at martha with staring eyes. "how dare they--" "they dare do anything, and we can't answer back. that's what's goin' to make it hard. it's nobody's business, but that don't satisfy 'em. i've been through it meself; i know how mean they can be." "they shall never know--not while i have life left in me," jane exclaimed firmly. "yes, but that won't keep 'em from lyin'." the two sat still for some minutes, martha gazing into vacancy, jane lying back in her chair, her eyes closed. one emotion after another coursed through her with lightning rapidity--indignation at the charge, horror at the thought that any of her friends might believe it, followed by a shivering fear that her father's good name, for all her care and suffering, might be smirched at last. suddenly there arose the tall image of doctor john, with his frank, tender face. what would he think of it, and how, if he questioned her, could she answer him? then there came to her that day of parting in paris. she remembered lucy's willingness to give up the child forever, and so cover up all traces of her sin, and her own immediate determination to risk everything for her sister's sake. as this last thought welled up in her mind and she recalled her father's dying command, her brow relaxed. come what might, she was doing her duty. this was her solace and her strength. "cruel, cruel people!" she said to martha, relaxing her hands. "how can they be so wicked? but i am glad it is i who must take the brunt of it all. if they would treat me so, who am innocent, what would they do to my poor lucy?" chapter x a late visitor these rumors never reached the doctor. no scandalmonger ever dared talk gossip to him. when he first began to practise among the people of warehold, and some garrulous old dame would seek to enrich his visit by tittle-tattle about her neighbors, she had never tried it a second time. doctor john of barnegat either received the news in silence or answered it with some pleasantry; even ann gossaway held her peace whenever the doctor had to be called in to prescribe for her oversensitive throat. he was aware that jane had laid herself open to criticism in bringing home a child about which she had made no explanation, but he never spoke of it nor allowed anyone to say so to him. he would have been much happier, of course, if she had given him her confidence in this as she had in many other matters affecting her life; but he accepted her silence as part of her whole attitude toward him. knowing her as he did, he was convinced that her sole incentive was one of loving kindness, both for the child and for the poor mother whose sin or whose poverty she was concealing. in this connection, he remembered how in one of her letters to martha she had told of the numberless waifs she had seen and how her heart ached for them; especially in the hospitals which she had visited and among the students. he recalled that he himself had had many similar experiences in his paris days, in which a woman like jane cobden would have been a veritable angel of mercy. mrs. cavendish's ears were more easily approached by the gossips of warehold and vicinity; then, again she was always curious over the inmates of the cobden house, and any little scraps of news, reliable or not, about either jane or her absent sister were eagerly listened to. finding it impossible to restrain herself any longer, she had seized the opportunity one evening when she and her son were sitting together in the salon, a rare occurrence for the doctor, and only possible when his patients were on the mend. "i'm sorry jane cobden was so foolish as to bring home that baby," she began. "why?" said the doctor, without lifting his eyes from the book he was reading. "oh, she lays herself open to criticism. it is, of course, but one of her eccentricities, but she owes something to her position and birth and should not invite unnecessary comment." "who criticises her?" asked the doctor, his eyes still on the pages. "oh, you can't tell; everybody is talking about it. some of the gossip is outrageous, some i could not even repeat." "i have no doubt of it," answered the doctor quietly. "all small places like warehold and barnegat need topics of conversation, and miss jane for the moment is furnishing one of them. they utilize you, dear mother, and me, and everybody else in the same way. but that is no reason why we should lend our ears or our tongues to spread and encourage it." "i quite agree with you, my son, and i told the person who told me how foolish and silly it was, but they will talk, no matter what you say to them." "what do they say?" asked the doctor, laying down his book and rising from his chair. "oh, all sorts of things. one rumor is that captain holt's son, barton, the one that quarrelled with his father and who went to sea, could tell something of the child, if he could be found." the doctor laughed. "he can be found," he answered. "i saw his father only last week, and he told me bart was in brazil. that is some thousand of miles from paris, but a little thing like that in geography doesn't seem to make much difference to some of our good people. why do you listen to such nonsense?" he added as he kissed her tenderly and, with a pat on her cheek, left the room for his study. his mother's talk had made but little impression upon him. gossip of this kind was always current when waifs like archie formed the topic; but it hurt nobody, he said to himself--nobody like jane. sitting under his study lamp looking up some complicated case, his books about him, jane's sad face came before him. "has she not had trouble enough," he said to himself, "parted from lucy and with her unsettled money affairs, without having to face these gnats whose sting she cannot ward off?" with this came the thought of his own helplessness to comfort her. he had taken her at her word that night before she left for paris, when she had refused to give him her promise and had told him to wait, and he was still ready to come at her call; loving her, watching ever her, absorbed in every detail of her daily life, and eager to grant her slightest wish, and yet he could not but see that she had, since her return, surrounded herself with a barrier which he could neither understand nor break down whenever he touched on their personal relations. had he loved her less he would, in justice to himself, have faced all her opposition and demanded an answer--yes or no--as to whether she would yield to his wishes. but his generous nature forbade any such stand and his reverence for her precluded any such mental attitude. lifting his eyes from his books and gazing dreamily into the space before him, he recalled, with a certain sinking of the heart, a conversation which had taken place between jane and himself a few days after her arrival--an interview which had made a deep impression upon him. the two, in the absence of martha--she had left the room for a moment--were standing beside the crib watching the child's breathing. seizing the opportunity, one he had watched for, he had told her how much he had missed her during the two years, and how much happier his life was now that he could touch her hand and listen to her voice. she had evaded his meaning, making answer that his pleasure, was nothing compared to her own when she thought how safe the baby would be in his hands; adding quickly that she could never thank him enough for remaining in barnegat and not leaving her helpless and without a "physician." the tone with which she pronounced the word had hurt him. he thought he detected a slight inflection, as if she were making a distinction between his skill as an expert and his love as a man, but he was not sure. still gazing into the shadows before him, his unread book in his hand, he recalled a later occasion when she appeared rather to shrink from him than to wish to be near him, speaking to him with downcast eyes and without the frank look in her face which was always his welcome. on this day she was more unstrung and more desolate than he had ever seen her. at length, emboldened by his intense desire to help, and putting aside every obstacle, he had taken her hand and had said with all his heart in his voice: "jane, you once told me you loved me. is it still true?" he remembered how at first she had not answered, and how after a moment she had slowly withdrawn her hand and had replied in a voice almost inarticulate, so great was her emotion. "yes, john, and always will be, but it can never go beyond that--never, never. don't ask many more questions. don't talk to me about it. not now, john--not now! don't hate me! let us be as we have always been--please, john! you would not refuse me if you knew." he had started forward to take her in his arms; to insist that now every obstacle was removed she should give him at once the lawful right to protect her, but she had shrunk back, the palms of her hands held out as barriers, and before he could reason with her martha had entered with something for little archie, and so the interview had come to an end. then, still absorbed in his thoughts, his eyes suddenly brightened and a certain joy trembled in his heart as he remembered that with all these misgivings and doubts there were other times--and their sum was in the ascendency--when she showed the same confidence in his judgement and the same readiness to take his advice; when the old light would once more flash in her eyes as she grasped his hand and the old sadness again shadow her face when his visits came to an end. with this he must be for a time content. these and a hundred other thoughts raced through doctor john's mind as he sat to-night in his study chair, the lamplight falling on his open books and thin, delicately modelled hands. once he rose from his seat and began pacing his study floor, his hands behind his back, his mind on jane, on her curious and incomprehensible moods, trying to solve them as he walked, trusting and leaning upon him one day and shrinking from him the next. baffled for the hundredth time in this mental search, he dropped again into his chair, and adjusting the lamp, pulled his books toward him to devote his mind to their contents. as the light flared up he caught the sound of a step upon the gravel outside, and then a heavy tread upon the porch. an instant later his knocker sounded. doctor cavendish gave a sigh--he had hoped to have one night at home--and rose to open the door. captain nat holt stood outside. his pea-jacket was buttoned close up under his chin, his hat drawn tight down over his forehead. his weather-beaten face, as the light fell upon it, looked cracked and drawn, with dark hollows under the eyes, which the shadows from the lamplight deepened. "it's late, i know, doctor," he said in a hoarse, strained voice; "ten o'clock, maybe, but i got somethin' to talk to ye about," and he strode into the room. "alone, are ye?" he continued, as he loosened his coat and laid his hat on the desk. "where's the good mother? home, is she?" "yes, she's inside," answered the doctor, pointing to the open door leading to the salon and grasping the captain's brawny hand in welcome. "why? do you want to see her?" "no, i don't want to see her; don't want to see nobody but you. she can't hear, can she? 'scuse me--i'll close this door." the doctor looked at him curiously. the captain seemed to be laboring under a nervous strain, unusual in one so stolid and self-possessed. the door closed, the captain moved back a cushion, dropped into a corner of the sofa, and sat looking at the doctor, with legs apart, his open palms resting on his knees. "i got bad news, doctor--awful bad news for everybody," as he spoke he reached into his pocket and produced a letter with a foreign postmark. "you remember my son bart, of course, don't ye, who left home some two years ago?" he went on. the doctor nodded. "well, he's dead." "your son bart dead!" cried the doctor, repeating his name in the surprise of the announcement. "how do you know?" "this letter came by to-day's mail. it's from the consul at rio. bart come in to see him dead broke and he helped him out. he'd run away from the ship and was goin' up into the mines to work, so the consul wrote me. he was in once after that and got a little money, and then he got down with yellow fever and they took him to the hospital, and he died in three days. there ain't no doubt about it. here's a list of the dead in the paper; you kin read his name plain as print." doctor john reached for the letter and newspaper clipping and turned them toward the lamp. the envelope was stamped "rio janeiro" and the letter bore the official heading of the consulate. "that's dreadful, dreadful news, captain," said the doctor in sympathetic tones. "poor boy! it's too bad. perhaps, however, there may be some mistake, after all. foreign hospital registers are not always reliable," added the doctor in a hopeful tone. "no, it's all true, or benham wouldn't write me what he has. i've known him for years. he knows me, too, and he don't go off half-cocked. i wrote him to look after bart and sent him some money and give him the name of the ship, and he watched for her and sent for him all right. i was pretty nigh crazy that night he left, and handled him, maybe, rougher'n i ou'ter, but i couldn't help it. there's some things i can't stand, and what he done was one of 'em. it all comes back to me now, but i'd do it ag'in." as he spoke the rough, hard sailor leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand. the news had evidently been a great shock to him. the doctor reached over and laid his hand on the captain's knee. "i'm very, very sorry, captain, for you and for bart; and the only son you have, is it not?" "yes, and the only child we ever had. that makes it worse. thank god, his mother's dead! all this would have broken her heart." for a moment the two men were silent, then the captain continued in a tone as if he were talking to himself, his eyes on the lamp: "but i couldn't have lived with him after that, and i told him so--not till he acted fair and square, like a man. i hoped he would some day, but that's over now." "we're none of us bad all the way through, captain," reasoned the doctor, "and don't you think of him in that way. he would have come to himself some day and been a comfort to you. i didn't know him as well as i might, and only as i met him at yardley, but he must have had a great many fine qualities or the cobdens wouldn't have liked him. miss jane used often to talk to me about him. she always believed in him. she will be greatly distressed over this news." "that's what brings me here. i want you to tell her, and not me. i'm afraid it'll git out and she'll hear it, and then she'll be worse off than she is now. maybe it's best to say nothin' 'bout it to nobody and let it go. there ain't no one but me to grieve for him, and they don't send no bodies home, not from rio, nor nowheres along that coast. maybe, too, it ain't the time to say it to her. i was up there last week to see the baby, and she looked thinner and paler than i ever see her. i didn't know what to do, so i says to myself, 'there's doctor john, he's at her house reg'lar and knows the ins and outs of her, and i'll go and tell him 'bout it and ask his advice.' i'd rather cut my hand off than hurt her, for if there's an angel on earth she's one. she shakes so when i mention bart's name and gits so flustered, that's why i dar'n't tell her. now he's dead there won't be nobody to do right by archie. i can't; i'm all muzzled up tight. she made me take an oath, same as she has you, and i ain't goin' to break it any more'n you would. the little feller'll have to git 'long best way he kin now." doctor john bent forward in his chair and looked at the captain curiously. his words convey no meaning to him. for an instant he thought that the shock of his son's death had unsettled the man's mind. "take an oath! what for?" "'bout archie and herself." "but i've taken no oath!" "well, perhaps it isn't your habit; it ain't some men's. i did." "what about?" it was the captain's turn now to look searchingly into his companion's face. the doctor's back was toward the lamp, throwing his face into shadow, but the captain could read its expression plainly. "you mean to tell me, doctor, you don't know what's goin' on up at yardley? you do, of course, but you won't say--that's like you doctors!" "yes, everything. but what has your son bart got to do with it?" "got to do with it! ain't jane cobden motherin' his child?" the doctor lunged forward in his seat, his eyes staring straight at the captain. had the old sailor struck him in the face he could not have been more astounded. "his child!" he cried savagely. "certainly! whose else is it? you knew, didn't ye?" the doctor settled back in his chair with the movement of an ox felled by a sudden blow. with the appalling news there rang in his ears the tones of his mother's voice retailing the gossip of the village. this, then, was what she could not repeat. after a moment he raised his head and asked in a low, firm voice: "did bart go to paris after he left here?" "no, of course not! went 'board the corsair bound for rio, and has been there ever since. i told you that before. there weren't no necessity for her to meet him in paris." the doctor sprang from his chair and with eyes biasing and fists tightly clenched, stood over the captain. "and you dare to sit there and tell me that miss jane cobden is that child's mother?" the captain struggled to his feet, his open hands held up to the doctor as if to ward off a blow. "miss jane! no, by god! no! are you crazy? sit down, sit down, i tell ye!" "who, then? speak!" "lucy! that's what i drove bart out for. mort cobden's daughter--mort, mind ye, that was a brother to me since i was a boy! jane that that child's mother! yes, all the mother poor archie's got! ask miss jane, she'll tell ye. tell ye how she sits and eats her heart out to save her sister that's too scared to come home. i want to cut my tongue out for tellin' ye, but i thought ye knew. martha told me you loved her and that she loved you, and i thought she'd told ye. jane cobden crooked! no more'n the angels are. now, will you tell her bart's dead, or shall i?" "i will tell her," answered the doctor firmly, "and to-night." chapter xi morton cobden's daughter the cold wind from the sea freighted with the raw mist churned by the breakers cut sharply against doctor john's cheeks as he sprang into his gig and dashed out of his gate toward yardley. under the shadow of the sombre pines, along the ribbon of a road, dull gray in the light of the stars, and out on the broader highway leading to warehold, the sharp click of the mare's hoofs striking the hard road echoed through the night. the neighbors recognized the tread and the speed, and uncle ephraim threw up a window to know whether it was a case of life or death, an accident, or both; but the doctor only nodded and sped on. it was life and death--life for the woman he loved, death for all who traduced her. the strange news that had dropped from the captain's lips did not affect him except as would the ending of any young life; neither was there any bitterness in his heart against the dead boy who had wrecked lucy's career and brought jane humiliation and despair. all he thought of was the injustice of jane's sufferings. added to this was an overpowering desire to reach her side before her misery should continue another moment; to fold her in his arms, stand between her and the world; help her to grapple with the horror which was slowly crushing out her life. that it was past her hour for retiring, and that there might be no one to answer his summons, made no difference to him. he must see her at all hazards before he closed his eyes. as he whirled into the open gates of yardley and peered from under the hood of the gig at the outlines of the old house, looming dimly through the avenue of bushes, he saw that the occupants were asleep; no lights shone from the upper windows and none burned in the hall below. this discovery checked to some extent the impetus with which he had flung himself into the night, his whole being absorbed and dominated by one idea. the cool wind, too, had begun to tell upon his nerves. he drew rein on the mare and stopped. for the first time since the captain's story had reached his ears his reason began to work. he was never an impetuous man; always a thoughtful and methodical one, and always overparticular in respecting the courtesies of life. he began suddenly to realize that this midnight visit was at variance with every act of his life. then his better judgment became aroused. was it right for him to wake jane and disturb the house at this hour, causing her, perhaps, a sleepless night, or should he wait until the morning, when he could break the news to her in a more gentle and less sensational way? while he sat thus wondering, undetermined whether to drive lightly out of the gate again or to push forward in the hope that someone would be awake, his mind unconsciously reverted to the figure of jane making her way with weary steps down the gangplank of the steamer, the two years of her suffering deep cut into every line of her face. he recalled the shock her appearance had given him, and his perplexity over the cause. he remembered her refusal to give him her promise, her begging him to wait, her unaccountable moods since her return. then lucy's face came before him, her whole career, in fact (in a flash, as a drowning man's life is pictured), from the first night after her return from school until he had bade her good-by to take the train for trenton. little scraps of talk sounded in his ears, and certain expressions about the corners of her eyes revealed themselves to his memory. he thought of her selfishness, of her love of pleasure, of her disregard of jane's wishes, of her recklessness. everything was clear now. "what a fool i have been!" he said to himself. "what a fool--fool! i ought to have known!" next the magnitude of the atonement, and the cruelty and cowardice of the woman who had put her sister into so false a position swept over him. then there arose, like the dawning of a light, the grand figure of the woman he loved, standing clear of all entanglements, a madonna among the saints, more precious than ever in the radiance of her own sacrifice. with this last vision his mind was made up. no, he would not wait a moment. once this terrible secret out of the way, jane would regain her old self and they two fight the world together. as he loosened the reins over the sorrel a light suddenly flashed from one of the upper windows disappeared for a moment, and reappeared again at one of the smaller openings near the front steps. he drew rein again. someone was moving about--who he did not know; perhaps jane, perhaps one of the servants. tying the lines to the dashboard, he sprang from the gig, tethered the mare to one of the lilac bushes, and walked briskly toward the house. as he neared the steps the door was opened and martha's voice rang clear: "meg, you rascal, come in, or shall i let ye stay out and freeze?" doctor john stepped upon the porch, the light of martha's candle falling on his face and figure. "it's i, martha, don't be frightened; it's late, i know, but i hoped miss jane would be up. has she gone to bed?" the old nurse started back. "lord, how ye skeered me! i don't know whether she's asleep or not. she's upstairs with archie, anyhow. i come out after this rapscallion that makes me look him up every night. i've talked to him till i'm sore, and he's promised me a dozen times, and here he is out ag'in. here! where are ye? in with ye, ye little beast!" the dog shrank past her and darted into the hall. "now, then, doctor, come in out of the cold." doctor john stepped softly inside and stood in the flare of the candle-light. he felt that he must give some reason for his appearance at this late hour, even if he did not see jane. it would be just as well, therefore, to tell martha of bart's death at once, and not let her hear it, as she was sure to do, from someone on the street. then again, he had kept few secrets from her where jane was concerned; she had helped him many times before, and her advice was always good. he knew that she was familiar with every detail of the captain's story, but he did not propose to discuss lucy's share in it with the old nurse. that he would reserve for jane's ears alone. "bring your candle into the sitting-room, martha; i have something to tell you," he said gravely, loosening the cape of his overcoat and laying his hat on the hall table. the nurse followed. the measured tones of the doctor's voice, so unlike his cheery greetings, especially to her, unnerved her. this, in connection with the suppressed excitement under which he seemed to labor and the late hour of his visit, at once convinced her that something serious had happened. "is there anything the matter?" she asked in a trembling voice. "yes." "is it about lucy? there ain't nothin' gone wrong with her, doctor dear, is there?" "no, it is not about lucy. it's about barton holt." "ye don't tell me! is he come back?" "no, nor never will. he's dead! "that villain dead! how do you know?" her face paled and her lips quivered, but she gave no other sign of the shock the news had been to her. "captain nat, his father, has just left my office. i promised i would tell miss jane to-night. he was too much broken up and too fearful of its effect upon her to do it himself. i drove fast, but perhaps i'm too late to see her." "well, ye could see her no doubt,--she could throw somethin' around her--but ye mustn't tell her that news. she's been downhearted all day and is tired out. bart's dead, is he?" she repeated with an effort at indifference. "well, that's too bad. i s'pose the captain's feelin' putty bad over it. where did he die?" "he died in rio janeiro of yellow fever," said the doctor slowly, wondering at the self-control of the woman. wondering, too, whether she was glad or sorry over the event, her face and manner showing no index to her feelings. "and will he be brought home to be buried?" she asked with a quick glance at the doctor's face. "no; they never bring them home with yellow fever." "and is that all ye come to tell her?" she was scrutinizing doctor john's face, her quick, nervous glances revealing both suspicion and fear. "i had some other matters to talk about, but if she has retired, perhaps i had better come to-morrow," answered the doctor in undecided tones, as he gazed abstractedly at the flickering candle. the old woman hesitated. she saw that the doctor knew more than he intended to tell her. her curiosity and her fear that some other complication had arisen--one which he was holding back--got the better of her judgment. if it was anything about her bairn, she could not wait until the morning. she had forgotten meg now. "well, maybe if ye break it to her easy-like she can stand it. i don't suppose she's gone to bed yet. her door was open on a crack when i come down, and she always shuts it 'fore she goes to sleep. i'll light a couple o' lamps so ye can see, and then i'll send her down to ye if she'll come. wait here, doctor, dear." the lamps lighted and martha gone, doctor john looked about the room, his glance resting on the sofa where he had so often sat with her; on the portrait of morton cobden, the captain's friend; on the work-basket filled with needlework that jane had left on a small table beside her chair, and upon the books her hands had touched. he thought he had never loved her so much as now. no one he had ever known or heard of had made so great a sacrifice. not for herself this immolation, but for a sister who had betrayed her confidence and who had repaid a life's devotion with unforgivable humiliation and disgrace. this was the woman whose heart he held. this was the woman he loved with every fibre of his being. but her sufferings were over now. he was ready to face the world and its malignity beside her. whatever sins her sister had committed, and however soiled were lucy's garments, jane's robes were as white as snow, he was glad he had yielded to the impulse and had come at once. the barrier between them once broken down and the terrible secret shared, her troubles would end. the whispering of her skirts on the stairs announced her coming before she entered the room. she had been sitting by archie's crib and had not waited to change her loose white gown, whose clinging folds accentuated her frail, delicate form. her hair had been caught up hastily and hung in a dark mass, concealing her small, pale ears and making her face all the whiter by contrast. "something alarming has brought you at this hour," she said, with a note of anxiety in her voice, walking rapidly toward him. "what can i do? who is ill?" doctor john sprang forward, held out both hands, and holding tight to her own, drew her close to him. "has martha told you?" he said tenderly. "no; only that you wanted me. i came as soon as i could." "it's about barton holt. his father has just left my office. i have very sad news for you. the poor boy--" jane loosened her hands from his and drew back. the doctor paused in his recital. "is he ill?" she inquired, a slight shiver running through her. "worse than ill! i'm afraid you'll never see him again." "you mean that he is dead? where?" "yes, dead, in rio. the letter arrived this morning." "and you came all the way up here to tell me this?" she asked, with an effort to hide her astonishment. her eyes dropped for a moment and her voice trembled. then she went on. "what does his father say?" "i have just left him. he is greatly shaken. he would not tell you himself, he said; he was afraid it might shock you too much, and asked me to come up. but it is not altogether that, jane. i have heard something to-night that has driven me half out of my mind. that you should suffer this way alone is torture to me. you cannot, you shall not live another day as you have! let me help!" instantly there flashed into her mind the story martha had brought in from the street. "he has heard it," she said to herself, "but he does not believe it, and he comes to comfort me. i cannot tell the truth without betraying lucy." she drew a step farther from him. "you refer to what the people about us call a mystery--that poor little child upstairs?" she said slowly, all her self-control in her voice. "you think it is a torture for me to care for this helpless baby? it is not a torture; it is a joy--all the joy i have now." she stood looking at him as she spoke with searching eyes, wondering with the ever-questioning doubt of those denied love's full expression. "but i know--" "you know nothing--nothing but what i have told you; and what i have told you is the truth. what i have not told you is mine to keep. you love me too well to probe it any further, i am sorry for the captain. he has an iron will and a rough exterior, but he has a warm heart underneath. if you see him before i do give him my deepest sympathy. now, my dear friend, i must go back to archie; he is restless and needs me. good-night," and she held out her hand and passed out of the room. she was gone before he could stop her. he started forward as her hand touched the door, but she closed it quickly behind her, as if to leave no doubt of her meaning. he saw that she had misunderstood him. he had intended to talk to her of archie's father, and of lucy, and she had supposed he had only come to comfort her about the village gossip. for some minutes he stood like one dazed. then a feeling of unspeakable reverence stole over him. not only was she determined to suffer alone and in silence, but she would guard her sister's secret at the cost of her own happiness. inside that sacred precinct he knew he could never enter; that wine-press she intended to tread alone. then a sudden indignation, followed by a contempt of his own weakness took possession of him. being the older and stronger nature, he should have compelled her to listen. the physician as well as the friend should have asserted himself. no woman could be well balanced who would push away the hand of a man held out to save her from ruin and misery. he would send martha for her again and insist upon her listening to him. he started for the door and stopped irresolute. a new light broke in upon his heart. it was not against himself and her own happiness that she had taken this stand, but to save her father's and her sister's name. he knew how strong was her devotion to her duty, how blind her love for lucy, how sacred she held the trust given to her by her dead father. no; she was neither obstinate nor quixotic. hers was the work of a martyr, not a fanatic. no one he had ever known or heard of had borne so great a cross or made so noble a sacrifice. it was like the deed of some grand old saint, the light of whose glory had shone down the ages. he was wrong, cruelly wrong. the only thing left for him to do was to wait. for what he could not tell. perhaps god in his mercy would one day find the way. martha's kindly voice as she opened the door awoke him from his revery. "did she take it bad?" she asked. "no," he replied aimlessly, without thinking of what he said. "she sent a message to the captain. i'll go now. no, please don't bring a light to the door. the mare's only a short way down the road." when the old nurse had shut the front door after him she put out the lamps and ascended the stairs. the other servants were in bed. jane's door was partly open. martha pushed it gently with her hand and stepped in. jane had thrown herself at full length on the bed and lay with her face buried in her hands. she was talking to herself and had not noticed martha's footsteps. "o god! what have i done that this should be sent to me?" martha heard her say between her sobs. "you would be big enough, my beloved, to bear it all for my sake; to take the stain and wear it; but i cannot hurt you--not you, not you, my great, strong, sweet soul. your heart aches for me and you would give me all you have, but i could not bear your name without telling you. you would forgive me, but i could never forgive myself. no, no, you shall stand unstained if god will give me strength!" martha walked softly to the bed and bent over jane's prostrate body. "it's me, dear. what did he say to break your heart?" jane slipped her arm about the old nurse's neck, drawing her closer, and without lifting her own head from the pillow talked on. "nothing, nothing. he came to comfort me, not to hurt me." "do ye think it's all true 'bout bart?" martha whispered. jane raised her body from the bed and rested her head on martha's shoulder. "yes, it's all true about bart," she answered in a stronger and more composed tone. "i have been expecting it. poor boy, he had nothing to live for, and his conscience must have given him no rest." "did the captain tell him about--" and martha pointed toward the bed of the sleeping child. she could never bring herself to mention lucy's name when speaking either of bart or archie. jane sat erect, brushed the tears from her eyes, smoothed her hair back from her temples, and said with something of her customary poise: "no, i don't think so. the captain gave me his word, and he will not break it. then, again, he will never discredit his own son. the doctor doesn't know, and there will be nobody to tell him. that's not what he came to tell me. it was about the stories you heard last week and which have only just reached his ears. that's all. he wanted to protect me from their annoyance, but i would not listen to him. there is trouble enough without bringing him into it. now go to bed, martha." as she spoke jane regained her feet, and crossing the room, settled into a chair by the boy's crib. long after martha had closed her own door for the night jane sat watching the sleeping child. one plump pink hand lay outside the cover; the other little crumpled rose-leaf was tucked under the cheek, the face half-hidden in a tangle of glossy curls, now spun-gold in the light of the shaded lamp. "poor little waif," she sighed, "poor little motherless, fatherless waif! why didn't you stay in heaven? this world has no place for you." then she rose wearily, picked up the light, carried it across the room to her desk, propped a book in front of it so that its rays would not fall upon the sleeping child, opened her portfolio, and sat down to write. when she had finished and had sealed her letter it was long past midnight. it was addressed to lucy in dresden, and contained a full account of all the doctor had told her of bart's death. chapter xii a letter from paris for the first year jane watched archie's growth and development with the care of a self-appointed nurse temporarily doing her duty by her charge. later on, as the fact became burned into her mind that lucy would never willingly return to warehold, she clung to him with that absorbing love and devotion which an unmarried woman often lavishes upon a child not her own. in his innocent eyes she saw the fulfilment of her promise to her father. he would grow to be a man of courage and strength, the stain upon his birth forgotten, doing honor to himself, to her, and to the name he bore. in him, too, she sought refuge from that other sorrow which was often greater than she could bear--the loss of the closer companionship of doctor john--a companionship which only a wife's place could gain for her. the true mother-love--the love which she had denied herself, a love which had been poured out upon lucy since her father's death--found its outlet, therefore, in little archie. under martha's watchful care the helpless infant grew to be a big, roly-poly boy, never out of her arms when she could avoid it. at five he had lost his golden curls and short skirts and strutted about in knee-trousers. at seven he had begun to roam the streets, picking up his acquaintances wherever he found them. chief among them was tod fogarty, the son of the fisherman, now a boy of ten, big for his age and bubbling over with health and merriment, and whose life doctor john had saved when he was a baby. tod had brought a basket of fish to yardley, and sneaking meg, who was then alive--he died the year after--had helped himself to part of the contents, and the skirmish over its recovery had resulted in a friendship which was to last the boys all their lives. the doctor believed in tod, and always spoke of his pluck and of his love for his mother, qualities which jane admired--but then technical class distinctions never troubled jane--every honest body was jane's friend, just as every honest body was doctor john's. the doctor loved archie with the love of an older brother; not altogether because he was jane's ward, but for the boy's own qualities--for his courage, for his laugh--particularly for his buoyancy. often, as he looked into the lad's eyes brimming with fun, he would wish that he himself had been born with the same kind of temperament. then again the boy satisfied to a certain extent the longing in his heart for home, wife, and child--a void which he knew now would never be filled. fate had decreed that he and the woman he loved should live apart--with this he must be content. not that his disappointments had soured him; only that this ever-present sorrow had added to the cares of his life, and in later years had taken much of the spring and joyousness out of him. this drew him all the closer to archie, and the lad soon became his constant companion; sitting beside him in his gig, waiting for him at the doors of the fishermen's huts, or in the cabins of the poor on the outskirts of barnegat and warehold. "there goes doctor john of barnegat and his curly-head," the neighbors would say; "when ye see one ye see t'other." newcomers in barnegat and warehold thought archie was his son, and would talk to the doctor about him: "fine lad you got, doctor--don't look a bit like you, but maybe he will when he gets his growth." at which the doctor would laugh and pat the boy's head. during all these years lucy's letters came but seldom. when they did arrive, most of them were filled with elaborate excuses for her prolonged stay. the money, she wrote, which jane had sent her from time to time was ample for her needs; she was making many valuable friends, and she could not see how she could return until the following spring--a spring which never came. in no one of them had she ever answered jane's letter about bart's death, except to acknowledge its receipt. nor, strange to say, had she ever expressed any love for archie. jane's letters were always filled with the child's doings; his illnesses and recoveries; but whenever lucy mentioned his name, which was seldom, she invariably referred to him as "your little ward" or "your baby," evidently intending to wipe that part of her life completely out. neither did she make any comment on the child's christening--a ceremony which took place in the church, pastor dellenbaugh officiating--except to write that perhaps one name was as good as another, and that she hoped he would not disgrace it when he grew up. these things, however, made but little impression on jane. she never lost faith in her sister, and never gave up hope that one day they would all three be reunited; how or where she could not tell or foresee, but in some way by which lucy would know and love her son for himself alone, and the two live together ever after--his parentage always a secret. when lucy once looked into her boy's face she was convinced she would love and cling to him. this was her constant prayer. all these hopes were dashed to the ground by the receipt of a letter from lucy with a geneva postmark. she had not written for months, and jane broke the seal with a murmur of delight, martha leaning forward, eager to hear the first word from her bairn. as she read jane's face grew suddenly pale. "what is it?" martha asked in a trembling voice. for some minutes jane sat staring into space, her hand pressed to her side. she looked like one who had received a death message. then, without a word, she handed the letter to martha. the old woman adjusted her glasses, read the missive to the end without comment, and laid it back on jane's lap. the writing covered but part of the page, and announced lucy's coming marriage with a frenchman: "a man of distinction; some years older than myself, and of ample means. he fell in love with me at aix." there are certain crises in life with conclusions so evident that no spoken word can add to their clearness. there is no need of comment; neither is there room for doubt. the bare facts stand naked. no sophistry can dull their outlines nor soften the insistence of their high lights; nor can any reasoning explain away the results that will follow. both women, without the exchange of a word, knew instantly that the consummation of this marriage meant the loss of lucy forever. now she would never come back, and archie would be motherless for life. they foresaw, too, that all their yearning to clasp lucy once more in their arms would go unsatisfied. in this marriage she had found a way to slip as easily from out the ties that bound her to yardley as she would from an old dress. martha rose from her chair, read the letter again to the end, and without opening her lips left the room. jane kept her seat, her head resting on her hand, the letter once more in her lap. the revulsion of feeling had paralyzed her judgment, and for a time had benumbed her emotions. all she saw was archie's eyes looking into hers as he waited for an answer to that question he would one day ask and which now she knew she could never give. then there rose before her, like some disembodied spirit from a long-covered grave, the spectre of the past. an icy chill crept over her. would lucy begin this new life with the same deceit with which she had begun the old? and if she did, would this frenchman forgive her when he learned the facts? if he never learned them--and this was most to be dreaded--what would lucy's misery be all her life if she still kept the secret close? then with a pathos all the more intense because of her ignorance of the true situation--she fighting on alone, unconscious that the man she loved not only knew every pulsation of her aching heart, but would be as willing as herself to guard its secret, she cried: "yes, at any cost she must be saved from this living death! i know what it is to sit beside the man i love, the man whose arm is ready to sustain me, whose heart is bursting for love of me, and yet be always held apart by a spectre which i dare not face." with this came the resolve to prevent the marriage at all hazards, even to leaving yardley and taking the first steamer to europe, that she might plead with lucy in person. while she sat searching her brain for some way out of the threatened calamity, the rapid rumbling of the doctor's gig was heard on the gravel road outside her open window. she knew from the speed with which he drove that something out of the common had happened. the gig stopped and the doctor's voice rang out: "come as quick as you can, jane, please. i've got a bad case some miles out of warehold, and i need you; it's a compound fracture, and i want you to help with the chloroform." all her indecision vanished and all her doubts were swept away as she caught the tones of his voice. who else in the wide world understood her as he did, and who but he should guide her now? had he ever failed her? when was his hand withheld or his lips silent? how long would her pride shut out his sympathy? if he could help in the smaller things of life why not trust him in this larger sorrow?--one that threatened to overwhelm her, she whose heart ached for tenderness and wise counsel. perhaps she could lean upon him without betraying her trust. after all, the question of archie's birth--the one secret between them--need not come up. it was lucy's future happiness which was at stake. this must be made safe at any cost short of exposure. "better put a few things in a bag," doctor john continued. "it may be a case of hours or days--i can't tell till i see him. the boy fell from the roof of the stable and is pretty badly hurt; both legs are broken, i hear; the right one in two places." she was upstairs in a moment, into her nursing dress, always hanging ready in case the doctor called for her, and down again, standing beside the gig, her bag in her hand, before he had time to turn his horse and arrange the seat and robes for her comfort. "who is it?" she asked hurriedly, resting her hand in his as he helped her into the seat and took the one beside her, martha and archie assisting with her bag and big driving cloak. "burton's boy. his father was coming for me and met me on the road. i have everything with me, so we will not lose any time. good-by, my boy," he called to archie. "one day i'll make a doctor of you, and then i won't have to take your dear mother from you so often. good-by, martha. you want to take care of that cough, old lady, or i shall have to send up some of those plasters you love so." they were off and rattling down the path between the lilacs before either archie or the old woman could answer. to hearts like jane's and the doctor's, a suffering body, no matter how far away, was a sinking ship in the clutch of the breakers. until the lifeboat reached her side everything was forgotten. the doctor adjusted the robe over jane's lap and settled himself in his seat. they had often driven thus together, and jane's happiest hours had been spent close to his side, both intent on the same errand of mercy, and both working together. that was the joy of it! they talked of the wounded boy and of the needed treatment and what part each should take in the operation; of some new cases in the hospital and the remedies suggested for their comfort; of archie's life on the beach and how ruddy and handsome he was growing, and of his tender, loving nature; and of the thousand and one other things that two people who know every pulsation of each other's hearts are apt to discuss--of everything, in fact, but the letter in her pocket. "it is a serious case," she said to herself--"this to which we are hurrying--and nothing must disturb the sureness of his sensitive hand." now and then, as he spoke, the two would turn their heads and look into each other's eyes. when a man's face lacks the lines and modellings that stand for beauty the woman who loves him is apt to omit in her eager glance every feature but his eyes. his eyes are the open doors to his soul; in these she finds her ideals, and in these she revels. but with jane every feature was a joy--the way the smoothly cut hair was trimmed about his white temples; the small, well-turned ears lying flat to his head; the lines of his eyebrows; the wide, sensitive nostrils and the gleam of the even teeth flashing from between well-drawn, mobile lips; the white, smooth, polished skin. not all faces could boast this beauty; but then not all souls shone as clearly as did doctor john's through the thin veil of his face. and she was equally young and beautiful to him. her figure was still that of her youth; her face had not changed--he still caught the smile of the girl he loved. often, when they had been driving along the coast, the salt wind in their faces, and he had looked at her suddenly, a thrill of delight had swept through him as he noted how rosy were her cheeks and how ruddy the wrists above the gloves, hiding the dear hands he loved so well, the tapering fingers tipped with delicate pink nails. he could, if he sought them, find many telltale wrinkles about the corners of the mouth and under the eyelids (he knew and loved them all), showing where the acid of anxiety had bitten deep into the plate on which the record of her life was being daily etched, but her beautiful gray eyes still shone with the same true, kindly light, and always flashed the brighter when they looked into his own. no, she was ever young and ever beautiful to him! to-day, however, there was a strange tremor in her voice and an anxious, troubled expression in her face--one that he had not seen for years. nor had she once looked into his eyes in the old way. "something worries you, jane," he said, his voice echoing his thoughts. "tell me about it." "no--not now--it is nothing," she answered quickly. "yes, tell me. don't keep any troubles from me. i have nothing else to do in life but smooth them out. come, what is it?" "wait until we get through with burton's boy. he may be hurt worse than you think." the doctor slackened the reins until they rested on the dashboard, and with a quick movement turned half around and looked searchingly into jane's eyes. "it is serious, then. what has happened?" "only a letter from lucy." "is she coming home?" "no, she is going to be married." the doctor gave a low whistle. instantly archie's laughing eyes looked into his; then came the thought of the nameless grave of his father. "well, upon my soul! you don't say so! who to, pray?" "to a frenchman." jane's eyes were upon his, reading the effect of her news. his tone of surprise left an uncomfortable feeling behind it. "how long has she known him?" he continued, tightening the reins again and chirruping to the mare.. "she does not say--not long, i should think." "what sort of a frenchman is he? i've known several kinds in my life--so have you, no doubt," and a quiet smile overspread his face. "come, bess! hurry up, old girl." "a gentleman, i should think, from what she writes. he is much older than lucy, and she says very well off." "then you didn't meet him on the other side?" "and never heard of him before?" "not until i received this letter." the doctor reached for his whip and flecked off a fly that had settled on the mare's neck. "lucy is about twenty-seven, is she not?" "yes, some eight years younger than i am. why do you ask, john?" "because it is always a restless age for a woman. she has lost the protecting ignorance of youth and she has not yet gained enough of the experience of age to steady her. marriage often comes as a balance-weight. she is coming home to be married, isn't she?" "no; they are to be married in geneva at his mother's." "i think that part of it is a mistake," he said in a decided tone. "there is no reason why she should not be married here; she owes that to you and to herself." then he added in a gentler tone, "and this worries you?" "more than i can tell you, john." there was a note in her voice that vibrated through him. he knew now how seriously the situation affected her. "but why, jane? if lucy is happier in it we should do what we can to help her." "yes, but not in this way. this will make her all the more miserable. i don't want this marriage; i want her to come home and live with me and archie. she makes me promises every year to come, and now it is over six years since i left her and she has always put me off. this marriage means that she will never come. i want her here, john. it is not right for her to live as she does. please think as i do!" the doctor patted jane's hand--it was the only mark of affection he ever allowed himself--not in a caressing way, but more as a father would pat the hand of a nervous child. "well, let us go over it from the beginning. maybe i don't know all the facts. have you the letter with you?" she handed it to him. he passed the reins to her and read it carefully to the end. "have you answered it yet?" "no, i wanted to talk to you about it. what do you think now?" "i can't see that it will make any difference. she is not a woman to live alone. i have always been surprised that she waited so long. you are wrong, jane, about this. it is best for everybody and everything that lucy should be married." "john, dear," she said in a half-pleading tone--there were some times when this last word slipped out--"i don't want this marriage at all. i am so wretched about it that i feel like taking the first steamer and bringing her home with me. she will forget all about him when she is here; and it is only her loneliness that makes her want to marry. i don't want her married; i want her to love me and martha and--archie--and she will if she sees him." "is that better than loving a man who loves her?" the words dropped from his lips before he could recall them--forced out, as it were, by the pressure of his heart. jane caught her breath and the color rose in her cheeks. she knew he did not mean her, and yet she saw he spoke from his heart. doctor john's face, however, gave no sign of his thoughts. "but, john, i don't know that she does love him. she doesn't say so--she says he loves her. and if she did, we cannot all follow our own hearts." "why not?" he replied calmly, looking straight ahead of him: at the bend in the road, at the crows flying in the air, at the leaden sky between the rows of pines. if she wanted to give him her confidence he was ready now with heart and arms wide open. perhaps his hour had come at last. "because--because," she faltered, "our duty comes in. that is holier than love." then her voice rose and steadied itself--"lucy's duty is to come home." he understood. the gate was still shut; the wall still confronted him. he could not and would not scale it. she had risked her own happiness--even her reputation--to keep this skeleton hidden, the secret inviolate. only in the late years had she begun to recover from the strain. she had stood the brunt and borne the sufferings of another's sin without complaint, without reward, giving up everything in life in consecration to her trust. he, of all men, could not tear the mask away, nor could he stoop by the more subtle paths of friendship, love, or duty to seek to look behind it--not without her own free and willing hand to guide him. there was nothing else in all her life that she had not told him. every thought was his, every resolve, every joy. she would entrust him with this if it was hers to give. until she did his lips would be sealed. as to lucy, it could make no difference. bart lying in a foreign grave would never trouble her again, and archie would only be a stumbling-block in her career. she would never love the boy, come what might. if this frenchman filled her ideal, it was best for her to end her days across the water--best certainly for jane, to whom she had only brought unhappiness. for some moments he busied himself with the reins, loosening them from where they were caught in the harness; then he bent his head and said slowly, and with the tone of the physician in consultation: "your protest will do no good, jane, and your trip abroad will only be a waste of time and money. if lucy has not changed, and this letter shows that she has not, she will laugh at your objections and end by doing as she pleases. she has always been a law unto herself, and this new move of hers is part of her life-plan. take my advice: stay where you are; write her a loving, sweet letter and tell her how happy you hope she will be, and send her your congratulations. she will not listen to your objections, and your opposition might lose you her love." before dark they were both on their way back to yardley. burton's boy had not been hurt as badly as his father thought; but one leg was broken, and this was soon in splints, and without jane's assistance. before they had reached her door her mind was made up. the doctor's words, as they always did, had gone down deep into her mind, and all thoughts of going abroad, or of even protesting against lucy's marriage, were given up. only the spectre remained. that the doctor knew nothing of, and that she must meet alone. martha took jane's answer to the post-office herself. she had talked its contents over with the old nurse, and the two had put their hearts into every line. "tell him everything," jane wrote. "don't begin a new life with an old lie. with me it is different. i saved you, my sister, because i loved you, and because i could not bear that your sweet girlhood should be marred. i shall live my life out in this duty. it came to me, and i could not put it from me, and would not now if i could, but i know the tyranny of a secret you cannot share with the man who loves you. i know, too, the cruelty of it all. for years i have answered kindly meant inquiry with discourteous silence, bearing insinuations, calumny, insults--and all because i cannot speak. don't, i beseech you, begin your new life in this slavery. but whatever the outcome, take him into your confidence. better have him leave you now than after you are married. remember, too, that if by this declaration you should lose his love you will at least gain his respect. perhaps, if his heart is tender and he feels for the suffering and wronged, you may keep both. forgive me, dear, but i have only your happiness at heart, and i love you too dearly not to warn you against any danger which would threaten you. martha agrees with me in the above, and knows you will do right by him." when lucy's answer arrived weeks afterward--after her marriage, in fact--jane read it with a clutching at her throat she had not known since that fatal afternoon when martha returned from trenton. "you dear, foolish sister," lucy's letter began, "what should i tell him for? he loves me devotedly and we are very happy together, and i am not going to cause him any pain by bringing any disagreeable thing into his life. people don't do those wild, old-fashioned things over here. and then, again, there is no possibility of his finding out. maria agrees with me thoroughly, and says in her funny way that men nowadays know too much already." then followed an account of her wedding. this letter jane did not read to the doctor--no part of it, in fact. she did not even mention its receipt, except to say that the wedding had taken place in geneva, where the frenchman's mother lived, it being impossible, lucy said, for her to come home, and that maria collins, who was staying with her, had been the only one of her old friends at the ceremony. neither did she read it all to martha. the old nurse was growing more feeble every year and she did not wish her blind faith in her bairn disturbed. for many days she kept the letter locked in her desk, not having the courage to take it out again and read it. then she sent for captain holt, the only one, beside martha, with whom she could discuss the matter. she knew his strong, honest nature, and his blunt, outspoken way of giving vent to his mind, and she hoped that his knowledge of life might help to comfort her. "married to one o' them furriners, is she?" the captain blurted out; "and goin' to keep right on livin' the lie she's lived ever since she left ye? you'll excuse me, miss jane,--you've been a mother, and a sister and everything to her, and you're nearer the angels than anybody i know. that's what i think when i look at you and archie. i say it behind your back and i say it now to your face, for it's true. as to lucy, i may be mistaken, and i may not. i don't want to condemn nothin' 'less i'm on the survey and kin look the craft over; that's why i'm partic'lar. maybe bart was right in sayin' it warn't all his fault, whelp as he was to say it, and maybe he warn't. it ain't up before me and i ain't passin' on it,--but one thing is certain, when a ship's made as many voyages as lucy has and ain't been home for repairs nigh on to seven years--ain't it?" and he looked at jane for confirmation--"she gits foul and sometimes a little mite worm-eaten--especially her bilge timbers, unless they're copper-fastened or pretty good stuff. i've been thinkin' for some time that you ain't got lucy straight, and this last kick-up of hers makes me sure of it. some timber is growed right and some timber is growed crooked; and when it's growed crooked it gits leaky, and no 'mount o' tar and pitch kin stop it. every twist the ship gives it opens the seams, and the pumps is goin' all the time. when your timber is growed right you kin all go to sleep and not a drop o' water'll git in. your sister lucy ain't growed right. maybe she kin help it and maybe she can't, but she'll leak every time there comes a twist. see if she don't." but jane never lost faith nor wavered in her trust. with the old-time love strong upon her she continued to make excuses for this thoughtless, irresponsible woman, so easily influenced. "it is maria collins who has written the letter, and not lucy," she kept saying to herself. "maria has been her bad angel from her girlhood, and still dominates her. the poor child's sufferings have hardened her heart and destroyed for a time her sense of right and wrong--that is all." with this thought uppermost in her mind she took the letter from her desk, and stirring the smouldering embers, laid it upon the coals. the sheet blazed and fell into ashes. "no one will ever know," she said with a sigh. chapter xiii scootsy's epithet lying on barnegat beach, within sight of the house of refuge and fogarty's cabin, was the hull of a sloop which had been whirled in one night in a southeaster, with not a soul on board, riding the breakers like a duck, and landing high and dry out of the hungry clutch of the surf-dogs. she was light at the time and without ballast, and lay stranded upright on her keel. all attempts by the beach-combers to float her had proved futile; they had stripped her of her standing rigging and everything else of value, and had then abandoned her. only the evenly balanced hull was left, its bottom timbers broken and its bent keelson buried in the sand. this hulk little tod fogarty, aged ten, had taken possession of; particularly the after-part of the hold, over which he had placed a trusty henchman armed with a cutlass made from the hoop of a fish barrel. the henchman--aged seven--wore knee-trousers and a cap and answered to the name of archie. the refuge itself bore the title of "the bandit's home." this new hulk had taken the place of the old schooner which had served captain holt as a landmark on that eventful night when he strode barnegat beach in search of bart, and which by the action of the ever-changing tides, had gradually settled until now only a hillock marked its grave--a fate which sooner or later would overtake this newly landed sloop itself. these barnegat tides are the sponges that wipe clean the slate of the beach. each day a new record is made and each day it is wiped out: records from passing ships, an empty crate, broken spar or useless barrel grounded now and then by the tide in its flow as it moves up and down the sand at the will of the waters. records, too, of many footprints,--the lagging steps of happy lovers; the dimpled feet of joyous children; the tread of tramp, coast-guard or fisherman--all scoured clean when the merciful tide makes ebb. other records are strewn along the beach; these the tide alone cannot efface--the bow of some hapless schooner it may be, wrenched from its hull, and sent whirling shoreward; the shattered mast and crosstrees of a stranded ship beaten to death in the breakers; or some battered capstan carried in the white teeth of the surf-dogs and dropped beyond the froth-line. to these with the help of the south wind, the tides extend their mercy, burying them deep with successive blankets of sand, hiding their bruised bodies, covering their nakedness and the marks of their sufferings. all through the restful summer and late autumn these battered derelicts lie buried, while above their graves the children play and watch the ships go by, or stretch themselves at length, their eyes on the circling gulls. with the coming of the autumn all this is changed. the cruel north wind now wakes, and with a loud roar joins hands with the savage easter; the startled surf falls upon the beach like a scourge. under their double lash the outer bar cowers and sinks; the frightened sand flees hither and thither. soon the frenzied breakers throw themselves headlong, tearing with teeth and claws, burrowing deep into the hidden graves. now the forgotten wrecks, like long-buried sins, rise and stand naked, showing every scar and stain. this is the work of the sea-puss--the revolving maniac born of close-wed wind and tide; a beast so terrible that in a single night, with its auger-like snout, it bites huge inlets out of farm lands--mouthfuls deep enough for ships to sail where but yesterday the corn grew. in the hull of this newly stranded sloop, then--sitting high and dry, out of the reach of the summer surf,--tod and archie spent every hour of the day they could call their own; sallying forth on various piratical excursions, coming back laden with driftwood for a bonfire, or hugging some bottle, which was always opened with trembling, eager fingers in the inmost recesses of the home, in the hope that some tidings of a lost ship might be found inside; or with their pockets crammed with clam-shells and other sea spoils with which to decorate the inside timbers of what was left of the former captain's cabin. jane had protested at first, but the doctor had looked the hull over, and found that there was nothing wide enough, nor deep enough, nor sharp enough to do them harm, and so she was content. then again, the boys were both strong for their age, and looked it, tod easily passing for a lad of twelve or fourteen, and archie for a boy of ten. the one danger discovered by the doctor lay in its height, the only way of boarding the stranded craft being by means of a hand-over-hand climb up the rusty chains of the bowsprit, a difficult and trousers-tearing operation. this was obviated by tod's father, who made a ladder for the boys out of a pair of old oars, which the two pirates pulled up after them whenever an enemy hove in sight. when friends approached it was let down with more than elaborate ceremony, the guests being escorted by archie and welcomed on board by tod. once captain holt's short, sturdy body was descried in the offing tramping the sand-dunes on his way to fogarty's, and a signal flag--part of mother fogarty's flannel petticoat, and blood-red, as befitted the desperate nature of the craft over which it floated, was at once set in his honor. the captain put his helm hard down and came up into the wind and alongside the hulk. "well! well! well!" he cried in his best quarterdeck voice--"what are you stowaways doin' here?" and he climbed the ladder and swung himself over the battered rail. archie took his hand and led him into the most sacred recesses of the den, explaining to him his plans for defence, his armament of barrel hoops, and his ammunition of shells and pebbles, tod standing silently by and a little abashed, as was natural in one of his station; at which the captain laughed more loudly than before, catching archie in his arms, rubbing his curly head with his big, hard hand, and telling him he was a chip of the old block, every inch of him--none of which did either archie or tod understand. before he climbed down the ladder he announced with a solemn smile that he thought the craft was well protected so far as collisions on foggy nights were concerned, but he doubted if their arms were sufficient and that he had better leave them his big sea knife which had been twice around cape horn, and which might be useful in lopping off arms and legs whenever the cutthroats got too impudent and aggressive; whereupon archie threw his arms around his grizzled neck and said he was a "bully commodore," and that if he would come and live with them aboard the hulk they would obey his orders to a man. archie leaned over the rotten rail and saw the old salt stop a little way from the hulk and stand looking at them for some minutes and then wave his hand, at which the boys waved back, but the lad did not see the tears that lingered for an instant on the captain's eyelids, and which the sea-breeze caught away; nor did he hear the words, as the captain resumed his walk: "he's all i've got left, and yet he don't know it and i can't tell him. ain't it hell?" neither did they notice that he never once raised his eyes toward the house of refuge as he passed its side. a new door and a new roof had been added, but in other respects it was to him the same grewsome, lonely hut as on that last night when he had denounced his son outside its swinging door. often the boys made neighborly visits to friendly tribes and settlers. fogarty was one of these, and doctor cavendish was another. the doctor's country was a place of buttered bread and preserves and a romp with rex, who was almost as feeble as meg had been in his last days. but fogarty's cabin was a mine of never-ending delight. in addition to the quaint low house of clapboards and old ship-timber, with its sloping roof and little toy windows, so unlike his own at yardley, and smoked ceilings, there was a scrap heap piled up and scattered over the yard which in itself was a veritable treasure-house. here were rusty chains and wooden figure-heads of broken-nosed, blind maidens and tailless dolphins. here were twisted iron rods, fish-baskets, broken lobster-pots, rotting seines and tangled, useless nets--some used as coverings for coops of restless chickens--old worn-out rope, tangled rigging--everything that a fisherman who had spent his life on barnegat beach could pull from the surf or find stranded on the sand. besides all these priceless treasures, there was an old boat lying afloat in a small lagoon back of the house, one of those seepage pools common to the coast--a boat which fogarty had patched with a bit of sail-cloth, and for which he had made two pairs of oars, one for each of the "crew," as he called the lads, and which archie learned to handle with such dexterity that the old fisherman declared he would make a first-class boatman when he grew up, and would "shame the whole bunch of 'em." but these two valiant buccaneers were not to remain in undisturbed possession of the bandit's home with its bewildering fittings and enchanting possibilities--not for long. the secret of the uses to which the stranded craft bad been put, and the attendant fun which commodore tod and his dauntless henchman, archibald cobden, esquire, were daily getting out of its battered timbers, had already become public property. the youth of barnegat--the very young youth, ranging from nine to twelve, and all boys--received the news at first with hilarious joy. this feeling soon gave way to unsuppressed indignation, followed by an active bitterness, when they realized in solemn conclave--the meeting was held in an open lot on saturday morning--that the capture of the craft had been accomplished, not by dwellers under barnegat light, to whom every piece of sea-drift from a tomato-can to a full-rigged ship rightfully belonged, but by a couple of aliens, one of whom wore knee-pants and a white collar,--a distinction in dress highly obnoxious to these lords of the soil. all these denizens of barnegat had at one time or another climbed up the sloop's chains and peered down the hatchway to the sand covering the keelson, and most of them had used it as a shelter behind which, in swimming-time, they had put on or peeled off such mutilated rags as covered their nakedness, but no one of them had yet conceived the idea of turning it into a bandit's home. that touch of the ideal, that gilding of the commonplace, had been reserved for the brain of the curly-haired boy who, with dancing eyes, his sturdy little legs resting on tod's shoulder, had peered over the battered rail, and who, with a burst of enthusiasm, had shouted: "oh, cracky! isn't it nice, tod! it's got a place we can fix up for a robbers' den; and we'll be bandits and have a flag. oh, come up here! you never saw anything so fine," etc., etc. when, therefore, scootsy mulligan, aged nine, son of a ship-caulker who worked in martin farguson's ship-yard, and sandy plummer, eldest of three, and their mother a widow--plain washing and ironing, two doors from the cake-shop--heard that that french "spad," arch cobden what lived up to yardley, and that red-headed irish cub, tod fogarty--tod's hair had turned very red--had pre-empted the black tub, as the wreck was irreverently called, claiming it as their very own, "and-a-sayin' they wuz pirates and bloody turks and sich," these two quarrelsome town rats organized a posse in lower barnegat for its recapture. archie was sweeping the horizon from his perch on the "poop-deck" when his eagle eye detected a strange group of what appeared to be human beings advancing toward the wreck from the direction of barnegat village. one, evidently a chief, was in the lead, the others following bunched together. all were gesticulating wildly. the trusty henchman immediately gave warning to tod, who was at work in the lower hold arranging a bundle of bean-poles which had drifted inshore the night before--part of the deck-load, doubtless, of some passing vessel. "ay, ay, sir!" cried the henchman with a hoist of his knee-pants, as a prelude to his announcement. "ay, ay, yerself!" rumbled back the reply. "what's up?" the commodore had not read as deeply in pirate lore as had archie, and was not, therefore, so ready with its lingo. "band of savages, sir, approaching down the beach." "where away?" thundered back the commodore, his authority now asserting itself in the tones of his voice. "on the starboard bow, sir--six or seven of 'em." "armed or peaceable?" "armed, sir. scootsy mulligan is leadin' 'em." "scootsy mulligan! crickety! he's come to make trouble," shouted back tod, climbing the ladder in a hurry--it was used as a means of descent into the shallow hold when not needed outside. "where are they? oh, yes! i see 'em--lot of 'em, ain't they? saturday, and they ain't no school. say, arch, what are we goin' to do?" the terminal vowels softening his henchman's name were omitted in grave situations; so was the pirate lingo. "do!" retorted archie, his eyes snapping. "why, we'll fight 'em; that's what we are pirates for. fight 'em to the death. hurray! they're not coming aboard--no sir-ee! you go down, toddy [the same free use of terminals], and get two of the biggest bean-poles and i'll run up the death flag. we've got stones and shells enough. hurry--big ones, mind you!" the attacking party, their leader ahead, had now reached the low sand heap marking the grave of the former wreck, but a dozen yards away--the sand had entombed it the year before. "you fellers think yer durned smart, don't ye?" yelled mr. william mulligan, surnamed "scootsy" from his pronounced fleetness of foot. "we're goin' to run ye out o' that tub. 'tain't yourn, it's ourn--ain't it, fellers?" a shout went up in answer from the group on the hillock. "you can come as friends, but not as enemies," cried archie grandiloquently. "the man who sets foot on this ship without permission dies like a dog. we sail under the blood-red flag!" and archie struck an attitude and pointed to the fragment of mother fogarty's own nailed to a lath and hanging limp over the rail. "hi! hi! hi!" yelled the gang in reply. "oh, ain't he a beauty! look at de cotton waddin' on his head!" (archie's cropped curls.) "say, sissy, does yer mother know ye're out? throw that ladder down; we're comin' up there--don't make no diff'rence whether we got yer permish or not--and we'll knock the stuffin' out o' ye if ye put up any job on us. h'ist out that ladder!" "death and no quarter!" shouted back archie, opening the big blade of captain holt's pocket knife and grasping it firmly in his wee hand. "we'll defend this ship with the last drop of our blood!" "ye will, will ye!" retorted scootsy. "come on, fellers--go for 'em! i'll show 'em," and he dodged under the sloop's bow and sprang for the overhanging chains. tod had now clambered up from the hold. under his arm were two stout hickory saplings. one he gave to archie, the other he kept himself. "give them the shells first," commanded archie, dodging a beach pebble; "and when their hands come up over the rail let them have this," and he waved the sapling over his head. "run, tod,--they're trying to climb up behind. i'll take the bow. avast there, ye lubbers!" with this archie dropped to his knees and crouched close to the heel of the rotting bowsprit, out of the way of the flying missiles--each boy's pockets were loaded--and looking cautiously over the side of the hulk, waited until scootsy's dirty fingers--he was climbing the chain hand over hand, his feet resting on a boy below him--came into view. "off there, or i'll crack your fingers!" "crack and be--" bang! went archie's hickory and down dropped the braggart, his oath lost in his cries. "he smashed me fist! he smashed me fist! oh! oh!" whined scootsy, hopping about with the pain, sucking the injured hand and shaking its mate at archie, who was still brandishing the sapling and yelling himself hoarse in his excitement. the attacking party now drew off to the hillock for a council of war. only their heads could be seen--their bodies lay hidden in the long grass of the dune. archie and tod were now dancing about the deck in a delirium of delight--calling out in true piratical terms, "we die, but we never surrender!" tod now and then falling into his native vernacular to the effect that he'd "knock the liver and lights out o' the hull gang," an expression the meaning of which was wholly lost on archie, he never having cleaned a fish in his life. here a boy in his shirt-sleeves straightened up in the yellow grass and looked seaward. then sandy plummer gave a yell and ran to the beach, rolling up what was left of his trousers legs, stopping now and then to untie first one shoe and then the other. two of the gang followed on a run. when the three reached the water's edge they danced about like crusoe's savages, waving their arms and shouting. sandy by this time had stripped off his clothes and had dashed into the water. a long plank from some lumber schooner was drifting up the beach in the gentle swell of the tide. sandy ran abreast of it for a time, sprang into the surf, threw himself upon it flat like a frog, and then began paddling shoreward. the other two now rushed into the water, grasping the near end of the derelict, the whole party pushing and paddling until it was hauled clean of the brine and landed high on the sand. a triumphant yell here came from the water's edge, and the balance of the gang--there were seven in all--rushed to the help of the dauntless three. archie heaped a pile of pebbles within reach of his hand and waited the attack. what the savages were going to do with the plank neither he nor tod could divine. the derelict was now dragged over the sand to the hulk, tod and archie pelting its rescuers with stones and shells as they came within short range. "up with her, fellers!" shouted sandy, who, since scootsy's unmanly tears, had risen to first place. "run it under the bowsprit--up with her--there she goes! altogether!" archie took his stand, his long sapling in his hand, and waited. he thought first he would unseat the end of the plank, but it was too far below him and then again he would be exposed to their volleys of stones, and if he was hurt he might not get back on his craft. tod, who had resigned command in favor of his henchman after archie's masterly defence in the last fight, stood behind him. thermopylae was a narrow place, and so was the famous bridge of horatius. he and his faithful tod would now make the fight of their lives. both of these close shaves for immortality were closed books to tod, but archie knew every line of their records, doctor john having spent many an hour reading to him, the boy curled up in his lap while jane listened. sandy, emboldened by the discovery of the plank, made the first rush up and was immediately knocked from his perch by tod, whose pole swung around his head like a flail. then scootsy tried it, crawling up, protecting his head by ducking it under his elbows, holding meanwhile by his hand. tod's blows fell about his back, but the boy struggled on until archie reached over the gunwale, and with a twist of his wrist, using all his strength, dropped the invader to the sand below. the success of this mode of attack was made apparent, provided they could stick to the plank. five boys now climbed up. archie belabored the first one with the pole and tod grappled with the second, trying to throw him from the rail to the sand, some ten feet below, but the rat close behind him, in spite of their efforts, reached forward, caught the rail, and scrambled up to his mate's assistance. in another instant both had leaped to the sloop's deck. "back! back! run, toddy!" screamed archie, waving his arms. "get on the poop-deck; we can lick them there. run!" tod darted back, and the two defenders clearing the intervening rotten timbers with a bound, sprang upon the roof of the old cabin--archie's "poop." with a whoop the savages followed, jumping over the holes in the planking and avoiding the nails in the open beams. in the melee archie had lost his pole, and was now standing, hat off, his blue eves flashing, all the blood of his overheated little body blazing in his face. the tears of defeat were trembling under his eyelids, he had been outnumbered, but he would die game. in his hand he carried, unconsciously to himself, the big-bladed pocket knife the captain had given him. he would as soon have used it on his mother as upon one of his enemies, but the barnegat invaders were ignorant of that fact, knives being the last resort in their environment. "look out, sandy!" yelled scootsy to his leader, who was now sneaking up to archie with the movement of an indian in ambush;--"he's drawed a knife." sandy stopped and straightened himself within three feet of archie. his hand still smarted from the blow archie had given it. the "spad" had not stopped a second in that attack, and he might not in this; the next thing he knew the knife might be between his ribs. "drawed a knife, hev ye!" he snarled. "drawed a knife, jes' like a spad that ye are! ye oughter put yer hair in curl-papers!" archie looked at the harmless knife in his hand. "i can fight you with my fists if you are bigger than me," he cried, tossing the knife down the open hatchway into the sand below. "hold my coat, tod," and he began stripping off his little jacket. "i ain't fightin' no spads," sneered sandy. he didn't want to fight this one. "yer can't skeer nobody. you'll draw a pistol next. yer better go home to yer mammy, if ye kin find her." "he ain't got no mammy," snarled scootsy. "he's a pick-up--me father says so." archie sprang forward to avenge the insult, but before he could reach scootsy's side a yell arose from the bow of the hulk. "yi! yi! run, fellers! here comes old man fogarty! he's right on top o' ye! not that side--this way. yi! yi!" the invaders turned and ran the length of the deck, scrambled over the side and dropped one after the other to the sand below just as the fogarty head appeared at the bow. it was but a step and a spring for him, and with a lurch he gained the deck of the wreck. "by jiminy, boys, mother thought ye was all killed! has them rats been botherin' ye? ye oughter broke the heads of 'em. where did they get that plank? come 'shore, did it? here, tod, catch hold of it; i jes' wanted a piece o' floorin' like that. why, ye're all het up, archie! come, son, come to dinner; ye'll git cooled off, and mother's got a mess o' clams for ye. never mind 'bout the ladder; i'll lift it down." on the way over to the cabin, fogarty and tod carrying the plank and archie walking beside them, the fisherman gleaned from the boys the details of the fight. archie had recovered the captain's knife and it was now in his hand. "called ye a 'pick-up' did he, the rat, and said ye didn't have no mother. he's a liar! if ye ain't got a mother, and a good one, i don't know who has. that's the way with them town-crabs, allus cussin' somebody better'n themselves." when fogarty had tilted the big plank against the side of the cabin and the boys had entered the kitchen in search of the mess of clams, the fisherman winked to his wife, jerked his head meaningly over one shoulder, and mrs. fogarty, in answer, followed him out to the woodshed. "them sneaks from barnegat, mulligan's and farguson's boys, and the rest of 'em, been lettin' out on archie: callin' him names, sayin' he ain't got no mother and he's one o' them pass-ins ye find on yer doorstep in a basket. i laughed it off and he 'peared to forgit it, but i thought he might ask ye, an' so i wanted to tip ye the wink." "well, ye needn't worry. i ain't goin' to tell him what i don't know," replied the wife, surprised that he should bring her all the way out to the woodshed to tell her a thing like that. "but ye do know, don't ye?" "all i know is what uncle ephraim told me four or five years ago, and he's so flighty half the time and talks so much ye can't believe one-half he says--something about miss jane comin' across archie's mother in a horsepital in paris, or some'er's and promisin' her a-dyin' that she'd look after the boy, and she has. she'd do that here if there was women and babies up to doctor john's horsepital 'stead o' men. it's jes' like her," and mrs. fogarty, not to lose her steps, stooped over a pile of wood and began gathering up an armful. "well, she ain't his mother, ye know," rejoined fogarty, helping his wife with the sticks. "that's what they slammed in his face to-day, and he'll git it ag'in as he grows up. but he don't want to hear it from us." "and he won't. miss jane ain't no fool. she knows more about him than anybody else, and when she gits ready to tell him she'll tell him. don't make no difference who his mother was--the one he's got now is good enough for anybody. tod would have been dead half a dozen times if it hadn't been for her and doctor john, and there ain't nobody knows it better'n me. it's just like her to let archie come here so much with tod; she knows i ain't goin' to let nothin' happen to him. and as for mothers, sam fogarty," here mrs. fogarty lifted her free hand and shook her finger in a positive way--"when archie gits short of mothers he's got one right here, don't make no difference what you or anybody else says," and she tapped her broad bosom meaningly. contrary, however, to fogarty's hopes and surmises, archie had forgotten neither sandy's insult nor scootsy's epithet. "he's a pick-up" and "he ain't got no mammy" kept ringing in his ears as he walked back up the beach to his home. he remembered having heard the words once before when he was some years younger, but then it had come from a passing neighbor and was not intended for him. this time it was flung square in his face. every now and then as he followed the trend of the beach on his way home he would stop and look out over the sea, watching the long threads of smoke being unwound from the spools of the steamers and the sails of the fishing-boats as they caught the light of the setting sun. the epithet worried him. it was something to be ashamed of, he knew, or they would not have used it. jane, standing outside the gate-post, shading her eyes with her hand, scanning the village road, caught sight of his sturdy little figure the moment he turned the corner and ran to meet him. "i got so worried--aren't you late, my son?" she asked, putting her arm about him and kissing him tenderly. "yes, it's awful late. i ran all the way from the church when i saw the clock. i didn't know it was past six. oh, but we've had a bully day, mother! and we've had a fight. tod and i were pirates, and scootsy mulligan tried to--" jane stopped the boy's joyous account with a cry of surprise. they were now walking back to yardley's gate, hugging the stone wall. "a fight! oh, my son!" "yes, a bully fight; only there were seven of them and only two of us. that warn't fair, but mr. fogarty says they always fight like that. i could have licked 'em if they come on one at a time, but they got a plank and crawled up--" "crawled up where, my son?" asked jane in astonishment. all this was an unknown world to her. she had seen the wreck and had known, of course, that the boys were making a playhouse of it, but this latter development was news to her. "why, on the pirate ship, where we've got our bandit's home. tod is commodore and i'm first mate. tod and i did all we could, but they didn't fight fair, and scootsy called me a 'pick-up' and said i hadn't any mother. i asked mr. fogarty what he meant, but he wouldn't tell me. what's a 'pick-up,' dearie?" and he lifted his face to jane's, his honest blue eyes searching her own. jane caught her hand to her side and leaned for a moment against the stone wall. this was the question which for years she had expected him to ask--one to which she had framed a hundred imaginary answers. when as a baby he first began to talk she had determined to tell him she was not his mother, and so get him gradually accustomed to the conditions of his birth. but every day she loved him the more, and every day she had put it off. to-day it was no easier. he was too young, she knew, to take in its full meaning, even if she could muster up the courage to tell him the half she was willing to tell him--that his mother was her friend and on her sick-bed had entrusted her child to her care. she had wanted to wait until he was old enough to understand, so that she should not lose his love when he came to know the truth. there had been, moreover, always this fear--would he love her for shielding his mother, or would he hate lucy when he came to know? she had once talked it all over with captain holt, but she could never muster up the courage to take his advice. "tell him," he had urged. "it'll save you a lot o' trouble in the end. that'll let me out and i kin do for him as i want to. you've lived under this cloud long enough--there ain't nobody can live a lie a whole lifetime, miss jane. i'll take my share of the disgrace along of my dead boy, and you ain't done nothin', god knows, to be ashamed of. tell him! it's grease to yer throat halyards and everything'll run smoother afterward. take my advice, miss jane." all these things rushed through her mind as she stood leaning against the stone wall, archie's hand in hers, his big blue eyes still fixed on her own. "who said that to you, my son?" she asked in assumed indifference, in order to gain time in which to frame her answer and recover from the shock. "scootsy mulligan." "is he a nice boy?" "no, he's a coward, or he wouldn't fight as he does." "then i wouldn't mind him, my boy," and she smoothed back the hair from his forehead, her eyes avoiding the boy's steady gaze. it was only when someone opened the door of the closet concealing this spectre that jane felt her knees give way and her heart turn sick within her. in all else she was fearless and strong. "was he the boy who said you had no mother?" "yes. i gave him an awful whack when he came up the first time, and he went heels over head." "well, you have got a mother, haven't you, darling?" she continued, with a sigh of relief, now that archie was not insistent. "you bet i have!" cried the boy, throwing his arms around her. "then we won't either of us bother about those bad boys and what they say," she answered, stooping over and kissing him. and so for a time the remembrance of scootsy's epithet faded out of the boy's mind. chapter xiv high water at yardley ten years have passed away. the sturdy little fellow in knee-trousers is a lad of seventeen, big and strong for his age; tod is three years older, and the two are still inseparable. the brave commander of the pirate ship is now a full-fledged fisherman and his father's main dependence. archie is again his chief henchman, and the two spend many a morning in tod's boat when the blue-fish are running. old fogarty does not mind it; he rather likes it, and mother fogarty is always happier when the two are together. "if one of 'em gits overboard," she said one day to her husband, "t'other kin save him." "save him! well, i guess!" he replied. "salt water skims off archie same's if he was a white bellied gull; can't drown him no more'n you kin a can buoy." the boy has never forgotten scootsy's epithet, although he has never spoken of it to his mother--no one knows her now by any other name. she thought the episode had passed out of his mind, but she did not know everything that lay in the boy's heart. he and tod had discussed it time and again, and had wondered over his own name and that of his nameless father, as boys wonder, but they had come to no conclusion. no one in the village could tell them, for no one ever knew. he had asked the doctor, but had only received a curious answer. "what difference does it make, son, when you have such a mother? you have brought her only honor, and the world loves her the better because of you. let it rest until she tells you; it will only hurt her heart if you ask her now." the doctor had already planned out the boy's future; he was to be sent to philadelphia to study medicine when his schooling was over, and was then to come into his office and later on succeed to his practice. captain holt would have none of it. "he don't want to saw off no legs," the bluff old man had blurted out when he heard of it. "he wants to git ready to take a ship 'round cape horn. if i had my way i'd send him some'er's where he could learn navigation, and that's in the fo'c's'le of a merchantman. give him a year or two before the mast. i made that mistake with bart--he loafed round here too long and when he did git a chance he was too old." report had it that the captain was going to leave the lad his money, and had therefore a right to speak; but no one knew. he was closer-mouthed than ever, though not so gruff and ugly as he used to be; archie had softened him, they said, taking the place of that boy of his he "druv out to die a good many years ago." jane's mind wavered. neither profession suited her. she would sacrifice anything she had for the boy provided they left him with her. philadelphia was miles away, and she would see him but seldom. the sea she shrank from and dreaded. she had crossed it twice, and both times with an aching heart. she feared, too, its treachery and cruelty. the waves that curled and died on barnegat beach--messengers from across the sea--brought only tidings fraught with suffering. archie had no preferences--none yet. his future was too far off to trouble him much. nor did anything else worry him. one warm september day archie turned into yardley gate, his so'wester still on his head framing his handsome, rosy face; his loose jacket open at the throat, the tarpaulins over his arm. he had been outside the inlet with tod--since daybreak, in fact--fishing for bass and weakfish. jane had been waiting for him for hours. she held an open letter in her hand, and her face was happier, archie thought as he approached her, than he had seen it for months. there are times in all lives when suddenly and without warning, those who have been growing quietly by our side impress their new development upon us. we look at them in full assurance that the timid glance of the child will be returned, and are astounded to find instead the calm gaze of the man; or we stretch out our hand to help the faltering step and touch a muscle that could lead a host. such changes are like the breaking of the dawn; so gradual has been their coming that the full sun of maturity is up and away flooding the world with beauty and light before we can recall the degrees by which it rose. jane realized this--and for the first time--as she looked at archie swinging through the gate, waving his hat as he strode toward her. she saw that the sailor had begun to assert itself. he walked with an easy swing, his broad shoulders--almost as broad as the captain's and twice as hard--thrown back, his head up, his blue eyes and white teeth laughing out of a face brown and ruddy with the sun and wind, his throat and neck bare except for the silk handkerchief--one of tod's--wound loosely about it; a man really, strong and tough, with hard sinews and capable thighs, back, and wrists--the kind of sailorman that could wear tarpaulins or broadcloth at his pleasure and never lose place in either station. in this rude awakening jane's heart-strings tightened. she became suddenly conscious that the cobden look had faded out of him; lucy's eyes and hair were his, and so was her rounded chin, with its dimple, but there was nothing else about him that recalled either her own father or any other cobden she remembered. as he came near enough for her to look into his eyes she began to wonder how he would impress lucy, what side of his nature would she love best--his courage and strength or his tenderness? the sound of his voice shouting her name recalled her to herself, and a thrill of pride illumined her happy face like a burst of sunlight as he tossed his tarpaulins on the grass and put his strong arms about her. "mother, dear! forty black bass, eleven weakfish, and half a barrel of small fry--what do you think of that?" "splendid, archie. tod must be proud as a peacock. but look at this!" and she held up the letter. "who do you think it's from? guess now," and she locked one arm through his, and the two strolled back to the house. "guess now!" she repeated, holding the letter behind her back. the two were often like lovers together. "let me see," he coaxed. "what kind of a stamp has it got?" "never you mind about the stamp." "uncle john--and it's about my going to philadelphia." jane laughed. "uncle john never saw it." "then it's from--oh, you tell me, mother!" "no--guess. think of everybody you ever heard of. those you have seen and those you--" "oh, i know--aunt lucy." "yes, and she's coming home. home, archie, think of it, after all these years!" "well, that's bully! she won't know me, will she? i never saw her, did i?" "yes, when you were a little fellow." it was difficult to keep the tremor out of her voice. "will she bring any dukes and high daddies with her?" "no," laughed jane, "only her little daughter ellen, the sweetest little girl you ever saw, she writes." "how old is she?" he had slipped his arm around his mother's waist now and the two were "toeing it" up the path, he stopping every few feet to root a pebble from its bed. the coming of the aunt was not a great event in his life. "just seven her last birthday." "all right, she's big enough. we'll take her out and teach her to fish. hello, granny!" and the boy loosened his arm as he darted up the steps toward martha. "got the finest mess of fish coming up here in a little while you ever laid your eyes on," he shouted, catching the old nurse's cap from her head and clapping it upon his own, roaring with laughter, as he fled in the direction of the kitchen. jane joined in the merriment and, moving a chair from the hall, took her seat on the porch to await the boy's return. she was too happy to busy herself about the house or to think of any of her outside duties. doctor john would not be in until the afternoon, and so she would occupy herself in thinking out plans to make her sister's home-coming a joyous one. as she looked down over the garden as far as the two big gate-posts standing like grim sentinels beneath the wide branches of the hemlocks, and saw how few changes had taken place in the old home since her girl sister had left it, her heart thrilled with joy. nothing really was different; the same mass of tangled rose-vines climbed over the porch--now quite to the top of the big roof, but still the same dear old vines that lucy had loved in her childhood; the same honeysuckle hid the posts; the same box bordered the paths. the house was just as she left it; her bedroom had really never been touched. what few changes had taken place she would not miss. meg would not run out to meet her, and rex was under a stone that the doctor had placed over his grave; nor would ann gossaway peer out of her eyrie of a window and follow her with her eyes as she drove by; her tongue was quiet at last, and she and her old mother lay side by side in the graveyard. doctor john had exhausted his skill upon them both, and martha, who had forgiven her enemy, had sat by her bedside until the end, but nothing had availed. mrs. cavendish was dead, of course, but she did not think lucy would care very much. she and doctor john had nursed her for months until the end came, and had then laid her away near the apple-trees she was so fond of. but most of the faithful hearts who had loved her were still beating, and all were ready with a hearty welcome. archie was the one thing new--new to lucy. and yet she had no fear either for him or for lucy. when she saw him she would love him, and when she had known him a week she would never be separated from him again. the long absence could not have wiped out all remembrance of the boy, nor would the new child crowd him from her heart. when doctor john sprang from his gig (the custom of his daily visits had never been broken) she could hardly wait until he tied his horse--poor bess had long since given out--to tell him the joyful news. he listened gravely, his face lighting up at her happiness. he was glad for jane and said so frankly, but the situation did not please him. he at heart really dreaded the effect of lucy's companionship on the woman he loved. although it had been years since he had seen her, he had followed her career, especially since her marriage, with the greatest interest and with the closest attention. he had never forgotten, nor had he forgiven her long silence of two years after her marriage, during which time she had never written jane a line, nor had he ever ceased to remember jane's unhappiness over it. jane had explained it all to him on the ground that lucy was offended because she had opposed the marriage, but the doctor knew differently. nor had he ceased to remember the other letters which followed, and how true a story they told of lucy's daily life and ambitions. he could almost recall the wording of one of them. "my husband is too ill," it had said, "to go south with me, and so i will run down to rome for a month or so, for i really need the change." and a later one, written since his death, in which she wrote of her winter in paris and at monte carlo, and "how good my mother-in-law is to take care of ellen." this last letter to her sister, just received--the one he then held in his hand, and which gave jane such joy, and which he was then reading as carefully as if it had been a prescription--was to his analytical mind like all the rest of its predecessors. one sentence sent a slight curl to his lips. "i cannot stay away any longer from my precious sister," it said, "and am coming back to the home i adore. i have no one to love me, now that my dear husband is dead, but you and my darling ellen." the news of lucy's expected return spread rapidly. old martha in her joy was the mouthpiece. she gave the details out at church the sunday morning following the arrival of lucy's letter. she was almost too ill to venture out, but she made the effort, stopping the worshippers as they came down the board walk; telling each one of the good news, the tears streaming down her face. to the children and the younger generation the announcement made but little difference; some of them had never heard that miss jane had a sister, and others only that she lived abroad. their mothers knew, of course, and so did the older men, and all were pleased over the news. those of them who remembered the happy, joyous girl with her merry eyes and ringing laugh were ready to give her a hearty welcome; they felt complimented that the distinguished lady--fifteen years' residence abroad and a rich husband had gained her this position--should be willing to exchange the great paris for the simple life of warehold. it touched their civic pride. great preparations were accordingly made. billy tatham's successor (his son)--in his best open carriage--was drawn up at the station, and lucy's drive through the village with some of her numerous boxes covered with foreign labels piled on the seat beside the young man--who insisted on driving lucy and the child himself--was more like the arrival of a princess revisiting her estates than anything else. martha and archie and jane filled the carriage, with little ellen on archie's lap, and more than one neighbor ran out of the house and waved to them as they drove through the long village street and turned into the gate. archie threw his arms around lucy when he saw her, and in his open, impetuous way called her his "dear aunty," telling her how glad he was that she had come to keep his good mother from getting so sad at times, and adding that she and granny had not slept for days before she came, so eager were they to see her. and lucy kissed him in return, but with a different throb at her heart. she felt a thrill when she saw how handsome and strong he was, and for an instant there flashed through her a feeling of pride that he was her own flesh and blood. then there had come a sudden revulsion, strangling every emotion but the one of aversion--an aversion so overpowering that she turned suddenly and catching ellen in her arms kissed her with so lavish a display of affection that those at the station who witnessed the episode had only praise for the mother's devotion. jane saw the kiss lucy had given archie, and a cry of joy welled up in her heart, but she lost the shadow that followed. my lady of paris was too tactful for that. her old room was all ready. jane, with martha helping, had spent days in its preparation. white dimity curtains starched stiff as a petticoat had been hung at the windows; a new lace cover spread on the little mahogany, brass-mounted dressing-table--her great grandmother's, in fact--with its tiny swinging mirror and the two drawers (martha remembered when her bairn was just high enough to look into the mirror), and pots of fresh flowers placed on the long table on which her hooks used to rest. two easy-chairs had also been brought up from the sitting-room below, covered with new chintz and tied with blue ribbons, and, more wonderful still, a candle-box had been covered with cretonne and studded with brass tacks by the aid of martha's stiff fingers that her bairn might have a place in which to put her dainty shoes and slippers. when the trunks had been carried upstairs and martha with her own hands had opened my lady's gorgeous blue morocco dressing-case with its bottles capped with gold and its brushes and fittings emblazoned with cupids swinging in garlands of roses, the poor woman's astonishment knew no bounds. the many scents and perfumes, the dainty boxes, big and little, holding various powders--one a red paste which the old nurse thought must be a salve, but about which, it is needless to say, she was greatly mistaken--as well as a rabbit's foot smirched with rouge (this she determined to wash at once), and a tiny box of court-plaster cut in half moons. so many things, in fact, did the dear old nurse pull from this wonderful bag that the modest little bureau could not hold half of them, and the big table had to be brought up and swept of its plants and belongings. the various cosmetics and their uses were especial objects of comment. "did ye break one of the bottles, darlin'?" she asked, sniffing at a peculiar perfume which seemed to permeate everything. "some of 'em must have smashed; it's awful strong everywhere--smell that"--and she held out a bit of lace which she had taken from the case, a dressing-sacque that lucy had used on the steamer. lucy laughed. "and you don't like it? how funny, you dear old thing! that was made specially for me; no one else in paris has a drop." and then the dresses! particularly the one she was to wear the first night--a dress flounced and furbelowed and of a creamy white (she still wore mourning--delicate purples shading to white--the exact tone for a husband six months dead). and the filmy dressing-gowns, and, more wonderful than all, the puff of smoke she was to sleep in, held together by a band of violet ribbon; to say nothing of the dainty slippers bound about with swan's-down, and the marvellous hats, endless silk stockings of mauve, white, and black, and long and short gloves. in all her life martha had never seen or heard of such things. the room was filled with them and the two big closets crammed to overflowing, and yet a dozen trunks were not yet unpacked, including the two small boxes holding little ellen's clothes. the night was one long to be remembered. everyone said the manor house had not been so gay for years. and they were all there--all her old friends and many of jane's new ones, who for years had looked on lucy as one too far above them in station to be spoken of except with bated breath. the intimates of the house came early. doctor john first, with his grave manner and low voice--so perfectly dressed and quiet: lucy thought she had never seen his equal in bearing and demeanor, nor one so distinguished-looking--not in any circle in europe; and uncle ephraim, grown fat and gouty, leaning on a cane, but still hearty and wholesome, and overjoyed to see her; and pastor dellenbaugh--his hair was snow-white now--and his complacent and unruffled wife; and the others, including captain holt, who came in late. it was almost a repetition of that other home-coming years before, when they had gathered to greet her, then a happy, joyous girl just out of school. lucy in their honor wore the dress that had so astonished martha, and a diamond-studded ornament which she took from her jewel-case and fastened in her hair. the dress followed the wonderful curves of her beautiful body in all its dimpled plumpness and the jewel set off to perfection the fresh, oval face, laughing blue eyes--wet forget-me-nots were the nearest their color--piquant, upturned nose and saucy mouth. the color of the gown, too, harmonized both with the delicate pink of her cheeks and with the tones of her rather too full throat showing above the string of pearls that clasped it. jane wore a simple gray silk gown which followed closely the slender and almost attenuated lines of her figure. this gown the doctor always loved because, as he told her, it expressed so perfectly the simplicity of her mind and life. her only jewels were her deep, thoughtful eyes, and these, to-night, were brilliant with joy over her sister's return. as jane moved about welcoming her guests the doctor, whose eyes rarely left her face, became conscious that at no time in their lives had the contrast between the two sisters been greater. one, a butterfly of thirty-eight, living only in the glow of the sunlight, radiant in plumage, alighting first on one flower and then on another, but always on flowers, never on weeds; gathering such honey as suited her taste; never resting where she might by any chance be compelled to use her feet, but always poised in air; a woman, rich, brilliant, and beautiful, and--here was the key-note of her life--always, year in and year out, warmed by somebody's admiration, whose she didn't much mind nor care, so that it gratified her pride and relieved her of ennui. the other--and this one he loved with his whole soul--a woman of forty-six, with a profound belief in her creeds; quixotic sometimes in her standards, but always sincere; devoted to her traditions, to her friends and to her duty; unselfish, tender-hearted, and self-sacrificing; whose feet, though often tired and bleeding, had always trodden the earth. as lucy greeted first one neighbor and then another, sometimes with one hand, sometimes with two, offering her cheek now and then to some old friend who had known her as a child, jane's heart swelled with something of the pride she used to have when lucy was a girl. her beautiful sister, she saw, had lost none of the graciousness of her old manner, nor of her tact in making her guests feel perfectly at home. jane noticed, too--and this was new to her--a certain well-bred condescension, so delicately managed as never to be offensive--more the air of a woman accustomed to many sorts and conditions of men and women, and who chose to be agreeable as much to please herself as to please her guests. and yet with all this poise of manner and condescending graciousness, there would now and then dart from lucy's eyes a quick, searching glance of inquiry, as she tried to read her guests' thoughts, followed by a relieved look on her own face as she satisfied herself that no whisper of her past had ever reached them. these glances jane never caught. doctor john was most cordial in his greeting and talked to her a long time about some portions of europe, particularly a certain cafe in dresden where he used to dine, and another in paris frequented by the beau monde. she answered him quite frankly, telling him of some of her own experiences in both places, quite forgetting that she was giving him glimpses of her own life while away--glimpses which she had kept carefully concealed from jane or martha. she was conscious, however, after he had left her of a certain uncomfortable feeling quivering through her as his clear, steadfast eyes looked into hers, he listened, and yet she thought she detected his brain working behind his steadfast gaze. it was as if he was searching for some hidden disease. "he knows something," she said to herself, when the doctor moved to let someone else take his place. "how much i can't tell. i'll get it all out of sister." blunt and bluff captain holt, white-whiskered and white-haired now, but strong and hearty, gave her another and a different shock. what his first words would be when they met and how she would avoid discussing the subject uppermost in their minds if, in his rough way, he insisted on talking about it, was one of the things that had worried her greatly when she decided to come home, for there was never any doubt in her mind as to his knowledge. but she misjudged the captain, as had a great many others who never looked beneath the rugged bark covering his heart of oak. "i'm glad you've come at last," he said gravely, hardly touching her hand in welcome, "you ought to have been here before. jane's got a fine lad of her own that she's bringin' up; when you know him ye'll like him." she did not look at him when she answered, but a certain feeling of relief crept over her. she saw that the captain had buried the past and intended never to revive it. the stern look on his face only gave way when little ellen came to him of her own accord and climbing up into his lap said in her broken english that she heard he was a great captain and that she wanted him to tell her some stories like her good papa used to tell her. "he was gray like you," she said, "and big," and she measured the size with her plump little arms that showed out of her dainty french dress. with doctor john and captain holt out of the way lucy's mind was at rest. "nobody else round about yardley except these two knows," she kept saying to herself with a bound of relief, "and for these i don't care. the doctor is jane's slave, and the captain is evidently wise enough not to uncover skeletons locked up in his own closet." these things settled in her mind, my lady gave herself up to whatever enjoyment, compatible with her rapidly fading mourning, the simple surroundings afforded, taking her cue from the conditions that confronted her and ordering her conduct accordingly and along these lines: archie was her adopted nephew, the son of an old friend of jane's, and one whom she would love dearly, as, in fact, she would anybody else whom jane had brought up; she herself was a gracious widow of large means recovering from a great sorrow; one who had given up the delights of foreign courts to spend some time among her dear people who had loved her as a child. here for a time would she bring up and educate her daughter. "to be once more at home, and in dear old warehold, too!" she had said with upraised madonna-like eyes and clasped hands to a group of women who were hanging on every word that dropped from her pretty lips. "do you know what that is to me? there is hardly a day i have not longed for it. pray, forgive me if i do not come to see you as often as i would, but i really hate to be an hour outside of the four walls of my precious home." chapter xv a package of letters under the influence of the new arrival it was not at all strange that many changes were wrought in the domestic life at cobden manor. my lady was a sensuous creature, loving color and flowers and the dainty appointments of life as much in the surroundings of her home as in the adornment of her person, and it was not many weeks before the old-fashioned sitting-room had been transformed into a french boudoir. in this metamorphosis she had used but few pieces of new furniture--one or two, perhaps, that she had picked up in the village, as well as some bits of mahogany and brass that she loved--but had depended almost entirely upon the rearrangement of the heirlooms of the family. with the boudoir idea in view, she had pulled the old tables out from the walls, drawn the big sofa up to the fire, spread a rug--one of her own--before the mantel, hung new curtains at the windows and ruffled their edges with lace, banked the sills with geraniums and begonias, tilted a print or two beside the clock, scattered a few books and magazines over the centre-table, on which she had placed a big, generous lamp, under whose umbrella shade she could see to read as she sat in her grandmother's rocking-chair--in fact, had, with that taste inherent in some women--touched with a knowing hand the dead things about her and made them live and mean something;--her talisman being an unerring sense of what contributed to personal comfort. heretofore doctor john had been compelled to drag a chair halfway across the room in order to sit and chat with jane, or had been obliged to share her seat on the sofa, too far from the hearth on cold days to be comfortable. now he could either stand on the hearth-rug and talk to her, seated in one corner of the pulled-up sofa, her work-basket on a small table beside her, or he could drop into a big chair within reach of her hand and still feel the glow of the fire. jane smiled at the changes and gave lucy free rein to do as she pleased. her own nature had never required these nicer luxuries; she had been too busy, and in these last years of her life too anxious, to think of them, and so the room had been left as in the days of her father. the effect of the rearrangement was not lost on the neighbors. they at once noticed the sense of cosiness everywhere apparent, and in consequence called twice as often, and it was not long before the old-fashioned sitting-room became a stopping-place for everybody who had half an hour to spare. these attractions, with the aid of a generous hospitality, lucy did her best to maintain, partly because she loved excitement and partly because she intended to win the good-will of her neighbors--those who might be useful to her. the women succumbed at once. not only were her manners most gracious, but her jewels of various kinds, her gowns of lace and frou-frou, her marvellous hats, her assortment of parasols, her little personal belongings and niceties--gold scissors, thimbles, even the violet ribbons that rippled through her transparent underlaces--so different from those of any other woman they knew--were a constant source of wonder and delight. to them she was a beautiful lady bountiful who had fluttered down among them from heights above, and whose departure, should it ever take place, would leave a gloom behind that nothing could illumine. to the men she was more reserved. few of them ever got beyond a handshake and a smile, and none of them ever reached the borders of intimacy. popularity in a country village could never, she knew, be gained by a pretty woman without great discretion. she explained her foresight to jane by telling her that there was no man of her world in warehold but the doctor, and that she wouldn't think of setting her cap for him as she would be gray-haired before he would have the courage to propose. then she kissed jane in apology, and breaking out into a rippling laugh that martha heard upstairs, danced out of the room. little ellen, too, had her innings; not only was she prettily dressed, presenting the most joyous of pictures, as with golden curls flying about her shoulders she flitted in and out of the rooms like a sprite, but she was withal so polite in her greetings, dropping to everyone a little french courtesy when she spoke, and all in her quaint, broken dialect, that everybody fell in love with her at sight. none of the other mothers had such a child, and few of them knew that such children existed. jane watched the workings of lucy's mind with many misgivings. she loved her lightheartedness and the frank, open way with which she greeted everybody who crossed their threshold. she loved, too, to see her beautifully gowned and equipped and to hear the flattering comments of the neighbors on her appearance and many charms; but every now and then her ear caught an insincere note that sent a shiver through her. she saw that the welcome lucy gave them was not from her heart, but from her lips; due to her training, no doubt, or perhaps to her unhappiness, for jane still mourned over the unhappy years of lucy's life--an unhappiness, had she known it, which had really ended with archie's safe adoption and bart's death. another cause of anxiety was lucy's restlessness. every day she must have some new excitement--a picnic with the young girls and young men, private theatricals in the town hall, or excursions to barnegat beach, where they were building a new summer hotel. now and then she would pack her bag and slip off to new york or philadelphia for days at a time to stay with friends she had met abroad, leaving ellen with jane and martha. to the older sister she seemed like some wild, untamable bird of brilliant plumage used to long, soaring flights, perching first on one dizzy height and then another, from which she could watch the world below. the thing, however, which distressed jane most was lucy's attitude towards archie. she made every allowance for her first meeting at the station, and knew that necessarily it must be more or less constrained, but she had not expected the almost cold indifference with which she had treated the boy ever since. as the days went by and lucy made no effort to attach archie to her or to interest herself either in his happiness or welfare, jane became more and more disturbed. she had prayed for this home-coming and had set her heart on the home-building which was sure to follow, and now it seemed farther off than ever. one thing troubled and puzzled her: while lucy was always kind to archie indoors, kissing him with the others when she came down to breakfast, she never, if she could help it, allowed him to walk with her in the village, and she never on any occasion took him with her when visiting the neighbors. "why not take archie with you, dear?" jane had said one morning to lucy, who had just announced her intention of spending a few days in philadelphia with max feilding's sister sue, whom she had met abroad when max was studying in dresden--max was still a bachelor, and his sister kept house for him. he was abroad at the time, but was expected by every steamer. "archie isn't invited, you old goosie, and he would be as much out of place in max's house as uncle ephraim tipple would be in parliament." "but they would be glad to see him if you took him. he is just the age now when a boy gets impressions which last him through--" "yes, the gawky and stumble-over-things age! piano-stools, rugs, anything that comes in his way. and the impressions wouldn't do him a bit of good. they might, in fact, do him harm," and she laughed merrily and spread her fingers to the blaze. a laugh was often her best shield. she had in her time dealt many a blow and then dodged behind a laugh to prevent her opponent from striking back. "but, lucy, don't you want to do something to help him?" jane asked in a pleading tone. "yes, whatever i can, but he seems to me to be doing very well as he is. doctor john is devoted to him and the captain idolizes him. he's a dear, sweet boy, of course, and does you credit, but he's not of my world, jane, dear, and i'd have to make him all over again before he could fit into my atmosphere. besides, he told me this morning that he was going off for a week with some fisherman on the beach--some person by the name of fogarty, i think." "yes, a fine fellow; they have been friends from their boyhood." she was not thinking of fogarty, but of the tone of lucy's voice when speaking of her son. "yes--most estimable gentleman, no doubt, this mr. fogarty, but then, dear, we don't invite that sort of people to dinner, do we?" and another laugh rippled out. "yes, sometimes," answered jane in all sincerity. "not fogarty, because he would be uncomfortable if he came, but many of the others just as humble. we really have very few of any other kind. i like them all. many of them love me dearly." "not at all strange; nobody can help loving you," and she patted jane's shoulder with her jewelled fingers. "but you like them, too, don't you? you treat them as if you did." lucy lifted her fluted petticoat, rested her slippered foot on the fender, glanced down at the embroidered silk stocking covering her ankle, and said in a graver tone: "i like all kinds of people--in their proper place. this is my home, and it is wise to get along with one's neighbors. besides, they all have tongues in their heads like the rest of the human race, and it is just as well to have them wag for you as against you." jane paused for a moment, her eyes watching the blazing logs, and asked with almost a sigh: "you don't mean, dear, that you never intend to help archie, do you?" "never is a long word, jane. wait till he grows up and i see what he makes of himself. he is now nothing but a great animal, well built as a young bull, and about as awkward." jane's eyes flashed and her shoulders straightened. the knife had a double edge to its blade. "he is your own flesh and blood, lucy," she said with a ring of indignation in her voice. "you don't treat ellen so; why should you archie?" lucy took her foot from the fender, dropped her skirts, and looked at jane curiously. from underneath the half-closed lids of her eyes there flashed a quick glance of hate--a look that always came into lucy's eyes whenever jane connected her name with archie's. "let us understand each other, sister," she said icily. "i don't dislike the boy. when he gets into trouble i'll help him in any way i can, but please remember he's not my boy--he's yours. you took him from me with that understanding and i have never asked him back. he can't love two mothers. you say he has been your comfort all these years. why, then, do you want to unsettle his mind?" jane lifted her head and looked at lucy with searching eyes--looked as a man looks when someone he must not strike has flung a glove in his face. "do you really love anything, lucy?" she asked in a lower voice, her eyes still fastened on her sister's. "yes, ellen and you." "did you love her father?" she continued in the same direct tone. "y-e-s, a little-- he was the dearest old man in the world and did his best to please me; and then he was never very well. but why talk about him, dear?" "and you never gave him anything in return for all his devotion?" jane continued in the same cross-examining voice and with the same incisive tone. "yes, my companionship--whenever i could. about what you give doctor john," and she looked at jane with a sly inquiry as she laughed gently to herself. jane bit her lips and her face flushed scarlet. the cowardly thrust had not wounded her own heart. it had only uncovered the love of the man who lay enshrined in its depths. a sudden sense of the injustice done him arose in her mind and then her own helplessness in it all. "i would give him everything i have, if i could," she answered simply, all her insistency gone, the tears starting to her eyes. lucy threw her arms about her sister and held her cheek to her own. "dear, i was only in fun; please forgive me. everything is so solemn to you. now kiss me and tell me you love me." that night when captain holt came in to play with the little "pond lily," as he called ellen, jane told him of her conversation with lucy, not as a reflection on her sister, but because she thought he ought to know how she felt toward archie. the kiss had wiped out the tears, but the repudiation of archie still rankled in her breast. the captain listened patiently to the end. then he said with a pause between each word: "she's sailin' without her port and starboard lights, miss jane. one o' these nights with the tide settin' she'll run up ag'in somethin' solid in a fog, and then--god help her! if bart had lived he might have come home and done the decent thing, and then we could git her into port some'er's for repairs, but that's over now. she better keep her lights trimmed. tell her so for me." what this "decent thing" was he never said--perhaps he had but a vague idea himself. bart had injured lucy and should have made reparation, but in what way except by marriage--he, perhaps, never formulated in his own mind. jane winced under the captain's outburst, but she held her peace. she knew how outspoken he was and how unsparing of those who differed from him and she laid part of his denunciation to this cause. some weeks after this conversation the captain started for yardley to see jane on a matter of business, and incidentally to have a romp with the pond lily. it was astonishing how devoted the old sea-dog was to the child, and how she loved him in return. "my big bear," she used to call him, tugging away at his gray whiskers. on his way he stopped at the post-office for his mail. it was mid-winter and the roads were partly blocked with snow, making walking difficult except for sturdy souls like captain nat. "here, cap'n holt, yer jest the man i been a-waitin' for," cried miss tucher, the postmistress, from behind the sliding window. "if you ain't goin' up to the cobdens, ye kin, can't ye? here's a lot o' letters jest come that i know they're expectin'. miss lucy's" (many of the village people still called her miss lucy, not being able to pronounce her dead husband's name) "come in yesterday and seems as if she couldn't wait. this storm made everything late and the mail got in after she left. there ain't nobody comin' out to-day and here's a pile of 'em--furrin' most of 'em. i'd take 'em myself if the snow warn't so deep. don't mind, do ye? i'd hate to have her disapp'inted, for she's jes' 's sweet as they make 'em." "don't mind it a mite, susan tucher," cried the captain. "goin' there, anyhow. got some business with miss jane. lord, what a wad o' them!" "that ain't half what she gits sometimes," replied the postmistress, "and most of 'em has seals and crests stamped on 'em. some o' them furrin lords, i guess, she met over there." these letters the captain held in his hand when he pushed open the door of the sitting-room and stood before the inmates in his rough pea-jacket, his ruddy face crimson with the cold, his half-moon whiskers all the whiter by contrast. "good-mornin' to the hull o' ye!" he shouted. "cold as blue blazes outside, i tell ye, but ye look snug enough in here. hello, little pond lily! why ain't you out on your sled? put two more roses in your cheeks if there was room for 'em. there, ma'am," and he nodded to lucy and handed her the letters, "that's 'bout all the mail that come this mornin'. there warn't nothin' else much in the bag. susan tucher asked me to bring 'em up to you count of the weather and 'count o' your being in such an all-fired hurry to read 'em." little ellen was in his arms before this speech was finished and everybody else on their feet shaking hands with the old salt, except poor, deaf old martha, who called out, "good-mornin', captain holt," in a strong, clear voice, and in rather a positive way, but who kept her seat by the fire and continued her knitting; and complacent mrs. dellenbaugh, the pastor's wife, who, by reason of her position, never got up for anybody. the captain advanced to the fire, ellen still in his arms, shook hands with mrs. dellenbaugh and extended three fingers, rough as lobster's claws and as red, to the old nurse. of late years he never met martha without feeling that he owed her an apology for the way he had treated her the day she begged him to send bart away. so he always tried to make it up to her, although he had never told her why. "hope you're better, martha? heard ye was under the weather; was that so? ye look spry 'nough now," he shouted in his best quarter-deck voice. "yes, but it warn't much. doctor john fixed me up," martha replied coldly. she had no positive animosity toward the captain--not since he had shown some interest in archie--but she could never make a friend of him. during this greeting lucy, who had regained her chair, sat with the letters unopened in her lap. none of the eagerness miss tucher had indicated was apparent. she seemed more intent on arranging the folds of her morning-gown accentuating the graceful outlines of her well-rounded figure. she had glanced through the package hastily, and had found the one she wanted and knew that it was there warm under her touch--the others did not interest her. "what a big mail, dear," remarked jane, drawing up a chair. "aren't you going to open it?" the captain had found a seat by the window and the child was telling him everything she had done since she last saw him. "oh, yes, in a minute," replied lucy. "there's plenty of time." with this she picked up the bunch of letters, ran her eye through the collection, and then, with the greatest deliberation, broke one seal after another, tossing the contents on the table. some she merely glanced at, searching for the signatures and ignoring the contents; others she read through to the end. one was from dresden, from a student she had known there the year before. this was sealed with a wafer and bore the address of the cafe where he took his meals. another was stamped with a crest and emitted a slight perfume; a third was enlivened by a monogram in gold and began: "ma chere amie," in a bold round hand. the one under her hand she did not open, but slipped into the pocket of her dress. the others she tore into bits and threw upon the blazing logs. "i guess if them fellers knew how short a time it would take ye to heave their cargo overboard," blurted out the captain, "they'd thought a spell 'fore they mailed their manifests." lucy laughed good-naturedly and jane watched the blaze roar up the wide chimney. the captain settled back in his chair and was about to continue his "sea yarn," as he called it, to little ellen, when he suddenly loosened the child from his arms, and leaning forward in his seat toward where jane sat, broke out with: "god bless me! i believe i'm wool-gathering. i clean forgot what i come for. it is you, miss jane, i come to see, not this little curly head that'll git me ashore yet with her cunnin' ways. they're goin' to build a new life-saving station down barnegat way. that dutch brig that come ashore last fall in that so'easter and all them men drownded could have been saved if we'd had somethin' to help 'em with. we did all we could, but that house of refuge ain't half rigged and most o' the time ye got to break the door open to git at what there is if ye're in a hurry, which you allus is. they ought to have a station with everything 'bout as it ought to be and a crew on hand all the time; then, when somethin' comes ashore you're right there on top of it. that one down to squam is just what's wanted here." "will it be near the new summer hotel?" asked lucy carelessly, just as a matter of information, and without raising her eyes from the rings on her beautiful hands. "'bout half a mile from the front porch, ma'am"--he preferred calling her so--"from what i hear. 'tain't located exactly yet, but some'er's along there. i was down with the gov'ment agent yesterday." "who will take charge of it, captain?" inquired jane, reaching over her basket in search of her scissors. "well, that's what i come up for. they're talkin' about me," and the captain put his hands behind ellen's head and cracked his big knuckles close to her ear, the child laughing with delight as she listened. the announcement was received with some surprise. jane, seeing martha's inquiring face, as if she wanted to hear, repeated the captain's words to her in a loud voice. martha laid down her knitting and looked at the captain over her spectacles. "why, would you take it, captain?" jane asked in some astonishment, turning to him again. "don't know but i would. ain't no better job for a man than savin' lives. i've helped kill a good many; 'bout time now i come 'bout on another tack. i'm doin' nothin'--haven't been for years. if i could get the right kind of a crew 'round me--men i could depend on--i think i could make it go." "if you couldn't nobody could, captain," said jane in a positive way. "have you picked out your crew?" "yes, three or four of 'em. isaac polhemus and tom morgan--tom sailed with me on my last voyage--and maybe tod." "archie's tod?" asked jane, replacing her scissors and searching for a spool of cotton. "archie's tod," repeated the captain, nodding his head, his big hand stroking ellen's flossy curls. "that's what brought me up. i want tod, and he won't go without archie. will ye give him to me?" "my archie!" cried jane, dropping her work and staring straight at the captain. "your archie, miss jane, if that's the way you put it," and he stole a look at lucy. she was conscious of his glance, but she did not return it; she merely continued listening as she twirled one of the rings on her finger. "well, but, captain, isn't it very dangerous work? aren't the men often drowned?" protested jane. "anything's dangerous 'bout salt water that's worth the doin'. i've stuck to the pumps seventy-two hours at a time, but i'm here to tell the tale." "have you talked to archie?" "no, but tod has. they've fixed it up betwixt 'em. the boy's dead set to go." "well, but isn't he too young?" "young or old, he's tough as a marline-spike--a , and copper fastened throughout. there ain't a better boatman on the beach. been that way ever since he was a boy. won't do him a bit of harm to lead that kind of life for a year or two. if he was mine it wouldn't take me a minute to tell what i'd do." jane leaned back in her chair, her eyes on the crackling logs, and began patting the carpet with her foot. lucy became engrossed in a book that lay on the table beside her. she didn't intend to take any part in the discussion. if jane wanted archie to serve as a common sailor that was jane's business. then again, it was, perhaps, just as well for a number of reasons to have him under the captain's care. he might become so fond of the sea as to want to follow it all his life. "what do you think about it, lucy?" asked jane. "oh, i don't know anything about it. i don't really. i've lived so long away from here i don't know what the young men are doing for a living. he's always been fond of the sea, has he not, captain holt?" "allus," said the captain doggedly; "it's in his blood." her answer nettled him. "you ain't got no objections, have you, ma'am?" he asked, looking straight at lucy. lucy's color came and went. his tone offended her, especially before mrs. dellenbaugh, who, although she spoke but seldom in public had a tongue of her own when she chose to use it. she was not accustomed to being spoken to in so brusque a way. she understood perfectly well the captain's covert meaning, but she did not intend either to let him see it or to lose her temper. "oh, not the slightest," she answered with a light laugh. "i have no doubt that it will be the making of him to be with you. poor boy, he certainly needs a father's care." the captain winced in turn under the retort and his eyes flashed, but he made no reply. little ellen had slipped out of the captain's lap during the colloquy. she had noticed the change in her friend's tone, and, with a child's intuition, had seen that the harmony was in danger of being broken. she stood by the captain's knee, not knowing whether to climb back again or to resume her seat by the window. lucy, noticing the child's discomfort, called to her: "come here, ellen, you will tire the captain." the child crossed the room and stood by her mother while lucy tried to rearrange the glossy curls, tangled by too close contact with the captain's broad shoulder. in the attempt ellen lost her balance and fell into her mother's lap. "oh, ellen!" said her mother coldly; "stand up, dear. you are so careless. see how you have mussed my gown. now go over to the window and play with your dolls." the captain noted the incident and heard lucy's reproof, but he made no protest. neither did he contradict the mother's statement that the little girl had tired him. his mind was occupied with other things--the tone of the mother's voice for one, and the shade of sadness that passed over the child's face for another. from that moment he took a positive dislike to her. "well, think it over, miss jane," he said, rising from his seat and reaching for his hat. "plenty of time 'bout archie. life-savin' house won't be finished for the next two or three months; don't expect to git into it till june. wonder, little pond lily, if the weather's goin' to be any warmer?" he slipped his hand under the child's chin and leaning over her head peered out of the window. "don't look like it, does it, little one? looks as if the snow would hold on. hello! here comes the doctor. i'll wait a bit--good for sore eyes to see him, and i don't git a chance every day. ask him 'bout archie, miss jane. he'll tell ye whether the lad's too young." there came a stamping of feet on the porch outside as doctor john shook the snow from his boots, and the next instant he stepped into the room bringing with him all the freshness and sunshine of the outside world. "good-morning, good people," he cried, "every one of you! how very snug and cosey you look here! ah, captain, where have you been keeping yourself? and mrs. dellenbaugh! this is indeed a pleasure. i have just passed the dear doctor, and he is looking as young as he did ten years ago. and my lady lucy! down so early! well, mistress martha, up again i see; i told you you'd be all right in a day or two." this running fire of greetings was made with a pause before each inmate of the room--a hearty hand-shake for the bluff captain, the pressing of mrs. dellenbaugh's limp fingers, a low bow to lucy, and a pat on martha's plump shoulder. jane came last, as she always did. she had risen to greet him and was now unwinding the white silk handkerchief wrapped about his throat and helping him off with his fur tippet and gloves. "thank you, jane. no, let me take it; it's rather wet," he added as he started to lay the heavy overcoat over a chair. "wait a minute. i've some violets for you if they are not crushed in my pocket. they came last night," and he handed her a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper. this done, he took his customary place on the rug with his back to the blazing logs and began unbuttoning his trim frock-coat, bringing to view a double-breasted, cream-white waistcoat--he still dressed as a man of thirty, and always in the fashion--as well as a fluffy scarf which jane had made for him with her own fingers. "and what have i interrupted?" he asked, looking over the room. "one of your sea yarns, captain?"--here he reached over and patted the child's head, who had crept back to the captain's arms--"or some of my lady's news from paris? you tell me, jane," he added, with a smile, opening his thin, white, almost transparent fingers and holding them behind his back to the fire, a favorite attitude. "ask the captain, john." she had regained her seat and was reaching out for her work-basket, the violets now pinned in her bosom--her eyes had long since thanked him. "no, do you tell me," he insisted, moving aside the table with her sewing materials and placing it nearer her chair. "well, but it's the captain who should speak," jane replied, laughing, as she looked up into his face, her eyes filled with his presence. "he has startled us all with the most wonderful proposition. the government is going to build a life-saving station at barnegat beach, and they have offered him the position of keeper, and he says he will take it if i will let archie go with him as one of his crew." doctor john's face instantly assumed a graver look. these forked roads confronting the career of a young life were important and not to be lightly dismissed. "well, what did you tell him?" he asked, looking down at jane in the effort to read her thoughts. "we are waiting for you to decide, john." the tone was the same she would have used had the doctor been her own husband and the boy their child. doctor john communed with himself for an instant. "well, let us take a vote," he replied with an air as if each and every one in the room was interested in the decision. "we'll begin with mistress martha, and then mrs. dellenbaugh, and then you, jane, and last our lady from over the sea. the captain has already sold his vote to his affections, and so must be counted out." "yes, but don't count me in, please," exclaimed lucy with a merry laugh as she arose from her seat. "i don't know a thing about it. i've just told the dear captain so. i'm going upstairs this very moment to write some letters. bonjour, monsieur le docteur; bonjour, monsieur le capitaine and madame dellenbaugh," and with a wave of her hand and a little dip of her head to each of the guests, she courtesied out of the room. when the door was closed behind her she stopped in the hall, threw a glance at her face in the old-fashioned mirror, satisfied herself of her skill in preserving its beautiful rabbit's-foot bloom and freshness, gave her blonde hair one or two pats to keep it in place, rearranged the film of white lace about her shapely throat, and gathering up the mass of ruffled skirts that hid her pretty feet, slowly ascended the staircase. once inside her room and while the vote was being taken downstairs that decided archie's fate she locked her door, dropped into a chair by the fire, took the unopened letter from her pocket, and broke the seal. "don't scold, little woman," it read. "i would have written before, but i've been awfully busy getting my place in order. it's all arranged now, however, for the summer. the hotel will be opened in june, and i have the best rooms in the house, the three on the corner overlooking the sea. sue says she will, perhaps, stay part of the summer with me. try and come up next week for the night. if not i'll bring sue with me and come to you for the day. "your own max." for some minutes she sat gazing into the fire, the letter in her hand. "it's about time, mr. max feilding," she said at last with a sigh of relief as she rose from her seat and tucked the letter into her desk. "you've had string enough, my fine fellow; now it's my turn. if i had known you would have stayed behind in paris all these months and kept me waiting here i'd have seen you safe aboard the steamer. the hotel opens in june, does it? well, i can just about stand it here until then; after that i'd go mad. this place bores me to death." chapter xvi the beginning of the ebb spring has come and gone. the lilacs and crocuses, the tulips and buttercups, have bloomed and faded; the lawn has had its sprinkling of dandelions, and the duff of their blossoms has drifted past the hemlocks and over the tree-tops. the grass has had its first cutting; the roses have burst their buds and hang in clusters over the arbors; warm winds blow in from the sea laden with perfumes from beach and salt-marsh; the skies are steely blue and the cloud puffs drift lazily. it is summer-time--the season of joy and gladness, the season of out-of-doors. all the windows at yardley are open; the porch has donned an awning--its first--colored white and green, shading big rocking-chairs and straw tables resting on turkish rugs. lucy had wondered why in all the years that jane had lived alone at yardley she had never once thought of the possibilities of this porch. jane had agreed with her, and so, under lucy's direction, the awnings had been put up and the other comforts inaugurated. beneath its shade lucy sits and reads or embroiders or answers her constantly increasing correspondence. the porch serves too as a reception-room, the vines being thick and the occupants completely hidden from view. here lucy often spreads a small table, especially when max feilding drives over in his london drag from beach haven on barnegat beach. on these occasions, if the weather is warm, she refreshes him with delicate sandwiches and some of her late father's rare scotch whiskey (shelved in the cellar for thirty years) or with the more common brands of cognac served in the old family decanters. of late max had become a constant visitor. his own ancestors had made honorable records in the preceding century, and were friends of the earlier cobdens during the revolution. this, together with the fact that he had visited yardley when lucy was a girl--on his first return from paris, in fact--and that the acquaintance had been kept up while he was a student abroad, was reason enough for his coming with such frequency. his drag, moreover, as it whirled into yardley's gate, gave a certain air of eclat to the manor house that it had not known since the days of the old colonel. nothing was lacking that money and taste could furnish. the grays were high-steppers and smooth as satin, the polished chains rattled and clanked about the pole; the body was red and the wheels yellow, the lap-robe blue, with a monogram; and the diminutive boy studded with silver buttons bearing the crest of the feilding family was as smart as the tailor could make him. and the owner himself, in his whity-brown driving-coat with big pearl buttons, yellow gloves, and gray hat, looked every inch the person to hold the ribbons. altogether it was a most fashionable equipage, owned and driven by a most fashionable man. as for the older residents of warehold, they had only words of praise for the turnout. uncle ephraim declared that it was a "jim dandy," which not only showed his taste, but which also proved how much broader that good-natured cynic had become in later years. billy tatham gazed at it with staring eyes as it trundled down the highway and turned into the gate, and at once determined to paint two of his hacks bright yellow and give each driver a lap-robe with the letter "t" worked in high relief. the inmates of yardley were not quite so enthusiastic. martha was glad that her bairn was having such a good time, and she would often stand on the porch with little ellen's hand in hers and wave to max and lucy as they dashed down the garden road and out through the gate, the tiger behind; but jane, with that quick instinct which some women possess, recognized something in feilding's manner which she could not put into words, and so held her peace. she had nothing against max, but she did not like him. although he was most considerate of her feelings and always deferred to her, she felt that any opposition on her part to their outings would have made no difference to either one of them. he asked her permission, of course, and she recognized the courtesy, but nothing that he ever did or said overcame her dislike of him. doctor john's personal attitude and bearing toward feilding was an enigma not only to jane, but to others who saw it. he invariably greeted him, whenever they met, with marked, almost impressive cordiality, but it never passed a certain limit of reserve; a certain dignity of manner which max had recognized the first day he shook hands with him. it recalled to feilding some of his earlier days, when he was a student in paris. there had been a supper in max's room that ended at daylight--no worse in its features than dozens of others in the quartier--to which an intimate friend of the doctor's had been invited, and upon which, as max heard afterward, the doctor had commented rather severely. max realized, therefore, but too well that the distinguished physician--known now over half the state--understood him, and his habits, and his kind as thoroughly as he did his own ease of instruments. he realized, too, that there was nothing about his present appearance or surroundings or daily life that could lead so thoughtful a man of the world as dr. john cavendish, of barnegat, to conclude that he had changed in any way for the better. and yet this young gentleman could never have been accused of burning his candle at both ends. he had no flagrant vices really--none whose posters were pasted on the victim's face. neither cards nor any other form of play interested him, nor did the wine tempt him when it was red--or of any other color, for that matter, nor did he haunt the dressing-rooms of chorus girls and favorites of the hour. his innate refinement and good taste prevented any such uses of his spare time. his weakness--for it could hardly be called a vice--was narrowed down to one infirmity, and one only: this was his inability to be happy without the exclusive society of some one woman. who the woman might be depended very largely on whom he might be thrown with. in the first ten years of his majority--his days of poverty when a student--it had been some girl in exile, like himself. during the last ten years--since his father's death and his inheritance--it had been a loose end picked out of the great floating drift--that social flotsam and jetsam which eddies in and out of the casinos of nice and monte carlo, flows into aix and trouville in summer and back again to rome and cairo in winter--a discontented wife perhaps; or an unmarried woman of thirty-five or forty, with means enough to live where she pleased; or it might be some self-exiled russian countess or english-woman of quality who had a month off, and who meant to make the most of it. all most respectable people, of course, without a breath of scandal attaching to their names--max was too careful for that--and yet each and every one on the lookout for precisely the type of man that max represented: one never happy or even contented when outside the radius of a waving fan or away from the flutter of a silken skirt. it was in one of these resorts of the idle, a couple of years before, while lucy's husband and little ellen were home in geneva, that max had met her, and where he had renewed the acquaintance of their childhood--an acquaintance which soon ripened into the closest friendship. hence his london drag and appointments; hence the yacht and a four-in-hand--then a great novelty--all of which he had promised her should she decide to join him at home. hence, too, his luxuriously fitted-up bachelor quarters in philadelphia, and his own comfortable apartments in his late father's house, where his sister sue lived; and hence, too, his cosey rooms in the best corner of the beach haven hotel, with a view overlooking barnegat light and the sea. none of these things indicated in the smallest degree that this noble gentleman contemplated finally settling down in a mansion commensurate with his large means, where he and the pretty widow could enjoy their married life together; nothing was further from his mind--nothing could be--he loved his freedom too much. what he wanted, and what he intended to have, was her undivided companionship--at least for the summer; a companionship without any of the uncomfortable complications which would have arisen had he selected an unmarried woman or the wife of some friend to share his leisure and wealth. the woman he picked out for the coming season suited him exactly. she was blonde, with eyes, mouth, teeth, and figure to his liking (he had become critical in forty odd years--twenty passed as an expert); dressed in perfect taste, and wore her clothes to perfection; had a continental training that made her mistress of every situation, receiving with equal ease and graciousness anybody, from a postman to a prince, sending them away charmed and delighted; possessed money enough of her own not to be too much of a drag upon him; and--best of all (and this was most important to the heir of walnut hill)--had the best blood of the state circling in her veins. whether this intimacy might drift into something closer, compelling him to take a reef in his sails, never troubled him. it was not the first time that he had steered his craft between the scylla of matrimony and the charybdis of scandal, and he had not the slightest doubt of his being able to do it again. as for lucy, she had many plans in view. one was to get all the fun possible out of the situation; another was to provide for her future. how this was to be accomplished she had not yet determined. her plans were laid, but some of them she knew from past experience might go astray. on one point she had made up her mind--not to be in a hurry. in furtherance of these schemes she had for some days--some months, in fact--been making preparations for an important move. she knew that its bare announcement would come as a surprise to jane and martha and, perhaps, as a shock, but that did not shake her purpose. she furthermore expected more or less opposition when they fully grasped her meaning. this she intended to overcome. neither jane nor martha, she said to herself, could be angry with her for long, and a few kisses and an additional flow of good-humor would soon set them to laughing again. to guard against the possibility of a too prolonged interview with jane, ending, perhaps, in a disagreeable scene--one beyond her control--she had selected a sunny summer morning for the stage setting of her little comedy and an hour when feilding was expected to call for her in his drag. she and max were to make a joint inspection that day of his new apartment at beach haven, into which he had just moved, as well as the stable containing the three extra vehicles and equine impedimenta, which were to add to their combined comfort and enjoyment. lucy had been walking in the garden looking at the rose-beds, her arm about her sister's slender waist, her ears open to the sound of every passing vehicle--max was expected at any moment--when she began her lines. "you won't mind, jane, dear, will you, if i get together a few things and move over to beach haven for a while?" she remarked simply, just as she might have done had she asked permission to go upstairs to take a nap. "i think we should all encourage a new enterprise like the hotel, especially old families like ours. and then the sea air always does me so much good. nothing like trouville air, my dear husband used to tell me, when i came back in the autumn. you don't mind, do you?" "for how long, lucy?" asked jane, with a tone of disappointment in her voice, as she placed her foot on the top step of the porch. "oh, i can't tell. depends very much on how i like it." as she spoke she drew up an easy-chair for jane and settled herself in another. then she added carelessly: "oh, perhaps a month--perhaps two." "two months!" exclaimed jane in astonishment, dropping into her seat. "why, what do you want to leave yardley for? o lucy, don't--please don't go!" "but you can come over, and i can come here," rejoined lucy in a coaxing tone. "yes; but i don't want to come over. i want you at home. and it's so lovely here. i have never seen the garden look so beautiful; and you have your own room, and this little porch is so cosey. the hotel is a new building, and the doctor says a very damp one, with everything freshly plastered. he won't let any of his patients go there for some weeks, he tells me. why should you want to go? i really couldn't think of it, dear. i'd miss you dreadfully." "you dear old sister," answered lucy, laying her parasol on the small table beside her, "you are so old-fashioned. habit, if nothing else, would make me go. i have hardly passed a summer in paris or geneva since i left you; and you know how delightful my visits to biarritz used to be years ago. since my marriage i have never stayed in any one place so long as this. i must have the sea air." "but the salt water is right here, lucy, within a short walk of our gate, and the air is the same." jane's face wore a troubled look, and there was an anxious, almost frightened tone in her voice. "no, it is not exactly the same," lucy answered positively, as if she had made a life-long study of climate; "and if it were, the life is very different. i love warehold, of course; but you must admit that it is half-asleep all the time. the hotel will be some change; there will be new people and something to see from the piazzas. and i need it, dear. i get tired of one thing all the time--i always have." "but you will be just as lonely there." jane in her astonishment was like a blind man feeling about for a protecting wall. "no; max and his sister will be at beach haven, and lots of others i know. no, i won't be lonely," and an amused expression twinkled in her eyes. jane sat quite still. some of captain holt's blunt, outspoken criticisms floated through her brain. "have you any reason for wanting to leave here?" she asked, raising her eyes and looking straight at lucy. "no, certainly not. how foolish, dear, to ask me! i'm never so happy as when i am with you." "well, why then should you want to give up your home and all the comforts you need--your flowers, garden, and everything you love, and this porch, which you have just made so charming, to go to a damp, half-completed hotel, without a shrub about it--only a stretch of desolate sand with the tide going in and out?" there was a tone of suspicion in jane's voice that lucy had never heard from her sister's lips--never, in all her life. "oh, because i love the tides, if nothing else," she answered with a sentimental note in her voice. "every six hours they bring me a new message. i could spend whole mornings watching the tides come and go. during my long exile you don't know how i dreamed every night of the dear tides of barnegat. if you had been away from all you love as many years as i have, you would understand how i could revel in the sound of the old breakers." for some moments jane did not answer. she knew from the tones of lucy's voice and from the way she spoke that she did not mean it. she had heard her talk that way to some of the villagers when she wanted to impress them, but she had never spoken in the same way to her. "you have some other reason, lucy. is it max?" she asked in a strained tone. lucy colored. she had not given her sister credit for so keen an insight into the situation. jane's mind was evidently working in a new direction. she determined to face the suspicion squarely; the truth under some conditions is better than a lie. "yes," she replied, with an assumed humility and with a tone as if she had been detected in a fault and wanted to make a clean breast of it. "yes--now that you have guessed it--it is max." "don't you think it would be better to see him here instead of at the hotel?" exclaimed jane, her eyes still boring into lucy's. "perhaps"--the answer came in a helpless way--"but that won't do much good. i want to keep my promise to him if i can." "what was your promise?" jane's eyes lost their searching look for an instant, but the tone of suspicion still vibrated. lucy hesitated and began playing with the trimming on her dress. "well, to tell you the truth, dear, a few days ago in a burst of generosity i got myself into something of a scrape. max wants his sister sue to spend the summer with him, and i very foolishly promised to chaperon her. she is delighted over the prospect, for she must have somebody, and i haven't the heart to disappoint her. max has been so kind to me that i hate now to tell him i can't go. that's all, dear. i don't like to speak of obligations of this sort, and so at first i only told you half the truth." "you should always keep your promise, dear," jane answered thoughtfully and with a certain relieved tone. (sue was nearly thirty, but that did not occur to jane.) "but this time i wish you had not promised. i am sorry, too, for little ellen. she will miss her little garden and everything she loves here; and then again, archie will miss her, and so will captain holt and martha. you know as well as i do that a hotel is no place for a child." "i am glad to hear you say so. that's why i shall not take her with me." as she spoke she shot an inquiring glance from the corner of her eyes at the anxious face of her sister. these last lines just before the curtain fell were the ones she had dreaded most. jane half rose from her seat. her deep eyes were wide open, gazing in astonishment at lucy. for an instant she felt as if her heart had stopped beating. "and you--you--are not going to take ellen with you!" she gasped. "no, of course not." she saw her sister's agitation, but she did not intend to notice it. besides, her expectant ear had caught the sound of max's drag as it whirled through the gate. "i always left her with her grandmother when she was much younger than she is now. she is very happy here and i wouldn't be so cruel as to take her away from all her pleasures. then she loves old people. see how fond she is of the captain and martha! no, you are right. i wouldn't think of taking her away." jane was standing now, her eyes blazing, her lips quivering. "you mean, lucy, that you would leave your child here and spend two months away from her?" the wheels were crunching the gravel within a rod of the porch. max had already lifted his hat. "but, sister, you don't understand--" the drag stopped and max, with uncovered head, sprang out and extended his hand to jane. before he could offer his salutations lucy's joyous tones rang out. "just in the nick of time, max," she cried. "i've just been telling my dear sister that i'm going to move over to beach haven to-morrow, bag and baggage, and she is delighted at the news. isn't it just like her?" chapter xvii breakers ahead the summer-home of max feilding, esq., of walnut hill, and of the beautiful and accomplished widow of the dead frenchman was located on a levelled sand-dune in full view of the sea. indeed, from beneath its low-hooded porticos and piazzas nothing else could be seen except, perhaps, the wide sky--gray, mottled, or intensely blue, as the weather permitted--the stretch of white sand shaded from dry to wet and edged with tufts of yellow grass; the circling gulls and the tall finger of barnegat light pointing skyward. nothing, really, but some scattering buildings in silhouette against the glare of the blinding light--one the old house of refuge, a mile away to the north, and nearer by, the new life saving station (now complete) in charge of captain nat holt and his crew of trusty surfmen. this view lucy always enjoyed. she would sit for hours under her awnings and watch the lazy boats crawling in and out of the inlet, or the motionless steamers--motionless at that distance--slowly unwinding their threads of smoke. the station particularly interested her. somehow she felt a certain satisfaction in knowing that archie was at work and that he had at last found his level among his own people--not that she wished him any harm; she only wanted him out of her way. the hostelry itself was one of those low-roofed, shingle-sided and shingle-covered buildings common in the earlier days along the jersey coast, and now supplanted by more modern and more costly structures. it had grown from a farm-house and out-buildings to its present state with the help of an architect and a jig-saw; the former utilizing what remained of the house and its barns, and the latter transforming plain pine into open work patterns with which to decorate its gable ends and facade. when the flags were raised, the hanging baskets suspended in each loop of the porches, and the merciless, omnipresent and ever-insistent sand was swept from its wide piazzas and sun-warped steps it gave out an air of gayety so plausible and enticing that many otherwise sane and intelligent people at once closed their comfortable homes and entered their names in its register. the amusements of these habitues--if they could be called habitues, this being their first summer--were as varied as their tastes. there was a band which played mornings and afternoons in an unpainted pine pagoda planted on a plot of slowly dying grass and decorated with more hanging baskets and chinese lanterns; there was bathing at eleven and four; and there was croquet on the square of cement fenced about by poles and clothes-lines at all hours. besides all this there were driving parties to the villages nearby; dancing parties at night with the band in the large room playing away for dear life, with all the guests except the very young and very old tucked away in twos in the dark corners of the piazzas out of reach of the lights and the inquisitive--in short, all the diversions known to such retreats, so necessary for warding off ennui and thus inducing the inmates to stay the full length of their commitments. in its selection max was guided by two considerations: it was near yardley--this would materially aid in lucy's being able to join him--and it was not fashionable and, therefore, not likely to be overrun with either his own or lucy's friends. the amusements did not interest him; nor did they interest lucy. both had seen too much and enjoyed too much on the other side of the water, at nice, at monte carlo, and biarritz, to give the amusements a thought. what they wanted was to be let alone; this would furnish all the excitement either of them needed. this exclusiveness was greatly helped by the red and yellow drag, with all its contiguous and connecting impedimenta, a turnout which never ceased to occupy everybody's attention whenever the small tiger stood by the heads of the satin-coated grays awaiting the good pleasure of his master and his lady. its possession not only marked a social eminence too lofty for any ordinary habitue to climb to unless helped up by the proffered hand of the owner, but it prevented anyone of these would-be climbers from inviting either its owner or his companion to join in other outings no matter how enjoyable. such amusements as they could offer were too simple and old-fashioned for two distinguished persons who held the world in their slings and who were whirling it around their heads with all their might. the result was that their time was their own. they filled it at their pleasure. when the tide was out and the sand hard, they drove on the beach, stopping at the new station, chatting with captain holt or archie; or they strolled north, always avoiding the house of refuge--that locality had too many unpleasant associations for lucy, or they sat on the dunes, moving back out of the wet as the tide reached them, tossing pebbles in the hollows, or gathering tiny shells, which lucy laid out in rows of letters as she had done when a child. in the afternoon they drove by way of yardley to see how ellen was getting on, or idled about warehold, making little purchases at the shops and chatting with the village people, all of whom would come out to greet them. after dinner they would generally betake themselves to max's portico, opening out of his rooms, or to lucy's--they were at opposite ends of the long corridor--where the two had their coffee while max smoked. the opinions freely expressed regarding their social and moral status, and individual and combined relations, differed greatly in the several localities in which they were wont to appear. in warehold village they were looked upon as two most charming and delightful people, rich, handsome, and of proper age and lineage, who were exactly adapted to each other and who would prove it before the year was out, with pastor dellenbaugh officiating, assisted by some dignitary from philadelphia. at the hostelry many of the habitues had come to a far different conclusion. marriage was not in either of their heads, they maintained; their intimacy was a purely platonic one, born of a friendship dating back to childhood--they were cousins really--max being the dearest and most unselfish creature in the world, he having given up all his pleasures elsewhere to devote himself to a most sweet and gracious lady whose grief was still severe and who would really be quite alone in the world were it not for her little daughter, now temporarily absent. this summary of facts, none of which could be questioned, was supplemented and enriched by another conclusive instalment from mrs. walton coates, of chestnut plains, who had met lucy at aix the year before, and who therefore possessed certain rights not vouchsafed to the other habitues of beach haven--an acquaintance which lucy, for various reasons, took pains to encourage--mrs. c.'s social position being beyond question, and her house and other appointments more than valuable whenever lucy should visit philadelphia: besides, mrs. coates's own and lucy's apartments joined, and the connecting door of the two sitting-rooms was often left open, a fact which established a still closer intimacy. this instalment, given in a positive and rather lofty way, made plain the fact that in her enforced exile the distinguished lady not only deserved the thanks of every habitue of the hotel, but of the whole country around, for selecting the new establishment in which to pass the summer, instead of one of the more fashionable resorts elsewhere. this outburst of the society leader, uttered in the hearing of a crowded piazza, had occurred after a conversation she had had with lucy concerning little ellen. "tell me about your little daughter," mrs. coates had said. "you did not leave her abroad, did you?" "oh, no, my dear mrs. coates! i am really here on my darling's account," lucy answered with a sigh. "my old home is only a short distance from here. but the air does not agree with me there, and so i came here to get a breath of the real sea. ellen is with her aunt, my dear sister jane. i wanted to bring her, but really i hadn't the heart to take her from them; they are so devoted to her. max loves her dearly. he drives me over there almost every day. i really do not know how i could have borne all the sorrows i have had this year without dear max. he is like a brother to me, and so thoughtful. you know we have known each other since we were children. they tell such dreadful stories, too, about him, but i have never seen that side of him, he's a perfect saint to me." from that time on mrs. coates was her loyal mouthpiece and devoted friend. being separated from one's child was one of the things she could not brook; lucy was an angel to stand it as she did. as for max--no other woman had ever so influenced him for good, nor did she believe any other woman could. at the end of the second week a small fly no larger than a pin's head began to develop in the sunshine of their amber. it became visible to the naked eye when max suddenly resolved to leave his drag, his tiger, his high-stepping grays, and his fair companion, and slip over to philadelphia--for a day or two, he explained. his lawyer needed him, he said, and then again he wanted to see his sister sue, who had run down to walnut hill for the day. (sue, it might as well be stated, had not yet put in an appearance at beach haven, nor had she given any notice of her near arrival; a fact which had not disturbed lucy in the least until she attempted to explain to jane.) "i've got to pull up, little woman, and get out for a few days," max had begun. "morton's all snarled up, he writes me, over a mortgage, and i must straighten it out. i'll leave bones [the tiger] and everything just as it is. don't mind, do you?" "mind! of course i do!" retorted lucy. "when did you get this marvellous idea into that wonderful brain of yours, max? i intended to go to warehold myself to-morrow." she spoke with her usual good-humor, but with a slight trace of surprise and disappointment in her tone. "when i opened my mail this morning; but my going won't make any difference about warehold. bones and the groom will take care of you." lucy leaned back in her chair and looked over the rail of the porch. she had noticed lately a certain restraint in max's manner which was new to her. whether he was beginning to get bored, or whether it was only one of his moods, she could not decide--even with her acute knowledge of similar symptoms. that some change, however, had come over him she had not the slightest doubt. she never had any trouble in lassoing her admirers. that came with a glance of her eye or a lift of her pretty shoulders: nor for that matter in keeping possession of them as long as her mood lasted. "whom do you want to see in philadelphia, max?" she asked, smiling roguishly at him. she held him always by presenting her happiest and most joyous side, whether she felt it or not. "sue and morton--and you, you dear girl, if you'll come along." "no; i'm not coming along. i'm too comfortable where i am. is this woman somebody you haven't told me of, max?" she persisted, looking at him from under half-closed lids. "your somebodies are always thin air, little girl; you know everything i have ever done in my whole life," max answered gravely. she had for the last two weeks. lucy threw up her hands and laughed so loud and cheerily that an habitue taking his morning constitutional on the boardwalk below turned his head in their direction. the two were at breakfast under the awnings of lucy's portico, bones standing out of range. "you don't believe it?" "not one word of it, you fraud; nor do you. you've forgotten one-half of all you've done and the other half you wouldn't dare tell any woman. come, give me her name. anybody sue knows?" "nobody that anybody knows, honest john." then he added as an after-thought, "are you sorry?" as he spoke he rose from his seat and stood behind her chair looking down over her figure. she had her back to him. he thought he had never seen her look so lovely. she was wearing a light-blue morning-gown, her arms bare to the elbows, and a wide leghorn hat--the morning costume of all others he liked her best in. "no--don't think i am," she answered lightly. "fact is i was getting pretty tired of you. how long will you be gone?" "oh, i think till the end of the week--not longer." he reached over the chair and was about to play with the tiny curls that lay under the coil of her hair, when he checked himself and straightened up. one of those sudden restraints which had so puzzled lucy had seized him. she could not see his face, but she knew from the tones of his voice that the enthusiasm of the moment had cooled. lucy shifted her chair, lifted her head, and looked up into his eyes. she was always entrancing from this point of view: the upturned eyelashes, round of the cheeks, and the line of the throat and swelling shoulders were like no other woman's he knew. "i don't want you to go, max," she said in the same coaxing tone of voice that ellen might have used in begging for sugar-plums. "just let the mortgage and old morton and everybody else go. stay here with me." max straightened up and threw out his chest and a determined look came into his eyes. if he had had any doubts as to his departure lucy's pleading voice had now removed them. "no, can't do it," he answered in mock positiveness. "can't 'pon my soul. business is business. got to see morton right away; ought to have seen him before." then he added in a more serious tone, "don't get worried if i stay a day or two longer." "well, then, go, you great bear, you," and she rose to her feet and shook out her skirts. "i wouldn't let you stay, no matter what you said." she was not angry--she was only feeling about trying to put her finger on the particular button that controlled max's movements. "worried? not a bit of it. stay as long as you please." there was a button, could she have found it. it was marked "caution," and when pressed communicated to the heir of walnut hill the intelligence that he was getting too fond of the pretty widow and that his only safety lay in temporary flight. it was a favorite trick of his. in the charting of his course he had often found two other rocks beside scylla and charybdis in his way; one was boredom and the other was love. when a woman began to bore him, or he found himself liking her beyond the limit of his philosophy, he invariably found relief in change of scene. sometimes it was a sick aunt or a persistent lawyer or an engagement nearly forgotten and which must be kept at all hazards. he never, however, left his inamorata in either tears or anger. "now, don't be cross, dear," he cried, patting her shoulder with his fingers. "you know i don't want to leave you. i shall be perfectly wretched while i'm gone, but there's no help for it. morton's such a fussy old fellow--always wanting to do a lot of things that can, perhaps, wait just as well as not. hauled me down from walnut hill half a dozen times once, and after all the fellow wouldn't sell. but this time it's important and i must go. bones," and he lifted his finger to the boy, "tell john i want the light wagon. i'll take the . to philadelphia." the tiger advanced ten steps and stood at attention, his finger at his eyebrow. lucy turned her face toward the boy. "no, bones, you'll do nothing of the kind. you tell john to harness the grays to the drag. i'll go to the station with mr. feilding." max shrugged his shoulders. he liked lucy for a good many things--one was her independence, another was her determination to have her own way. then, again, she was never so pretty as when she was a trifle angry; her color came and went so deliciously and her eyes snapped so charmingly. lucy saw the shrug and caught the satisfied look in his face. she didn't want to offend him and yet she didn't intend that he should go without a parting word from her--tender or otherwise, as circumstances might require. she knew she had not found the button, and in her doubt determined for the present to abandon the search. "no, bones, i've changed my mind," she called to the boy, who was now half way down the piazza. "i don't think i will go. i'll stop here, max, and do just what you want me to do," she added in a softened voice. "come along," and she slipped her hand in his and the two walked toward the door of his apartments. when the light wagon and satin-skinned sorrel, with john on the seat and bones in full view, stopped at the sanded porch, mrs. coates and lucy formed part of the admiring group gathered about the turn-out. all of mr. feilding's equipages brought a crowd of onlookers, no matter how often they appeared--he had five with him at beach haven, including the four-in-hand which he seldom used--but the grays and the light wagon, by common consent, were considered the most "stylish" of them all, not excepting the drag. after max had gathered the reins in his hands, had balanced the whip, had settled himself comfortably and with a wave of his hand to lucy had driven off, mrs. coates slipped her arm through my lady's and the two slowly sauntered to their rooms. "charming man, is he not?" mrs. coates ventured. "such a pity he is not married! you know i often wonder whom such men will marry. some pretty school-girl, perhaps, or prim woman of forty." lucy laughed. "no," she answered, "you are wrong. the bread-and-butter miss would never suit max, and he's past the eye-glass and side-curl age. the next phase, if he ever reaches it, will be somebody who will make him do--not as he pleases, but as she pleases. a man like max never cares for a woman any length of time who humors his whims." "well, he certainly was most attentive to that pretty miss billeton. you remember her father was lost overboard four years ago from his yacht. mr. coates told me he met her only a day or so ago; she had come down to look after the new ball-room they are adding to the old house. you know her, don't you?" "no--never heard of her. how old is she?" rejoined lucy in a careless tone. "i should say twenty, maybe twenty-two--you can't always tell about these girls; very pretty and very rich. i am quite sure i saw mr. feilding driving with her just before he moved his horses down here, and she looked prettier than ever. but then he has a new flame every month, i hear." "where were they driving?" there was a slight tone of curiosity in lucy's voice. none of max's love-affairs ever affected her, of course, except as they made for his happiness; all undue interest, therefore, was out of place, especially before mrs. coates. "i don't remember. along the river road, perhaps--he generally drives there when he has a pretty woman with him." lucy bit her lip. some other friend, then, had been promised the drag with the red body and yellow wheels! this was why he couldn't come to yardley when she wrote for him. she had found the button. it rang up another woman. the door between the connecting sitting-rooms was not opened that day, nor that night, for that matter. lucy pleaded a headache and wished to be alone. she really wanted to look the field over and see where her line of battle was weak. not that she really cared--unless the girl should upset her plans; not as jane would have cared had doctor john been guilty of such infidelity. the eclipse was what hurt her. she had held the centre of the stage with the lime-light full upon her all her life, and she intended to retain it against miss billeton or miss anybody else. she decided to let max know at once, and in plain terms, giving him to understand that she didn't intend to be made a fool of, reminding him at the same time that there were plenty of others who cared for her, or who would care for her if she should but raise her little finger. she would raise it, too, even if she packed her trunks and started for paris--and took him with her. these thoughts rushed through her mind as she sat by the window and looked out over the sea. the tide was making flood, and the fishing-boats anchored in the inlet were pointing seaward. she could see, too, the bathers below and the children digging in the sand. now and then a boat would head for the inlet, drop its sail, and swing round motionless with the others. then a speck would break away from the anchored craft and with the movement of a water-spider land the fishermen ashore. none of these things interested her. she could not have told whether the sun shone or whether the sky was fair or dull. neither was she lonely, nor did she miss max. she was simply angry--disgusted--disappointed at the situation; at herself, at the woman who had come between them, at the threatened failure of her plans. one moment she was building up a house of cards in which she held all the trumps, and the next instant she had tumbled it to the ground. one thing she was determined upon--not to take second place. she would have all of him or none of him. at the end of the third day max returned. he had not seen morton, nor any of his clerks, nor anybody connected with his office. neither had he sent him any message or written him any letter. morton might have been dead and buried a century so far as max or his affairs were concerned. nor had he laid his eyes on the beautiful miss billeton; nor visited her house; nor written her any letters; nor inquired for her. what he did do was to run out to walnut hill, have a word with his manager, and slip back to town again and bury himself in his club. most of the time he read the magazines, some pages two or three times over. once he thought he would look up one or two of his women friends at their homes--those who might still be in town--and then gave it up as not being worth the trouble. at the end of the third day he started for barnegat. the air was bad in the city, he said to himself, and everybody he met was uninteresting. he would go back, hitch up the grays, and he and lucy have a spin down the beach. sea air always did agree with him, and he was a fool to leave it. lucy met him at the station in answer to his telegram sent over from warehold. she was dressed in her very best: a double-breasted jacket and straw turban, a gossamer veil wound about it. her cheeks were like two red peonies and her eyes bright as diamonds. she was perched up in the driver's seat of the drag, and handled the reins and whip with the skill of a turfman. this time bones, the tiger, did not spring into his perch as they whirled from the station in the direction of the beach. his company was not wanted. they talked of max's trip, of the mortgage, and of morton; of how hot it was in town and how cool it was on her portico; of mrs. coates and of pater-familias coates, who held a mortgage on beach haven; of the dance the night before--max leading in the conversation and she answering either in mono-syllables or not at all, until max hazarded the statement that he had been bored to death waiting for morton, who never put in an appearance, and that the only human being, male or female, he had seen in town outside the members of the club, was sue. they had arrived off the life-saving station now, and archie had called the captain to the door, and both stood looking at them, the boy waving his hand and the captain following them with his eyes. had either of them caught the captain's remark they, perhaps, would have drawn rein and asked for an explanation: "gay lookin' hose-carriage, ain't it? looks as if they was runnin' to a fire!" but they didn't hear it; would not, probably have heard it, had the captain shouted it in their ears. lucy was intent on opening up a subject which had lain dormant in her mind since the morning of max's departure, and the gentleman himself was trying to cipher out what new "kink," as he expressed it to himself, had "got it into her head." when they had passed the old house of refuge lucy drew rein and stopped the drag where the widening circle of the incoming tide could bathe the horses' feet. she was still uncertain as to how she would lead up to the subject-matter without betraying her own jealousy or, more important still, without losing her temper. this she rarely displayed, no matter how goading the provocation. nobody had any use for an ill-tempered woman, not in her atmosphere; and no fly that she had ever known had been caught by vinegar when seeking honey. there might be vinegar-pots to be found in her larder, but they were kept behind closed doors and sampled only when she was alone. as she sat looking out to sea, max's brain still at work on the problem of her unusual mood, a schooner shifted her mainsail in the light breeze and set her course for the inlet. "that's the regular weekly packet," max ventured. "she's making for farguson's ship-yard. she runs between amboy and barnegat--captain ambrose farguson sails her." at times like these any topic was good enough to begin on. "how do you know?" lucy asked, looking at the incoming schooner from under her half-closed lids. the voice came like the thin piping of a flute preceding the orchestral crash, merely sounded so as to let everybody know it was present. "one of my carriages was shipped by her. i paid captain farguson the freight just before i went away." "what's her name?"--slight tremolo--only a note or two. "the polly walters," droned max, talking at random, mind neither on the sloop nor her captain. "named after his wife?" the flute-like notes came more crisply. "yes, so he told me." max had now ceased to give any attention to his answers. he had about made up his mind that something serious was the matter and that he would ask her and find out. "ought to be called the max feilding, from the way she tacks about. she's changed her course three times since i've been watching her." max shot a glance athwart his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the pretty lips thinned and straightened and the half-closed eyes and wrinkled forehead. he was evidently the disturbing cause, but in what way he could not for the life of him see. that she was angry to the tips of her fingers was beyond question; the first time he had seen her thus in all their acquaintance. "yes-that would fit her exactly," he answered with a smile and with a certain soothing tone in his voice. "every tack her captain makes brings him the nearer to the woman he loves." "rather poetic, max, but slightly farcical. every tack you make lands you in a different port--with a woman waiting in every one of them." the first notes of the overture had now been struck. "no one was waiting in philadelphia for me except sue, and i only met her by accident," he said good-naturedly, and in a tone that showed he would not quarrel, no matter what the provocation; "she came in to see her doctor. didn't stay an hour." "did you take her driving?" this came in a thin, piccolo tone-barely enough room for it to escape through her lips. all the big drums and heavy brass were now being moved up. "no; had nothing to take her out in. why do you ask? what has happened, little--" "take anybody else?" she interrupted. "no." he spoke quite frankly and simply. at any other time she would have believed him. she had always done so in matters of this kind, partly because she didn't much care and partly because she made it a point never to doubt the word of a man, either by suspicion or inference, who was attentive to her. this time she did care, and she intended to tell him so. all she dreaded was that the big horns and the tom-toms would get away from her leadership and the hoped-for, correctly played symphony end in an uproar. "max," she said, turning her head and lifting her finger at him with the movement of a conductor's baton, "how can you lie to me like that? you never went near your lawyer; you went to see miss billeton, and you've spent every minute with her since you left me. don't tell me you didn't. i know everything you've done, and--" bass drums, bass viols, bassoons--everything--was loose now. she had given up her child to be with him! everything, in fact--all her people at yardley; her dear old nurse. she had lied to jane about chaperoning sue--all to come down and keep him from being lonely. what she wanted was a certain confidence in return. it made not the slightest difference to her how many women he loved, or how many women loved him; she didn't love him, and she never would; but unless she was treated differently from a child and like the woman that she was, she was going straight back to yardley, and then back to paris, etc., etc. she knew, as she rushed on in a flood of abuse such as only a woman can let loose when she is thoroughly jealous and entirely angry, that she was destroying the work of months of plotting, and that he would be lost to her forever, but she was powerless to check the torrent of her invective. only when her breath gave out did she stop. max had sat still through it all, his eyes expressing first astonishment and then a certain snap of admiration, as he saw the color rising and falling in her cheeks. it was not the only time in his experience that he had had to face similar outbursts. it was the first time, however, that he had not felt like striking back. other women's outbreaks had bored him and generally had ended his interest in them--this one was more charming than ever. he liked, too, her american pluck and savage independence. jealous she certainly was, but there was no whine about it; nor was there any flop at the close--floppy women he detested--had always done so. lucy struck straight out from her shoulder and feared nothing. as she raged on, the grays beating the water with their well-polished hoofs, he continued to sit perfectly still, never moving a muscle of his face nor changing his patient, tolerant expression. the best plan, he knew, was to let all the steam out of the boiler and then gradually rake the fires. "my dear little woman,"' he began, "to tell you the truth, i never laid eyes on morton; didn't want to, in fact. all that was an excuse to get away. i thought you wanted a rest, and i went away to let you have it. miss billeton i haven't seen for three months, and couldn't if i would, for she is engaged to her cousin and is now in paris buying her wedding clothes. i don't know who has been humbugging you, but they've done it very badly. there is not one word of truth in what you've said from beginning to end." there is a certain ring in a truthful statement that overcomes all doubts. lucy felt this before max had finished. she felt, too, with a sudden thrill, that she still held him. then there came the instantaneous desire to wipe out all traces of the outburst and keep his good-will. "and you swear it?" she asked, her belief already asserting itself in her tones, her voice falling to its old seductive pitch. "on my honor as a man," he answered simply. for a time she remained silent, her mind working behind her mask of eyes and lips, the setting sun slanting across the beach and lighting up her face and hair, the grays splashing the suds with their impatient feet. max kept his gaze upon her. he saw that the outbreak was over and that she was a little ashamed of her tirade. he saw, too, man of the world as he was, that she was casting about in her mind for some way in which she could regain for herself her old position without too much humiliation. "don't say another word, little woman," he said in his kindest tone. "you didn't mean a word of it; you haven't been well lately, and i oughtn't to have left you. tighten up your reins; we'll drive on if you don't mind." that night after the moon had set and the lights had been turned out along the boardwalk and the upper and lower porticos and all beach haven had turned in for the night, and lucy had gone to her apartments, and mr. and mrs. coates and the rest of them, single and double, were asleep, max, who had been pacing up and down his dressing-room, stopped suddenly before his mirror, and lifting the shade from the lamp, made a critical examination of his face. "forty, and i look it!" he said, pinching his chin with his thumb and forefinger, and turning his cheek so that the light would fall on the few gray hairs about his temples. "that beggar miggs said so yesterday at the club. by gad, how pretty she was, and how her eyes snapped! i didn't think it was in her!" chapter xviii the swede's story captain holt had selected his crew--picked surfmen, every one of them--and the chief of the bureau had endorsed the list without comment or inquiry. the captain's own appointment as keeper of the new life-saving station was due as much to his knowledge of men as to his skill as a seaman, and so when his list was sent in--men he said he could "vouch for"--it took but a moment for the chief to write "approved" across its face. isaac polhemus came first: sixty years of age, silent, gray, thick-set; face scarred and seamed by many weathers, but fresh as a baby's; two china-blue eyes--peep-holes through which you looked into his open heart; shoulders hard and tough as cordwood hands a bunch of knots; legs like snubbing-posts, body quick-moving; brain quick-thinking; alert as a dog when on duty, calm as a sleepy cat beside a stove when his time was his own. sixty only in years, this man; forty in strength and in skill, twenty in suppleness, and a one-year-old toddling infant in all that made for guile. "uncle ike" some of the younger men once called him, wondering behind their hands whether he was not too old and believing all the time that he was. "uncle ike" they still called him, but it was a title of affection and pride; affection for the man underneath the blue woollen shirt, and pride because they were deemed worthy to pull an oar beside him. the change took place the winter before when he was serving at manasquan and when he pulled four men single-handed from out of a surf that would have staggered the bravest. there was no life-boat within reach and no hand to help. it was at night--a snowstorm raging and the sea a corral of hungry beasts fighting the length of the beach. the shipwrecked crew had left their schooner pounding on the outer bar, and finding their cries drowned by the roar of the waters, had taken to their boat. she came bow on, the sea-drenched sailors clinging to her sides. uncle isaac polhemus caught sight of her just as a savage pursuing roller dived under her stern, lifted the frail shell on its broad back, and whirled it bottom side up and stern foremost on to the beach. dashing into the suds, he jerked two of the crew to their feet before they knew what had struck them; then sprang back for the others clinging to the seats and slowly drowning in the smother. twice he plunged headlong after them, bracing himself against the backsuck, then with the help of his steel-like grip all four were dragged clear of the souse. ever after it was "uncle isaac" or "that old hang-on," but always with a lifting of the chin in pride. samuel green came next: forty-five, long, lincoln-bodied, and bony; coal-black hair, coal-black eyes, and charcoal-black mustache; neck like a loop in standing rigging; arms long as cant-hooks, with the steel grips for fingers; sluggish in movement and slow in action until the supreme moment of danger tautened his nerves to breaking point; then came an instantaneous spring, quick as the recoil of a parted hawser. all his life a fisherman except the five years he spent in the arctic and the year he served at squan; later he had helped in the volunteer crew alongshore. loving the service, he had sent word over to captain holt that he'd like "to be put on," to which the captain had sent back word by the same messenger "tell him he is put on." and he was, as soon as the papers were returned from washington. captain nat had no record to look up or inquiries to make as to the character or fitness of sam green. he was the man who the winter before had slipped a rope about his body, plunged into the surf and swam out to the brig gorgus and brought back three out of the five men lashed to the rigging, all too benumbed to make fast the shot-line fired across her deck. charles morgan's name followed in regular order, and then parks--men who had sailed with captain holt, and whose word and pluck he could depend upon; and mulligan from barnegat, who could pull a boat with the best of them; and last, and least in years, those two slim, tightly knit, lithe young tiger-cats, tod and archie. captain nat had overhauled each man and had inspected him as closely as he would have done the timber for a new mast or the manila to make its rigging. here was a service that required cool heads, honest hearts, and the highest technical skill, and the men under him must be sound to the core. he intended to do his duty, and so should every man subject to his orders. the government had trusted him and he held himself responsible. this would probably be his last duty, and it would be well done. he was childless, sixty-five years old, and had been idle for years. now he would show his neighbors something of his skill and his power to command. he did not need the pay; he needed the occupation and the being in touch with the things about him. for the last fifteen or more years he had nursed a sorrow and lived the life almost of a recluse. it was time he threw it off. during the first week of service, with his crew about him, he explained to them in minute detail their several duties. each day in the week would have its special work: monday would be beach drill, practising with the firing gun and line and the safety car. tuesday was boat drill; running the boat on its wagon to the edge of the sea, unloading it, and pushing it into the surf, each man in his place, oars poised, the others springing in and taking their seats beside their mates. on wednesdays flag drills; practising with the international code of signals, so as to communicate with stranded vessels. thursdays, beach apparatus again. friday, resuscitation of drowning men. saturday, scrub-day; every man except himself and the cook (each man was cook in turn for a week) on his knees with bucket and brush, and every floor, chair, table, and window scoured clean. sunday, a day of rest, except for the beach patrol, which at night never ceased, and which by day only ceased when the sky was clear of snow and fog. this night patrol would be divided into watches of four hours each at eight, twelve, and four. two of the crew were to make the tramp of the beach, separating opposite the station, one going south two and a half miles to meet the surfman from the next station, and the other going north to the inlet; exchanging their brass checks each with the other, as a record of their faithfulness. in addition to these brass checks each patrol would carry three coston signal cartridges in a water-proof box, and a holder into which they were fitted, the handle having an igniter working on a spring to explode the cartridge, which burned a red light. these will-o'-the-wisps, flashed suddenly from out a desolate coast, have sent a thrill of hope through the heart of many a man clinging to frozen rigging or lashed to some piece of wreckage that the hungry surf, lying in wait, would pounce upon and chew to shreds. the men listened gravely to the captain's words and took up their duties. most of them knew them before, and no minute explanations were necessary. skilled men understand the value of discipline and prefer it to any milder form of government. archie was the only member who raised his eyes in astonishment when the captain, looking his way, mentioned the scrubbing and washing, each man to take his turn, but he made no reply except to nudge tod and say under his breath: "wouldn't you like to see aunt lucy's face when she comes some saturday morning? she'll be pleased, won't she?" as to the cooking, that did not bother him; he and tod had cooked many a meal on fogarty's stove, and mother fogarty had always said archie could beat her any day making biscuit and doughnuts and frying ham. before the second week was out the station had fallen into its regular routine. the casual visitor during the sunny hours of the soft september days when practice drill was over might see only a lonely house built on the sand; and upon entering, a few men leaning back in their chairs against the wall of the living-room reading the papers or smoking their pipes, and perhaps a few others leisurely overhauling the apparatus, making minor repairs, or polishing up some detail the weather had dulled. at night, too, with the radiance of the moon making a pathway of silver across the gentle swell of the sleepy surf, he would doubtless wonder at their continued idle life as he watched the two surfmen separate and begin their walk up and down the beach radiant in the moonlight. but he would change his mind should he chance upon a north-easterly gale, the sea a froth in which no boat could live, the slant of a sou'wester the only protection against the cruel lash of the wind. if this glimpse was not convincing, let him stand in the door of their house in the stillness of a winter's night, and catch the shout and rush of the crew tumbling from their bunks at the cry of "wreck ashore!" from the lips of some breathless patrol who had stumbled over sand-dunes or plunged through snowdrifts up to his waist to give warning. it will take less than a minute to swing wide the doors, grapple the life-boat and apparatus and whirl them over the dunes to the beach; and but a moment more to send a solid shot flying through the air on its mission of mercy. and there is no time lost. ten men have been landed in forty-five minutes through or over a surf that could be heard for miles; rescuers and rescued half dead. but no man let go his grip nor did any heart quail. their duty was in front of them; that was what the government paid for, and that was what they would earn--every penny of it. the station house in order, the captain was ready for visitors--those he wanted. those he did not want--the riffraff of the ship-yard and the loungers about the taverns--he told politely to stay away; and as the land was government property and his will supreme, he was obeyed. little ellen had been the first guest, and by special invitation. "all ready, miss jane, for you and the doctor and the pond lily; bring her down any time. that's what kind o' makes it lonely lyin' shut up with the men. we ain't got no flowers bloomin' 'round, and the sand gits purty white and blank-lookin' sometimes. bring her down, you and the doctor; she's better'n a pot full o' daisies." the doctor, thus commanded, brought her over in his gig, jane, beside him, holding the child in her lap. and archie helped them out, lifting his good mother in his arms clear of the wheel, skirts and all--the crew standing about looking on. some of them knew jane and came in for a hearty handshake, and all of them knew the doctor. there was hardly a man among them whose cabin he had not visited--not once, but dozens of times. with her fair cheeks, golden curls, and spotless frock, the child, among those big men, some in their long hip boots and rough reefing jackets, looked like some fairy that had come in with the morning mist and who might be off on the next breeze. archie had her hugged close to his breast and had started in to show her the cot where he slept, the kitchen where he was to cook, and the peg in the hall where he hung his sou'wester and tarpaulins--every surfman had his peg, order being imperative with captain nat--when that old sea-dog caught the child out of the young fellow's arms and placed her feet on the sand. "no, cobden,"--that was another peculiarity of the captain's,--every man went by his last name, and he had begun with archie to show the men he meant it. "no, that little posy is mine for to-day. come along, you rosebud; i'm goin' to show you the biggest boat you ever saw, and a gun on wheels; and i've got a lot o' shells the men has been pickin' up for ye. oh, but you're goin' to have a beautiful time, lassie!" the child looked up in the captain's face, and her wee hand tightened around his rough stubs of fingers. archie then turned to jane and with tod's help the three made a tour of the house, the doctor following, inspecting the captain's own room with its desk and papers, the kitchen with all its appointments, the outhouse for wood and coal, the staircase leading to the sleeping-rooms above, and at the very top the small ladder leading to the cupola on the roof, where the lookout kept watch on clear days for incoming steamers. on their return mulligan spread a white oil-cloth on the pine table and put out a china plate filled with some cake that he had baked the night before, and which green supplemented by a pitcher of water from the cistern. each one did something to please her. archie handed her the biggest piece of cake on the dish, and uncle isaac left the room in a hurry and stumbling upstairs went through his locker and hauled out the head of a wooden doll which he had picked up on the beach in one of his day patrols and which he had been keeping for one of his grand-children--all blighted with the sun and scarred with salt water, but still showing a full set of features, much to ellen's delight; and sam green told her of his own little girl, just her age, who lived up in the village and whom he saw every two weeks, and whose hair was just the color of hers. meanwhile the doctor chatted with the men, and jane, with her arm locked in archie's, so proud and so tender over him, inspected each appointment and comfort of the house with ever-increasing wonder. and so, with the visit over, the gig was loaded up, and with ellen waving her hand to the men and kissing her finger-tips in true french style to the captain and archie, and the crew responding in a hearty cheer, the party drove, past the old house of refuge, and so on back to warehold and yardley. one august afternoon, some days after this visit, tod stood in the door of the station looking out to sea. the glass had been falling all day and a dog-day haze had settled down over the horizon. this, as the afternoon advanced, had become so thick that the captain had ordered out the patrols, and archie and green were already tramping the beach--green to the inlet and archie to meet the surfmen of the station below. park, who was cook this week, had gone to the village for supplies, and so the captain and tod were alone in the house, the others, with the exception of morgan, who was at his home in the village with a sprained ankle, being at work some distance away on a crosshead over which the life-line was always fired in gun practice. suddenly tod, who was leaning against the jamb of the door speculating over what kind of weather the night would bring, and wondering whether the worst of it would fall in his watch, jerked his neck out of his woollen shirt and strained his eyes in the direction of the beach until they rested upon the figure of a man slowly making his way over the dunes. as he passed the old house of refuge, some hundreds of yards below, he stopped for a moment as if undecided on his course, looked ahead again at the larger house of the station, and then, as if reassured, came stumbling on, his gait showing his want of experience in avoiding the holes and tufts of grass cresting the dunes. his movements were so awkward and his walk so unusual in that neighborhood that tod stepped out on the low porch of the station to get a better view of him. from the man's dress, and from his manner of looking about him, as if feeling his way, tod concluded that he was a stranger and had tramped the beach for the first time. at the sight of the surfman the man left the dune, struck the boat path, and walked straight toward the porch. "kind o' foggy, ain't it?" "yes," replied tod, scrutinizing the man's face and figure, particularly his clothes, which were queerly cut and with a foreign air about them. he saw, too, that he was strong and well built, and not over thirty years of age. "you work here?" continued the stranger, mounting the steps and coming closer, his eyes taking in tod, the porch, and the view of the sitting-room through the open window. "i do," answered tod in the same tone, his eyes still on the man's face. "good job, is it?" he asked, unbuttoning his coat. "i get enough to eat," answered tod curtly, "and enough to do." he had resumed his position against the jamb of the door and stood perfectly impassive, without offering any courtesy of any kind. strangers who asked questions were never very welcome. then, again, the inquiry about his private life nettled him. the man, without noticing the slight rebuff, looked about for a seat, settled down on the top step of the porch, pulled his cap from his head, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand. then he said slowly, as if to himself: "i took the wrong road and got consid'able het up." tod watched him while he mopped his head with a red cotton handkerchief, but made no reply. curiosity is not the leading characteristic of men who follow the sea. "is the head man around? his name's holt, ain't it?" continued the stranger, replacing his cap and stuffing his handkerchief into the side-pocket of his coat. as the words fell from his lips tod's quick eye caught a sudden gleam like that of a search-light flashed from beneath the heavy eyebrows of the speaker. "that's his name," answered tod. "want to see him? he's inside." the surfman had not yet changed his position nor moved a muscle of his body. tiger cats are often like this. captain holt's burly form stepped from the door. he had overheard the conversation, and not recognizing the voice had come to find out what the man wanted. "you lookin' for me? i'm captain holt. what kin i do for ye?" asked the captain in his quick, imperious way. "that's what he said, sir," rejoined tod, bringing himself to an erect position in deference to his chief. the stranger rose from his seat and took his cap from his head. "i'm out o' work, sir, and want a job, and i thought you might take me on." tod was now convinced that the stranger was a foreigner. no man of tod's class ever took his hat off to his superior officer. they had other ways of showing their respect for his authority--instant obedience, before and behind his back, for instance. the captain's eyes absorbed the man from his thick shoes to his perspiring hair. "norwegian, ain't ye?" "no, sir; swede." "not much difference. when did ye leave sweden? you talk purty good." "when i was a boy." "what kin ye do?" "i'm a good derrick man and been four years with a coaler." "you want steady work, i suppose." the stranger nodded. "well, i ain't got it. gov'ment app'ints our men. this is a life-saving station." the stranger stood twisting his cap. the first statement seemed to make but little impression on him; the second aroused a keener interest. "yes, i know. just new built, ain't it? and you just put in charge? captain nathaniel holt's your name--am i right?" "yes, you're just right." and the captain, dismissing the man and the incident from his mind, turned on his heel, walked the length of the narrow porch and stood scanning the sky and the blurred horizon line. the twilight was now deepening and a red glow shimmered through the settling fog. "fogarty!" cried the captain, beckoning over his shoulder with his head. tod stepped up and stood at attention; as quick in reply as if two steel springs were fastened to his heels. "looks rather soapy, fogarty. may come on thick. better take a turn to the inlet and see if that yawl is in order. we might have to cross it to-night. we can't count on this weather. when you meet green send him back here. that shot-line wants overhaulin'." here the captain hesitated and looked intently at the stranger. "and here, you swede," he called in a louder tone of command, "you go 'long and lend a hand, and when you come back i'll have some supper for ye." one of tod's springs must have slid under the swede's shoes. either the prospect of a meal or of having a companion to whom he could lend a hand--nothing so desolate as a man out of work--a stranger at that--had put new life into his hitherto lethargic body. "this way," said tod, striding out toward the surf. the swede hurried to his side and the two crossed the boat runway, ploughed through the soft drift of the dune, and striking the hard, wet sand of the beach, headed for the inlet. tod having his high, waterproof boots on, tramped along the edge of the incoming surf, the half-circles of suds swashing past his feet and spreading themselves up the slope. the sand was wet here and harder on that account, and the walking better. the swede took the inside course nearer the shore. soon tod began to realize that the interest the captain had shown in the unknown man and the brief order admitting him for a time to membership in the crew placed the stranger on a different footing. he was, so to speak, a comrade and, therefore, entitled to a little more courtesy. this clear in his mind, he allowed his tongue more freedom; not that he had any additional interest in the man--he only meant to be polite. "what you been workin' at?" he asked, kicking an empty tin can that the tide had rolled within his reach. work is the universal topic; the weather is too serious a subject to chatter about lightly. "last year or two?" asked the swede, quickening his pace to keep up. tod's steel springs always kept their original temper while the captain's orders were being executed and never lost their buoyancy until these orders were entirely carried out. "yes," replied tod. "been a-minin'; runnin' the ore derricks and the shaft h'isters. what you been doin'?" and the man glanced at tod from under his cap. "fishin'. see them poles out there? you kin just git sight o' them in the smoke. them's my father's. he's out there now, i guess, if he ain't come in." "you live 'round here?" the man's legs were shorter than tod's, and he was taking two steps to tod's one. "yes, you passed the house o' refuge, didn't ye, comin' up? i was watchin' ye. well, you saw that cabin with the fence 'round it?" "yes; the woman told me where i'd find the cap'n. you know her, i s'pose?" asked the swede. "yes, she's my mother, and that's my home. i was born there." tod's words were addressed to the perspective of the beach and to the way the haze blurred the horizon; surfmen rarely see anything else when walking on the beach, whether on or off duty. "you know everybody 'round here, don't you?" remarked the swede in a casual tone. the same quick, inquiring glance shot out of the man's eyes. "yes, guess so," answered tod with another kick. here the remains of an old straw hat shared the fate of the can. "you ever heard tell of a woman named lucy cobden, lives 'round here somewheres?" tod came to a halt as suddenly as if he had run into a derelict. "i don't know no woman," he answered slowly, accentuating the last word. "i know a lady named miss jane cobden. why?" and he scrutinized the man's face. "one i mean's got a child--big now--must be fifteen or twenty years old--girl, ain't it?" "no, it's a boy. he's one of the crew here; his name's archie cobden. me and him's been brothers since we was babies. what do you know about him?" tod had resumed his walk, but at a slower pace. "nothin'; that's why i ask." the man had also become interested in the flotsam of the beach, and had stopped to pick up a dam-shell which he shied into the surf. then he added slowly, and as if not to make a point of the inquiry, "is she alive?" "yes. here this week. lives up in warehold in that big house with the brick gate-posts." the man walked on for some time in silence and then asked: "you're sure the child is livin' and that the mother's name is jane?" "sure? don't i tell ye cobden's in the crew and miss jane was here this week! he's up the beach on patrol or you'd 'a' seen him when you fust struck the station." the stranger quickened his steps. the information seemed to have put new life into him again. "did you ever hear of a man named bart holt," he asked, "who used to be 'round here?" neither man was looking at the other as they talked. the conversation was merely to pass the time of day. "yes; he's the captain's son. been dead for years. died some'er's out in brazil, so i've heard my father say. had fever or something." the swede walked on in silence for some minutes. then he stopped, faced tod, took hold of the lapel of his coat, and said slowly, as he peered into his eyes: "he ain't dead, no more'n you and i be. i worked for him for two years. he run the mines on a percentage. i got here last week, and he sent me down to find out how the land lay. if the woman was dead i was to say nothing and come back. if she was alive i was to tell the captain, his father, where a letter could reach him. they had some bad blood 'twixt 'em, but he didn't tell me what it was about. he may come home here to live, or he may go back to the mines; it's just how the old man takes it. that's what i've got to say to him. how do you think he'll take it?" for a moment tod made no reply. he was trying to make up his mind what part of the story was true and what part was skilfully put together to provide, perhaps, additional suppers. the improbability of the whole affair struck him with unusual force. raising hopes of a long-lost son in the breast of a father was an old dodge and often meant the raising of money. "well, i can't say," tod answered carelessly; he had his own opinion now of the stranger. "you'll have to see the captain about that. if the man's alive it's rather funny he ain't showed up all these years." "well, keep mum 'bout it, will ye, till i talk to him? here comes one o' your men." green's figure now loomed up out of the mist. "where away, tod?" the approaching surfman cried when he joined the two. "captain wants me to look after the yawl," answered tod. "it's all right," cried green; "i just left it. went down a-purpose. who's yer friend?" "a man the cap'n sent along to lend a hand. this is sam green," and he turned to the swede and nodded to his brother surfman. the two shook hands. the stranger had not volunteered his name and tod had not asked for it. names go for little among men who obey orders; they serve merely as labels and are useful in a payroll, but they do not add to the value of the owner or help his standing in any way. "shorty" or "fatty" or "big mike" is all sufficient. what the man can do and how he does it, is more important. "no use goin' to the inlet," continued green. "i'll report to the captain. come along back. i tell ye it's gettin' thick," and he looked out across the breakers, only the froth line showing in the dim twilight. the three turned and retraced their steps. tod quickened his pace and stepped into the house ahead of the others. not only did he intend to tell the captain of what he had heard, but he intended to tell him at once. captain holt was in his private room, sitting at his desk, busy over his monthly report. a swinging kerosene lamp hanging from the ceiling threw a light full on his ruddy face framed in a fringe of gray whiskers. tod stepped in and closed the door behind him. "i didn't go to the inlet, sir. green had thought of the yawl and had looked after it; he'll report to you about it. i just heard a strange yarn from that fellow you sent with me and i want to tell ye what it is." the captain laid down his pen, pushed his glasses from his eyes, and looked squarely into tod's face. "he's been askin' 'bout miss jane cobden and archie, and says your son bart is alive and sent him down here to find out how the land lay. it's a cock-and-bull story, but i give it to you just as i got it." once in the south seas the captain awoke to look into the muzzle of a double-barrelled shot-gun held in the hand of the leader of a mutiny. the next instant the man was on the floor, the captain's fingers twisted in his throat. tod's eyes were now the barrels of that gun. no cat-like spring followed; only a cold, stony stare, as if he were awaking from a concussion that had knocked the breath out of him. "he says bart's alive!" he gasped. "who? that feller i sent with ye?" "yes." the captain's face grew livid and then flamed up, every vein standing clear, his eyes blazing. "he's a liar! a dirty liar! bring him in!" each word hissed from his lips like an explosive. tod opened the door of the sitting-room and the swede stepped in. the captain whirled his chair suddenly and faced him. anger, doubt, and the flicker of a faint hope were crossing his face with the movement of heat lightning. "you know my son, you say?" "i do." the answer was direct and the tone positive. "what's his name?" "barton holt. he signs it different, but that's his name." "how old is he?" the pitch of the captain's voice had altered. he intended to riddle the man's statement with a cross-fire of examination. "'bout forty, maybe forty-five. he never told "what kind of eyes?" "brown, like yours." "what kind of hair?" "curly. it's gray now; he had fever, and it turned." "where--when?" hope and fear were now struggling for the mastery. "two years ago--when i first knew him; we were in hospital together." "what's he been doin'?" the tone was softer. hope seemed to be stronger now. "mining out in brazil." the captain took his eyes from the face of the man and asked in something of his natural tone of voice: "where is he now?" the swede put his hand in his inside pocket and took out a small time-book tied around with a piece of faded tape. this he slowly unwound, tod's and the captain's eyes following every turn of his fingers. opening the book, he glanced over the leaves, found the one he was looking for, tore it carefully from the book, and handed it to the captain. "that's his writing. if you want to see him send him a line to that address. it'll reach him all right. if you don't want to see him he'll go back with me to rio. i don't want yer supper and i don't want yer job. i done what i promised and that's all there is to it. good-night," and he opened the door and disappeared in the darkness. captain holt sat with his head on his chest looking at the floor in front of him. the light of the banging lamp made dark shadows under his eyebrows and under his chin whiskers. there was a firm set to his clean-shaven lips, but the eyes burned with a gentle light; a certain hope, positive now, seemed to be looming up in them. tod watched him for an instant, and said: "what do ye think of it, cap'n?" "i ain't made up my mind." "is he lyin'?" "i don't know. seems too good to be true. he's got some things right; some things he ain't. keep your mouth shut till i tell ye to open it--to cobden, mind ye, and everybody else. better help green overhaul that line. that'll do, fogarty." tod dipped his head--his sign of courteous assent--and backed out of the room. the captain continued motionless, his eyes fixed on space. once he turned, picked up the paper, scrutinized the handwriting word for word, and tossed it back on the desk. then he rose from his seat and began pacing the floor, stopping to gaze at a chart on the wall, at the top of the stove, at the pendulum of the clock, surveying them leisurely. once he looked out of the window at the flare of light from his swinging lamp, stencilled on the white sand and the gray line of the dunes beyond. at each of these resting-places his face assumed a different expression; hope, fear, and anger again swept across it as his judgment struggled with his heart. in one of his turns up and down the small room he laid his hand on a brick lying on the window-sill--one that had been sent by the builders of the station as a sample. this he turned over carefully, examining the edges and color as if he had seen it for the first time and had to pass judgment upon its defects or merits. laying it back in its place, he threw himself into his chair again, exclaiming aloud, as if talking to someone: "it ain't true. he'd wrote before if he were alive. he was wild and keerless, but he never was dirt-mean, and he wouldn't a-treated me so all these years. the swede's a liar, i tell ye!" wheeling the chair around to face the desk, he picked up a pen, dipped it into the ink, laid it back on the desk, picked it up again, opened a drawer on his right, took from it a sheet of official paper, and wrote a letter of five lines. this he enclosed in the envelope, directed to the name on the slip of paper. then he opened the door. "fogarty." "yes, cap'n." "take this to the village and drop it in the post yourself. the weather's clearin', and you won't be wanted for a while," and he strode out and joined his men. chapter xix the breaking of the dawn september weather on barnegat beach! fine gowns and fine hats on the wide piazzas of beach haven! too cool for bathing, but not too cool to sit on the sand and throw pebbles and loll under kindly umbrellas; air fresh and bracing, with a touch of june in it; skies full of mares'-tails--slips of a painter's brush dragged flat across the film of blue; sea gone to rest; not a ripple, no long break of the surf, only a gentle lift and fall like the breathing of a sleeping child. uncle isaac shook his head when he swept his eye round at all this loveliness; then he turned on his heel and took a look at the aneroid fastened to the wall of the sitting-room of the life-saving station. the arrow showed a steady shrinkage. the barometer had fallen six points. "what do ye think, captain holt?" asked the old surfman. "i ain't thinkin', polhemus; can't tell nothin' 'bout the weather this month till the moon changes; may go on this way for a week or two, or it may let loose and come out to the sou'-east i've seen these dog-days last till october." again uncle isaac shook his head, and this time kept his peace; now that his superior officer had spoken he had no further opinion to express. sam green dropped his feet to the floor, swung himself over to the barometer, gazed at it for a moment, passed out of the door, swept his eye around, and resumed his seat--tilted back against the wall. what his opinion might be was not for publication--not in the captain's hearing. captain holt now consulted the glass, picked up his cap bearing the insignia of his rank, and went out through the kitchen to the land side of the house. the sky and sea--feathery clouds and still, oily flatness--did not interest him this september morning. it was the rolling dune that caught his eye, and the straggly path that threaded its way along the marshes and around and beyond the clump of scrub pines and bushes until it was lost in the haze that hid the village. this land inspection had been going on for a month, and always when tod was returning from the post-office with the morning mail. the men had noticed it, but no one had given vent to his thoughts. tod, of course, knew the cause of the captain's impatience, but no one of the others did, not even archie; time enough for that when the swede's story was proved true. if the fellow had lied that was an end to it; if he had told the truth bart would answer, and the mystery be cleared up. this same silence had been maintained toward jane and the doctor; better not raise hopes he could not verify--certainly not in jane's breast. not that he had much hope himself; he dared not hope. hope meant a prop to his old age; hope meant joy to jane, who would welcome the prodigal; hope meant relief to the doctor, who could then claim his own; hope meant redemption for lucy, a clean name for archie, and honor to himself and his only son. no wonder, then, that he watched for an answer to his letter with feverish impatience. his own missive had been blunt and to the point, asking the direct question: "are you alive or dead, and if alive, why did you fool me with that lie about your dying of fever in a hospital and keep me waiting all these years?" anything more would have been superfluous in the captain's judgment--certainly until he received some more definite information as to whether the man was his son. half a dozen times this lovely september morning the captain had strolled leisurely out of the back door and had mounted the low hillock for a better view. suddenly a light flashed in his face, followed by a look in his eyes that they had not known for weeks--not since the swede left. the light came when his glance fell upon tod's lithe figure swinging along the road; the look kindled when he saw tod stop and wave his hand triumphantly over his head. the letter had arrived! with a movement as quick as that of a horse touched by a whip, he started across the sand to meet the surfman. "guess we got it all right this time, captain," cried tod. "it's got the nassau postmark, anyhow. there warn't nothin' else in the box but the newspapers," and he handed the package to his chief. the two walked to the house and entered the captain's office. tod hung back, but the captain laid his hand on his shoulder. "come in with me, fogarty. shut the door. i'll send these papers in to the men soon's i open this." tod obeyed mechanically. there was a tone in the captain's voice that was new to him. it sounded as if he were reluctant to be left alone with the letter. "now hand me them spectacles." tod reached over and laid the glasses in his chief's hand. the captain settled himself deliberately in his revolving chair, adjusted his spectacles, and slit the envelope with his thumb-nail. out came a sheet of foolscap closely written on both sides. this he read to the end, turning the page as carefully as if it had been a set of official instructions, his face growing paler and paler, his mouth tight shut. tod stood beside him watching the lights and shadows playing across his face. the letter was as follows: "nassau, no. calle valenzuela, "aug. , --. "father: your letter was not what i expected, although it is, perhaps, all i deserve. i am not going into that part of it, now i know that lucy and my child are alive. what has been done in the past i can't undo, and maybe i wouldn't if i could, for if i am worth anything to-day it comes from what i have suffered; that's over now, and i won't rake it up, but i think you would have written me some word of kindness if you had known what i have gone through since i left you. i don't blame you for what you did--i don't blame anybody; all i want now is to get back home among the people who knew me when i was a boy, and try and make up for the misery i have caused you and the cobdens. i would have done this before, but it has only been for the last two years that i have had any money. i have got an interest in the mine now and am considerably ahead, and i can do what i have always determined to do if i ever had the chance and means--come home to lucy and the child; it must be big now--and take them back with me to bolivia, where i have a good home and where, in a few years, i shall be able to give them everything they need. that's due to her and to the child, and it's due to you; and if she'll come i'll do my best to make her happy while she lives. i heard about five years ago from a man who worked for a short time in farguson's ship-yard how she was suffering, and what names the people called the child, and my one thought ever since has been to do the decent thing by both. i couldn't then, for i was living in a hut back in the mountains a thousand miles from the coast, or tramping from place to place; so i kept still. he told me, too, how you felt toward me, and i didn't want to come and have bad blood between us, and so i stayed on. when olssen strom, my foreman, sailed for perth amboy, where they are making some machinery for the company, i thought i'd try again, so i sent him to find out. one thing in your letter is wrong. i never went to the hospital with yellow fever; some of the men had it aboard ship, and i took one of them to the ward the night i ran away. the doctor at the hospital wanted my name, and i gave it, and this may have been how they thought it was me, but i did not intend to deceive you or anybody else, nor cover up any tracks. yes, father, i'm coming home. if you'll hold out your hand to me i'll take it gladly. i've had a hard time since i left you; you'd forgive me if you knew how hard it has been. i haven't had anybody out here to care whether i lived or died, and i would like to see how it feels. but if you don't i can't help it. my hope is that lucy and the boy will feel differently. there is a steamer sailing from here next wednesday; she goes direct to amboy, and you may expect me on her. your son, "barton." "it's him, tod," cried the captain, shaking the letter over his head; "it's him!" the tears stood in his eyes now, his voice trembled; his iron nerve was giving way. "alive, and comin' home! be here next week! keep the door shut, boy, till i pull myself together. oh, my god, tod, think of it! i haven't had a day's peace since i druv him out nigh on to twenty year ago. he hurt me here"--and he pointed to his breast--"where i couldn't forgive him. but it's all over now. he's come to himself like a man, and he's square and honest, and he's goin' to stay home till everything is straightened out. o god! it can't be true! it can't be true!" he was sobbing now, his face hidden by his wrist and the cuff of his coat, the big tears striking his pea-jacket and bounding off. it had been many years since these springs had yielded a drop--not when anybody could see. they must have scalded his rugged cheeks as molten metal scalds a sand-pit. tod stood amazed. the outburst was a revelation. he had known the captain ever since he could remember, but always as an austere, exacting man. "i'm glad, captain," tod said simply; "the men'll be glad, too. shall i tell 'em?" the captain raised his head. "wait a minute, son." his heart was very tender, all discipline was forgotten now; and then he had known tod from his boyhood. "i'll go myself and tell 'em," and he drew his hand across his eyes as if to dry them. "yes, tell 'em. come, i'll go 'long with ye and tell 'em myself. i ain't 'shamed of the way i feel, and the men won't be 'shamed neither." the sitting-room was full when he entered. dinner had been announced by morgan, who was cook that week, by shouting the glad tidings from his place beside the stove, and the men were sitting about in their chairs. two fishermen who had come for their papers occupied seats against the wall. the captain walked to the corner of the table, stood behind his own chair and rested the knuckles of one hand on the white oilcloth. the look on his face attracted every eye. pausing for a moment, he turned to polhemus and spoke to him for the others: "isaac, i got a letter just now. fogarty brought it over. you knew my boy bart, didn't ye, the one that's been dead nigh on to twenty years?" the old surfman nodded, his eyes still fastened on the captain. this calling him "isaac" was evidence that something personal and unusual was coming. the men, too, leaned forward in attention; the story of bart's disappearance and death had been discussed up and down the coast for years. "well, he's alive," rejoined the captain with a triumphant tone in his voice, "and he'll be here in a week--comin' to amboy on a steamer. there ain't no mistake about it; here's his letter." the announcement was received in dead silence. to be surprised was not characteristic of these men, especially over a matter of this kind. death was a part of their daily experience, and a resurrection neither extraordinary nor uncommon. they were glad for the captain, if the captain was glad--and he, evidently was. but what did bart's turning up at this late day mean? had his money given out, or was he figuring to get something out of his father--something he couldn't get as long as he remained dead? the captain continued, his voice stronger and with a more positive ring in it: "he's part owner in a mine now, and he's comin' home to see me and to straighten out some things he's interested in." it was the first time in nearly twenty years that he had ever been able to speak of his son with pride. a ripple of pleasure went through the room. if the prodigal was bringing some money with him and was not to be a drag on the captain, that put a new aspect on the situation. in that case the father was to be congratulated. "well, that's a comfort to you, captain," cried uncle isaac in a cheery tone. "a good son is a good thing. i never had one, dead or alive, but i'd 'a' loved him if i had had. i'm glad for you, captain nat, and i know the men are." (polhemus's age and long friendship gave him this privilege. then, of course, the occasion was not an official one.) "been at the mines, did ye say, captain?" remarked green. not that it was of any interest to him; merely to show his appreciation of the captain's confidence. this could best be done by prolonging the conversation. "yes, up in the mountains of brazil some'er's, i guess, though he don't say," answered the captain in a tone that showed that the subject was still open for discussion. mulligan now caught the friendly ball and tossed it back 'with: "i knowed a feller once who was in brazil--so he said. purty hot down there, ain't it, captain?" "yes; on the coast. i ain't never been back in the interior." tod kept silent. it was not his time to speak, nor would it be proper for him, nor necessary. his chief knew his opinion and sympathies and no word of his could add to their sincerity. archie was the only man in the room, except uncle isaac, who regarded the announcement as personal to the captain. boys without fathers and fathers without boys had been topics which had occupied his mind ever since he could remember. that this old man had found one of his own whom he loved and whom he wanted to get his arms around, was an inspiring thought to archie. "there's no one happier than i am, captain," he burst out enthusiastically. "i've often heard of your son, and of his going away and of your giving him up for dead. i'm mighty glad for you," and he grasped his chief's hand and shook it heartily. as the lad's fingers closed around the rough hand of the captain a furtive look flashed from out morgan's eyes. it was directed to parks--they were both barnegat men--and was answered by that surfman with a slow-falling wink. tod saw it, and his face flushed. certain stories connected with archie rose in his mind; some out of his childhood, others since he had joined the crew. the captain's eyes filled as he shook the boy's hand, but he made no reply to archie's outburst. pausing for a moment, as if willing to listen to any further comments, and finding that no one else had any word for him, he turned on his heel and reentered his office. once inside, he strode to the window and looked out on the dunes, his big hands hooked behind his back, his eyes fixed on vacancy. "it won't be long, now, archie, not long, my lad," he said in a low voice, speaking aloud to himself. "i kin say you're my grandson out loud when bart comes, and nothin' kin or will stop me! and now i kin tell miss jane." thrusting the letter into his inside pocket, he picked up his cap, and strode across the dune in the direction of the new hospital. jane was in one of the wards when the captain sent word to her to come to the visiting-room. she had been helping the doctor in an important operation. the building was but half way between the station and warehold, which made it easier for the captain to keep his eye on the sea should there be any change in the weather. jane listened to the captain's outburst covering the announcement that bart was alive without a comment. her face paled and her breathing came short, but she showed no signs of either joy or sorrow. she had faced too many surprises in her life to be startled at anything. then again, bart alive or dead could make no difference now in either her own or lucy's future. the captain continued, his face brightening, his voice full of hope: "and your troubles are all over now, miss jane; your name will be cleared up, and so will archie's, and the doctor'll git his own, and lucy kin look everybody in the face. see what bart says," and he handed her the open letter. jane read it word by word to the end and handed it back to the captain. once in the reading she had tightened her grasp on her chair as if to steady herself, but she did not flinch; she even read some sentences twice, so that she might be sure of their meaning. in his eagerness the captain had not caught the expression of agony that crossed her face as her mind, grasping the purport of the letter, began to measure the misery that would follow if bart's plan was carried out. "i knew how ye'd feel," he went on, "and i've been huggin' myself ever since it come when i thought how happy ye'd be when i told ye; but i ain't so sure 'bout lucy. what do you think? will she do what bart wants?" "no," said jane in a quiet, restrained voice; "she will not do it." "why?" said the captain in a surprised tone. he was not accustomed to be thwarted in anything he had fixed his mind upon, and he saw from jane's expression that her own was in opposition. "because i won't permit it." the captain leaned forward and looked at jane in astonishment. "you won't permit it!" "no, i won't permit it." "why?" the word came from the captain as if it had been shot from a gun. "because it would not be right." her eyes were still fixed on the captain's. "well, ain't it right that he should make some amends for what he's done?" he retorted with increasing anger. "when he said he wouldn't marry her i druv him out; now he says he's sorry and wants to do squarely by her and my hand's out to him. she ain't got nothin' in her life that's doin' her any good. and that boy's got to be baptized right and take his father's name, archie holt, out loud, so everybody kin hear." jane made no answer except to shake her head. her eyes were still on the captain's, but her mind was neither on him nor on what fell from his lips. she was again confronting that spectre which for years had lain buried and which the man before her was exorcising back to life. the captain sprang from his seat and stood before her; the words now poured from his lips in a torrent. "and you'll git out from this death blanket you been sleepin' under, bearin' her sin; breakin' the doctor's heart and your own; and archie kin hold his head up then and say he's got a father. you ain't heard how the boys talk 'bout him behind his back. tod fogarty's stuck to him, but who else is there 'round here? we all make mistakes; that's what half the folks that's livin' do. everything's been a lie--nothin' but lies--for near twenty years. you've lived a lie motherin' this boy and breakin' your heart over the whitest man that ever stepped in shoe leather. doctor john's lived a lie, tellin' folks he wanted to devote himself to his hospital when he'd rather live in the sound o' your voice and die a pauper than run a college anywhere else. lucy has lived a lie, and is livin' it yet--and likes it, too, that's the worst of it. and i been muzzled all these years; mad one minute and wantin' to twist his neck, and the next with my eyes runnin' tears that the only boy i got was lyin' out among strangers. the only one that's honest is the little pond lily. she ain't got nothin' to hide and you see it in her face. her father was square and her mother's with her and nothin' can't touch her and don't. let's have this out. i'm tired of it--" the captain was out of breath now, his emotions still controlling him, his astonishment at the unexpected opposition from the woman of all others on whose assistance he most relied unabated. jane rose from her chair and stood facing him, a great light in her eyes: "no! no! no! a thousand times, no! you don't know lucy; i do. what you want done now should have been done when archie was born. it was my fault. i couldn't see her suffer. i loved her too much. i thought to save her, i didn't care how. it would have been better for her if she had faced her sin then and taken the consequences; better for all of us. i didn't think so then, and it has taken me years to find it out. i began to be conscious of it first in her marriage, then when she kept on living her lie with her husband, and last when she deserted ellen and went off to beach haven alone--that broke my heart, and my mistake rose up before me, and i knew!" the captain stared at her in astonishment. he could hardly credit his ears. "yes, better, if she'd faced it. she would have lived here then under my care, and she might have loved her child as i have done. now she has no tie, no care, no responsibility, no thought of anything but the pleasures of the moment. i have tried to save her, and i have only helped to ruin her." "make her settle down, then, and face the music!" blurted out the captain, resuming his seat. "bart warn't all bad; he was only young and foolish. he'll take care of her. it ain't never too late to begin to turn honest. bart wants to begin; make her begin, too. he's got money now to do it; and she kin live in south america same's she kin here. she's got no home anywhere. she don't like it here, and never did; you kin see that from the way she swings 'round from place to place. make her face it, i tell ye. you been too easy with her all your life; pull her down now and keep her nose p'inted close to the compass." "you do not know of what you talk," jane answered, her eyes blazing. "she hates the past; hates everything connected with it; hates the very name of barton holt. never once has she mentioned it since her return. she never loved archie; she cared no more for him than a bird that has dropped its young out of its nest. besides, your plan is impossible. marriage does not condone a sin. the power to rise and rectify the wrong lies in the woman. lucy has not got it in her, and she never will have it. part of it is her fault; a large part of it is mine. she has lived this lie all these years, and i have only myself to blame. i have taught her to live it. i began it when i carried her away from here; i should have kept her at home and had her face the consequences of her sin then. i ought to have laid archie in her arms and kept him there. i was a coward and could not, and in my fear i destroyed the only thing that could have saved her--the mother-love. now she will run her course. she's her own mistress; no one can compel her to do anything." the captain raised his clenched hand: "bart will, when he comes." "how?" "by claimin' the boy and shamin' her before the world, if she don't. she liked him well enough when he was a disgrace to himself and to me, without a dollar to his name. what ails him now, when he comes back and owns up like a man and wants to do the square thing, and has got money enough to see it through? she's nothin' but a thing, if she knew it, till this disgrace's wiped off'n her. by god, miss jane, i tell you this has got to be put through just as bart wants it, and quick!" jane stepped closer and laid her hand on the captain's arm. the look in her eyes, the low, incisive, fearless ring in her voice, overawed him. her courage astounded him. this side of her character was a revelation. under their influence he became silent and humbled--as a boisterous advocate is humbled by the measured tones of a just judge. "it is not my friend, captain nat, who is talking now. it is the father who is speaking. think for a moment. who has borne the weight of this, you or i? you had a wayward son whom the people here think you drove out of your home for gambling on sunday. no other taint attaches to him or to you. dozens of other sons and fathers have done the same. he returns a reformed man and lives out his life in the home he left. "i had a wayward sister who forgot her mother, me, her womanhood, and herself, and yet at whose door no suspicion of fault has been laid. i stepped in and took the brunt and still do. i did this for my father's name and for my promise to him and for my love of her. to her child i have given my life. to him i am his mother and will always be--always, because i will stand by my fault. that is a redemption in itself, and that is the only thing that saves me from remorse. you and i, outside of his father and mother, are the only ones living that know of his parentage. the world has long since forgotten the little they suspected. let it rest; no good could come--only suffering and misery. to stir it now would only open old wounds and, worst of all, it would make a new one." "in you?" "no, worse than that. my heart is already scarred all over; no fresh wound would hurt." "in the doctor?" "yes and no. he has never asked the truth and i have never told him." "who, then?" "in little ellen. let us keep that one flower untouched." the captain rested his head in his hand, and for some minutes made no answer. ellen was the apple of his eye. "but if bart insists?" "he won't insist when he sees lucy. she is no more the woman that he loved and wronged than i am. he would not know her if he met her outside this house." "what shall i do?" "nothing. let matters take their course. if he is the man you think he is he will never break the silence." "and you will suffer on--and the doctor?" jane bowed her head and the tears sprang to her eyes. "yes, always; there is nothing else to do." chapter xx the undertow within the month a second letter was handed to the captain by tod, now regularly installed as postman. it was in answer to one of captain holt's which he had directed to the expected steamer and which had met the exile on his arrival. it was dated "amboy," began "my dear father," and was signed "your affectionate son, barton." this conveyed the welcome intelligence--welcome to the father--that the writer would be detained a few days in amboy inspecting the new machinery, after which he would take passage for barnegat by the polly walters, farguson's weekly packet. then these lines followed: "it will be the happiest day of my life when i can come into the inlet at high tide and see my home in the distance." again the captain sought jane. she was still at the hospital, nursing some shipwrecked men--three with internal injuries--who had been brought in from forked river station, the crew having rescued them the week before. two of the regular attendants were worn out with the constant nursing, and so jane continued her vigils. she had kept at her work--turning neither to the right nor to the left, doing her duty with the bravery and patience of a soldier on the firing-line, knowing that any moment some stray bullet might end her usefulness. she would not dodge, nor would she cower; the danger was no greater than others she had faced, and no precaution, she knew, could save her. her lips were still sealed, and would be to the end; some tongue other than her own must betray her sister and her trust. in the meantime she would wait and bear bravely whatever was sent to her. jane was alone when the captain entered, the doctor having left the room to begin his morning inspection. she was in her gray-cotton nursing-dress, her head bound about with a white kerchief. the pathos of her face and the limp, tired movement of her figure would have been instantly apparent to a man less absorbed in his own affairs than the captain. "he'll be here to-morrow or next day!" he cried, as he advanced to where she sat at her desk in the doctor's office, the same light in his eyes and the same buoyant tone in his voice, his ruddy face aglow with his walk from the station. "you have another letter then?" she said in a resigned tone, as if she had expected it and was prepared to meet its consequences. in her suffering she had even forgotten her customary welcome of him--for whatever his attitude and however gruff he might be, she never forgot the warm heart beneath. "yes, from amboy," panted the captain, out of breath with his quick walk, dragging a chair beside jane's desk as he spoke. "he got mine when the steamer come in. he's goin' to take the packet so he kin bring his things--got a lot o' them, he says. and he loves the old home, too--he says so--you kin read it for yourself." as he spoke he unbuttoned his jacket, and taking bart's letter from its inside pocket, laid his finger on the paragraph and held it before her face. "have you talked about it to anybody?" jane asked calmly; she hardly glanced at the letter. "only to the men; but it's all over barnegat. a thing like that's nothin' but a cask o' oil overboard and the bung out--runs everywhere--no use tryin' to stop it." he was in the chair now, his arms on the edge of the desk. "but you've said nothing to anybody about archie and lucy, and what bart intends to do when he comes, have you?" jane inquired in some alarm. "not a word, and won't till ye see him. she's more your sister than she is his wife, and you got most to say 'bout archie, and should. you been everything to him. when you've got through i'll take a hand, but not before." the captain always spoke the truth, and meant it; his word settled at once any anxieties she might have had on that score. "what have you decided to do?" she was not looking at him as she spoke; she was toying with a penholder that lay before her on the desk, apparently intent on its construction. "i'm goin' to meet him at farguson's ship-yard when the polly comes in," rejoined the captain in a positive tone, as if his mind had long since been made up regarding details, and he was reciting them for her guidance--"and take him straight to my house, and then come for you. you kin have it out together. only one thing, miss jane"--here his voice changed and something of his old quarter-deck manner showed itself in his face and gestures--"if he's laid his course and wants to keep hold of the tiller i ain't goin' to block his way and he shall make his harbor, don't make no difference who or what gits in the channel. ain't neither of us earned any extry pay for the way we've run this thing. you've got lucy ashore flounderin' 'round in the fog, and i had no business to send him off without grub or compass. if he wants to steer now he'll steer. i don't want you to make no mistake 'bout this, and you'll excuse me if i put it plain." jane put her hand to her head and looked out of the window toward the sea. all her life seemed to be narrowing to one small converging path which grew smaller and smaller as she looked down its perspective. "i understand, captain," she sighed. all the fight was out of her; she was like one limping across a battlefield, shield and spear gone, the roads unknown. the door opened and the doctor entered. his quick, sensitive eye instantly caught the look of despair on jane's face and the air of determination on the captain's. what had happened he did not know, but something to hurt jane; of that he was positive. he stepped quickly past the captain without accosting him, rested his hand on jane's shoulder, and said in a tender, pleading tone: "you are tired and worn out; get your cloak and hat and i'll drive you home." then he turned to the captain: "miss jane's been up for three nights. i hope you haven't been worrying her with anything you could have spared her from--at least until she got rested," and he frowned at the captain. "no, i ain't and wouldn't. i been a-tellin' her of bart's comin' home. that ain't nothin' to worry over--that's something to be glad of. you heard about it, of course?" "yes, morgan told me. twenty years will make a great difference in bart. it must have been a great surprise to you, captain." both jane and the captain tried to read the doctor's face, and both failed. doctor john might have been commenting on the weather or some equally unimportant topic, so light and casual was his tone. he turned to jane again. "come, dear--please," he begged. it was only when he was anxious about her physical condition or over some mental trouble that engrossed her that he spoke thus. the words lay always on the tip of his tongue, but he never let them fall unless someone was present to overhear. "you are wrong, john," she answered, bridling her shoulders as if to reassure him. "i am not tired--i have a little headache, that's all." with the words she pressed both hands to her temples and smoothed back her hair--a favorite gesture when her brain fluttered against her skull like a caged pigeon. "i will go home, but not now--this afternoon, perhaps. come for me then, please," she added, looking up into his face with a grateful expression. the captain picked up his cap and rose from his seat. one of his dreams was the marriage of these two. episodes like this only showed him the clearer what lay in their hearts. the doctor's anxiety and jane's struggle to bear her burdens outside of his touch and help only confirmed the old sea-dog in his determination. when bart had his way, he said to himself, all this would cease. "i'll be goin' along," he said, looking from one to the other and putting on his cap. "see you later, miss jane. morgan's back ag'in to work, thanks to you, doctor. that was a pretty bad sprain he had--he's all right now, though; went on practice yesterday. i'm glad of it--equinox is comin' on and we can't spare a man, or half a one, these days. may be blowin' a livin' gale 'fore the week's out. good-by, miss jane; good-by, doctor." and he shut the door behind him. with the closing of the door the sound of wheels was heard--a crisp, crunching sound--and then the stamping of horses' feet. max feilding's drag, drawn by the two grays and attended by the diminutive bones, had driven up and now stood beside the stone steps of the front door of the hospital. the coats of the horses shone like satin and every hub and plate glistened in the sunshine. on the seat, the reins in one pretty gloved hand, a gold-mounted whip in the other, sat lucy. she was dressed in her smartest driving toilette--a short yellow-gray jacket fastened with big pearl buttons and a hat bound about with the breast of a tropical bird. her eyes were dancing, her cheeks like ripe peaches with all the bloom belonging to them in evidence, and something more, and her mouth all curves and dimples. when the doctor reached her side--he had heard the sound of the wheels, and looking through the window had caught sight of the drag--she had risen from her perch and was about to spring clear of the equipage without waiting for the helping hand of either bones or himself. she was still a girl in her suppleness. "no, wait until i can give you my hand," he said, hurrying toward her. "no--i don't want your hand, sir esculapius. get out of the way, please--i'm going to jump! there--wasn't that lovely?" and she landed beside him. "where's sister? i've been all the way to yardley, and martha tells me she has been here almost all the week. oh, what a dreadful, gloomy-looking place! how many people have you got here anyhow, cooped up in this awful-- why, it's like an almshouse," she added, looking about her. "where did you say sister was?" "i'll go and call her," interpolated the doctor when he could get a chance to speak. "no, you won't do anything of the kind; i'll go myself. you've had her all the week, and now it's my turn." jane had by this time closed the lid of her desk, had moved out into the hall, and now stood on the top step of the entrance awaiting lucy's ascent. in her gray gown, simple head-dress, and resigned face, the whole framed in the doorway with its connecting background of dull stone, she looked like one of correggio's madonnas illumining some old cloister wall. "oh, you dear, dear sister!" lucy cried, running up the short steps to meet her. "i'm so glad i've found you; i was afraid you were tying up somebody's broken head or rocking a red-flannelled baby." with this she put her arms around jane's neck and kissed her rapturously. "where can we talk? oh, i've got such a lot of things to tell you! you needn't come, you dear, good doctor. please take yourself off, sir--this way, and out the gate, and don't you dare come back until i'm gone." my lady of paris was very happy this morning; bubbling over with merriment--a condition that set the doctor to thinking. indeed, he had been thinking most intently about my lady ever since he had heard of bart's resurrection. he had also been thinking of jane and archie. these last thoughts tightened his throat; they had also kept him awake the past few nights. the doctor bowed with one of his sir roger bows, lifted his hat first to jane in all dignity and reverence, and then to lucy with a flourish--keeping up outwardly the gayety of the occasion and seconding her play of humor--walked to the shed where his horse was tied and drove off. he knew these moods of lucy's; knew they were generally assumed and that they always concealed some purpose--one which neither a frown nor a cutting word nor an outbreak of temper would accomplish; but that fact rarely disturbed him. then, again, he was never anything but courteous to her--always remembering jane's sacrifice and her pride in her. "and now, you dear, let us go somewhere where we can be quiet," lucy cried, slipping her arm around jane's slender waist and moving toward the hall. with the entering of the bare room lined with bottles and cases of instruments her enthusiasm began to cool. up to this time she had done all the talking. was jane tired out nursing? she asked herself; or did she still feel hurt over her refusal to take ellen with her for the summer? she had remembered for days afterward the expression on her face when she told of her plans for the summer and of her leaving ellen at yardley; but she knew this had all passed out of her sister's mind. this was confirmed by jane's continued devotion to ellen and her many kindnesses to the child. it was true that whenever she referred to her separation from ellen, which she never failed to do as a sort of probe to be assured of the condition of jane's mind, there was no direct reply--merely a changing of the topic, but this had only proved jane's devotion in avoiding a subject which might give her beautiful sister pain. what, then, was disturbing her to-day? she asked herself with a slight chill at her heart. then she raised her head and assumed a certain defiant air. better not notice anything jane said or did; if she was tired she would get rested and if she was provoked with her she would get pleased again. it was through her affections and her conscience that she could hold and mould her sister jane--never through opposition or fault-finding. besides, the sun was too bright and the air too delicious, and she herself too blissfully happy to worry over anything. in time all these adverse moods would pass out of jane's heart as they had done a thousand times before. "oh, you dear, precious thing!" lucy began again, all these matters having been reviewed, settled, and dismissed from her mind in the time it took her to cross the room. "i'm so sorry for you when i think of you shut up here with these dreadful people; but i know you wouldn't be happy anywhere else," she laughed in a meaning way. (the bringing in of the doctor even by implication was always a good move.) "and martha looks so desolate. dear, you really ought to be more with her; but for my darling ellen i don't know what martha would do. i miss the child so, and yet i couldn't bear to take her from the dear old woman." jane made no answer. lucy had found a chair now and had laid her gloves, parasol, and handkerchief on another beside her. jane had resumed her seat; her slender neck and sloping shoulders and sparely modelled head with its simply dressed hair--she had removed the kerchief--in silhouette against the white light of the window. "what is it all about, lucy?" she asked in a grave tone after a slight pause in lucy's talk. "i have a great secret to tell you--one you mustn't breathe until i give you leave." she was leaning back in her chair now, her eyes trying to read jane's thoughts. her bare hands were resting in her lap, the jewels flashing from her fingers; about her dainty mouth there hovered, like a butterfly, a triumphant smile; whether this would alight and spread its wings into radiant laughter, or disappear, frightened by a gathering frown, depended on what would drop from her sister's lips. jane looked up. the strong light from the window threw her head into shadow; only the slight fluff of her hair glistened in the light. this made an aureole which framed the madonna's face. "well, lucy, what is it?" she asked again simply. "max is going to be married." "when?" rejoined jane in the same quiet tone. her mind was not on max or on anything connected with him. it was on the shadow slowly settling upon all she loved. "in december," replied lucy, a note of triumph in her voice, her smile broadening. "who to?" "me." with the single word a light ripple escaped from her lips. jane straightened herself in her chair. a sudden faintness passed over her--as if she had received a blow in the chest, stopping her breath. "you mean--you mean--that you have promised to marry max feilding!" she gasped. "that's exactly what i do mean." the butterfly smile about lucy's mouth had vanished. that straightening of the lips and slow contraction of the brow which jane knew so well was taking its place. then she added nervously, unclasping her hands and picking up her gloves: "aren't you pleased?" "i don't know," answered jane, gazing about the room with a dazed look, as if seeking for a succor she could not find. "i must think. and so you have promised to marry max!" she repeated, as if to herself. "and in december." for a brief moment she paused, her eyes again downcast; then she raised her voice quickly and in a more positive tone asked, "and what do you mean to do with ellen?" "that's what i want to talk to you about, you dear thing." lucy had come prepared to ignore any unfavorable criticisms jane might make and to give her only sisterly affection in return. "i want to give her to you for a few months more," she added blandly, "and then we will take her abroad with us and send her to school either in paris or geneva, where her grandmother can be near her. in a year or two she will come to us in paris." jane made no answer. lucy moved uncomfortably in her chair. she had never, in all her life, seen her sister in any such mood. she was not so much astonished over her lack of enthusiasm regarding the engagement; that she had expected--at least for the first few days, until she could win her over to her own view. it was the deadly poise--the icy reserve that disturbed her. this was new. "lucy!" again jane stopped and looked out of the window. "you remember the letter i wrote you some years ago, in which i begged you to tell ellen's father about archie and barton holt?" lucy's eyes flashed. "yes, and you remember my answer, don't you?" she answered sharply. "what a fool i would have been, dear, to have followed your advice!" jane went straight on without heeding the interruption or noticing lucy's changed tone. "do you intend to tell max?" "i tell max! my dear, good sister, are you crazy! what should i tell max for? all that is dead and buried long ago! why do you want to dig up all these graves? tell max--that aristocrat! he's a dear, sweet fellow, but you don't know him. he'd sooner cut his hand off than marry me if he knew!" "i'm afraid you will have to--and this very day," rejoined jane in a calm, measured tone. lucy moved uneasily in her chair; her anxiety had given way to a certain ill-defined terror. jane's voice frightened her. "why?" she asked in a trembling voice. "because captain holt or someone else will, if you don't." "what right has he or anybody else to meddle with my affairs?" lucy retorted in an indignant tone. "because he cannot help it. i intended to keep the news from you for a time, but from what you have just told me you had best hear it now. barton holt is alive. he has been in brazil all these years, in the mines. he has written to his father that he is coming home." all the color faded from lucy's cheeks. "bart! alive! coming home! when?" "he will be here day after to-morrow; he is at amboy, and will come by the weekly packet. what i can do i will. i have worked all my life to save you, and i may yet, but it seems now as if i had reached the end of my rope." "who said so? where did you hear it? it can't be true!" jane shook her head. "i wish it was not true--but it is--every word of it. i have read his letter." lucy sank back in her chair, her cheeks livid, a cold perspiration moistening her forehead. little lines that jane had never noticed began to gather about the corners of her mouth; her eyes were wide open, with a strained, staring expression. what she saw was max's eyes looking into her own, that same cold, cynical expression on his face she had sometimes seen when speaking of other women he had known. "what's he coming for?" her voice was thick and barely audible. "to claim his son." "he--says--he'll--claim--archie--as--his--son!" she gasped. "i'd like to see any man living dare to--" "but he can try, lucy--no one can prevent that, and in the trying the world will know." lucy sprang from her seat and stood over her sister: "i'll deny it!" she cried in a shrill voice; "and face him down. he can't prove it! no one about here can!" "he may have proofs that you couldn't deny, and that i would not if i could. captain holt knows everything, remember," jane replied in her same calm voice. "but nobody else does but you and martha!" the thought gave her renewed hope--the only ray she saw. "true; but the captain is enough. his heart is set on archie's name being cleared, and nothing that i can do or say will turn him from his purpose. do you know what he means to do?" "no," she replied faintly, more terror than curiosity in her voice. "he means that you shall marry barton, and that archie shall be baptized as archibald holt. barton will then take you both back to south america. a totally impossible plan, but--" "i marry barton holt! why, i wouldn't marry him if he got down on his knees. why, i don't even remember what he looks like! did you ever hear of such impudence! what is he to me?" the outburst carried with it a certain relief. "what he is to you is not the question. it is what you are to archie! your sin has been your refusal to acknowledge him. now you are brought face to face with the consequences. the world will forgive a woman all the rest, but never for deserting her child, and that, my dear sister, is precisely what you did to archie." jane's gaze was riveted on lucy. she had never dared to put this fact clearly before--not even to herself. now that she was confronted with the calamity she had dreaded all these years, truth was the only thing that would win. everything now must be laid bare. lucy lifted her terrified face, burst into tears, and reached out her hands to jane. "oh, sister,--sister!" she moaned. "what shall i do? oh, if i had never come home! can't you think of some way? you have always been so good--oh, please! please!" jane drew lucy toward her. "i will do all i can, dear. if i fail there is only one resource left. that is the truth, and all of it. max can save you, and he will if he loves you. tell, him everything!" chapter xxi the man in the slouch hat the wooden arrow on the top of the cupola of the life-saving station had had a busy night of it. with the going down of the sun the wind had continued to blow east-southeast--its old course for weeks--and the little sentinel, lulled into inaction, had fallen into a doze, its feather end fixed on the glow of the twilight. at midnight a rollicking breeze that piped from out the north caught the sensitive vane napping, and before the dawn broke had quite tired it out, shifting from point to point, now west, now east, now nor'east-by-east, and now back to north again. by the time morgan had boiled his coffee and had cut his bacon into slivers ready for the frying-pan the restless wind, as if ashamed of its caprices, had again veered to the north-east, and then, as if determined ever after to lead a better life, had pulled itself together and had at last settled down to a steady blow from that quarter. the needle of the aneroid fastened to the wall of the sitting-room, and in reach of everybody's eye, had also made a night of it. in fact, it had not had a moment's peace since captain holt reset its register the day before. all its efforts for continued good weather had failed. slowly but surely the baffled and disheartened needle had sagged from "fair" to "change," dropped back to "storm," and before noon the next day had about given up the fight and was in full flight for "cyclones and tempests." uncle isaac polhemus, sitting at the table with one eye on his game of dominoes (green was his partner) and the other on the patch of sky framed by the window, read the look of despair on the honest face of the aneroid, and rising from his chair, a "double three" in his hand, stepped to where the weather prophet hung. "sompin's comin' sam," he said solemnly. "the old gal's got a bad setback. ain't none of us goin' to git a wink o' sleep to-night, or i miss my guess. wonder how the wind is." here he moved to the door and peered out. "nor'-east and puffy, just as i thought. we're goin' to hev some weather, sam--ye hear?--some weather!" with this he regained his chair and joined the double three to the long tail of his successes. good weather or bad weather--peace or war--was all the same to uncle isaac. what he wanted was the earliest news from the front. captain holt took a look at the sky, the aneroid and the wind--not the arrow; old sea-dogs know which way the wind blows without depending on any such contrivance--the way the clouds drift, the trend of the white-caps, the set of a distant sail, and on black, almost breathless nights, by the feel of a wet finger held quickly in the air, the coolest side determining the wind point. on this morning the clouds attracted the captain's attention. they hung low and drifted in long, straggling lines. close to the horizon they were ashy pale; being nearest the edge of the brimming sea, they had, no doubt, seen something the higher and rosier-tinted clouds had missed; something of the ruin that was going on farther down the round of the sphere. these clouds the captain studied closely, especially a prismatic sun-dog that glowed like a bit of rainbow snipped off by wind-scissors, and one or two dirt spots sailing along by themselves. during the captain's inspection archie hove in sight, wiping his hands with a wad of cotton waste. he and parks had been swabbing out the firing gun and putting the polished work of the cart apparatus in order. "it's going to blow, captain, isn't it?" he called out. blows were what archie was waiting for. so far the sea had been like a mill-pond, except on one or two occasions, when, to the boy's great regret, nothing came ashore. "looks like it. glass's been goin' down and the wind has settled to the nor'east. some nasty dough-balls out there i don't like. see 'em goin' over that three-master?" archie looked, nodded his head, and a certain thrill went through him. the harder it blew the better it would suit archie. "will the polly be here to-night?" he added. "your son's coming, isn't he?" "yes; but you won't see him to-night, nor to-morrow, not till this is over. you won't catch old ambrose out in this weather" (captain ambrose farguson sailed the polly). "he'll stick his nose in the basin some'er's and hang on for a spell. i thought he'd try to make the inlet, and i 'spected bart here to-night till i saw the glass when i got up. ye can't fool ambrose--he knows. be two or three days now 'fore bart comes," he added, a look of disappointment shadowing his face. archie kept on to the house, and the captain, after another sweep around, turned on his heel and reentered the sitting-room. "green!" "yes, captain." the surfman was on his feet in an instant, his ears wide open. "i wish you and fogarty would look over those new costons and see if they're all right. and, polhemus, perhaps you'd better overhaul them cork jackets; some o' them straps seemed kind o' awkward on practice yesterday--they ought to slip on easier; guess they're considerable dried out and a little mite stiff." green nodded his head in respectful assent and left the room. polhemus, at the mention of his name, had dropped his chair legs to the floor; he had finished his game of dominoes and had been tilted back against the wall, awaiting the dinner-hour. "it's goin' to blow a livin' gale o' wind, polhemus," the captain continued; "that's what it's goin' to do. ye kin see it yerself. there she comes now!" as he spoke the windows on the sea side of the house rattled as if shaken by the hand of a man and as quickly stopped. "them puffs are jest the tootin' of her horn--" this with a jerk of his head toward the windows. "i tell ye, it looks ugly!" polhemus gained his feet and the two men stepped to the sash and peered out. to them the sky was always an open book--each cloud a letter, each mass a paragraph, the whole a warning. "but i'm kind o' glad, isaac." again the captain forgot the surfman in the friend. "as long as it's got to blow it might as well blow now and be over. i'd kind o' set my heart on bart's comin', but i guess i've waited so long i kin wait a day or two more. i wrote him to come by train, but he wrote back he had a lot o' plunder and he'd better put it 'board the polly; and, besides, he said he kind o' wanted to sail into the inlet like he used to when he was a boy. then again, i couldn't meet him; not with this weather comin' on. no--take it all in all, i'm glad he ain't comin'." "well, i guess yer right, captain," answered uncle isaac in an even tone, as he left the room to overhaul the cork jackets. the occasion was not one of absorbing interest to isaac. by the time the table was cleared and the kitchen once more in order not only were the windows on the sea side of the house roughly shaken by the rising gale, but the sand caught from the dunes was being whirled against their panes. the tide, too, egged on by the storm, had crept up the slope of the dunes, the spray drenching the grass-tufts. at five o'clock the wind blew forty miles an hour at sundown it had increased to fifty; at eight o'clock it bowled along at sixty. morgan, who had been to the village for supplies, reported that the tide was over the dock at barnegat and that the roof of the big bathing-house at beach haven had been ripped off and landed on the piazza. he had had all he could do to keep his feet and his basket while crossing the marsh on his way back to the station. then he added: "there's a lot o' people there yit. that feller from philadelphy who's mashed on cobden's aunt was swellin' around in a potato-bug suit o' clothes as big as life." this last was given from behind his hand after he had glanced around the room and found that archie was absent. at eight o'clock, when parks and archie left the station to begin their patrol, parks was obliged to hold on to the rail of the porch to steady himself, and archie, being less sure of his feet, was blown against the water-barrel before he could get his legs well under him. at the edge of the surf the two separated for their four hours' patrol, archie breasting the gale on his way north, and parks hurrying on, helped by the wind, to the south. at ten o'clock parks returned. he had made his first round, and had exchanged his brass check with the patrol at the next station. as he mounted the sand-dune he quickened his steps, hurried to the station, opened the sitting-room door, found it empty, the men being in bed upstairs awaiting their turns, and then strode on to the captain's room, his sou'wester and tarpaulin drenched with spray and sand, his hip-boots leaving watery tracks along the clean floor. "wreck ashore at no. , sir!" parks called out in a voice hoarse with fighting the wind. the captain sprang from his cot--he was awake, his light still burning. "anybody drownded?" "no, sir; got 'em all. seven of 'em, so the patrol said. come ashore 'bout supper-time." "what is she?" "a two-master from virginia loaded with cord-wood. surf's in bad shape, sir; couldn't nothin' live in it afore; it's wuss now. everything's a bobble; turrible to see them sticks thrashin' 'round and slammin' things." "didn't want no assistance, did they?" "no, sir; they got the fust line 'round the foremast and come off in less'n a hour; warn't none of 'em hurted." "is it any better outside?" "no, sir; wuss. i ain't seen nothin' like it 'long the coast for years. good-night," and parks took another hole in the belt holding his tarpaulins together, opened the back door, walked to the edge of the house, steadied himself against the clapboards, and boldly facing the storm, continued his patrol. the captain stretched himself again on his bed; he had tried to sleep, but his brain was too active. as he lay listening to the roar of the surf and the shrill wail of the wind, his thoughts would revert to bart and what his return meant; particularly to its effect on the fortunes of the doctor, of jane and of lucy. jane's attitude continued to astound him. he had expected that lucy might not realize the advantages of his plan at first--not until she had seen bart and listened to what he had to say; but that jane, after the confession of her own weakness should still oppose him, was what he could not under stand, he would keep his promise, however, to the very letter. she should have free range to dissuade bart from his purpose. after that bart should have his way. no other course was possible, and no other course either honest or just. then he went over in his mind all that had happened to him since the day he had driven bart out into the night, and from that same house of refuge, too, which, strange to say, lay within sight of the station. he recalled his own and bart's sufferings; his loneliness; the bitterness of the terrible secret which had kept his mouth closed all these years, depriving him of even the intimate companionship of his own grandson. with this came an increased love for the boy; he again felt the warm pressure of his hand and caught the look in his eyes the morning archie congratulated him so heartily on bart's expected return, he had always loved him; he would love him now a thousand times more when he could put his hand on the boy's shoulder and tell him everything. with the changing of the patrol, tod and polhemus taking the places of archie and parks, he fell into a doze, waking with a sudden start some hours later, springing from his bed, and as quickly turning up the lamp. still in his stocking feet and trousers--on nights like this the men lie down in half their clothes--he walked to the window and peered out. it was nearing daylight; the sky still black. the storm was at its height; the roar of the surf incessant and the howl of the wind deafening. stepping into the sitting-room he glanced at the aneroid--the needle had not advanced a point; then turning into the hall, he mounted the steps to the lookout in the cupola, walked softly past the door of the men's room so as not to waken the sleepers, particularly parks and archie, whose cots were nearest the door--both had had four hours of the gale and would have hours more if it continued--and reaching the landing, pressed his face against the cool pane and peered out. below him stretched a dull waste of sand hardly distinguishable in the gloom until his eyes became accustomed to it, and beyond this the white line of the surf, whiter than either sky or sand. this writhed and twisted like a cobra in pain. to the north burned barnegat light, only the star of its lamp visible. to the south stretched alternate bands of sand, sky, and surf, their dividing lines lost in the night. along this beach, now stopping to get their breath, now slanting the brim of their sou'westers to escape the slash of the sand and spray, strode tod and polhemus, their eyes on and beyond the tumbling surf, their ears open to every unusual sound, their costons buttoned tight under their coats to keep them from the wet. suddenly, while his eyes were searching the horizon line, now hardly discernible in the gloom, a black mass rose from behind a cresting of foam, see-sawed for an instant, clutched wildly at the sky, and dropped out of sight behind a black wall of water. the next instant there flashed on the beach below him, and to the left of the station, the red flare of a coston signal. with the quickness of a cat captain holt sprang to the stairs shouting: "a wreck, men, a wreck!" the next instant he had thrown aside the door of the men's room. "out every one of ye! who's on the beach?" and he looked over the cots to find the empty ones. the men were on their feet before he had ceased speaking, archie before the captain's hand had left the knob of the door. "who's on the beach, i say?" he shouted again. "fogarty and uncle ike," someone answered. "polhemus! good! all hands on the cart, men; boat can't live in that surf. she lies to the north of us!" and he swung himself out of the door and down the stairs. "god help 'em, if they've got to come through that surf!" parks said, slinging on his coat. "the tide's just beginnin' to make flood, and all that cord-wood'll come a-waltzin' back. never see nothin' like it!" the front door now burst in and another shout went ringing through the house: "schooner in the breakers!" it was tod. he had rejoined polhemus the moment before he flared his light and had made a dash to rouse the men. "i seen her, fogarty, from the lookout," cried the captain, in answer, grabbing his sou'wester; he was already in his hip-boots and tarpaulin. "what is she?" "schooner, i guess, sir." "two or three masts?" asked the captain hurriedly, tightening the strap of his sou'wester and slipping the leather thong under his gray whiskers. "can't make out, sir; she come bow on. uncle ike see her fust." and he sprang out after the men. a double door thrown wide; a tangle of wild cats springing straight at a broad-tired cart; a grappling of track-lines and handle-bars; a whirl down the wooden incline, tod following with the quickly lighted lanterns; a dash along the runway, the sand cutting their cheeks like grit from a whirling stone; over the dune, the men bracing the cart on either side, and down the beach the crew swept in a rush to where polhemus stood waving his last coston. here the cart stopped. "don't unload nothin'," shouted polhemus. "she ain't fast; looks to me as if she was draggin' her anchors." captain holt canted the brim of his sou'wester, held his bent elbow against his face to protect it from the cut of the wind, and looked in the direction of the surfman's fingers. the vessel lay about a quarter of a mile from the shore and nearer the house of refuge than when the captain had first seen her from the lookout. she was afloat and drifting broadside on to the coast. her masts were still standing and she seemed able to take care of herself. polhemus was right. nothing could be done till she grounded. in the meantime the crew must keep abreast of her. her fate, however, was but a question of time, for not only had the wind veered to the southward--a-dead-on-shore wind--but the set of the flood must eventually strand her. at the track-lines again, every man in his place, uncle isaac with his shoulder under the spokes of the wheels, the struggling crew keeping the cart close to the edge of the dune, springing out of the way of the boiling surf or sinking up to their waists into crevices of sluiceways gullied out by the hungry sea. once archie lost his footing and would have been sucked under by a comber had not captain holt grapped him by the collar and landed him on his feet again. now and then a roller more vicious than the others would hurl a log of wood straight at the cart with the velocity of a torpedo, and swoop back again, the log missing its mark by a length. when the dawn broke the schooner could be made out more clearly. both masts were still standing, their larger sails blown away. the bowsprit was broken short off close to her chains. about this dragged the remnants of a jib sail over which the sea soused and whitened. she was drifting slowly and was now but a few hundred yards from the beach, holding, doubtless, by her anchors. over her deck the sea made a clean breach. suddenly, and while the men still tugged at the track-ropes, keeping abreast of her so as to be ready with the mortar and shot-line, the ill-fated vessel swung bow on toward the beach, rose on a huge mountain of water, and threw herself headlong. when the smother cleared her foremast was overboard and her deck-house smashed. around her hull the waves gnashed and fought like white wolves, leaping high, flinging themselves upon her. in the recoil captain holt's quick eye got a glimpse of the crew; two were lashed to the rigging and one held the tiller--a short, thickset man, wearing what appeared to be a slouch hat tied over his ears by a white handkerchief. with the grounding of the vessel a cheer went up from around the cart. "now for the mortar!" "up with it on the dune, men!" shouted the captain, his voice ringing above the roar of the tempest. the cart was forced up the slope--two men at the wheels, the others straining ahead--the gun lifted out and set, polhemus ramming the charge home, captain holt sighting the piece; there came a belching sound, a flash of dull light, and a solid shot carrying a line rose in the air, made a curve like a flying rocket, and fell athwart the wreck between her forestay and jib. a cheer went up from the men about the gun. when this line was hauled in and the hawser attached to it made fast high up on the mainmast and above the raging sea, and the car run off to the wreck, the crew could be landed clear of the surf and the slam of the cord-wood. at the fall of the line the man in the slouch hat was seen to edge himself forward in an attempt to catch it. the two men in the rigging kept their hold. the men around the cart sprang for the hawser and tally-blocks to rig the buoy, when a dull cry rose from the wreck. to their horror they saw the mainmast waver, flutter for a moment, and sag over the schooner's side. the last hope of using the life-car was gone! without the elevation of the mast and with nothing but the smashed hull to make fast to, the shipwrecked men would be pounded into pulp in the attempt to drag them through the boil of wreckage. "haul in, men!" cried the captain. "no use of another shot; we can't drag 'em through that surf!" "i'll take my chances," said green, stepping forward. "let me, cap'n. i can handle 'em if they haul in the slack and make fast." "no, you can't," said the captain calmly. "you couldn't get twenty feet from shore. we got to wait till the tide cleans this wood out. it's workin' right now. they kin stand it for a while. certain death to bring 'em through that smother--that stuff'd knock the brains out of 'em fast as they dropped into it. signal to 'em to hang on, parks." an hour went by--an hour of agony to the men clinging to the grounded schooner, and of impatience to the shore crew, who were powerless. the only danger was of exhaustion to the shipwrecked men and the breaking up of the schooner. if this occurred there was nothing left but a plunge of rescuing men through the surf, the life of every man in his hand. the beach began filling up. the news of a shipwreck had spread with the rapidity of a thunder-shower. one crowd, denser in spots where the stronger men were breasting the wind, which was now happily on the wane, were moving from the village along the beach, others were stumbling on through the marshes. from the back country, along the road leading from the hospital, rattled a gig, the horse doing his utmost. in this were doctor john and jane. she had, contrary to his advice, remained at the hospital. the doctor had been awakened by the shouts of a fisherman, and had driven with all speed to the hospital to get his remedies and instruments. jane had insisted upon accompanying him, although she had been up half the night with one of the sailors rescued the week before by the crew of no. . the early morning air--it was now seven o'clock--would do her good, she pleaded, and she might be of use if any one of the poor fellows needed a woman's care. farther down toward beach haven the sand was dotted with wagons and buggies; some filled with summer boarders anxious to see the crew at work. one used as the depot omnibus contained max feilding, lucy, and half a dozen others. she had passed a sleepless night, and hearing the cries of those hurrying by had thrown a heavy cloak around her and opening wide the piazza door had caught sight of the doomed vessel fighting for its life. welcoming the incident as a relief from her own maddening thoughts, she had joined max, hoping that the excitement might divert her mind from the horror that overshadowed her. then, too, she did not want to be separated a single moment from him. since the fatal hour when jane had told her of bart's expected return max's face had haunted her. as long as he continued to look into her eyes, believing and trusting in her there was hope. he had noticed her haggard look, but she had pleaded one of her headaches, and had kept up her smiles, returning his caresses. some way would be opened; some way must be opened! while waiting for the change of wind and tide predicted by captain holt to clear away the deadly drift of the cord-wood so dangerous to the imperilled men, the wreckage from the grounded schooner began to come ashore--crates of vegetables, barrels of groceries, and boxes filled with canned goods. some of these were smashed into splinters by end-on collisions with cord-wood; others had dodged the floatage and were landed high on the beach. during the enforced idleness tod occupied himself in rolling away from the back-suck of the surf the drift that came ashore. being nearest a stranded crate he dragged it clear and stood bending over it, reading the inscription. with a start he beckoned to parks, the nearest man to him, tore the card from the wooden slat, and held it before the surfman's face. "what's this? read! that's the polly walters out there, i tell ye, and the captain's son's aboard! i've been suspicionin' it all the mornin'. that's him with the slouch hat. i knowed he warn't no sailor from the way he acted. don't say nothin' till we're sure." parks lunged forward, dodged a stick of cord-wood that drove straight at him like a battering-ram and, watching his chance, dragged a floating keg from the smother, rolled it clear of the surf, canted it on end, and took a similar card from its head. then he shouted with all his might: "it's the polly, men! it's the polly--the polly walters! o god, ain't that too bad! captain ambrose's drowned, or we'd a-seen him! that feller in the slouch hat is bart holt! gimme that line!" he was stripping off his waterproofs now ready for a plunge into the sea. with the awful words ringing in his ears captain holt made a spring from the dune and came running toward parks, who was now knotting the shot-line about his waist. "what do you say she is?" he shouted, as he flung himself to the edge of the roaring surf and strained his eyes toward the wreck. "the polly--the polly walters!" "my god! how do ye know? she ain't left amboy, i tell ye!" "she has! that's her--see them kerds! they come off that stuff behind ye. tod got one and i got t'other!" he held the bits of cardboard under the rim of the captain's sou'wester. captain holt snatched the cards from parks's hand, read them at a glance, and a dazed, horror-stricken expression crossed his face. then his eye fell upon parks knotting the shot-line about his waist. "take that off! parks, stay where ye are; don't ye move, i tell ye." as the words dropped from the captain's lips a horrified shout went up from the bystanders. the wreck, with a crunching sound, was being lifted from the sand. she rose steadily, staggered for an instant and dropped out of sight. she had broken amidships. with the recoil two ragged bunches showed above the white wash of the water. on one fragment--a splintered mast--crouched the man with the slouch hat; to the other clung the two sailors. the next instant a great roller, gathering strength as it came, threw itself full length on both fragments and swept on. only wreckage was left and one head. with a cry to the men to stand by and catch the slack, the captain ripped a line from the drum of the cart, dragged off his high boots, knotted the bight around his waist, and started on a run for the surf. before his stockinged feet could reach the edge of the foam, archie seized him around the waist and held him with a grip of steel. "you sha'n't do it, captain!" he cried, his eyes blazing. "hold him, men--i'll get him!" with the bound of a cat he landed in the middle of the floatage, dived under the logs, rose on the boiling surf, worked himself clear of the inshore wreckage, and struck out in the direction of the man clinging to the shattered mast, and who was now nearing the beach, whirled on by the inrushing seas. strong men held their breath, tears brimming their eyes. captain holt stood irresolute, dazed for the moment by archie's danger. the beach women--mrs. fogarty among them--were wringing their hands. they knew the risk better than the others. jane, at archie's plunge, had run down to the edge of the surf and stood with tight-clenched fingers, her gaze fixed on the lad's head as he breasted the breakers--her face white as death, the tears streaming down her cheeks. fear for the boy she loved, pride in his pluck and courage, agony over the result of the rescue, all swept through her as she strained her eyes seaward. lucy, max, and mrs. coates were huddled together under the lee of the dune. lucy's eyes were staring straight ahead of her; her teeth chattering with fear and cold. she had heard the shouts of parks and the captain, and knew now whose life was at stake. there was no hope left; archie would win and pull him out alive, and her end would come. the crowd watched the lad until his hand touched the mast, saw him pull himself hand over hand along its slippery surface and reach out his arms. then a cheer went up from a hundred throats, and as instantly died away in a moan of terror. behind, towering over them like a huge wall, came a wave of black water, solemn, merciless, uncrested, as if bent on deadly revenge. under its impact the shattered end of the mast rose clear of the water, tossed about as if in agony, veered suddenly with the movement of a derrick-boom, and with its living freight dashed headlong into the swirl of cord-wood. as it ploughed through the outer drift and reached the inner line of wreckage, tod, whose eyes had never left archie since his leap into the surf, made a running jump from the sand, landed on a tangle of drift, and sprang straight at the section of the mast to which archie clung. the next instant the surf rolled clear, submerging the three men. another ringing order now rose above the roar of the waters, and a chain of rescuing surfmen--the last resort--with captain nat at the head dashed into the turmoil. it was a hand-to-hand fight now with death. at the first onslaught of the battery of wreckage polhemus was knocked breathless by a blow in the stomach and rescued by the bystanders just as a log was curling over him. green was hit by a surging crate, and mulligan only saved from the crush of the cord-wood by the quickness of a fisherman. morgan, watching his chance, sprang clear of a tangle of barrels and cord-wood, dashed into the narrow gap of open water, and grappling tod as he whirled past, twisted his fingers in archie's waistband. the three were then pounced upon by a relay of fishermen led by tod's father and dragged from under the crunch and surge of the smother. both tod and morgan were unhurt and scrambled to their feet as soon as they gained the hard sand, but archie lay insensible where the men had dropped him, his body limp, his feet crumpled under him. all this time the man in the slouch hat was being swirled in the hell of wreckage, the captain meanwhile holding to the human chain with one hand and fighting with the other until he reached the half-drowned man whose grip had now slipped from the crate to which he clung. as the two were shot in toward the beach, green, who had recovered his breath, dodged the recoil, sprang straight for them, threw the captain a line, which he caught, dashed back and dragged the two high up on the beach, the captain's arm still tightly locked about the rescued man. a dozen hands were held out to relieve the captain of his burden, but he only waved them away. "i'll take care of him!" he gasped in a voice almost gone from buffeting the waves, as the body slipped from his arms to the wet sand. "git out of the way, all of you!" once on his feet, he stood for an instant to catch his breath, wrung the grime from his ears with his stiff fingers, and then shaking the water from his shoulders as a dog would after a plunge, he passed his great arms once more under the bedraggled body of the unconscious man and started up the dune toward the house of refuge, the water dripping from both their wet bodies. only once did he pause, and then to shout: "green,--mulligan! go back, some o' ye, and git archie. he's hurt bad. quick, now! and one o' ye bust in them doors. and-- polhemus, pull some coats off that crowd and a shawl or two from them women if they can spare 'em, and find doctor john, some o' ye! d'ye hear! doctor john!" a dozen coats were stripped from as many backs, a shawl of mrs. fogarty's handed to polhemus, the doors burst in and uncle isaac lunging in tumbled the garments on the floor. on these the captain laid the body of the rescued man, the slouch hat still clinging to his head. while this was being done another procession was approaching the house. tod and parks were carrying archie's unconscious form, the water dripping from his clothing. tod had his hands under the boy's armpits and parks carried his feet. behind the three walked jane, half supported by the doctor. "dead!" she moaned. "oh, no--no--no, john; it cannot be! not my archie! my brave archie!" the captain heard the tramp of the men's feet on the board floor of the runway outside and rose to his feet. he had been kneeling beside the form of the rescued man. his face was knotted with the agony he had passed through, his voice still thick and hoarse from battling with the sea. "what's that she says?" he cried, straining his ears to catch jane's words. "what's that! archie dead! no! 'tain't so, is it, doctor?" doctor john, his arm still supporting jane, shook his head gravely and pointed to his own forehead. "it's all over, captain," he said in a broken voice. "skull fractured." "hit with them logs! archie! oh, my god! and this man ain't much better off--he ain't hardly breathin'. see for yerself, doctor. here, tod, lay archie on these coats. move back that boat, men, to give 'em room, and push them stools out of the way. oh, miss jane, maybe it ain't true, maybe he'll come round! i've seen 'em this way more'n a dozen times. here, doctor let's get these wet clo'es off 'em." he dropped between the two limp, soggy bodies and began tearing open the shirt from the man's chest. jane, who had thrown herself in a passion of grief on the water-soaked floor beside archie, commenced wiping the dead boy's face with her handkerchief, smoothing the short wet curls from his forehead as she wept. the man's shirt and collar loosened, captain holt pulled the slouch hat from his head, wrenched the wet shoes loose, wrapped the cold feet in the dry shawl, and began tucking the pile of coats closer about the man's shoulders that he might rest the easier. for a moment he looked intently at the pallid face smeared with ooze and grime, and limp body that the doctor was working over, and then stepped to where tod now crouched beside his friend, the one he had loved all his life. the young surfman's strong body was shaking with the sobs he could no longer restrain. "it's rough, tod," said the captain, in a choking voice, which grew clearer as he talked on. "almighty rough on ye and on all of us. you did what you could--ye risked yer life for him, and there ain't nobody kin do more. i wouldn't send ye out again, but there's work to do. them two men of cap'n ambrose's is drowned, and they'll come ashore some'er's near the inlet, and you and parks better hunt 'em up. they live up to barnegat, ye know, and their folks'll be wantin' 'em." it was strange how calm he was. his sense of duty was now controlling him. tod had raised himself to his feet when the captain had begun to speak and stood with his wet sou'wester in his hand. "been like a brother to me," was all he said, as he brushed the tears from his eyes and went to join parks. the captain watched tod's retreating figure for a moment, and bending again over archie's corpse, stood gazing at the dead face, his hands folded across his girth--as one does when watching a body being slowly lowered into a grave. "i loved ye, boy," jane heard him say between her sobs. "i loved ye! you knowed it, boy. i hoped to tell ye so out loud so everybody could hear. now they'll never know." straightening himself up, he walked firmly to the open door about which the people pressed, held back by the line of surfmen headed by polhemus, and calmly surveyed the crowd. close to the opening, trying to press her way in to jane, his eyes fell on lucy. behind her stood max feilding. "friends," said the captain, in a low, restrained voice, every trace of his grief and excitement gone, "i've got to ask ye to git considerable way back and keep still. we got doctor john here and miss jane, and there ain't nothin' ye kin do. when there is i'll call ye. polhemus, you and green see this order is obeyed." again he hesitated, then raising his eyes over the group nearest the door, he beckoned to lucy, pushed her in ahead of him, caught the swinging doors in his hands, and shut them tight. this done, he again dropped on his knees beside the doctor and the now breathing man. chapter xxii the claw of the sea-puss with the closing of the doors the murmur of the crowd, the dull glare of the gray sky, and the thrash of the wind were shut out. the only light in the house of refuge now came from the two small windows, one above the form of the suffering man and the other behind the dead body of archie. jane's head was close to the boy's chest, her sobs coming from between her hands, held before her face. the shock of archie's death had robbed her of all her strength. lucy knelt beside her, her shoulder resting against a pile of cordage. every now and then she would steal a furtive glance around the room--at the boat, at the rafters overhead, at the stove with its pile of kindling--and a slight shudder would pass through her. she had forgotten nothing of the past, nor of the room in which she crouched. every scar and stain stood out as clear and naked as those on some long-buried wreck dug from shifting sands by a change of tide. a few feet away the doctor was stripping the wet clothes from the rescued man and piling the dry coats over him to warm him back to life. his emergency bag, handed in by polhemus through the crack of the closed doors, had been opened, a bottle selected, and some spoonfuls of brandy forced down the sufferer's throat. he saw that the sea-water had not harmed him; it was the cordwood and wreckage that had crushed the breath out of him. in confirmation he pointed to a thin streak of blood oozing from one ear. the captain nodded, and continued chafing the man's hands--working with the skill of a surfman over the water-soaked body. once he remarked in a half-whisper--so low that jane could not hear him: "i ain't sure yet, doctor. i thought it was bart when i grabbed him fust; but he looks kind o' different from what i expected to see him. if it's him he'll know me when he comes to. i ain't changed so much maybe. i'll rub his feet now," and he kept on with his work of resuscitation. lucy's straining ears had caught the captain's words of doubt, but they gave her no hope. she had recognized at the first glance the man of all others in the world she feared most. his small ears, the way the hair grew on the temples, the bend of the neck and slope from the chin to the throat. no--she had no misgivings. these features had been part of her life--had been constantly before her since the hour jane had told her of bart's expected return. her time had come; nothing could save her. he would regain consciousness, just as the captain had said, and would open those awful hollow eyes and would look at her, and then that dreadful mouth, with its thin, ashen lips, would speak to her, and she could deny nothing. trusting to her luck--something which had never failed her--she had continued in her determination to keep everything from max. now it would all come as a shock to him, and when he asked her if it was true she could only bow her head. she dared not look at archie--she could not. all her injustice to him and to jane; her abandonment of him when a baby; her neglect of him since, her selfish life of pleasure; her triumph over max--all came into review, one picture after another, like the unrolling of a chart. even while her hand was on jane's shoulder, and while comforting words fell from her lips, her mind and eyes were fixed on the face of the man whom the doctor was slowly bringing back to life. not that her sympathy was withheld from archie and jane. it was her terror that dominated her--a terror that froze her blood and clogged her veins and dulled every sensibility and emotion. she was like one lowered into a grave beside a corpse upon which every moment the earth would fall, entombing the living with the dead. the man groaned and turned his head, as if in pain. a convulsive movement of the lips and face followed, and then the eyes partly opened. lucy clutched at the coil of rope, staggered to her feet, and braced herself for the shock. he would rise now, and begin staring about, and then he would recognize her. the captain knew what was coming; he was even now planning in his mind the details of the horrible plot of which jane had told her! captain holt stooped closer and peered under the half-closed lids. "brown eyes," she heard him mutter to himself, "just 's the swede told me." she knew their color; they had looked into her own too often. doctor john felt about with his hand and drew a small package of letters from inside the man's shirt. they were tied with a string and soaked with salt water. this he handed to the captain. the captain pulled them apart and examined them carefully. "it's him," he said with a start, "it's bart! it's all plain now. here's my letter," and he held it up. "see the printing at the top--'life-saving service'? and here's some more--they're all stuck together. wait! here's one--fine writing." then his voice dropped so that only the doctor could hear: "ain't that signed 'lucy'? yes--'lucy'--and it's an old one." the doctor waved the letters away and again laid his hand on the sufferer's chest, keeping it close to his heart. the captain bent nearer. jane, who, crazed with grief, had been caressing archie's cold cheeks, lifted her head as if aware of the approach of some crisis, and turned to where the doctor knelt beside the rescued man. lucy leaned forward with straining eyes and ears. the stillness of death fell upon the small room. outside could be heard the pound and thrash of the surf and the moan of the gale; no human voice--men and women were talking in whispers. one soul had gone to god and another life hung by a thread. the doctor raised his finger. the man's face twitched convulsively, the lids opened wider, there came a short, inward gasp, and the jaw dropped. "he's dead," said the doctor, and rose to his feet. then he took his handkerchief from his pocket and laid it over the dead man's face. as the words fell from his lips lucy caught at the wall, and with an almost hysterical cry of joy threw herself into jane's arms. the captain leaned back against the life-boat and for some moments his eyes were fixed on the body of his dead son. "i ain't never loved nothin' all my life, doctor," he said, his voice choking, "that it didn't go that way." doctor john made no reply except with his eyes. silence is ofttimes more sympathetic than the spoken word. he was putting his remedies back into his bag so that he might rejoin jane. the captain continued: "all i've got is gone now--the wife, archie, and now bart. i counted on these two. bad day's work, doctor--bad day's work." then in a firm tone, "i'll open the doors now and call in the men; we got to git these two bodies up to the station, and then we'll get 'em home somehow." instantly all lucy's terror returned. an unaccountable, unreasoning panic took possession of her. all her past again rose before her. she feared the captain now more than she had bart. crazed over the loss of his son he would blurt out everything. max would hear and know--know about archie and bart and all her life! springing to her feet, maddened with an undefinable terror, she caught the captain's hand as he reached out for the fastenings of the door. "don't--don't tell them who he is! promise me you won't tell them anything! say it's a stranger! you are not sure it's he--i heard you say so!" "not say it's my own son! why?" he was entirely unconscious of what was in her mind. jane had risen to her feet at the note of agony in lucy's voice and had stepped to her side as if to protect her. the doctor stood listening in amazement to lucy's outbreak. he knew her reasons, and was appalled at her rashness. "no! don't--don't!" lucy was looking up into the captain's face now, all her terror in her eyes. "why, i can't see what good that'll do!" for the moment he thought that the excitement had turned her head. "isaac polhemus'll know him," he continued, "soon's he sets his eyes on him. and even if i was mean enough to do it, which i ain't, these letters would tell. they've got to go to the superintendent 'long with everything else found on bodies. your name's on some o' 'em and mine's on some others. we'll git 'em ag'in, but not till gov'ment see 'em." these were the letters which had haunted her! "give them to me! they're mine!" she cried, seizing the captain's fingers and trying to twist the letters from his grasp. a frown gathered on the captain's brow and his voice had an ugly ring in it: "but i tell ye the superintendent's got to have 'em for a while. that's regulations, and that's what we carry out. they ain't goin' to be lost--you'll git 'em ag'in." "he sha'n't have them, i tell you!" her voice rang now with something of her old imperious tone. "nobody shall have them. they're mine--not yours--nor his. give them--" "and break my oath!" interrupted the captain. for the first time he realized what her outburst meant and what inspired it. "what difference does that make in a matter like this? give them to me. you dare not keep them," she cried, tightening her fingers in the effort to wrench the letters from his hand. "sister--doctor--speak to him! make him give them to me--i will have them!" the captain brushed aside her hand as easily as a child would brush aside a flower. his lips were tight shut, his eyes flashing. "you want me to lie to the department?" "yes!" she was beside herself now with fear and rage. "i don't care who you lie to! you brute--you coward-- i want them! i will have them!" again she made a spring for the letters. "see here, you she-devil. look at me!"--the words came in cold, cutting tones. "you're the only thing livin', or dead, that ever dared ask nathaniel holt to do a thing like that. and you think i'd do it to oblige ye? you're rotten as punk--that's what ye are! rotten from yer keel to yer top-gallant! and allus have been since i knowed ye!" jane started forward and faced the now enraged man. "you must not, captain--you shall not speak to my sister that way!" she commanded. the doctor stopped between them: "you forget that she is a woman. i forbid you to--" "i will, i tell ye, doctor! it's true, and you know it." the captain's voice now dominated the room. "that's no reason why you should abuse her. you're too much of a man to act as you do." "it's because i'm a man that i do act this way. she's done nothin' but bring trouble to this town ever since she landed in it from school nigh twenty year ago. druv out that dead boy of mine lyin' there, and made a tramp of him; throwed archie off on miss jane; lied to the man who married her, and been livin' a lie ever since. and now she wants me to break my oath! damn her--" the doctor laid his hand over the captain's mouth. "stop! and i mean it!" his own calm eyes were flashing now. "this is not the place for talk of this kind. we are in the presence of death, and--" the captain caught the doctor's wrist and held it like a vice. "i won't stop. i'll have it out--i've lived all the lies i'm goin' to live! i told you all this fifteen year ago when i thought bart was dead, and you wanted me to keep shut, and i did, and you did, too, and you ain't never opened your mouth since. that's because you're a man--all four square sides of ye. you didn't want to hurt miss jane, and no more did i. that's why i passed archie there in the street; that's why i turned round and looked after him when i couldn't see sometimes for the tears in my eyes; and all to save that thing there that ain't worth savin'! by god, when i think of it i want to tear my tongue out for keepin' still as long as i have!" lucy, who had shrunk back against the wall, now raised her head: "coward! coward!" she muttered. the captain turned and faced her, his eyes blazing, his rage uncontrollable: "yes, you're a thing, i tell ye!--and i'll say it ag'in. i used to think it was bart's fault. now i know it warn't. it was yours. you tricked him, damn ye! do ye hear? ye tricked him with yer lies and yer ways. now they're over--there'll be no more lies--not while i live! i'm goin' to strip ye to bare poles so's folks 'round here kin see. git out of my way--all of ye! out, i tell ye!" the doctor had stepped in front of the infuriated man, his back to the closed door, his open palm upraised. "i will not, and you shall not!" he cried. "what you are about do to is ruin--for lucy, for jane, and for little ellen. you cannot--you shall not put such a stain upon that child. you love her, you--" "yes--too well to let that woman touch her ag'in if i kin help it!" the fury of the merciless sea was in him now--the roar and pound of the surf in his voice. "she'll be a curse to the child all her days; she'll go back on her when she's a mind to just as she did on archie. there ain't a dog that runs the streets that would 'a' done that. she didn't keer then, and she don't keer now, with him a-lyin' dead there. she ain't looked at him once nor shed a tear. it's too late. all hell can't stop me! out of my way, i tell ye, doctor, or i'll hurt ye!" with a wrench he swung back the doors and flung himself into the light. "come in, men! isaac, green--all of ye--and you over there! i got something to say, and i don't want ye to miss a word of it! you, too, mr. feilding, and that lady next ye--and everybody else that kin hear! "that's my son, barton holt, lyin' there dead! the one i druv out o' here nigh twenty year ago. it warn't for playin' cards, but on account of a woman; and there she stands--lucy cobden! that dead boy beside him is their child--my own grandson, archie! out of respect to the best woman that ever lived, miss jane cobden, i've kep' still. if anybody ain't satisfied all they got to do is to look over these letters. that's all!" lucy, with a wild, despairing look at max, had sunk to the floor and lay cowering beneath the lifeboat, her face hidden in the folds of her cloak. jane had shrunk back behind one of the big folding doors and stood concealed from the gaze of the astonished crowd, many of whom were pressing into the entrance. her head was on the doctor's shoulder, her fingers had tight hold of his sleeve. doctor john's arms were about her frail figure, his lips close to her cheek. "don't, dear--don't," he said softly. "you have nothing to reproach yourself with. your life has been one long sacrifice." "oh, but archie, john! think of my boy being gone! oh, i loved him so, john!" "you made a man of him, jane. all he was he owed to you." he was holding her to him--comforting her as a father would a child. "and my poor lucy," jane moaned on, "and the awful, awful disgrace!" her face was still hidden in his shoulder, her frame shaking with the agony of her grief, the words coming slowly, as if wrung one by one out of her breaking heart. "you did your duty, dear--all of it." his lips were close to her ear. no one else heard. "and you knew it all these years, john--and you did not tell me." "it was your secret, dear; not mine." "yes, i know--but i have been so blind--so foolish. i have hurt you so often, and you have been so true through it all. o john, please--please forgive me! my heart has been so sore at times--i have suffered so!" then, with a quick lifting of her head, as if the thought alarmed her, she asked in sudden haste: "and you love me, john, just the same? say you love me, john!" he gathered her closer, and his lips touched her cheek: "i never remember, my darling, when i did not love you. have you ever doubted me?" "no, john, no! never, never! kiss me again, my beloved. you are all i have in the world!" the end the scarecrow of oz by l. frank baum dedicated to "the uplifters" of los angeles, california, in grateful appreciation of the pleasure i have derived from association with them, and in recognition of their sincere endeavor to uplift humanity through kindness, consideration and good-fellowship. they are big men--all of them--and all with the generous hearts of little children. l. frank baum 'twixt you and me the army of children which besieged the postoffice, conquered the postmen and delivered to me its imperious commands, insisted that trot and cap'n bill be admitted to the land of oz, where trot could enjoy the society of dorothy, betsy bobbin and ozma, while the one-legged sailor-man might become a comrade of the tin woodman, the shaggy man, tik-tok and all the other quaint people who inhabit this wonderful fairyland. it was no easy task to obey this order and land trot and cap'n bill safely in oz, as you will discover by reading this book. indeed, it required the best efforts of our dear old friend, the scarecrow, to save them from a dreadful fate on the journey; but the story leaves them happily located in ozma's splendid palace and dorothy has promised me that button-bright and the three girls are sure to encounter, in the near future, some marvelous adventures in the land of oz, which i hope to be permitted to relate to you in the next oz book. meantime, i am deeply grateful to my little readers for their continued enthusiasm over the oz stories, as evinced in the many letters they send me, all of which are lovingly cherished. it takes more and more oz books every year to satisfy the demands of old and new readers, and there have been formed many "oz reading societies," where the oz books owned by different members are read aloud. all this is very gratifying to me and encourages me to write more stories. when the children have had enough of them, i hope they will let me know, and then i'll try to write something different. l. frank baum "royal historian of oz." "ozcot" at hollywood in california, . list of chapters - the great whirlpool - the cavern under the sea - the ork - daylight at last - the little old man of the island - the flight of the midgets - the bumpy man - button-bright is lost, and found again - the kingdom of jinxland - pon, the gardener's boy - the wicked king and googly-goo - the wooden-legged grass-hopper - glinda the good and the scarecrow of oz - the frozen heart - trot meets the scarecrow - pon summons the king to surrender - the ork rescues button-bright - the scarecrow meets an enemy - the conquest of the witch - queen gloria - dorothy, betsy and ozma - the waterfall - the land of oz - the royal reception chapter one the great whirlpool "seems to me," said cap'n bill, as he sat beside trot under the big acacia tree, looking out over the blue ocean, "seems to me, trot, as how the more we know, the more we find we don't know." "i can't quite make that out, cap'n bill," answered the little girl in a serious voice, after a moment's thought, during which her eyes followed those of the old sailor-man across the glassy surface of the sea. "seems to me that all we learn is jus' so much gained." "i know; it looks that way at first sight," said the sailor, nodding his head; "but those as knows the least have a habit of thinkin' they know all there is to know, while them as knows the most admits what a turr'ble big world this is. it's the knowing ones that realize one lifetime ain't long enough to git more'n a few dips o' the oars of knowledge." trot didn't answer. she was a very little girl, with big, solemn eyes and an earnest, simple manner. cap'n bill had been her faithful companion for years and had taught her almost everything she knew. he was a wonderful man, this cap'n bill. not so very old, although his hair was grizzled--what there was of it. most of his head was bald as an egg and as shiny as oilcloth, and this made his big ears stick out in a funny way. his eyes had a gentle look and were pale blue in color, and his round face was rugged and bronzed. cap'n bill's left leg was missing, from the knee down, and that was why the sailor no longer sailed the seas. the wooden leg he wore was good enough to stump around with on land, or even to take trot out for a row or a sail on the ocean, but when it came to "runnin' up aloft" or performing active duties on shipboard, the old sailor was not equal to the task. the loss of his leg had ruined his career and the old sailor found comfort in devoting himself to the education and companionship of the little girl. the accident to cap'n bill's leg bad happened at about the time trot was born, and ever since that he had lived with trot's mother as "a star boarder," having enough money saved up to pay for his weekly "keep." he loved the baby and often held her on his lap; her first ride was on cap'n bill's shoulders, for she had no baby-carriage; and when she began to toddle around, the child and the sailor became close comrades and enjoyed many strange adventures together. it is said the fairies had been present at trot's birth and had marked her forehead with their invisible mystic signs, so that she was able to see and do many wonderful things. the acacia tree was on top of a high bluff, but a path ran down the bank in a zigzag way to the water's edge, where cap'n bill's boat was moored to a rock by means of a stout cable. it had been a hot, sultry afternoon, with scarcely a breath of air stirring, so cap'n bill and trot had been quietly sitting beneath the shade of the tree, waiting for the sun to get low enough for them to take a row. they had decided to visit one of the great caves which the waves had washed out of the rocky coast during many years of steady effort. the caves were a source of continual delight to both the girl and the sailor, who loved to explore their awesome depths. "i b'lieve, cap'n," remarked trot, at last, "that it's time for us to start." the old man cast a shrewd glance at the sky, the sea and the motionless boat. then he shook his head. "mebbe it's time, trot," he answered, "but i don't jes' like the looks o' things this afternoon." "what's wrong?" she asked wonderingly. "can't say as to that. things is too quiet to suit me, that's all. no breeze, not a ripple a-top the water, nary a gull a-flyin' anywhere, an' the end o' the hottest day o' the year. i ain't no weather-prophet, trot, but any sailor would know the signs is ominous." "there's nothing wrong that i can see," said trot. "if there was a cloud in the sky even as big as my thumb, we might worry about it; but--look, cap'n!--the sky is as clear as can be." he looked again and nodded. "p'r'aps we can make the cave, all right," he agreed, not wishing to disappoint her. "it's only a little way out, an' we'll be on the watch; so come along, trot." together they descended the winding path to the beach. it was no trouble for the girl to keep her footing on the steep way, but cap'n bill, because of his wooden leg, had to hold on to rocks and roots now and then to save himself from tumbling. on a level path he was as spry as anyone, but to climb up hill or down required some care. they reached the boat safely and while trot was untying the rope cap'n bill reached into a crevice of the rock and drew out several tallow candles and a box of wax matches, which he thrust into the capacious pockets of his "sou'wester." this sou'wester was a short coat of oilskin which the old sailor wore on all occasions--when he wore a coat at all--and the pockets always contained a variety of objects, useful and ornamental, which made even trot wonder where they all came from and why cap'n bill should treasure them. the jackknives--a big one and a little one--the bits of cord, the fishhooks, the nails: these were handy to have on certain occasions. but bits of shell, and tin boxes with unknown contents, buttons, pincers, bottles of curious stones and the like, seemed quite unnecessary to carry around. that was cap'n bill's business, however, and now that he added the candles and the matches to his collection trot made no comment, for she knew these last were to light their way through the caves. the sailor always rowed the boat, for he handled the oars with strength and skill. trot sat in the stern and steered. the place where they embarked was a little bight or circular bay, and the boat cut across a much larger bay toward a distant headland where the caves were located, right at the water's edge. they were nearly a mile from shore and about halfway across the bay when trot suddenly sat up straight and exclaimed: "what's that, cap'n?" he stopped rowing and turned half around to look. "that, trot," he slowly replied, "looks to me mighty like a whirlpool." "what makes it, cap'n?" "a whirl in the air makes the whirl in the water. i was afraid as we'd meet with trouble, trot. things didn't look right. the air was too still." "it's coming closer," said the girl. the old man grabbed the oars and began rowing with all his strength. "'tain't comin' closer to us, trot," he gasped; "it's we that are comin' closer to the whirlpool. the thing is drawin' us to it like a magnet!" trot's sun-bronzed face was a little paler as she grasped the tiller firmly and tried to steer the boat away; but she said not a word to indicate fear. the swirl of the water as they came nearer made a roaring sound that was fearful to listen to. so fierce and powerful was the whirlpool that it drew the surface of the sea into the form of a great basin, slanting downward toward the center, where a big hole had been made in the ocean--a hole with walls of water that were kept in place by the rapid whirling of the air. the boat in which trot and cap'n bill were riding was just on the outer edge of this saucer-like slant, and the old sailor knew very well that unless he could quickly force the little craft away from the rushing current they would soon be drawn into the great black hole that yawned in the middle. so he exerted all his might and pulled as he had never pulled before. he pulled so hard that the left oar snapped in two and sent cap'n bill sprawling upon the bottom of the boat. he scrambled up quickly enough and glanced over the side. then he looked at trot, who sat quite still, with a serious, far-away look in her sweet eyes. the boat was now speeding swiftly of its own accord, following the line of the circular basin round and round and gradually drawing nearer to the great hole in the center. any further effort to escape the whirlpool was useless, and realizing this fact cap'n bill turned toward trot and put an arm around her, as if to shield her from the awful fate before them. he did not try to speak, because the roar of the waters would have drowned the sound of his voice. these two faithful comrades had faced dangers before, but nothing to equal that which now faced them. yet cap'n bill, noting the look in trot's eyes and remembering how often she had been protected by unseen powers, did not quite give way to despair. the great hole in the dark water--now growing nearer and nearer--looked very terrifying; but they were both brave enough to face it and await the result of the adventure. chapter two the cavern under the sea the circles were so much smaller at the bottom of the basin, and the boat moved so much more swiftly, that trot was beginning to get dizzy with the motion, when suddenly the boat made a leap and dived headlong into the murky depths of the hole. whirling like tops, but still clinging together, the sailor and the girl were separated from their boat and plunged down--down--down--into the farthermost recesses of the great ocean. at first their fall was swift as an arrow, but presently they seemed to be going more moderately and trot was almost sure that unseen arms were about her, supporting her and protecting her. she could see nothing, because the water filled her eyes and blurred her vision, but she clung fast to cap'n bill's sou'wester, while other arms clung fast to her, and so they gradually sank down and down until a full stop was made, when they began to ascend again. but it seemed to trot that they were not rising straight to the surface from where they had come. the water was no longer whirling them and they seemed to be drawn in a slanting direction through still, cool ocean depths. and then--in much quicker time than i have told it--up they popped to the surface and were cast at full length upon a sandy beach, where they lay choking and gasping for breath and wondering what had happened to them. trot was the first to recover. disengaging herself from cap'n bill's wet embrace and sitting up, she rubbed the water from her eyes and then looked around her. a soft, bluish-green glow lighted the place, which seemed to be a sort of cavern, for above and on either side of her were rugged rocks. they had been cast upon a beach of clear sand, which slanted upward from the pool of water at their feet--a pool which doubtless led into the big ocean that fed it. above the reach of the waves of the pool were more rocks, and still more and more, into the dim windings and recesses of which the glowing light from the water did not penetrate. the place looked grim and lonely, but trot was thankful that she was still alive and had suffered no severe injury during her trying adventure under water. at her side cap'n bill was sputtering and coughing, trying to get rid of the water he had swallowed. both of them were soaked through, yet the cavern was warm and comfortable and a wetting did not dismay the little girl in the least. she crawled up the slant of sand and gathered in her hand a bunch of dried seaweed, with which she mopped the face of cap'n bill and cleared the water from his eyes and ears. presently the old man sat up and stared at her intently. then he nodded his bald head three times and said in a gurgling voice: "mighty good, trot; mighty good! we didn't reach davy jones's locker that time, did we? though why we didn't, an' why we're here, is more'n i kin make out." "take it easy, cap'n," she replied. "we're safe enough, i guess, at least for the time being." he squeezed the water out of the bottoms of his loose trousers and felt of his wooden leg and arms and head, and finding he had brought all of his person with him he gathered courage to examine closely their surroundings. "where d'ye think we are, trot?" he presently asked. "can't say, cap'n. p'r'aps in one of our caves." he shook his head. "no," said he, "i don't think that, at all. the distance we came up didn't seem half as far as the distance we went down; an' you'll notice there ain't any outside entrance to this cavern whatever. it's a reg'lar dome over this pool o' water, and unless there's some passage at the back, up yonder, we're fast pris'ners." trot looked thoughtfully over her shoulder. "when we're rested," she said, "we will crawl up there and see if there's a way to get out." cap'n bill reached in the pocket of his oilskin coat and took out his pipe. it was still dry, for he kept it in an oilskin pouch with his tobacco. his matches were in a tight tin box, so in a few moments the old sailor was smoking contentedly. trot knew it helped him to think when he was in any difficulty. also, the pipe did much to restore the old sailor's composure, after his long ducking and his terrible fright--a fright that was more on trot's account than his own. the sand was dry where they sat, and soaked up the water that dripped from their clothing. when trot had squeezed the wet out of her hair she began to feel much like her old self again. by and by they got upon their feet and crept up the incline to the scattered boulders above. some of these were of huge size, but by passing between some and around others, they were able to reach the extreme rear of the cavern. "yes," said trot, with interest, "here's a round hole." "and it's black as night inside it," remarked cap'n bill. "just the same," answered the girl, "we ought to explore it, and see where it goes, 'cause it's the only poss'ble way we can get out of this place." cap'n bill eyed the hole doubtfully "it may be a way out o' here, trot," he said, "but it may be a way into a far worse place than this. i'm not sure but our best plan is to stay right here." trot wasn't sure, either, when she thought of it in that light. after awhile she made her way back to the sands again, and cap'n bill followed her. as they sat down, the child looked thoughtfully at the sailor's bulging pockets. "how much food have we got, cap'n?" she asked. "half a dozen ship's biscuits an' a hunk o' cheese," he replied. "want some now, trot?" she shook her head, saying: "that ought to keep us alive 'bout three days if we're careful of it." "longer'n that, trot," said cap'n bill, but his voice was a little troubled and unsteady. "but if we stay here we're bound to starve in time," continued the girl, "while if we go into the dark hole--" "some things are more hard to face than starvation," said the sailor-man, gravely. "we don't know what's inside that dark hole: trot, nor where it might lead us to." "there's a way to find that out," she persisted. instead of replying, cap'n bill began searching in his pockets. he soon drew out a little package of fish-hooks and a long line. trot watched him join them together. then he crept a little way up the slope and turned over a big rock. two or three small crabs began scurrying away over the sands and the old sailor caught them and put one on his hook and the others in his pocket. coming back to the pool he swung the hook over his shoulder and circled it around his head and cast it nearly into the center of the water, where he allowed it to sink gradually, paying out the line as far as it would go. when the end was reached, he began drawing it in again, until the crab bait was floating on the surface. trot watched him cast the line a second time, and a third. she decided that either there were no fishes in the pool or they would not bite the crab bait. but cap'n bill was an old fisherman and not easily discouraged. when the crab got away he put another on the hook. when the crabs were all gone he climbed up the rocks and found some more. meantime trot tired of watching him and lay down upon the sands, where she fell fast asleep. during the next two hours her clothing dried completely, as did that of the old sailor. they were both so used to salt water that there was no danger of taking cold. finally the little girl was wakened by a splash beside her and a grunt of satisfaction from cap'n bill. she opened her eyes to find that the cap'n had landed a silver-scaled fish weighing about two pounds. this cheered her considerably and she hurried to scrape together a heap of seaweed, while cap'n bill cut up the fish with his jackknife and got it ready for cooking. they had cooked fish with seaweed before. cap'n bill wrapped his fish in some of the weed and dipped it in the water to dampen it. then he lighted a match and set fire to trot's heap, which speedily burned down to a glowing bed of ashes. then they laid the wrapped fish on the ashes, covered it with more seaweed, and allowed this to catch fire and burn to embers. after feeding the fire with seaweed for some time, the sailor finally decided that their supper was ready, so he scattered the ashes and drew out the bits of fish, still encased in their smoking wrappings. when these wrappings were removed, the fish was found thoroughly cooked and both trot and cap'n bill ate of it freely. it had a slight flavor of seaweed and would have been better with a sprinkling of salt. the soft glow which until now had lighted the cavern, began to grow dim, but there was a great quantity of seaweed in the place, so after they had eaten their fish they kept the fire alive for a time by giving it a handful of fuel now and then. from an inner pocket the sailor drew a small flask of battered metal and unscrewing the cap handed it to trot. she took but one swallow of the water although she wanted more, and she noticed that cap'n bill merely wet his lips with it. "s'pose," said she, staring at the glowing seaweed fire and speaking slowly, "that we can catch all the fish we need; how 'bout the drinking-water, cap'n?" he moved uneasily but did not reply. both of them were thinking about the dark hole, but while trot had little fear of it the old man could not overcome his dislike to enter the place. he knew that trot was right, though. to remain in the cavern, where they now were, could only result in slow but sure death. it was nighttime up on the earth's surface, so the little girl became drowsy and soon fell asleep. after a time the old sailor slumbered on the sands beside her. it was very still and nothing disturbed them for hours. when at last they awoke the cavern was light again. they had divided one of the biscuits and were munching it for breakfast when they were startled by a sudden splash in the pool. looking toward it they saw emerging from the water the most curious creature either of them had ever beheld. it wasn't a fish, trot decided, nor was it a beast. it had wings, though, and queer wings they were: shaped like an inverted chopping-bowl and covered with tough skin instead of feathers. it had four legs--much like the legs of a stork, only double the number--and its head was shaped a good deal like that of a poll parrot, with a beak that curved downward in front and upward at the edges, and was half bill and half mouth. but to call it a bird was out of the question, because it had no feathers whatever except a crest of wavy plumes of a scarlet color on the very top of its head. the strange creature must have weighed as much as cap'n bill, and as it floundered and struggled to get out of the water to the sandy beach it was so big and unusual that both trot and her companion stared at it in wonder--in wonder that was not unmixed with fear. chapter three the ork the eyes that regarded them, as the creature stood dripping before them, were bright and mild in expression, and the queer addition to their party made no attempt to attack them and seemed quite as surprised by the meeting as they were. "i wonder," whispered trot, "what it is." "who, me?" exclaimed the creature in a shrill, high-pitched voice. "why, i'm an ork." "oh!" said the girl. "but what is an ork?" "i am," he repeated, a little proudly, as he shook the water from his funny wings; "and if ever an ork was glad to be out of the water and on dry land again, you can be mighty sure that i'm that especial, individual ork!" "have you been in the water long?" inquired cap'n bill, thinking it only polite to show an interest in the strange creature. "why, this last ducking was about ten minutes, i believe, and that's about nine minutes and sixty seconds too long for comfort," was the reply. "but last night i was in an awful pickle, i assure you. the whirlpool caught me, and--" "oh, were you in the whirlpool, too?" asked trot eagerly. he gave her a glance that was somewhat reproachful. "i believe i was mentioning the fact, young lady, when your desire to talk interrupted me," said the ork. "i am not usually careless in my actions, but that whirlpool was so busy yesterday that i thought i'd see what mischief it was up to. so i flew a little too near it and the suction of the air drew me down into the depths of the ocean. water and i are natural enemies, and it would have conquered me this time had not a bevy of pretty mermaids come to my assistance and dragged me away from the whirling water and far up into a cavern, where they deserted me." "why, that's about the same thing that happened to us," cried trot. "was your cavern like this one?" "i haven't examined this one yet," answered the ork; "but if they happen to be alike i shudder at our fate, for the other one was a prison, with no outlet except by means of the water. i stayed there all night, however, and this morning i plunged into the pool, as far down as i could go, and then swam as hard and as far as i could. the rocks scraped my back, now and then, and i barely escaped the clutches of an ugly sea-monster; but by and by i came to the surface to catch my breath, and found myself here. that's the whole story, and as i see you have something to eat i entreat you to give me a share of it. the truth is, i'm half starved." with these words the ork squatted down beside them. very reluctantly cap'n bill drew another biscuit from his pocket and held it out. the ork promptly seized it in one of its front claws and began to nibble the biscuit in much the same manner a parrot might have done. "we haven't much grub," said the sailor-man, "but we're willin' to share it with a comrade in distress." "that's right," returned the ork, cocking its head sidewise in a cheerful manner, and then for a few minutes there was silence while they all ate of the biscuits. after a while trot said: "i've never seen or heard of an ork before. are there many of you?" "we are rather few and exclusive, i believe," was the reply. "in the country where i was born we are the absolute rulers of all living things, from ants to elephants." "what country is that?" asked cap'n bill. "orkland." "where does it lie?" "i don't know, exactly. you see, i have a restless nature, for some reason, while all the rest of my race are quiet and contented orks and seldom stray far from home. from childhood days i loved to fly long distances away, although father often warned me that i would get into trouble by so doing. "'it's a big world, flipper, my son,' he would say, 'and i've heard that in parts of it live queer two-legged creatures called men, who war upon all other living things and would have little respect for even an ork.' "this naturally aroused my curiosity and after i had completed my education and left school i decided to fly out into the world and try to get a glimpse of the creatures called men. so i left home without saying good-bye, an act i shall always regret. adventures were many, i found. i sighted men several times, but have never before been so close to them as now. also i had to fight my way through the air, for i met gigantic birds, with fluffy feathers all over them, which attacked me fiercely. besides, it kept me busy escaping from floating airships. in my rambling i had lost all track of distance or direction, so that when i wanted to go home i had no idea where my country was located. i've now been trying to find it for several months and it was during one of my flights over the ocean that i met the whirlpool and became its victim." trot and cap'n bill listened to this recital with much interest, and from the friendly tone and harmless appearance of the ork they judged he was not likely to prove so disagreeable a companion as at first they had feared he might be. the ork sat upon its haunches much as a cat does, but used the finger-like claws of its front legs almost as cleverly as if they were hands. perhaps the most curious thing about the creature was its tail, or what ought to have been its tail. this queer arrangement of skin, bones and muscle was shaped like the propellers used on boats and airships, having fan-like surfaces and being pivoted to its body. cap'n bill knew something of mechanics, and observing the propeller-like tail of the ork he said: "i s'pose you're a pretty swift flyer?" "yes, indeed; the orks are admitted to be kings of the air." "your wings don't seem to amount to much," remarked trot. "well, they are not very big," admitted the ork, waving the four hollow skins gently to and fro, "but they serve to support my body in the air while i speed along by means of my tail. still, taken altogether, i'm very handsomely formed, don't you think?" trot did not like to reply, but cap'n bill nodded gravely. "for an ork," said he, "you're a wonder. i've never seen one afore, but i can imagine you're as good as any." that seemed to please the creature and it began walking around the cavern, making its way easily up the slope. while it was gone, trot and cap'n bill each took another sip from the water-flask, to wash down their breakfast. "why, here's a hole--an exit--an outlet!" exclaimed the ork from above. "we know," said trot. "we found it last night." "well, then, let's be off," continued the ork, after sticking its head into the black hole and sniffing once or twice. "the air seems fresh and sweet, and it can't lead us to any worse place than this." the girl and the sailor-man got up and climbed to the side of the ork. "we'd about decided to explore this hole before you came," explained cap'n bill; "but it's a dangerous place to navigate in the dark, so wait till i light a candle." "what is a candle?" inquired the ork. "you'll see in a minute," said trot. the old sailor drew one of the candles from his right-side pocket and the tin matchbox from his left-side pocket. when he lighted the match the ork gave a startled jump and eyed the flame suspiciously; but cap'n bill proceeded to light the candle and the action interested the ork very much. "light," it said, somewhat nervously, "is valuable in a hole of this sort. the candle is not dangerous, i hope?" "sometimes it burns your fingers," answered trot, "but that's about the worst it can do--'cept to blow out when you don't want it to." cap'n bill shielded the flame with his hand and crept into the hole. it wasn't any too big for a grown man, but after he had crawled a few feet it grew larger. trot came close behind him and then the ork followed. "seems like a reg'lar tunnel," muttered the sailor-man, who was creeping along awkwardly because of his wooden leg. the rocks, too, hurt his knees. for nearly half an hour the three moved slowly along the tunnel, which made many twists and turns and sometimes slanted downward and sometimes upward. finally cap'n bill stopped short, with an exclamation of disappointment, and held the flickering candle far ahead to light the scene. "what's wrong?" demanded trot, who could see nothing because the sailor's form completely filled the hole. "why, we've come to the end of our travels, i guess," he replied. "is the hole blocked?" inquired the ork. "no; it's wuss nor that," replied cap'n bill sadly. "i'm on the edge of a precipice. wait a minute an' i'll move along and let you see for yourselves. be careful, trot, not to fall." then he crept forward a little and moved to one side, holding the candle so that the girl could see to follow him. the ork came next and now all three knelt on a narrow ledge of rock which dropped straight away and left a huge black space which the tiny flame of the candle could not illuminate. "h-m!" said the ork, peering over the edge; "this doesn't look very promising, i'll admit. but let me take your candle, and i'll fly down and see what's below us." "aren't you afraid?" asked trot. "certainly i'm afraid," responded the ork. "but if we intend to escape we can't stay on this shelf forever. so, as i notice you poor creatures cannot fly, it is my duty to explore the place for you." cap'n bill handed the ork the candle, which had now burned to about half its length. the ork took it in one claw rather cautiously and then tipped its body forward and slipped over the edge. they heard a queer buzzing sound, as the tail revolved, and a brisk flapping of the peculiar wings, but they were more interested just then in following with their eyes the tiny speck of light which marked the location of the candle. this light first made a great circle, then dropped slowly downward and suddenly was extinguished, leaving everything before them black as ink. "hi, there! how did that happen?" cried the ork. "it blew out, i guess," shouted cap'n bill. "fetch it here." "i can't see where you are," said the ork. so cap'n bill got out another candle and lighted it, and its flame enabled the ork to fly back to them. it alighted on the edge and held out the bit of candle. "what made it stop burning?" asked the creature. "the wind," said trot. "you must be more careful, this time." "what's the place like?" inquired cap'n bill. "i don't know, yet; but there must be a bottom to it, so i'll try to find it." with this the ork started out again and this time sank downward more slowly. down, down, down it went, till the candle was a mere spark, and then it headed away to the left and trot and cap'n bill lost all sight of it. in a few minutes, however, they saw the spark of light again, and as the sailor still held the second lighted candle the ork made straight toward them. it was only a few yards distant when suddenly it dropped the candle with a cry of pain and next moment alighted, fluttering wildly, upon the rocky ledge. "what's the matter?" asked trot. "it bit me!" wailed the ork. "i don't like your candles. the thing began to disappear slowly as soon as i took it in my claw, and it grew smaller and smaller until just now it turned and bit me--a most unfriendly thing to do. oh--oh! ouch, what a bite!" "that's the nature of candles, i'm sorry to say," explained cap'n bill, with a grin. "you have to handle 'em mighty keerful. but tell us, what did you find down there?" "i found a way to continue our journey," said the ork, nursing tenderly the claw which had been burned. "just below us is a great lake of black water, which looked so cold and wicked that it made me shudder; but away at the left there's a big tunnel, which we can easily walk through. i don't know where it leads to, of course, but we must follow it and find out." "why, we can't get to it," protested the little girl. "we can't fly, as you do, you must remember." "no, that's true," replied the ork musingly. "your bodies are built very poorly, it seems to me, since all you can do is crawl upon the earth's surface. but you may ride upon my back, and in that way i can promise you a safe journey to the tunnel." "are you strong enough to carry us?" asked cap'n bill, doubtfully. "yes, indeed; i'm strong enough to carry a dozen of you, if you could find a place to sit," was the reply; "but there's only room between my wings for one at a time, so i'll have to make two trips." "all right; i'll go first," decided cap'n bill. he lit another candle for trot to hold while they were gone and to light the ork on his return to her, and then the old sailor got upon the ork's back, where he sat with his wooden leg sticking straight out sidewise. "if you start to fall, clasp your arms around my neck," advised the creature. "if i start to fall, it's good night an' pleasant dreams," said cap'n bill. "all ready?" asked the ork. "start the buzz-tail," said cap'n bill, with a tremble in his voice. but the ork flew away so gently that the old man never even tottered in his seat. trot watched the light of cap'n bill's candle till it disappeared in the far distance. she didn't like to be left alone on this dangerous ledge, with a lake of black water hundreds of feet below her; but she was a brave little girl and waited patiently for the return of the ork. it came even sooner than she had expected and the creature said to her: "your friend is safe in the tunnel. now, then, get aboard and i'll carry you to him in a jiffy." i'm sure not many little girls would have cared to take that awful ride through the huge black cavern on the back of a skinny ork. trot didn't care for it, herself, but it just had to be done and so she did it as courageously as possible. her heart beat fast and she was so nervous she could scarcely hold the candle in her fingers as the ork sped swiftly through the darkness. it seemed like a long ride to her, yet in reality the ork covered the distance in a wonderfully brief period of time and soon trot stood safely beside cap'n bill on the level floor of a big arched tunnel. the sailor-man was very glad to greet his little comrade again and both were grateful to the ork for his assistance. "i dunno where this tunnel leads to," remarked cap'n bill, "but it surely looks more promisin' than that other hole we crept through." "when the ork is rested," said trot, "we'll travel on and see what happens." "rested!" cried the ork, as scornfully as his shrill voice would allow. "that bit of flying didn't tire me at all. i'm used to flying days at a time, without ever once stopping." "then let's move on," proposed cap'n bill. he still held in his hand one lighted candle, so trot blew out the other flame and placed her candle in the sailor's big pocket. she knew it was not wise to burn two candles at once. the tunnel was straight and smooth and very easy to walk through, so they made good progress. trot thought that the tunnel began about two miles from the cavern where they had been cast by the whirlpool, but now it was impossible to guess the miles traveled, for they walked steadily for hours and hours without any change in their surroundings. finally cap'n bill stopped to rest. "there's somethin' queer about this 'ere tunnel, i'm certain," he declared, wagging his head dolefully. "here's three candles gone a'ready, an' only three more left us, yet the tunnel's the same as it was when we started. an' how long it's goin' to keep up, no one knows." "couldn't we walk without a light?" asked trot. "the way seems safe enough." "it does right now," was the reply, "but we can't tell when we are likely to come to another gulf, or somethin' jes' as dangerous. in that case we'd be killed afore we knew it." "suppose i go ahead?" suggested the ork. "i don't fear a fall, you know, and if anything happens i'll call out and warn you." "that's a good idea," declared trot, and cap'n bill thought so, too. so the ork started off ahead, quite in the dark, and hand in band the two followed him. when they had walked in this way for a good long time the ork halted and demanded food. cap'n bill had not mentioned food because there was so little left--only three biscuits and a lump of cheese about as big as his two fingers--but he gave the ork half of a biscuit, sighing as he did so. the creature didn't care for the cheese, so the sailor divided it between himself and trot. they lighted a candle and sat down in the tunnel while they ate. "my feet hurt me," grumbled the ork. "i'm not used to walking and this rocky passage is so uneven and lumpy that it hurts me to walk upon it." "can't you fly along?" asked trot. "no; the roof is too low," said the ork. after the meal they resumed their journey, which trot began to fear would never end. when cap'n bill noticed how tired the little girl was, he paused and lighted a match and looked at his big silver watch. "why, it's night!" he exclaimed. "we've tramped all day, an' still we're in this awful passage, which mebbe goes straight through the middle of the world, an' mebbe is a circle--in which case we can keep walkin' till doomsday. not knowin' what's before us so well as we know what's behind us, i propose we make a stop, now, an' try to sleep till mornin'." "that will suit me," asserted the ork, with a groan. "my feet are hurting me dreadfully and for the last few miles i've been limping with pain." "my foot hurts, too," said the sailor, looking for a smooth place on the rocky floor to sit down. "your foot!" cried the ork. "why, you've only one to hurt you, while i have four. so i suffer four times as much as you possibly can. here; hold the candle while i look at the bottoms of my claws. i declare," he said, examining them by the flickering light, "there are bunches of pain all over them!" "p'r'aps," said trot, who was very glad to sit down beside her companions, "you've got corns." "corns? nonsense! orks never have corns," protested the creature, rubbing its sore feet tenderly. "then mebbe they're--they're-- what do you call 'em, cap'n bill? something 'bout the pilgrim's progress, you know." "bunions," said cap'n bill. "oh, yes; mebbe you've got bunions." "it is possible," moaned the ork. "but whatever they are, another day of such walking on them would drive me crazy." "i'm sure they'll feel better by mornin'," said cap'n bill, encouragingly. "go to sleep an' try to forget your sore feet." the ork cast a reproachful look at the sailor-man, who didn't see it. then the creature asked plaintively: "do we eat now, or do we starve?" "there's only half a biscuit left for you," answered cap'n bill. "no one knows how long we'll have to stay in this dark tunnel, where there's nothing whatever to eat; so i advise you to save that morsel o' food till later." "give it me now!" demanded the ork. "if i'm going to starve, i'll do it all at once--not by degrees." cap'n bill produced the biscuit and the creature ate it in a trice. trot was rather hungry and whispered to cap'n bill that she'd take part of her share; but the old man secretly broke his own half-biscuit in two, saving trot's share for a time of greater need. he was beginning to be worried over the little girl's plight and long after she was asleep and the ork was snoring in a rather disagreeable manner, cap'n bill sat with his back to a rock and smoked his pipe and tried to think of some way to escape from this seemingly endless tunnel. but after a time he also slept, for hobbling on a wooden leg all day was tiresome, and there in the dark slumbered the three adventurers for many hours, until the ork roused itself and kicked the old sailor with one foot. "it must be another day," said he. chapter four daylight at last cap'n bill rubbed his eyes, lit a match and consulted his watch. "nine o'clock. yes, i guess it's another day, sure enough. shall we go on?" he asked. "of course," replied the ork. "unless this tunnel is different from everything else in the world, and has no end, we'll find a way out of it sooner or later." the sailor gently wakened trot. she felt much rested by her long sleep and sprang to her feet eagerly. "let's start, cap'n," was all she said. they resumed the journey and had only taken a few steps when the ork cried "wow!" and made a great fluttering of its wings and whirling of its tail. the others, who were following a short distance behind, stopped abruptly. "what's the matter?" asked cap'n bill. "give us a light," was the reply. "i think we've come to the end of the tunnel." then, while cap'n bill lighted a candle, the creature added: "if that is true, we needn't have wakened so soon, for we were almost at the end of this place when we went to sleep." the sailor-man and trot came forward with a light. a wall of rock really faced the tunnel, but now they saw that the opening made a sharp turn to the left. so they followed on, by a narrower passage, and then made another sharp turn this time to the right. "blow out the light, cap'n," said the ork, in a pleased voice. "we've struck daylight." daylight at last! a shaft of mellow light fell almost at their feet as trot and the sailor turned the corner of the passage, but it came from above, and raising their eyes they found they were at the bottom of a deep, rocky well, with the top far, far above their heads. and here the passage ended. for a while they gazed in silence, at least two of them being filled with dismay at the sight. but the ork merely whistled softly and said cheerfully: "that was the toughest journey i ever had the misfortune to undertake, and i'm glad it's over. yet, unless i can manage to fly to the top of this pit, we are entombed here forever." "do you think there is room enough for you to fly in?" asked the little girl anxiously; and cap'n bill added: "it's a straight-up shaft, so i don't see how you'll ever manage it." "were i an ordinary bird--one of those horrid feathered things--i wouldn't even make the attempt to fly out," said the ork. "but my mechanical propeller tail can accomplish wonders, and whenever you're ready i'll show you a trick that is worth while." "oh!" exclaimed trot; "do you intend to take us up, too?" "why not?" "i thought," said cap'n bill, "as you'd go first, an' then send somebody to help us by lettin' down a rope." "ropes are dangerous," replied the ork, "and i might not be able to find one to reach all this distance. besides, it stands to reason that if i can get out myself i can also carry you two with me." "well, i'm not afraid," said trot, who longed to be on the earth's surface again. "s'pose we fall?" suggested cap'n bill, doubtfully. "why, in that case we would all fall together," returned the ork. "get aboard, little girl; sit across my shoulders and put both your arms around my neck." trot obeyed and when she was seated on the ork, cap'n bill inquired: "how 'bout me, mr. ork?" "why, i think you'd best grab hold of my rear legs and let me carry you up in that manner," was the reply. cap'n bill looked way up at the top of the well, and then he looked at the ork's slender, skinny legs and heaved a deep sigh. "it's goin' to be some dangle, i guess; but if you don't waste too much time on the way up, i may be able to hang on," said he. "all ready, then!" cried the ork, and at once his whirling tail began to revolve. trot felt herself rising into the air; when the creature's legs left the ground cap'n bill grasped two of them firmly and held on for dear life. the ork's body was tipped straight upward, and trot had to embrace the neck very tightly to keep from sliding off. even in this position the ork had trouble in escaping the rough sides of the well. several times it exclaimed "wow!" as it bumped its back, or a wing hit against some jagged projection; but the tail kept whirling with remarkable swiftness and the daylight grew brighter and brighter. it was, indeed, a long journey from the bottom to the top, yet almost before trot realized they had come so far, they popped out of the hole into the clear air and sunshine and a moment later the ork alighted gently upon the ground. the release was so sudden that even with the creature's care for its passengers cap'n bill struck the earth with a shock that sent him rolling heel over head; but by the time trot had slid down from her seat the old sailor-man was sitting up and looking around him with much satisfaction. "it's sort o' pretty here," said he. "earth is a beautiful place!" cried trot. "i wonder where on earth we are?" pondered the ork, turning first one bright eye and then the other to this side and that. trees there were, in plenty, and shrubs and flowers and green turf. but there were no houses; there were no paths; there was no sign of civilization whatever. "just before i settled down on the ground i thought i caught a view of the ocean," said the ork. "let's see if i was right." then he flew to a little hill, near by, and trot and cap'n bill followed him more slowly. when they stood on the top of the hill they could see the blue waves of the ocean in front of them, to the right of them, and at the left of them. behind the hill was a forest that shut out the view. "i hope it ain't an island, trot," said cap'n bill gravely. "if it is, i s'pose we're prisoners," she replied. "ezzackly so, trot." "but, 'even so, it's better than those terr'ble underground tunnels and caverns," declared the girl. "you are right, little one," agreed the ork. "anything above ground is better than the best that lies under ground. so let's not quarrel with our fate but be thankful we've escaped." "we are, indeed!" she replied. "but i wonder if we can find something to eat in this place?" "let's explore an' find out," proposed cap'n bill. "those trees over at the left look like cherry-trees." on the way to them the explorers had to walk through a tangle of vines and cap'n bill, who went first, stumbled and pitched forward on his face. "why, it's a melon!" cried trot delightedly, as she saw what had caused the sailor to fall. cap'n bill rose to his foot, for he was not at all hurt, and examined the melon. then he took his big jackknife from his pocket and cut the melon open. it was quite ripe and looked delicious; but the old man tasted it before he permitted trot to eat any. deciding it was good he gave her a big slice and then offered the ork some. the creature looked at the fruit somewhat disdainfully, at first, but once he had tasted its flavor he ate of it as heartily as did the others. among the vines they discovered many other melons, and trot said gratefully: "well, there's no danger of our starving, even if this is an island." "melons," remarked cap'n bill, "are both food an' water. we couldn't have struck anything better." farther on they came to the cherry trees, where they obtained some of the fruit, and at the edge of the little forest were wild plums. the forest itself consisted entirely of nut trees--walnuts, filberts, almonds and chestnuts--so there would be plenty of wholesome food for them while they remained there. cap'n bill and trot decided to walk through the forest, to discover what was on the other side of it, but the ork's feet were still so sore and "lumpy" from walking on the rocks that the creature said he preferred to fly over the tree-tops and meet them on the other side. the forest was not large, so by walking briskly for fifteen minutes they reached its farthest edge and saw before them the shore of the ocean. "it's an island, all right," said trot, with a sigh. "yes, and a pretty island, too," said cap'n bill, trying to conceal his disappointment on trot's account. "i guess, partner, if the wuss comes to the wuss, i could build a raft--or even a boat--from those trees, so's we could sail away in it." the little girl brightened at this suggestion. "i don't see the ork anywhere," she remarked, looking around. then her eyes lighted upon something and she exclaimed: "oh, cap'n bill! isn't that a house, over there to the left?" cap'n bill, looking closely, saw a shed-like structure built at one edge of the forest. "seems like it, trot. not that i'd call it much of a house, but it's a buildin', all right. let's go over an' see if it's occypied." chapter five the little old man of the island a few steps brought them to the shed, which was merely a roof of boughs built over a square space, with some branches of trees fastened to the sides to keep off the wind. the front was quite open and faced the sea, and as our friends came nearer they observed a little man, with a long pointed beard, sitting motionless on a stool and staring thoughtfully out over the water. "get out of the way, please," he called in a fretful voice. "can't you see you are obstructing my view?" "good morning," said cap'n bill, politely. "it isn't a good morning!" snapped the little man. "i've seen plenty of mornings better than this. do you call it a good morning when i'm pestered with such a crowd as you?" trot was astonished to hear such words from a stranger whom they had greeted quite properly, and cap'n bill grew red at the little man's rudeness. but the sailor said, in a quiet tone of voice: "are you the only one as lives on this 'ere island?" "your grammar's bad," was the reply. "but this is my own exclusive island, and i'll thank you to get off it as soon as possible." "we'd like to do that," said trot, and then she and cap'n bill turned away and walked down to the shore, to see if any other land was in sight. the little man rose and followed them, although both were now too provoked to pay any attention to him. "nothin' in sight, partner," reported cap'n bill, shading his eyes with his hand; "so we'll have to stay here for a time, anyhow. it isn't a bad place, trot, by any means." "that's all you know about it!" broke in the little man. "the trees are altogether too green and the rocks are harder than they ought to be. i find the sand very grainy and the water dreadfully wet. every breeze makes a draught and the sun shines in the daytime, when there's no need of it, and disappears just as soon as it begins to get dark. if you remain here you'll find the island very unsatisfactory." trot turned to look at him, and her sweet face was grave and curious. "i wonder who you are," she said. "my name is pessim," said he, with an air of pride. "i'm called the observer." "oh. what do you observe?" asked the little girl. "everything i see," was the reply, in a more surly tone. then pessim drew back with a startled exclamation and looked at some footprints in the sand. "why, good gracious me!" he cried in distress. "what's the matter now?" asked cap'n bill. "someone has pushed the earth in! don't you see it? "it isn't pushed in far enough to hurt anything," said trot, examining the footprints. "everything hurts that isn't right," insisted the man. "if the earth were pushed in a mile, it would be a great calamity, wouldn't it?" "i s'pose so," admitted the little girl. "well, here it is pushed in a full inch! that's a twelfth of a foot, or a little more than a millionth part of a mile. therefore it is one-millionth part of a calamity--oh, dear! how dreadful!" said pessim in a wailing voice. "try to forget it, sir," advised cap'n bill, soothingly. "it's beginning to rain. let's get under your shed and keep dry." "raining! is it really raining?" asked pessim, beginning to weep. "it is," answered cap'n bill, as the drops began to descend, "and i don't see any way to stop it--although i'm some observer myself." "no; we can't stop it, i fear," said the man. "are you very busy just now?" "i won't be after i get to the shed," replied the sailor-man. "then do me a favor, please," begged pessim, walking briskly along behind them, for they were hastening to the shed. "depends on what it is," said cap'n bill. "i wish you would take my umbrella down to the shore and hold it over the poor fishes till it stops raining. i'm afraid they'll get wet," said pessim. trot laughed, but cap'n bill thought the little man was poking fun at him and so he scowled upon pessim in a way that showed he was angry. they reached the shed before getting very wet, although the rain was now coming down in big drops. the roof of the shed protected them and while they stood watching the rainstorm something buzzed in and circled around pessim's head. at once the observer began beating it away with his hands, crying out: "a bumblebee! a bumblebee! the queerest bumblebee i ever saw!" cap'n bill and trot both looked at it and the little girl said in surprise: "dear me! it's a wee little ork!" "that's what it is, sure enough," exclaimed cap'n bill. really, it wasn't much bigger than a big bumblebee, and when it came toward trot she allowed it to alight on her shoulder. "it's me, all right," said a very small voice in her ear; "but i'm in an awful pickle, just the same!" "what, are you our ork, then?" demanded the girl, much amazed. "no, i'm my own ork. but i'm the only ork you know," replied the tiny creature. "what's happened to you?" asked the sailor, putting his head close to trot's shoulder in order to hear the reply better. pessim also put his head close, and the ork said: "you will remember that when i left you i started to fly over the trees, and just as i got to this side of the forest i saw a bush that was loaded down with the most luscious fruit you can imagine. the fruit was about the size of a gooseberry and of a lovely lavender color. so i swooped down and picked off one in my bill and ate it. at once i began to grow small. i could feel myself shrinking, shrinking away, and it frightened me terribly, so that i lighted on the ground to think over what was happening. in a few seconds i had shrunk to the size you now see me; but there i remained, getting no smaller, indeed, but no larger. it is certainly a dreadful affliction! after i had recovered somewhat from the shock i began to search for you. it is not so easy to find one's way when a creature is so small, but fortunately i spied you here in this shed and came to you at once." cap'n bill and trot were much astonished at this story and felt grieved for the poor ork, but the little man pessim seemed to think it a good joke. he began laughing when he heard the story and laughed until he choked, after which he lay down on the ground and rolled and laughed again, while the tears of merriment coursed down his wrinkled cheeks. "oh, dear! oh, dear!" he finally gasped, sitting up and wiping his eyes. "this is too rich! it's almost too joyful to be true." "i don't see anything funny about it," remarked trot indignantly. "you would if you'd had my experience," said pessim, getting upon his feet and gradually resuming his solemn and dissatisfied expression of countenance. "the same thing happened to me." "oh, did it? and how did you happen to come to this island?" asked the girl. "i didn't come; the neighbors brought me," replied the little man, with a frown at the recollection. "they said i was quarrelsome and fault-finding and blamed me because i told them all the things that went wrong, or never were right, and because i told them how things ought to be. so they brought me here and left me all alone, saying that if i quarreled with myself, no one else would be made unhappy. absurd, wasn't it?" "seems to me," said cap'n bill, "those neighbors did the proper thing." "well," resumed pessim, "when i found myself king of this island i was obliged to live upon fruits, and i found many fruits growing here that i had never seen before. i tasted several and found them good and wholesome. but one day i ate a lavender berry--as the ork did--and immediately i grew so small that i was scarcely two inches high. it was a very unpleasant condition and like the ork i became frightened. i could not walk very well nor very far, for every lump of earth in my way seemed a mountain, every blade of grass a tree and every grain of sand a rocky boulder. for several days i stumbled around in an agony of fear. once a tree toad nearly gobbled me up, and if i ran out from the shelter of the bushes the gulls and cormorants swooped down upon me. finally i decided to eat another berry and become nothing at all, since life, to one as small as i was, had become a dreary nightmare. "at last i found a small tree that i thought bore the same fruit as that i had eaten. the berry was dark purple instead of light lavender, but otherwise it was quite similar. being unable to climb the tree, i was obliged to wait underneath it until a sharp breeze arose and shook the limbs so that a berry fell. instantly i seized it and taking a last view of the world--as i then thought--i ate the berry in a twinkling. then, to my surprise, i began to grow big again, until i became of my former stature, and so i have since remained. needless to say, i have never eaten again of the lavender fruit, nor do any of the beasts or birds that live upon this island eat it." they had all three listened eagerly to this amazing tale, and when it was finished the ork exclaimed: "do you think, then, that the deep purple berry is the antidote for the lavender one?" "i'm sure of it," answered pessim. "then lead me to the tree at once!" begged the ork, "for this tiny form i now have terrifies me greatly." pessim examined the ork closely "you are ugly enough as you are," said he. "were you any larger you might be dangerous." "oh, no," trot assured him; "the ork has been our good friend. please take us to the tree." then pessim consented, although rather reluctantly. he led them to the right, which was the east side of the island, and in a few minutes brought them near to the edge of the grove which faced the shore of the ocean. here stood a small tree bearing berries of a deep purple color. the fruit looked very enticing and cap'n bill reached up and selected one that seemed especially plump and ripe. the ork had remained perched upon trot's shoulder but now it flew down to the ground. it was so difficult for cap'n bill to kneel down, with his wooden leg, that the little girl took the berry from him and held it close to the ork's head. "it's too big to go into my mouth," said the little creature, looking at the fruit sidewise. "you'll have to make sev'ral mouthfuls of it, i guess," said trot; and that is what the ork did. he pecked at the soft, ripe fruit with his bill and ate it up very quickly, because it was good. even before he had finished the berry they could see the ork begin to grow. in a few minutes he had regained his natural size and was strutting before them, quite delighted with his transformation. "well, well! what do you think of me now?" he asked proudly. "you are very skinny and remarkably ugly," declared pessim. "you are a poor judge of orks," was the reply. "anyone can see that i'm much handsomer than those dreadful things called birds, which are all fluff and feathers." "their feathers make soft beds," asserted pessim. "and my skin would make excellent drumheads," retorted the ork. "nevertheless, a plucked bird or a skinned ork would be of no value to himself, so we needn't brag of our usefulness after we are dead. but for the sake of argument, friend pessim, i'd like to know what good you would be, were you not alive?" "never mind that," said cap'n bill. "he isn't much good as he is." "i am king of this island, allow me to say, and you're intruding on my property," declared the little man, scowling upon them. "if you don't like me--and i'm sure you don't, for no one else does--why don't you go away and leave me to myself?" "well, the ork can fly, but we can't," explained trot, in answer. "we don't want to stay here a bit, but i don't see how we can get away." "you can go back into the hole you came from." cap'n bill shook his head; trot shuddered at the thought; the ork laughed aloud. "you may be king here," the creature said to pessim, "but we intend to run this island to suit ourselves, for we are three and you are one, and the balance of power lies with us." the little man made no reply to this, although as they walked back to the shed his face wore its fiercest scowl. cap'n bill gathered a lot of leaves and, assisted by trot, prepared two nice beds in opposite corners of the shed. pessim slept in a hammock which he swung between two trees. they required no dishes, as all their food consisted of fruits and nuts picked from the trees; they made no fire, for the weather was warm and there was nothing to cook; the shed had no furniture other than the rude stool which the little man was accustomed to sit upon. he called it his "throne" and they let him keep it. so they lived upon the island for three days, and rested and ate to their hearts' content. still, they were not at all happy in this life because of pessim. he continually found fault with them, and all that they did, and all their surroundings. he could see nothing good or admirable in all the world and trot soon came to understand why the little man's former neighbors had brought him to this island and left him there, all alone, so he could not annoy anyone. it was their misfortune that they had been led to this place by their adventures, for often they would have preferred the company of a wild beast to that of pessim. on the fourth day a happy thought came to the ork. they had all been racking their brains for a possible way to leave the island, and discussing this or that method, without finding a plan that was practical. cap'n bill had said he could make a raft of the trees, big enough to float them all, but he had no tools except those two pocketknives and it was not possible to chop down tree with such small blades. "and s'pose we got afloat on the ocean," said trot, "where would we drift to, and how long would it take us to get there?" cap'n bill was forced to admit he didn't know. the ork could fly away from the island any time it wished to, but the queer creature was loyal to his new friends and refused to leave them in such a lonely, forsaken place. it was when trot urged him to go, on this fourth morning, that the ork had his happy thought. "i will go," said he, "if you two will agree to ride upon my back." "we are too heavy; you might drop us," objected cap'n bill. "yes, you are rather heavy for a long journey," acknowledged the ork, "but you might eat of those lavender berries and become so small that i could carry you with ease." this quaint suggestion startled trot and she looked gravely at the speaker while she considered it, but cap'n bill gave a scornful snort and asked: "what would become of us afterward? we wouldn't be much good if we were some two or three inches high. no, mr. ork, i'd rather stay here, as i am, than be a hop-o'-my-thumb somewhere else." "why couldn't you take some of the dark purple berries along with you, to eat after we had reached our destination?" inquired the ork. "then you could grow big again whenever you pleased." trot clapped her hands with delight. "that's it!" she exclaimed. "let's do it, cap'n bill." the old sailor did not like the idea at first, but he thought it over carefully and the more he thought the better it seemed. "how could you manage to carry us, if we were so small?" he asked. "i could put you in a paper bag, and tie the bag around my neck." "but we haven't a paper bag," objected trot. the ork looked at her. "there's your sunbonnet," it said presently, "which is hollow in the middle and has two strings that you could tie around my neck." trot took off her sunbonnet and regarded it critically. yes, it might easily hold both her and cap'n bill, after they had eaten the lavender berries and been reduced in size. she tied the strings around the ork's neck and the sunbonnet made a bag in which two tiny people might ride without danger of falling out. so she said: "i b'lieve we'll do it that way, cap'n." cap'n bill groaned but could make no logical objection except that the plan seemed to him quite dangerous--and dangerous in more ways than one. "i think so, myself," said trot soberly. "but nobody can stay alive without getting into danger sometimes, and danger doesn't mean getting hurt, cap'n; it only means we might get hurt. so i guess we'll have to take the risk." "let's go and find the berries," said the ork. they said nothing to pessim, who was sitting on his stool and scowling dismally as he stared at the ocean, but started at once to seek the trees that bore the magic fruits. the ork remembered very well where the lavender berries grew and led his companions quickly to the spot. cap'n bill gathered two berries and placed them carefully in his pocket. then they went around to the east side of the island and found the tree that bore the dark purple berries. "i guess i'll take four of these," said the sailor-man, "so in case one doesn't make us grow big we can eat another." "better take six," advised the ork. "it's well to be on the safe side, and i'm sure these trees grow nowhere else in all the world." so cap'n bill gathered six of the purple berries and with their precious fruit they returned to the shed to big good-bye to pessim. perhaps they would not have granted the surly little man this courtesy had they not wished to use him to tie the sunbonnet around the ork's neck. when pessim learned they were about to leave him he at first looked greatly pleased, but he suddenly recollected that nothing ought to please him and so began to grumble about being left alone. "we knew it wouldn't suit you," remarked cap'n bill. "it didn't suit you to have us here, and it won't suit you to have us go away." "that is quite true," admitted pessim. "i haven't been suited since i can remember; so it doesn't matter to me in the least whether you go or stay." he was interested in their experiment, however, and willingly agreed to assist, although he prophesied they would fall out of the sunbonnet on their way and be either drowned in the ocean or crushed upon some rocky shore. this uncheerful prospect did not daunt trot, but it made cap'n bill quite nervous. "i will eat my berry first," said trot, as she placed her sunbonnet on the ground, in such manner that they could get into it. then she ate the lavender berry and in a few seconds became so small that cap'n bill picked her up gently with his thumb and one finger and placed her in the middle of the sunbonnet. then he placed beside her the six purple berries--each one being about as big as the tiny trot's head--and all preparations being now made the old sailor ate his lavender berry and became very small--wooden leg and all! cap'n bill stumbled sadly in trying to climb over the edge of the sunbonnet and pitched in beside trot headfirst, which caused the unhappy pessim to laugh with glee. then the king of the island picked up the sunbonnet--so rudely that he shook its occupants like peas in a pod--and tied it, by means of its strings, securely around the ork's neck. "i hope, trot, you sewed those strings on tight," said cap'n bill anxiously. "why, we are not very heavy, you know," she replied, "so i think the stitches will hold. but be careful and not crush the berries, cap'n." "one is jammed already," he said, looking at them. "all ready?" asked the ork. "yes!" they cried together, and pessim came close to the sunbonnet and called out to them: "you'll be smashed or drowned, i'm sure you will! but farewell, and good riddance to you." the ork was provoked by this unkind speech, so he turned his tail toward the little man and made it revolve so fast that the rush of air tumbled pessim over backward and he rolled several times upon the ground before he could stop himself and sit up. by that time the ork was high in the air and speeding swiftly over the ocean. chapter six the flight of the midgets cap'n bill and trot rode very comfortably in the sunbonnet. the motion was quite steady, for they weighed so little that the ork flew without effort. yet they were both somewhat nervous about their future fate and could not help wishing they were safe on land and their natural size again. "you're terr'ble small, trot," remarked cap'n bill, looking at his companion. "same to you, cap'n," she said with a laugh; "but as long as we have the purple berries we needn't worry about our size." "in a circus," mused the old man, "we'd be curiosities. but in a sunbonnet--high up in the air--sailin' over a big, unknown ocean--they ain't no word in any booktionary to describe us." "why, we're midgets, that's all," said the little girl. the ork flew silently for a long time. the slight swaying of the sunbonnet made cap'n bill drowsy, and he began to doze. trot, however, was wide awake, and after enduring the monotonous journey as long as she was able she called out: "don't you see land anywhere, mr. ork?" "not yet," he answered. "this is a big ocean and i've no idea in which direction the nearest land to that island lies; but if i keep flying in a straight line i'm sure to reach some place some time." that seemed reasonable, so the little people in the sunbonnet remained as patient as possible; that is, cap'n bill dozed and trot tried to remember her geography lessons so she could figure out what land they were likely to arrive at. for hours and hours the ork flew steadily, keeping to the straight line and searching with his eyes the horizon of the ocean for land. cap'n bill was fast asleep and snoring and trot had laid her head on his shoulder to rest it when suddenly the ork exclaimed: "there! i've caught a glimpse of land, at last." at this announcement they roused themselves. cap'n bill stood up and tried to peek over the edge of the sunbonnet. "what does it look like?" he inquired. "looks like another island," said the ork; "but i can judge it better in a minute or two." "i don't care much for islands, since we visited that other one," declared trot. soon the ork made another announcement. "it is surely an island, and a little one, too," said he. "but i won't stop, because i see a much bigger land straight ahead of it." "that's right," approved cap'n bill. "the bigger the land, the better it will suit us." "it's almost a continent," continued the ork after a brief silence, during which he did not decrease the speed of his flight. "i wonder if it can be orkland, the place i have been seeking so long?" "i hope not," whispered trot to cap'n bill--so softly that the ork could not hear her--"for i shouldn't like to be in a country where only orks live. this one ork isn't a bad companion, but a lot of him wouldn't be much fun." after a few more minutes of flying the ork called out in a sad voice: "no! this is not my country. it's a place i have never seen before, although i have wandered far and wide. it seems to be all mountains and deserts and green valleys and queer cities and lakes and rivers--mixed up in a very puzzling way." "most countries are like that," commented cap'n bill. "are you going to land?" "pretty soon," was the reply. "there is a mountain peak just ahead of me. what do you say to our landing on that?" "all right," agreed the sailor-man, for both he and trot were getting tired of riding in the sunbonnet and longed to set foot on solid ground again. so in a few minutes the ork slowed down his speed and then came to a stop so easily that they were scarcely jarred at all. then the creature squatted down until the sunbonnet rested on the ground, and began trying to unfasten with its claws the knotted strings. this proved a very clumsy task, because the strings were tied at the back of the ork's neck, just where his claws would not easily reach. after much fumbling he said: "i'm afraid i can't let you out, and there is no one near to help me." this was at first discouraging, but after a little thought cap'n bill said: "if you don't mind, trot, i can cut a slit in your sunbonnet with my knife." "do," she replied. "the slit won't matter, 'cause i can sew it up again afterward, when i am big." so cap'n bill got out his knife, which was just as small, in proportion, as he was, and after considerable trouble managed to cut a long slit in the sunbonnet. first he squeezed through the opening himself and then helped trot to get out. when they stood on firm ground again their first act was to begin eating the dark purple berries which they had brought with them. two of these trot had guarded carefully during the long journey, by holding them in her lap, for their safety meant much to the tiny people. "i'm not very hungry," said the little girl as she handed a berry to cap'n bill, "but hunger doesn't count, in this case. it's like taking medicine to make you well, so we must manage to eat 'em, somehow or other." but the berries proved quite pleasant to taste and as cap'n bill and trot nibbled at their edges their forms began to grow in size--slowly but steadily. the bigger they grew the easier it was for them to eat the berries, which of course became smaller to them, and by the time the fruit was eaten our friends had regained their natural size. the little girl was greatly relieved when she found herself as large as she had ever been, and cap'n bill shared her satisfaction; for, although they had seen the effect of the berries on the ork, they had not been sure the magic fruit would have the same effect on human beings, or that the magic would work in any other country than that in which the berries grew. "what shall we do with the other four berries?" asked trot, as she picked up her sunbonnet, marveling that she had ever been small enough to ride in it. "they're no good to us now, are they, cap'n?" "i'm not sure as to that," he replied. "if they were eaten by one who had never eaten the lavender berries, they might have no effect at all; but then, contrarywise, they might. one of 'em has got badly jammed, so i'll throw it away, but the other three i b'lieve i'll carry with me. they're magic things, you know, and may come handy to us some time." he now searched in his big pockets and drew out a small wooden box with a sliding cover. the sailor had kept an assortment of nails, of various sizes, in this box, but those he now dumped loosely into his pocket and in the box placed the three sound purple berries. when this important matter was attended to they found time to look about them and see what sort of place the ork had landed them in. chapter seven the bumpy man the mountain on which they had alighted was not a barren waste, but had on its sides patches of green grass, some bushes, a few slender trees and here and there masses of tumbled rocks. the sides of the slope seemed rather steep, but with care one could climb up or down them with ease and safety. the view from where they now stood showed pleasant valleys and fertile hills lying below the heights. trot thought she saw some houses of queer shapes scattered about the lower landscape, and there were moving dots that might be people or animals, yet were too far away for her to see them clearly. not far from the place where they stood was the top of the mountain, which seemed to be flat, so the ork proposed to his companions that he would fly up and see what was there. "that's a good idea," said trot, "'cause it's getting toward evening and we'll have to find a place to sleep." the ork had not been gone more than a few minutes when they saw him appear on the edge of the top which was nearest them. "come on up!" he called. so trot and cap'n bill began to ascend the steep slope and it did not take them long to reach the place where the ork awaited them. their first view of the mountain top pleased them very much. it was a level space of wider extent than they had guessed and upon it grew grass of a brilliant green color. in the very center stood a house built of stone and very neatly constructed. no one was in sight, but smoke was coming from the chimney, so with one accord all three began walking toward the house. "i wonder," said trot, "in what country we are, and if it's very far from my home in california." "can't say as to that, partner," answered cap'n bill, "but i'm mighty certain we've come a long way since we struck that whirlpool." "yes," she agreed, with a sigh, "it must be miles and miles!" "distance means nothing," said the ork. "i have flown pretty much all over the world, trying to find my home, and it is astonishing how many little countries there are, hidden away in the cracks and corners of this big globe of earth. if one travels, he may find some new country at every turn, and a good many of them have never yet been put upon the maps." "p'raps this is one of them," suggested trot. they reached the house after a brisk walk and cap'n bill knocked upon the door. it was at once opened by a rugged looking man who had "bumps all over him," as trot afterward declared. there were bumps on his head, bumps on his body and bumps on his arms and legs and hands. even his fingers had bumps on the ends of them. for dress he wore an old gray suit of fantastic design, which fitted him very badly because of the bumps it covered but could not conceal. but the bumpy man's eyes were kind and twinkling in expression and as soon as he saw his visitors he bowed low and said in a rather bumpy voice: "happy day! come in and shut the door, for it grows cool when the sun goes down. winter is now upon us." "why, it isn't cold a bit, outside," said trot, "so it can't be winter yet." "you will change your mind about that in a little while," declared the bumpy man. "my bumps always tell me the state of the weather, and they feel just now as if a snowstorm was coming this way. but make yourselves at home, strangers. supper is nearly ready and there is food enough for all." inside the house there was but one large room, simply but comfortably furnished. it had benches, a table and a fireplace, all made of stone. on the hearth a pot was bubbling and steaming, and trot thought it had a rather nice smell. the visitors seated themselves upon the benches--except the ork. which squatted by the fireplace--and the bumpy man began stirring the kettle briskly. "may i ask what country this is, sir?" inquired cap'n bill. "goodness me--fruit-cake and apple-sauce!--don't you know where you are?" asked the bumpy man, as he stopped stirring and looked at the speaker in surprise. "no," admitted cap'n bill. "we've just arrived." "lost your way?" questioned the bumpy man. "not exactly," said cap'n bill. "we didn't have any way to lose." "ah!" said the bumpy man, nodding his bumpy head. "this," he announced, in a solemn, impressive voice, "is the famous land of mo." "oh!" exclaimed the sailor and the girl, both in one breath. but, never having heard of the land of mo, they were no wiser than before. "i thought that would startle you," remarked the bumpy man, well pleased, as he resumed his stirring. the ork watched him a while in silence and then asked: "who may you be?" "me?" answered the bumpy man. "haven't you heard of me? gingerbread and lemon-juice! i'm known, far and wide, as the mountain ear." they all received this information in silence at first, for they were trying to think what he could mean. finally trot mustered up courage to ask: "what is a mountain ear, please?" for answer the man turned around and faced them, waving the spoon with which he had been stirring the kettle, as he recited the following verses in a singsong tone of voice: "here's a mountain, hard of hearing, that's sad-hearted and needs cheering, so my duty is to listen to all sounds that nature makes, so the hill won't get uneasy-- get to coughing, or get sneezy-- for this monster bump, when frightened, is quite liable to quakes. "you can hear a bell that's ringing; i can feel some people's singing; but a mountain isn't sensible of what goes on, and so when i hear a blizzard blowing or it's raining hard, or snowing, i tell it to the mountain and the mountain seems to know. "thus i benefit all people while i'm living on this steeple, for i keep the mountain steady so my neighbors all may thrive. with my list'ning and my shouting i prevent this mount from spouting, and that makes me so important that i'm glad that i'm alive." when he had finished these lines of verse the bumpy man turned again to resume his stirring. the ork laughed softly and cap'n bill whistled to himself and trot made up her mind that the mountain ear must be a little crazy. but the bumpy man seemed satisfied that he had explained his position fully and presently he placed four stone plates upon the table and then lifted the kettle from the fire and poured some of its contents on each of the plates. cap'n bill and trot at once approached the table, for they were hungry, but when she examined her plate the little girl exclaimed: "why, it's molasses candy!" "to be sure," returned the bumpy man, with a pleasant smile. "eat it quick, while it's hot, for it cools very quickly this winter weather." with this he seized a stone spoon and began putting the hot molasses candy into his mouth, while the others watched him in astonishment. "doesn't it burn you?" asked the girl. "no indeed," said he. "why don't you eat? aren't you hungry?" "yes," she replied, "i am hungry. but we usually eat our candy when it is cold and hard. we always pull molasses candy before we eat it." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the mountain ear. "what a funny idea! where in the world did you come from?" "california," she said. "california! pooh! there isn't any such place. i've heard of every place in the land of mo, but i never before heard of california." "it isn't in the land of mo," she explained. "then it isn't worth talking about," declared the bumpy man, helping himself again from the steaming kettle, for he had been eating all the time he talked. "for my part," sighed cap'n bill, "i'd like a decent square meal, once more, just by way of variety. in the last place there was nothing but fruit to eat, and here it's worse, for there's nothing but candy." "molasses candy isn't so bad," said trot. "mine's nearly cool enough to pull, already. wait a bit, cap'n, and you can eat it." a little later she was able to gather the candy from the stone plate and begin to work it back and forth with her hands. the mountain ear was greatly amazed at this and watched her closely. it was really good candy and pulled beautifully, so that trot was soon ready to cut it into chunks for eating. cap'n bill condescended to eat one or two pieces and the ork ate several, but the bumpy man refused to try it. trot finished the plate of candy herself and then asked for a drink of water. "water?" said the mountain ear wonderingly. "what is that?" "something to drink. don't you have water in mo?" "none that ever i heard of," said he. "but i can give you some fresh lemonade. i caught it in a jar the last time it rained, which was only day before yesterday." "oh, does it rain lemonade here?" she inquired. "always; and it is very refreshing and healthful." with this he brought from a cupboard a stone jar and a dipper, and the girl found it very nice lemonade, indeed. cap'n bill liked it, too; but the ork would not touch it. "if there is no water in this country, i cannot stay here for long," the creature declared. "water means life to man and beast and bird." "there must be water in lemonade," said trot. "yes," answered the ork, "i suppose so; but there are other things in it, too, and they spoil the good water." the day's adventures had made our wanderers tired, so the bumpy man brought them some blankets in which they rolled themselves and then lay down before the fire, which their host kept alive with fuel all through the night. trot wakened several times and found the mountain ear always alert and listening intently for the slightest sound. but the little girl could hear no sound at all except the snores of cap'n bill. chapter eight button-bright is lost and found again "wake up--wake up!" called the voice of the bumpy man. "didn't i tell you winter was coming? i could hear it coming with my left ear, and the proof is that it is now snowing hard outside." "is it?" said trot, rubbing her eyes and creeping out of her blanket. "where i live, in california, i have never seen snow, except far away on the tops of high mountains." "well, this is the top of a high mountain," returned the bumpy one, "and for that reason we get our heaviest snowfalls right here." the little girl went to the window and looked out. the air was filled with falling white flakes, so large in size and so queer in form that she was puzzled. "are you certain this is snow?" she asked. "to be sure. i must get my snow-shovel and turn out to shovel a path. would you like to come with me?" "yes," she said, and followed the bumpy man out when he opened the door. then she exclaimed: "why, it isn't cold a bit!" "of course not," replied the man. "it was cold last night, before the snowstorm; but snow, when it falls, is always crisp and warm." trot gathered a handful of it. "why, it's popcorn?" she cried. "certainly; all snow is popcorn. what did you expect it to be?" "popcorn is not snow in my country." "well, it is the only snow we have in the land of mo, so you may as well make the best of it," said he, a little impatiently. "i'm not responsible for the absurd things that happen in your country, and when you're in mo you must do as the momen do. eat some of our snow, and you will find it is good. the only fault i find with our snow is that we get too much of it at times." with this the bumpy man set to work shoveling a path and he was so quick and industrious that he piled up the popcorn in great banks on either side of the trail that led to the mountain-top from the plains below. while he worked, trot ate popcorn and found it crisp and slightly warm, as well as nicely salted and buttered. presently cap'n bill came out of the house and joined her. "what's this?" he asked. "mo snow," said she. "but it isn't real snow, although it falls from the sky. it's popcorn." cap'n bill tasted it; then he sat down in the path and began to eat. the ork came out and pecked away with its bill as fast as it could. they all liked popcorn and they all were hungry this morning. meantime the flakes of "mo snow" came down so fast that the number of them almost darkened the air. the bumpy man was now shoveling quite a distance down the mountain-side, while the path behind him rapidly filled up with fresh-fallen popcorn. suddenly trot heard him call out: "goodness gracious--mince pie and pancakes!--here is some one buried in the snow." she ran toward him at once and the others followed, wading through the corn and crunching it underneath their feet. the mo snow was pretty deep where the bumpy man was shoveling and from beneath a great bank of it he had uncovered a pair of feet. "dear me! someone has been lost in the storm," said cap'n bill. "i hope he is still alive. let's pull him out and see." he took hold of one foot and the bumpy man took hold of the other. then they both pulled and out from the heap of popcorn came a little boy. he was dressed in a brown velvet jacket and knickerbockers, with brown stockings, buckled shoes and a blue shirt-waist that had frills down its front. when drawn from the heap the boy was chewing a mouthful of popcorn and both his hands were full of it. so at first he couldn't speak to his rescuers but lay quite still and eyed them calmly until he had swallowed his mouthful. then he said: "get my cap," and stuffed more popcorn into his mouth. while the bumpy man began shoveling into the corn-bank to find the boy's cap, trot was laughing joyfully and cap'n bill had a broad grin on his face. the ork looked from one to another and asked: "who is this stranger?" "why, it's button-bright, of course," answered trot. "if anyone ever finds a lost boy, he can make up his mind it's button-bright. but how he ever came to be lost in this far-away country is more'n i can make out." "where does he belong?" inquired the ork. "his home used to be in philadelphia, i think; but i'm quite sure button-bright doesn't belong anywhere." "that's right," said the boy, nodding his head as he swallowed the second mouthful. "everyone belongs somewhere," remarked the ork. "not me," insisted button-bright. "i'm half way round the world from philadelphia, and i've lost my magic umbrella, that used to carry me anywhere. stands to reason that if i can't get back i haven't any home. but i don't care much. this is a pretty good country, trot. i've had lots of fun here." by this time the mountain ear had secured the boy's cap and was listening to the conversation with much interest. "it seems you know this poor, snow-covered cast-away," he said. "yes, indeed," answered trot. "we made a journey together to sky island, once, and were good friends." "well, then i'm glad i saved his life," said the bumpy man. "much obliged, mr. knobs," said button-bright, sitting up and staring at him, "but i don't believe you've saved anything except some popcorn that i might have eaten had you not disturbed me. it was nice and warm in that bank of popcorn, and there was plenty to eat. what made you dig me out? and what makes you so bumpy everywhere?" "as for the bumps," replied the man, looking at himself with much pride, "i was born with them and i suspect they were a gift from the fairies. they make me look rugged and big, like the mountain i serve." "all right," said button-bright and began eating popcorn again. it had stopped snowing, now, and great flocks of birds were gathering around the mountain-side, eating the popcorn with much eagerness and scarcely noticing the people at all. there were birds of every size and color, most of them having gorgeous feathers and plumes. "just look at them!" exclaimed the ork scornfully. "aren't they dreadful creatures, all covered with feathers?" "i think they're beautiful," said trot, and this made the ork so indignant that he went back into the house and sulked. button-bright reached out his hand and caught a big bird by the leg. at once it rose into the air and it was so strong that it nearly carried the little boy with it. he let go the leg in a hurry and the bird flew down again and began to eat of the popcorn, not being frightened in the least. this gave cap'n bill an idea. he felt in his pocket and drew out several pieces of stout string. moving very quietly, so as to not alarm the birds, he crept up to several of the biggest ones and tied cords around their legs, thus making them prisoners. the birds were so intent on their eating that they did not notice what had happened to them, and when about twenty had been captured in this manner cap'n bill tied the ends of all the strings together and fastened them to a huge stone, so they could not escape. the bumpy man watched the old sailor's actions with much curiosity. "the birds will be quiet until they've eaten up all the snow," he said, "but then they will want to fly away to their homes. tell me, sir, what will the poor things do when they find they can't fly?" "it may worry 'em a little," replied cap'n bill, "but they're not going to be hurt if they take it easy and behave themselves." our friends had all made a good breakfast of the delicious popcorn and now they walked toward the house again. button-bright walked beside trot and held her hand in his, because they were old friends and he liked the little girl very much. the boy was not so old as trot, and small as she was he was half a head shorter in height. the most remarkable thing about button-bright was that he was always quiet and composed, whatever happened, and nothing was ever able to astonish him. trot liked him because he was not rude and never tried to plague her. cap'n bill liked him because he had found the boy cheerful and brave at all times, and willing to do anything he was asked to do. when they came to the house trot sniffed the air and asked "don't i smell perfume?" "i think you do," said the bumpy man. "you smell violets, and that proves there is a breeze springing up from the south. all our winds and breezes are perfumed and for that reason we are glad to have them blow in our direction. the south breeze always has a violet odor; the north breeze has the fragrance of wild roses; the east breeze is perfumed with lilies-of-the-valley and the west wind with lilac blossoms. so we need no weathervane to tell us which way the wind is blowing. we have only to smell the perfume and it informs us at once." inside the house they found the ork, and button-bright regarded the strange, birdlike creature with curious interest. after examining it closely for a time he asked: "which way does your tail whirl?" "either way," said the ork. button-bright put out his hand and tried to spin it. "don't do that!" exclaimed the ork. "why not?" inquired the boy. "because it happens to be my tail, and i reserve the right to whirl it myself," explained the ork. "let's go out and fly somewhere," proposed button-bright. "i want to see how the tail works." "not now," said the ork. "i appreciate your interest in me, which i fully deserve; but i only fly when i am going somewhere, and if i got started i might not stop." "that reminds me," remarked cap'n bill, "to ask you, friend ork, how we are going to get away from here?" "get away!" exclaimed the bumpy man. "why don't you stay here? you won't find any nicer place than mo." "have you been anywhere else, sir?" "no; i can't say that i have," admitted the mountain ear. "then permit me to say you're no judge," declared cap'n bill. "but you haven't answered my question, friend ork. how are we to get away from this mountain?" the ork reflected a while before he answered. "i might carry one of you--the boy or the girl--upon my back," said he, "but three big people are more than i can manage, although i have carried two of you for a short distance. you ought not to have eaten those purple berries so soon." "p'r'aps we did make a mistake," cap'n bill acknowledged. "or we might have brought some of those lavender berries with us, instead of so many purple ones," suggested trot regretfully. cap'n bill made no reply to this statement, which showed he did not fully agree with the little girl; but he fell into deep thought, with wrinkled brows, and finally he said: "if those purple berries would make anything grow bigger, whether it'd eaten the lavender ones or not, i could find a way out of our troubles." they did not understand this speech and looked at the old sailor as if expecting him to explain what he meant. but just then a chorus of shrill cries rose from outside. "here! let me go--let me go!" the voices seemed to say. "why are we insulted in this way? mountain ear, come and help us!" trot ran to the window and looked out. "it's the birds you caught, cap'n," she said. "i didn't know they could talk." "oh, yes; all the birds in mo are educated to talk," said the bumpy man. then he looked at cap'n bill uneasily and added: "won't you let the poor things go?" "i'll see," replied the sailor, and walked out to where the birds were fluttering and complaining because the strings would not allow them to fly away. "listen to me!" he cried, and at once they became still. "we three people who are strangers in your land want to go to some other country, and we want three of you birds to carry us there. we know we are asking a great favor, but it's the only way we can think of--excep' walkin', an' i'm not much good at that because i've a wooden leg. besides, trot an' button-bright are too small to undertake a long and tiresome journey. now, tell me: which three of you birds will consent to carry us?" the birds looked at one another as if greatly astonished. then one of them replied: "you must be crazy, old man. not one of us is big enough to fly with even the smallest of your party." "i'll fix the matter of size," promised cap'n bill. "if three of you will agree to carry us, i'll make you big an' strong enough to do it, so it won't worry you a bit." the birds considered this gravely. living in a magic country, they had no doubt but that the strange one-legged man could do what he said. after a little, one of them asked: "if you make us big, would we stay big always?" "i think so," replied cap'n bill. they chattered a while among themselves and then the bird that had first spoken said: "i'll go, for one." "so will i," said another; and after a pause a third said: "i'll go, too." perhaps more would have volunteered, for it seemed that for some reason they all longed to be bigger than they were; but three were enough for cap'n bill's purpose and so he promptly released all the others, who immediately flew away. the three that remained were cousins, and all were of the same brilliant plumage and in size about as large as eagles. when trot questioned them she found they were quite young, having only abandoned their nests a few weeks before. they were strong young birds, with clear, brave eyes, and the little girl decided they were the most beautiful of all the feathered creatures she had ever seen. cap'n bill now took from his pocket the wooden box with the sliding cover and removed the three purple berries, which were still in good condition. "eat these," he said, and gave one to each of the birds. they obeyed, finding the fruit very pleasant to taste. in a few seconds they began to grow in size and grew so fast that trot feared they would never stop. but they finally did stop growing, and then they were much larger than the ork, and nearly the size of full-grown ostriches. cap'n bill was much pleased by this result. "you can carry us now, all right," said he. the birds strutted around with pride, highly pleased with their immense size. "i don't see, though," said trot doubtfully, "how we're going to ride on their backs without falling off." "we're not going to ride on their backs," answered cap'n bill. "i'm going to make swings for us to ride in." he then asked the bumpy man for some rope, but the man had no rope. he had, however, an old suit of gray clothes which he gladly presented to cap'n bill, who cut the cloth into strips and twisted it so that it was almost as strong as rope. with this material he attached to each bird a swing that dangled below its feet, and button-bright made a trial flight in one of them to prove that it was safe and comfortable. when all this had been arranged one of the birds asked: "where do you wish us to take you?" "why, just follow the ork," said cap'n bill. "he will be our leader, and wherever the ork flies you are to fly, and wherever the ork lands you are to land. is that satisfactory?" the birds declared it was quite satisfactory, so cap'n bill took counsel with the ork. "on our way here," said that peculiar creature, "i noticed a broad, sandy desert at the left of me, on which was no living thing." "then we'd better keep away from it," replied the sailor. "not so," insisted the ork. "i have found, on my travels, that the most pleasant countries often lie in the midst of deserts; so i think it would be wise for us to fly over this desert and discover what lies beyond it. for in the direction we came from lies the ocean, as we well know, and beyond here is this strange land of mo, which we do not care to explore. on one side, as we can see from this mountain, is a broad expanse of plain, and on the other the desert. for my part, i vote for the desert." "what do you say, trot?" inquired cap'n bill. "it's all the same to me," she replied. no one thought of asking button-bright's opinion, so it was decided to fly over the desert. they bade good-bye to the bumpy man and thanked him for his kindness and hospitality. then they seated themselves in the swings--one for each bird--and told the ork to start away and they would follow. the whirl of the ork's tail astonished the birds at first, but after he had gone a short distance they rose in the air, carrying their passengers easily, and flew with strong, regular strokes of their great wings in the wake of their leader. chapter nine the kingdom of jinxland trot rode with more comfort than she had expected, although the swing swayed so much that she had to hold on tight with both hands. cap'n bill's bird followed the ork, and trot came next, with button-bright trailing behind her. it was quite an imposing procession, but unfortunately there was no one to see it, for the ork had headed straight for the great sandy desert and in a few minutes after starting they were flying high over the broad waste, where no living thing could exist. the little girl thought this would be a bad place for the birds to lose strength, or for the cloth ropes to give way; but although she could not help feeling a trifle nervous and fidgety she had confidence in the huge and brilliantly plumaged bird that bore her, as well as in cap'n bill's knowledge of how to twist and fasten a rope so it would hold. that was a remarkably big desert. there was nothing to relieve the monotony of view and every minute seemed an hour and every hour a day. disagreeable fumes and gases rose from the sands, which would have been deadly to the travelers had they not been so high in the air. as it was, trot was beginning to feel sick, when a breath of fresher air filled her nostrils and on looking ahead she saw a great cloud of pink-tinted mist. even while she wondered what it could be, the ork plunged boldly into the mist and the other birds followed. she could see nothing for a time, nor could the bird which carried her see where the ork had gone, but it kept flying as sturdily as ever and in a few moments the mist was passed and the girl saw a most beautiful landscape spread out below her, extending as far as her eye could reach. she saw bits of forest, verdure clothed hills, fields of waving grain, fountains, rivers and lakes; and throughout the scene were scattered groups of pretty houses and a few grand castles and palaces. over all this delightful landscape--which from trot's high perch seemed like a magnificent painted picture--was a rosy glow such as we sometimes see in the west at sunset. in this case, however, it was not in the west only, but everywhere. no wonder the ork paused to circle slowly over this lovely country. the other birds followed his action, all eyeing the place with equal delight. then, as with one accord, the four formed a group and slowly sailed downward. this brought them to that part of the newly-discovered land which bordered on the desert's edge; but it was just as pretty here as anywhere, so the ork and the birds alighted and the three passengers at once got out of their swings. "oh, cap'n bill, isn't this fine an' dandy?" exclaimed trot rapturously. "how lucky we were to discover this beautiful country!" "the country seems rather high class, i'll admit, trot," replied the old sailor-man, looking around him, "but we don't know, as yet, what its people are like." "no one could live in such a country without being happy and good--i'm sure of that," she said earnestly. "don't you think so, button-bright?" "i'm not thinking, just now," answered the little boy. "it tires me to think, and i never seem to gain anything by it. when we see the people who live here we will know what they are like, and no 'mount of thinking will make them any different." "that's true enough," said the ork. "but now i want to make a proposal. while you are getting acquainted with this new country, which looks as if it contains everything to make one happy, i would like to fly along--all by myself--and see if i can find my home on the other side of the great desert. if i do, i will stay there, of course. but if i fail to find orkland i will return to you in a week, to see if i can do anything more to assist you." they were sorry to lose their queer companion, but could offer no objection to the plan; so the ork bade them good-bye and rising swiftly in the air, he flew over the country and was soon lost to view in the distance. the three birds which had carried our friends now begged permission to return by the way they had come, to their own homes, saying they were anxious to show their families how big they had become. so cap'n bill and trot and button-bright all thanked them gratefully for their assistance and soon the birds began their long flight toward the land of mo. being now left to themselves in this strange land, the three comrades selected a pretty pathway and began walking along it. they believed this path would lead them to a splendid castle which they espied in the distance, the turrets of which towered far above the tops of the trees which surrounded it. it did not seem very far away, so they sauntered on slowly, admiring the beautiful ferns and flowers that lined the pathway and listening to the singing of the birds and the soft chirping of the grasshoppers. presently the path wound over a little hill. in a valley that lay beyond the hill was a tiny cottage surrounded by flower beds and fruit trees. on the shady porch of the cottage they saw, as they approached, a pleasant faced woman sitting amidst a group of children, to whom she was telling stories. the children quickly discovered the strangers and ran toward them with exclamations of astonishment, so that trot and her friends became the center of a curious group, all chattering excitedly. cap'n bill's wooden leg seemed to arouse the wonder of the children, as they could not understand why he had not two meat legs. this attention seemed to please the old sailor, who patted the heads of the children kindly and then, raising his hat to the woman, he inquired: "can you tell us, madam, just what country this is?" she stared hard at all three of the strangers as she replied briefly: "jinxland." "oh!" exclaimed cap'n bill, with a puzzled look. "and where is jinxland, please?" "in the quadling country," said she. "what!" cried trot, in sudden excitement. "do you mean to say this is the quadling country of the land of oz?" "to be sure i do," the woman answered. "every bit of land that is surrounded by the great desert is the land of oz, as you ought to know as well as i do; but i'm sorry to say that jinxland is separated from the rest of the quadling country by that row of high mountains you see yonder, which have such steep sides that no one can cross them. so we live here all by ourselves, and are ruled by our own king, instead of by ozma of oz." "i've been to the land of oz before," said button-bright, "but i've never been here." "did you ever hear of jinxland before?" asked trot. "no," said button-bright. "it is on the map of oz, though," asserted the woman, "and it's a fine country, i assure you. if only," she added, and then paused to look around her with a frightened expression. "if only--" here she stopped again, as if not daring to go on with her speech. "if only what, ma'am?" asked cap'n bill. the woman sent the children into the house. then she came closer to the strangers and whispered: "if only we had a different king, we would be very happy and contented." "what's the matter with your king?" asked trot, curiously. but the woman seemed frightened to have said so much. she retreated to her porch, merely saying: "the king punishes severely any treason on the part of his subjects." "what's treason?" asked button-bright. "in this case," replied cap'n bill, "treason seems to consist of knockin' the king; but i guess we know his disposition now as well as if the lady had said more." "i wonder," said trot, going up to the woman, "if you could spare us something to eat. we haven't had anything but popcorn and lemonade for a long time." "bless your heart! of course i can spare you some food," the woman answered, and entering her cottage she soon returned with a tray loaded with sandwiches, cakes and cheese. one of the children drew a bucket of clear, cold water from a spring and the three wanderers ate heartily and enjoyed the good things immensely. when button-bright could eat no more he filled the pockets of his jacket with cakes and cheese, and not even the children objected to this. indeed they all seemed pleased to see the strangers eat, so cap'n bill decided that no matter what the king of jinxland was like, the people would prove friendly and hospitable. "whose castle is that, yonder, ma'am?" he asked, waving his hand toward the towers that rose above the trees. "it belongs to his majesty, king krewl." she said. "oh, indeed; and does he live there?" "when he is not out hunting with his fierce courtiers and war captains," she replied. "is he hunting now?" trot inquired. "i do not know, my dear. the less we know about the king's actions the safer we are." it was evident the woman did not like to talk about king krewl and so, having finished their meal, they said good-bye and continued along the pathway. "don't you think we'd better keep away from that king's castle, cap'n?" asked trot. "well," said he, "king krewl would find out, sooner or later, that we are in his country, so we may as well face the music now. perhaps he isn't quite so bad as that woman thinks he is. kings aren't always popular with their people, you know, even if they do the best they know how." "ozma is pop'lar," said button-bright. "ozma is diff'rent from any other ruler, from all i've heard," remarked trot musingly, as she walked beside the boy. "and, after all, we are really in the land of oz, where ozma rules ev'ry king and ev'rybody else. i never heard of anybody getting hurt in her dominions, did you, button-bright?" "not when she knows about it," he replied. "but those birds landed us in just the wrong place, seems to me. they might have carried us right on, over that row of mountains, to the em'rald city." "true enough," said cap'n bill; "but they didn't, an' so we must make the best of jinxland. let's try not to be afraid." "oh, i'm not very scared," said button-bright, pausing to look at a pink rabbit that popped its head out of a hole in the field near by. "nor am i," added trot. "really, cap'n, i'm so glad to be anywhere at all in the wonderful fairyland of oz that i think i'm the luckiest girl in all the world. dorothy lives in the em'rald city, you know, and so does the scarecrow and the tin woodman and tik-tok and the shaggy man--and all the rest of 'em that we've heard so much about--not to mention ozma, who must be the sweetest and loveliest girl in all the world!" "take your time, trot," advised button-bright. "you don't have to say it all in one breath, you know. and you haven't mentioned half of the curious people in the em'rald city." "that 'ere em'rald city," said cap'n bill impressively, "happens to be on the other side o' those mountains, that we're told no one is able to cross. i don't want to discourage of you, trot, but we're a'most as much separated from your ozma an' dorothy as we were when we lived in californy." there was so much truth in this statement that they all walked on in silence for some time. finally they reached the grove of stately trees that bordered the grounds of the king's castle. they had gone halfway through it when the sound of sobbing, as of someone in bitter distress, reached their ears and caused them to halt abruptly. chapter ten pon, the gardener's boy it was button-bright who first discovered, lying on his face beneath a broad spreading tree near the pathway, a young man whose body shook with the force of his sobs. he was dressed in a long brown smock and had sandals on his feet, betokening one in humble life. his head was bare and showed a shock of brown, curly hair. button-bright looked down on the young man and said: "who cares, anyhow?" "i do!" cried the young man, interrupting his sobs to roll over, face upward, that he might see who had spoken. "i care, for my heart is broken!" "can't you get another one?" asked the little boy. "i don't want another!" wailed the young man. by this time trot and cap'n bill arrived at the spot and the girl leaned over and said in a sympathetic voice: "tell us your troubles and perhaps we may help you." the youth sat up, then, and bowed politely. afterward he got upon his feet, but still kept wringing his hands as he tried to choke down his sobs. trot thought he was very brave to control such awful agony so well. "my name is pon," he began. "i'm the gardener's boy." "then the gardener of the king is your father, i suppose," said trot. "not my father, but my master," was the reply "i do the work and the gardener gives the orders. and it was not my fault, in the least, that the princess gloria fell in love with me." "did she, really?" asked the little girl. "i don't see why," remarked button-bright, staring at the youth. "and who may the princess gloria be?" inquired cap'n bill. "she is the niece of king krewl, who is her guardian. the princess lives in the castle and is the loveliest and sweetest maiden in all jinxland. she is fond of flowers and used to walk in the gardens with her attendants. at such times, if i was working at my tasks, i used to cast down my eyes as gloria passed me; but one day i glanced up and found her gazing at me with a very tender look in her eyes. the next day she dismissed her attendants and, coming to my side, began to talk with me. she said i had touched her heart as no other young man had ever done. i kissed her hand. just then the king came around a bend in the walk. he struck me with his fist and kicked me with his foot. then he seized the arm of the princess and rudely dragged her into the castle." "wasn't he awful!" gasped trot indignantly. "he is a very abrupt king," said pon, "so it was the least i could expect. up to that time i had not thought of loving princess gloria, but realizing it would be impolite not to return her love, i did so. we met at evening, now and then, and she told me the king wanted her to marry a rich courtier named googly-goo, who is old enough to be gloria's father. she has refused googly-goo thirty-nine times, but he still persists and has brought many rich presents to bribe the king. on that account king krewl has commanded his niece to marry the old man, but the princess has assured me, time and again, that she will wed only me. this morning we happened to meet in the grape arbor and as i was respectfully saluting the cheek of the princess, two of the king's guards seized me and beat me terribly before the very eyes of gloria, whom the king himself held back so she could not interfere." "why, this king must be a monster!" cried trot. "he is far worse than that," said pon, mournfully. "but, see here," interrupted cap'n bill, who had listened carefully to pon. "this king may not be so much to blame, after all. kings are proud folks, because they're so high an' mighty, an' it isn't reasonable for a royal princess to marry a common gardener's boy." "it isn't right," declared button-bright. "a princess should marry a prince." "i'm not a common gardener's boy," protested pon. "if i had my rights i would be the king instead of krewl. as it is, i'm a prince, and as royal as any man in jinxland." "how does that come?" asked cap'n bill. "my father used to be the king and krewl was his prime minister. but one day while out hunting, king phearse--that was my father's name--had a quarrel with krewl and tapped him gently on the nose with the knuckles of his closed hand. this so provoked the wicked krewl that he tripped my father backward, so that he fell into a deep pond. at once krewl threw in a mass of heavy stones, which so weighted down my poor father that his body could not rise again to the surface. it is impossible to kill anyone in this land, as perhaps you know, but when my father was pressed down into the mud at the bottom of the deep pool and the stones held him so he could never escape, he was of no more use to himself or the world than if he had died. knowing this, krewl proclaimed himself king, taking possession of the royal castle and driving all my father's people out. i was a small boy, then, but when i grew up i became a gardener. i have served king krewl without his knowing that i am the son of the same king phearse whom he so cruelly made away with." "my, but that's a terr'bly exciting story!" said trot, drawing a long breath. "but tell us, pon, who was gloria's father?" "oh, he was the king before my father," replied pon. "father was prime minister for king kynd, who was gloria's father. she was only a baby when king kynd fell into the great gulf that lies just this side of the mountains--the same mountains that separate jinxland from the rest of the land of oz. it is said the great gulf has no bottom; but, however that may be, king kynd has never been seen again and my father became king in his place." "seems to me," said trot, "that if gloria had her rights she would be queen of jinxland." "well, her father was a king," admitted pon, "and so was my father; so we are of equal rank, although she's a great lady and i'm a humble gardener's boy. i can't see why we should not marry if we want to except that king krewl won't let us." "it's a sort of mixed-up mess, taken altogether," remarked cap'n bill. "but we are on our way to visit king krewl, and if we get a chance, young man, we'll put in a good word for you." "do, please!" begged pon. "was it the flogging you got that broke your heart?" inquired button-bright. "why, it helped to break it, of course," said pon. "i'd get it fixed up, if i were you," advised the boy, tossing a pebble at a chipmunk in a tree. "you ought to give gloria just as good a heart as she gives you." "that's common sense," agreed cap'n bill. so they left the gardener's boy standing beside the path, and resumed their journey toward the castle. chapter eleven the wicked king and googly-goo when our friends approached the great doorway of the castle they found it guarded by several soldiers dressed in splendid uniforms. they were armed with swords and lances. cap'n bill walked straight up to them and asked: "does the king happen to be at home?" "his magnificent and glorious majesty, king krewl, is at present inhabiting his royal castle," was the stiff reply. "then i guess we'll go in an' say how-d'ye-do," continued cap'n bill, attempting to enter the doorway. but a soldier barred his way with a lance. "who are you, what are your names, and where do you come from?" demanded the soldier. "you wouldn't know if we told you," returned the sailor, "seein' as we're strangers in a strange land." "oh, if you are strangers you will be permitted to enter," said the soldier, lowering his lance. "his majesty is very fond of strangers." "do many strangers come here?" asked trot. "you are the first that ever came to our country," said the man. "but his majesty has often said that if strangers ever arrived in jinxland he would see that they had a very exciting time." cap'n bill scratched his chin thoughtfully. he wasn't very favorably impressed by this last remark. but he decided that as there was no way of escape from jinxland it would be wise to confront the king boldly and try to win his favor. so they entered the castle, escorted by one of the soldiers. it was certainly a fine castle, with many large rooms, all beautifully furnished. the passages were winding and handsomely decorated, and after following several of these the soldier led them into an open court that occupied the very center of the huge building. it was surrounded on every side by high turreted walls, and contained beds of flowers, fountains and walks of many colored marbles which were matched together in quaint designs. in an open space near the middle of the court they saw a group of courtiers and their ladies, who surrounded a lean man who wore upon his head a jeweled crown. his face was hard and sullen and through the slits of his half-closed eyelids the eyes glowed like coals of fire. he was dressed in brilliant satins and velvets and was seated in a golden throne-chair. this personage was king krewl, and as soon as cap'n bill saw him the old sailor knew at once that he was not going to like the king of jinxland. "hello! who's here?" said his majesty, with a deep scowl. "strangers, sire," answered the soldier, bowing so low that his forehead touched the marble tiles. "strangers, eh? well, well; what an unexpected visit! advance, strangers, and give an account of yourselves." the king's voice was as harsh as his features. trot shuddered a little but cap'n bill calmly replied: "there ain't much for us to say, 'cept as we've arrived to look over your country an' see how we like it. judgin' from the way you speak, you don't know who we are, or you'd be jumpin' up to shake hands an' offer us seats. kings usually treat us pretty well, in the great big outside world where we come from, but in this little kingdom--which don't amount to much, anyhow--folks don't seem to 'a' got much culchure." the king listened with amazement to this bold speech, first with a frown and then gazing at the two children and the old sailor with evident curiosity. the courtiers were dumb with fear, for no one had ever dared speak in such a manner to their self-willed, cruel king before. his majesty, however, was somewhat frightened, for cruel people are always cowards, and he feared these mysterious strangers might possess magic powers that would destroy him unless he treated them well. so he commanded his people to give the new arrivals seats, and they obeyed with trembling haste. after being seated, cap'n bill lighted his pipe and began puffing smoke from it, a sight so strange to them that it filled them all with wonder. presently the king asked: "how did you penetrate to this hidden country? did you cross the desert or the mountains?" "desert," answered cap'n bill, as if the task were too easy to be worth talking about. "indeed! no one has ever been able to do that before," said the king. "well, it's easy enough, if you know how," asserted cap'n bill, so carelessly that it greatly impressed his hearers. the king shifted in his throne uneasily. he was more afraid of these strangers than before. "do you intend to stay long in jinxland?" was his next anxious question. "depends on how we like it," said cap'n bill. "just now i might suggest to your majesty to order some rooms got ready for us in your dinky little castle here. and a royal banquet, with some fried onions an' pickled tripe, would set easy on our stomicks an' make us a bit happier than we are now." "your wishes shall be attended to," said king krewl, but his eyes flashed from between their slits in a wicked way that made trot hope the food wouldn't be poisoned. at the king's command several of his attendants hastened away to give the proper orders to the castle servants and no sooner were they gone than a skinny old man entered the courtyard and bowed before the king. this disagreeable person was dressed in rich velvets, with many furbelows and laces. he was covered with golden chains, finely wrought rings and jeweled ornaments. he walked with mincing steps and glared at all the courtiers as if he considered himself far superior to any or all of them. "well, well, your majesty; what news--what news?" he demanded, in a shrill, cracked voice. the king gave him a surly look. "no news, lord googly-goo, except that strangers have arrived," he said. googly-goo cast a contemptuous glance at cap'n bill and a disdainful one at trot and button-bright. then he said: "strangers do not interest me, your majesty. but the princess gloria is very interesting--very interesting, indeed! what does she say, sire? will she marry me?" "ask her," retorted the king. "i have, many times; and every time she has refused." "well?" said the king harshly. "well," said googly-goo in a jaunty tone, "a bird that can sing, and won't sing, must be made to sing." "huh!" sneered the king. "that's easy, with a bird; but a girl is harder to manage." "still," persisted googly-goo, "we must overcome difficulties. the chief trouble is that gloria fancies she loves that miserable gardener's boy, pon. suppose we throw pon into the great gulf, your majesty?" "it would do you no good," returned the king. "she would still love him." "too bad, too bad!" sighed googly-goo. "i have laid aside more than a bushel of precious gems--each worth a king's ransom--to present to your majesty on the day i wed gloria." the king's eyes sparkled, for he loved wealth above everything; but the next moment he frowned deeply again. "it won't help us to kill pon," he muttered. "what we must do is kill gloria's love for pon." "that is better, if you can find a way to do it," agreed googly-goo. "everything would come right if you could kill gloria's love for that gardener's boy. really, sire, now that i come to think of it, there must be fully a bushel and a half of those jewels!" just then a messenger entered the court to say that the banquet was prepared for the strangers. so cap'n bill, trot and button-bright entered the castle and were taken to a room where a fine feast was spread upon the table. "i don't like that lord googly-goo," remarked trot as she was busily eating. "nor i," said cap'n bill. "but from the talk we heard i guess the gardener's boy won't get the princess." "perhaps not," returned the girl; "but i hope old googly doesn't get her, either." "the king means to sell her for all those jewels," observed button-bright, his mouth half full of cake and jam. "poor princess!" sighed trot. "i'm sorry for her, although i've never seen her. but if she says no to googly-goo, and means it, what can they do?" "don't let us worry about a strange princess," advised cap'n bill. "i've a notion we're not too safe, ourselves, with this cruel king." the two children felt the same way and all three were rather solemn during the remainder of the meal. when they had eaten, the servants escorted them to their rooms. cap'n bill's room was way to one end of the castle, very high up, and trot's room was at the opposite end, rather low down. as for button-bright, they placed him in the middle, so that all were as far apart as they could possibly be. they didn't like this arrangement very well, but all the rooms were handsomely furnished and being guests of the king they dared not complain. after the strangers had left the courtyard the king and googly-goo had a long talk together, and the king said: "i cannot force gloria to marry you just now, because those strangers may interfere. i suspect that the wooden-legged man possesses great magical powers, or he would never have been able to carry himself and those children across the deadly desert." "i don't like him; he looks dangerous," answered googly-goo. "but perhaps you are mistaken about his being a wizard. why don't you test his powers?" "how?" asked the king. "send for the wicked witch. she will tell you in a moment whether that wooden-legged person is a common man or a magician." "ha! that's a good idea," cried the king. "why didn't i think of the wicked witch before? but the woman demands rich rewards for her services." "never mind; i will pay her," promised the wealthy googly-goo. so a servant was dispatched to summon the wicked witch, who lived but a few leagues from king krewl's castle. while they awaited her, the withered old courtier proposed that they pay a visit to princess gloria and see if she was not now in a more complaisant mood. so the two started away together and searched the castle over without finding gloria. at last googly-goo suggested she might be in the rear garden, which was a large park filled with bushes and trees and surrounded by a high wall. and what was their anger, when they turned a corner of the path, to find in a quiet nook the beautiful princess, and kneeling before her, pon, the gardener's boy! with a roar of rage the king dashed forward; but pon had scaled the wall by means of a ladder, which still stood in its place, and when he saw the king coming he ran up the ladder and made good his escape. but this left gloria confronted by her angry guardian, the king, and by old googly-goo, who was trembling with a fury he could not express in words. seizing the princess by her arm the king dragged her back to the castle. pushing her into a room on the lower floor he locked the door upon the unhappy girl. and at that moment the arrival of the wicked witch was announced. hearing this, the king smiled, as a tiger smiles, showing his teeth. and googly-goo smiled, as a serpent smiles, for he had no teeth except a couple of fangs. and having frightened each other with these smiles the two dreadful men went away to the royal council chamber to meet the wicked witch. chapter twelve the wooden-legged grass-hopper now it so happened that trot, from the window of her room, had witnessed the meeting of the lovers in the garden and had seen the king come and drag gloria away. the little girl's heart went out in sympathy for the poor princess, who seemed to her to be one of the sweetest and loveliest young ladies she had ever seen, so she crept along the passages and from a hidden niche saw gloria locked in her room. the key was still in the lock, so when the king had gone away, followed by googly-goo, trot stole up to the door, turned the key and entered. the princess lay prone upon a couch, sobbing bitterly. trot went up to her and smoothed her hair and tried to comfort her. "don't cry," she said. "i've unlocked the door, so you can go away any time you want to." "it isn't that," sobbed the princess. "i am unhappy because they will not let me love pon, the gardener's boy!" "well, never mind; pon isn't any great shakes, anyhow, seems to me," said trot soothingly. "there are lots of other people you can love." gloria rolled over on the couch and looked at the little girl reproachfully. "pon has won my heart, and i can't help loving him," she explained. then with sudden indignation she added: "but i'll never love googly-goo--never, as long as i live!" "i should say not!" replied trot. "pon may not be much good, but old googly is very, very bad. hunt around, and i'm sure you'll find someone worth your love. you're very pretty, you know, and almost anyone ought to love you." "you don't understand, my dear," said gloria, as she wiped the tears from her eyes with a dainty lace handkerchief bordered with pearls. "when you are older you will realize that a young lady cannot decide whom she will love, or choose the most worthy. her heart alone decides for her, and whomsoever her heart selects, she must love, whether he amounts to much or not." trot was a little puzzled by this speech, which seemed to her unreasonable; but she made no reply and presently gloria's grief softened and she began to question the little girl about herself and her adventures. trot told her how they had happened to come to jinxland, and all about cap'n bill and the ork and pessim and the bumpy man. while they were thus conversing together, getting more and more friendly as they became better acquainted, in the council chamber the king and googly-goo were talking with the wicked witch. this evil creature was old and ugly. she had lost one eye and wore a black patch over it, so the people of jinxland had named her "blinkie." of course witches are forbidden to exist in the land of oz, but jinxland was so far removed from the center of ozma's dominions, and so absolutely cut off from it by the steep mountains and the bottomless gulf, that the laws of oz were not obeyed very well in that country. so there were several witches in jinxland who were the terror of the people, but king krewl favored them and permitted them to exercise their evil sorcery. blinkie was the leader of all the other witches and therefore the most hated and feared. the king used her witchcraft at times to assist him in carrying out his cruelties and revenge, but he was always obliged to pay blinkie large sums of money or heaps of precious jewels before she would undertake an enchantment. this made him hate the old woman almost as much as his subjects did, but to-day lord googly-goo had agreed to pay the witch's price, so the king greeted her with gracious favor. "can you destroy the love of princess gloria for the gardener's boy?" inquired his majesty. the wicked witch thought about it before she replied: "that's a hard question to answer. i can do lots of clever magic, but love is a stubborn thing to conquer. when you think you've killed it, it's liable to bob up again as strong as ever. i believe love and cats have nine lives. in other words, killing love is a hard job, even for a skillful witch, but i believe i can do something that will answer your purpose just as well." "what is that?" asked the king. "i can freeze the girl's heart. i've got a special incantation for that, and when gloria's heart is thoroughly frozen she can no longer love pon." "just the thing!" exclaimed googly-goo, and the king was likewise much pleased. they bargained a long time as to the price, but finally the old courtier agreed to pay the wicked witch's demands. it was arranged that they should take gloria to blinkie's house the next day, to have her heart frozen. then king krewl mentioned to the old hag the strangers who had that day arrived in jinxland, and said to her: "i think the two children--the boy and the girl--are unable to harm me, but i have a suspicion that the wooden-legged man is a powerful wizard." the witch's face wore a troubled look when she heard this. "if you are right," she said, "this wizard might spoil my incantation and interfere with me in other ways. so it will be best for me to meet this stranger at once and match my magic against his, to decide which is the stronger." "all right," said the king. "come with me and i will lead you to the man's room." googly-goo did not accompany them, as he was obliged to go home to get the money and jewels he had promised to pay old blinkie, so the other two climbed several flights of stairs and went through many passages until they came to the room occupied by cap'n bill. the sailor-man, finding his bed soft and inviting, and being tired with the adventures he had experienced, had decided to take a nap. when the wicked witch and the king softly opened his door and entered, cap'n bill was snoring with such vigor that he did not hear them at all. blinkie approached the bed and with her one eye anxiously stared at the sleeping stranger. "ah," she said in a soft whisper, "i believe you are right, king krewl. the man looks to me like a very powerful wizard. but by good luck i have caught him asleep, so i shall transform him before he wakes up, giving him such a form that he will be unable to oppose me." "careful!" cautioned the king, also speaking low. "if he discovers what you are doing he may destroy you, and that would annoy me because i need you to attend to gloria." but the wicked witch realized as well as he did that she must be careful. she carried over her arm a black bag, from which she now drew several packets carefully wrapped in paper. three of these she selected, replacing the others in the bag. two of the packets she mixed together, and then she cautiously opened the third. "better stand back, your majesty," she advised, "for if this powder falls on you you might be transformed yourself." the king hastily retreated to the end of the room. as blinkie mixed the third powder with the others she waved her hands over it, mumbled a few words, and then backed away as quickly as she could. cap'n bill was slumbering peacefully, all unconscious of what was going on. puff! a great cloud of smoke rolled over the bed and completely hid him from view. when the smoke rolled away, both blinkie and the king saw that the body of the stranger had quite disappeared, while in his place, crouching in the middle of the bed, was a little gray grasshopper. one curious thing about this grasshopper was that the last joint of its left leg was made of wood. another curious thing--considering it was a grasshopper--was that it began talking, crying out in a tiny but sharp voice: "here--you people! what do you mean by treating me so? put me back where i belong, at once, or you'll be sorry!" the cruel king turned pale at hearing the grasshopper's threats, but the wicked witch merely laughed in derision. then she raised her stick and aimed a vicious blow at the grasshopper, but before the stick struck the bed the tiny hopper made a marvelous jump--marvelous, indeed, when we consider that it had a wooden leg. it rose in the air and sailed across the room and passed right through the open window, where it disappeared from their view. "good!" shouted the king. "we are well rid of this desperate wizard." and then they both laughed heartily at the success of the incantation, and went away to complete their horrid plans. after trot had visited a time with princess gloria, the little girl went to button-bright's room but did not find him there. then she went to cap'n bill's room, but he was not there because the witch and the king had been there before her. so she made her way downstairs and questioned the servants. they said they had seen the little boy go out into the garden, some time ago, but the old man with the wooden leg they had not seen at all. therefore trot, not knowing what else to do, rambled through the great gardens, seeking for button-bright or cap'n bill and not finding either of them. this part of the garden, which lay before the castle, was not walled in, but extended to the roadway, and the paths were open to the edge of the forest; so, after two hours of vain search for her friends, the little girl returned to the castle. but at the doorway a soldier stopped her. "i live here," said trot, "so it's all right to let me in. the king has given me a room." "well, he has taken it back again," was the soldier's reply. "his majesty's orders are to turn you away if you attempt to enter. i am also ordered to forbid the boy, your companion, to again enter the king's castle." "how 'bout cap'n bill?" she inquired. "why, it seems he has mysteriously disappeared," replied the soldier, shaking his head ominously. "where he has gone to, i can't make out, but i can assure you he is no longer in this castle. i'm sorry, little girl, to disappoint you. don't blame me; i must obey my master's orders." now, all her life trot had been accustomed to depend on cap'n bill, so when this good friend was suddenly taken from her she felt very miserable and forlorn indeed. she was brave enough not to cry before the soldier, or even to let him see her grief and anxiety, but after she was turned away from the castle she sought a quiet bench in the garden and for a time sobbed as if her heart would break. it was button-bright who found her, at last, just as the sun had set and the shades of evening were falling. he also had been turned away from the king's castle, when he tried to enter it, and in the park he came across trot. "never mind," said the boy. "we can find a place to sleep." "i want cap'n bill," wailed the girl. "well, so do i," was the reply. "but we haven't got him. where do you s'pose he is, trot? "i don't s'pose anything. he's gone, an' that's all i know 'bout it." button-bright sat on the bench beside her and thrust his hands in the pockets of his knickerbockers. then he reflected somewhat gravely for him. "cap'n bill isn't around here," he said, letting his eyes wander over the dim garden, "so we must go somewhere else if we want to find him. besides, it's fast getting dark, and if we want to find a place to sleep we must get busy while we can see where to go." he rose from the bench as he said this and trot also jumped up, drying her eyes on her apron. then she walked beside him out of the grounds of the king's castle. they did not go by the main path, but passed through an opening in a hedge and found themselves in a small but well-worn roadway. following this for some distance, along a winding way, they came upon no house or building that would afford them refuge for the night. it became so dark that they could scarcely see their way, and finally trot stopped and suggested that they camp under a tree. "all right," said button-bright, "i've often found that leaves make a good warm blanket. but--look there, trot!--isn't that a light flashing over yonder?" "it certainly is, button-bright. let's go over and see if it's a house. whoever lives there couldn't treat us worse than the king did." to reach the light they had to leave the road, so they stumbled over hillocks and brushwood, hand in hand, keeping the tiny speck of light always in sight. they were rather forlorn little waifs, outcasts in a strange country and forsaken by their only friend and guardian, cap'n bill. so they were very glad when finally they reached a small cottage and, looking in through its one window, saw pon, the gardener's boy, sitting by a fire of twigs. as trot opened the door and walked boldly in, pon sprang up to greet them. they told him of cap'n bill's disappearance and how they had been turned out of the king's castle. as they finished the story pon shook his head sadly. "king krewl is plotting mischief, i fear," said he, "for to-day he sent for old blinkie, the wicked witch, and with my own eyes i saw her come from the castle and hobble away toward her hut. she had been with the king and googly-goo, and i was afraid they were going to work some enchantment on gloria so she would no longer love me. but perhaps the witch was only called to the castle to enchant your friend, cap'n bill." "could she do that?" asked trot, horrified by the suggestion. "i suppose so, for old blinkie can do a lot of wicked magical things." "what sort of an enchantment could she put on cap'n bill?" "i don't know. but he has disappeared, so i'm pretty certain she has done something dreadful to him. but don't worry. if it has happened, it can't be helped, and if it hasn't happened we may be able to find him in the morning." with this pon went to the cupboard and brought food for them. trot was far too worried to eat, but button-bright made a good supper from the simple food and then lay down before the fire and went to sleep. the little girl and the gardener's boy, however, sat for a long time staring into the fire, busy with their thoughts. but at last trot, too, became sleepy and pon gently covered her with the one blanket he possessed. then he threw more wood on the fire and laid himself down before it, next to button-bright. soon all three were fast asleep. they were in a good deal of trouble; but they were young, and sleep was good to them because for a time it made them forget. chapter thirteen glinda the good and the scarecrow of oz that country south of the emerald city, in the land of oz, is known as the quadling country, and in the very southernmost part of it stands a splendid palace in which lives glinda the good. glinda is the royal sorceress of oz. she has wonderful magical powers and uses them only to benefit the subjects of ozma's kingdom. even the famous wizard of oz pays tribute to her, for glinda taught him all the real magic he knows, and she is his superior in all sorts of sorcery everyone loves glinda, from the dainty and exquisite ruler, ozma, down to the humblest inhabitant of oz, for she is always kindly and helpful and willing to listen to their troubles, however busy she may be. no one knows her age, but all can see how beautiful and stately she is. her hair is like red gold and finer than the finest silken strands. her eyes are blue as the sky and always frank and smiling. her cheeks are the envy of peach-blows and her mouth is enticing as a rosebud. glinda is tall and wears splendid gowns that trail behind her as she walks. she wears no jewels, for her beauty would shame them. for attendants glinda has half a hundred of the loveliest girls in oz. they are gathered from all over oz, from among the winkies, the munchkins, the gillikins and the quadlings, as well as from ozma's magnificent emerald city, and it is considered a great favor to be allowed to serve the royal sorceress. among the many wonderful things in glinda's palace is the great book of records. in this book is inscribed everything that takes place in all the world, just the instant it happens; so that by referring to its pages glinda knows what is taking place far and near, in every country that exists. in this way she learns when and where she can help any in distress or danger, and although her duties are confined to assisting those who inhabit the land of oz, she is always interested in what takes place in the unprotected outside world. so it was that on a certain evening glinda sat in her library, surrounded by a bevy of her maids, who were engaged in spinning, weaving and embroidery, when an attendant announced the arrival at the palace of the scarecrow. this personage was one of the most famous and popular in all the land of oz. his body was merely a suit of munchkin clothes stuffed with straw, but his head was a round sack filled with bran, with which the wizard of oz had mixed some magic brains of a very superior sort. the eyes, nose and mouth of the scarecrow were painted upon the front of the sack, as were his ears, and since this quaint being had been endowed with life, the expression of his face was very interesting, if somewhat comical. the scarecrow was good all through, even to his brains, and while he was naturally awkward in his movements and lacked the neat symmetry of other people, his disposition was so kind and considerate and he was so obliging and honest, that all who knew him loved him, and there were few people in oz who had not met our scarecrow and made his acquaintance. he lived part of the time in ozma's palace at the emerald city, part of the time in his own corncob castle in the winkie country, and part of the time he traveled over all oz, visiting with the people and playing with the children, whom he dearly loved. it was on one of his wandering journeys that the scarecrow had arrived at glinda's palace, and the sorceress at once made him welcome. as he sat beside her, talking of his adventures, he asked: "what's new in the way of news?" glinda opened her great book of records and read some of the last pages. "here is an item quite curious and interesting," she announced, an accent of surprise in her voice. "three people from the big outside world have arrived in jinxland." "where is jinxland?" inquired the scarecrow. "very near here, a little to the east of us," she said. "in fact, jinxland is a little slice taken off the quadling country, but separated from it by a range of high mountains, at the foot of which lies a wide, deep gulf that is supposed to be impassable." "then jinxland is really a part of the land of oz," said he. "yes," returned glinda, "but oz people know nothing of it, except what is recorded here in my book." "what does the book say about it?" asked the scarecrow. "it is ruled by a wicked man called king krewl, although he has no right to the title. most of the people are good, but they are very timid and live in constant fear of their fierce ruler. there are also several wicked witches who keep the inhabitants of jinxland in a state of terror." "do those witches have any magical powers?" inquired the scarecrow. "yes, they seem to understand witchcraft in its most evil form, for one of them has just transformed a respectable and honest old sailor--one of the strangers who arrived there--into a grasshopper. this same witch, blinkie by name, is also planning to freeze the heart of a beautiful jinxland girl named princess gloria." "why, that's a dreadful thing to do!" exclaimed the scarecrow. glinda's face was very grave. she read in her book how trot and button-bright were turned out of the king's castle, and how they found refuge in the hut of pon, the gardener's boy. "i'm afraid those helpless earth people will endure much suffering in jinxland, even if the wicked king and the witches permit them to live," said the good sorceress, thoughtfully. "i wish i might help them." "can i do anything?" asked the scarecrow, anxiously. "if so, tell me what to do, and i'll do it." for a few moments glinda did not reply, but sat musing over the records. then she said: "i am going to send you to jinxland, to protect trot and button-bright and cap'n bill." "all right," answered the scarecrow in a cheerful voice. "i know button-bright already, for he has been in the land of oz before. you remember he went away from the land of oz in one of our wizard's big bubbles." "yes," said glinda, "i remember that." then she carefully instructed the scarecrow what to do and gave him certain magical things which he placed in the pockets of his ragged munchkin coat. "as you have no need to sleep," said she, "you may as well start at once." "the night is the same as day to me," he replied, "except that i cannot see my way so well in the dark." "i will furnish a light to guide you," promised the sorceress. so the scarecrow bade her good-bye and at once started on his journey. by morning he had reached the mountains that separated the quadling country from jinxland. the sides of these mountains were too steep to climb, but the scarecrow took a small rope from his pocket and tossed one end upward, into the air. the rope unwound itself for hundreds of feet, until it caught upon a peak of rock at the very top of a mountain, for it was a magic rope furnished him by glinda. the scarecrow climbed the rope and, after pulling it up, let it down on the other side of the mountain range. when he descended the rope on this side he found himself in jinxland, but at his feet yawned the great gulf, which must be crossed before he could proceed any farther. the scarecrow knelt down and examined the ground carefully, and in a moment he discovered a fuzzy brown spider that had rolled itself into a ball. so he took two tiny pills from his pocket and laid them beside the spider, which unrolled itself and quickly ate up the pills. then the scarecrow said in a voice of command: "spin!" and the spider obeyed instantly. in a few moments the little creature had spun two slender but strong strands that reached way across the gulf, one being five or six feet above the other. when these were completed the scarecrow started across the tiny bridge, walking upon one strand as a person walks upon a rope, and holding to the upper strand with his hands to prevent him from losing his balance and toppling over into the gulf. the tiny threads held him safely, thanks to the strength given them by the magic pills. presently he was safe across and standing on the plains of jinxland. far away he could see the towers of the king's castle and toward this he at once began to walk. chapter fourteen the frozen heart in the hut of pon, the gardener's boy, button-bright was the first to waken in the morning. leaving his companions still asleep, he went out into the fresh morning air and saw some blackberries growing on bushes in a field not far away. going to the bushes he found the berries ripe and sweet, so he began eating them. more bushes were scattered over the fields, so the boy wandered on, from bush to bush, without paying any heed to where he was wandering. then a butterfly fluttered by. he gave chase to it and followed it a long way. when finally he paused to look around him, button-bright could see no sign of pon's house, nor had he the slightest idea in which direction it lay. "well, i'm lost again," he remarked to himself. "but never mind; i've been lost lots of times. someone is sure to find me." trot was a little worried about button-bright when she awoke and found him gone. knowing how careless he was, she believed that he had strayed away, but felt that he would come back in time, because he had a habit of not staying lost. pon got the little girl some food for her breakfast and then together they went out of the hut and stood in the sunshine. pon's house was some distance off the road, but they could see it from where they stood and both gave a start of surprise when they discovered two soldiers walking along the roadway and escorting princess gloria between them. the poor girl had her hands bound together, to prevent her from struggling, and the soldiers rudely dragged her forward when her steps seemed to lag. behind this group came king krewl, wearing his jeweled crown and swinging in his hand a slender golden staff with a ball of clustered gems at one end. "where are they going?" asked trot. "to the house of the wicked witch, i fear," pon replied. "come, let us follow them, for i am sure they intend to harm my dear gloria." "won't they see us?" she asked timidly. "we won't let them. i know a short cut through the trees to blinkie's house," said he. so they hurried away through the trees and reached the house of the witch ahead of the king and his soldiers. hiding themselves in the shrubbery, they watched the approach of poor gloria and her escort, all of whom passed so near to them that pon could have put out a hand and touched his sweetheart, had he dared to. blinkie's house had eight sides, with a door and a window in each side. smoke was coming out of the chimney and as the guards brought gloria to one of the doors it was opened by the old witch in person. she chuckled with evil glee and rubbed her skinny hands together to show the delight with which she greeted her victim, for blinkie was pleased to be able to perform her wicked rites on one so fair and sweet as the princess. gloria struggled to resist when they bade her enter the house, so the soldiers forced her through the doorway and even the king gave her a shove as he followed close behind. pon was so incensed at the cruelty shown gloria that he forgot all caution and rushed forward to enter the house also; but one of the soldiers prevented him, pushing the gardener's boy away with violence and slamming the door in his face. "never mind," said trot soothingly, as pon rose from where he had fallen. "you couldn't do much to help the poor princess if you were inside. how unfortunate it is that you are in love with her!" "true," he answered sadly, "it is indeed my misfortune. if i did not love her, it would be none of my business what the king did to his niece gloria; but the unlucky circumstance of my loving her makes it my duty to defend her." "i don't see how you can, duty or no duty," observed trot. "no; i am powerless, for they are stronger than i. but we might peek in through the window and see what they are doing." trot was somewhat curious, too, so they crept up to one of the windows and looked in, and it so happened that those inside the witch's house were so busy they did not notice that pon and trot were watching them. gloria had been tied to a stout post in the center of the room and the king was giving the wicked witch a quantity of money and jewels, which googly-goo had provided in payment. when this had been done the king said to her: "are you perfectly sure you can freeze this maiden's heart, so that she will no longer love that low gardener's boy?" "sure as witchcraft, your majesty," the creature replied. "then get to work," said the king. "there may be some unpleasant features about the ceremony that would annoy me, so i'll bid you good day and leave you to carry out your contract. one word, however: if you fail, i shall burn you at the stake!" then he beckoned to his soldiers to follow him, and throwing wide the door of the house walked out. this action was so sudden that king krewl almost caught trot and pon eavesdropping, but they managed to run around the house before he saw them. away he marched, up the road, followed by his men, heartlessly leaving gloria to the mercies of old blinkie. when they again crept up to the window, trot and pon saw blinkie gloating over her victim. although nearly fainting from fear, the proud princess gazed with haughty defiance into the face of the wicked creature; but she was bound so tightly to the post that she could do no more to express her loathing. pretty soon blinkie went to a kettle that was swinging by a chain over the fire and tossed into it several magical compounds. the kettle gave three flashes, and at every flash another witch appeared in the room. these hags were very ugly but when one-eyed blinkie whispered her orders to them they grinned with joy as they began dancing around gloria. first one and then another cast something into the kettle, when to the astonishment of the watchers at the window all three of the old women were instantly transformed into maidens of exquisite beauty, dressed in the daintiest costumes imaginable. only their eyes could not be disguised, and an evil glare still shone in their depths. but if the eyes were cast down or hidden, one could not help but admire these beautiful creatures, even with the knowledge that they were mere illusions of witchcraft. trot certainly admired them, for she had never seen anything so dainty and bewitching, but her attention was quickly drawn to their deeds instead of their persons, and then horror replaced admiration. into the kettle old blinkie poured another mess from a big brass bottle she took from a chest, and this made the kettle begin to bubble and smoke violently. one by one the beautiful witches approached to stir the contents of the kettle and to mutter a magic charm. their movements were graceful and rhythmic and the wicked witch who had called them to her aid watched them with an evil grin upon her wrinkled face. finally the incantation was complete. the kettle ceased bubbling and together the witches lifted it from the fire. then blinkie brought a wooden ladle and filled it from the contents of the kettle. going with the spoon to princess gloria she cried: "love no more! magic art now will freeze your mortal heart!" with this she dashed the contents of the ladle full upon gloria's breast. trot saw the body of the princess become transparent, so that her beating heart showed plainly. but now the heart turned from a vivid red to gray, and then to white. a layer of frost formed about it and tiny icicles clung to its surface. then slowly the body of the girl became visible again and the heart was hidden from view. gloria seemed to have fainted, but now she recovered and, opening her beautiful eyes, stared coldly and without emotion at the group of witches confronting her. blinkie and the others knew by that one cold look that their charm had been successful. they burst into a chorus of wild laughter and the three beautiful ones began dancing again, while blinkie unbound the princess and set her free. trot rubbed her eyes to prove that she was wide awake and seeing clearly, for her astonishment was great when the three lovely maidens turned into ugly, crooked hags again, leaning on broomsticks and canes. they jeered at gloria, but the princess regarded them with cold disdain. being now free, she walked to a door, opened it and passed out. and the witches let her go. trot and pon had been so intent upon this scene that in their eagerness they had pressed quite hard against the window. just as gloria went out of the house the window-sash broke loose from its fastenings and fell with a crash into the room. the witches uttered a chorus of screams and then, seeing that their magical incantation had been observed, they rushed for the open window with uplifted broomsticks and canes. but pon was off like the wind, and trot followed at his heels. fear lent them strength to run, to leap across ditches, to speed up the hills and to vault the low fences as a deer would. the band of witches had dashed through the window in pursuit; but blinkie was so old, and the others so crooked and awkward, that they soon realized they would be unable to overtake the fugitives. so the three who had been summoned by the wicked witch put their canes or broomsticks between their legs and flew away through the air, quickly disappearing against the blue sky. blinkie, however, was so enraged at pon and trot that she hobbled on in the direction they had taken, fully determined to catch them, in time, and to punish them terribly for spying upon her witchcraft. when pon and trot had run so far that they were confident they had made good their escape, they sat down near the edge of a forest to get their breath again, for both were panting hard from their exertions. trot was the first to recover speech, and she said to her companion: "my! wasn't it terr'ble?" "the most terrible thing i ever saw," pon agreed. "and they froze gloria's heart; so now she can't love you any more." "well, they froze her heart, to be sure," admitted pon, "but i'm in hopes i can melt it with my love." "where do you s'pose gloria is?" asked the girl, after a pause. "she left the witch's house just before we did. perhaps she has gone back to the king's castle," he said. "i'm pretty sure she started off in a diff'rent direction," declared trot. "i looked over my shoulder, as i ran, to see how close the witches were, and i'm sure i saw gloria walking slowly away toward the north." "then let us circle around that way," proposed pon, "and perhaps we shall meet her." trot agreed to this and they left the grove and began to circle around toward the north, thus drawing nearer and nearer to old blinkie's house again. the wicked witch did not suspect this change of direction, so when she came to the grove she passed through it and continued on. pon and trot had reached a place less than half a mile from the witch's house when they saw gloria walking toward them. the princess moved with great dignity and with no show of haste whatever, holding her head high and looking neither to right nor left. pon rushed forward, holding out his arms as if to embrace her and calling her sweet names. but gloria gazed upon him coldly and repelled him with a haughty gesture. at this the poor gardener's boy sank upon his knees and hid his face in his arms, weeping bitter tears; but the princess was not at all moved by his distress. passing him by, she drew her skirts aside, as if unwilling they should touch him, and then she walked up the path a way and hesitated, as if uncertain where to go next. trot was grieved by pon's sobs and indignant because gloria treated him so badly. but she remembered why. "i guess your heart is frozen, all right," she said to the princess. gloria nodded gravely, in reply, and then turned her back upon the little girl. "can't you like even me?" asked trot, half pleadingly. "no," said gloria. "your voice sounds like a refrig'rator," sighed the little girl. "i'm awful sorry for you, 'cause you were sweet an' nice to me before this happened. you can't help it, of course; but it's a dreadful thing, jus' the same." "my heart is frozen to all mortal loves," announced gloria, calmly. "i do not love even myself." "that's too bad," said trot, "for, if you can't love anybody, you can't expect anybody to love you." "i do!" cried pon. "i shall always love her." "well, you're just a gardener's boy," replied trot, "and i didn't think you 'mounted to much, from the first. i can love the old princess gloria, with a warm heart an' nice manners, but this one gives me the shivers." "it's her icy heart, that's all," said pon. "that's enough," insisted trot. "seeing her heart isn't big enough to skate on, i can't see that she's of any use to anyone. for my part, i'm goin' to try to find button-bright an' cap'n bill." "i will go with you," decided pon. "it is evident that gloria no longer loves me and that her heart is frozen too stiff for me to melt it with my own love; therefore i may as well help you to find your friends." as trot started off, pon cast one more imploring look at the princess, who returned it with a chilly stare. so he followed after the little girl. as for the princess, she hesitated a moment and then turned in the same direction the others had taken, but going far more slowly. soon she heard footsteps pattering behind her, and up came googly-goo, a little out of breath with running. "stop, gloria!" he cried. "i have come to take you back to my mansion, where we are to be married." she looked at him wonderingly a moment, then tossed her head disdainfully and walked on. but googly-goo kept beside her. "what does this mean?" he demanded. "haven't you discovered that you no longer love that gardener's boy, who stood in my way?" "yes; i have discovered it," she replied. "my heart is frozen to all mortal loves. i cannot love you, or pon, or the cruel king my uncle, or even myself. go your way, googly-goo, for i will wed no one at all." he stopped in dismay when he heard this, but in another minute he exclaimed angrily: "you must wed me, princess gloria, whether you want to or not! i paid to have your heart frozen; i also paid the king to permit our marriage. if you now refuse me it will mean that i have been robbed--robbed--robbed of my precious money and jewels!" he almost wept with despair, but she laughed a cold, bitter laugh and passed on. googly-goo caught at her arm, as if to restrain her, but she whirled and dealt him a blow that sent him reeling into a ditch beside the path. here he lay for a long time, half covered by muddy water, dazed with surprise. finally the old courtier arose, dripping, and climbed from the ditch. the princess had gone; so, muttering threats of vengeance upon her, upon the king and upon blinkie, old googly-goo hobbled back to his mansion to have the mud removed from his costly velvet clothes. chapter fifteen trot meets the scarecrow trot and pon covered many leagues of ground, searching through forests, in fields and in many of the little villages of jinxland, but could find no trace of either cap'n bill or button-bright. finally they paused beside a cornfield and sat upon a stile to rest. pon took some apples from his pocket and gave one to trot. then he began eating another himself, for this was their time for luncheon. when his apple was finished pon tossed the core into the field. "tchuk-tchuk!" said a strange voice. "what do you mean by hitting me in the eye with an apple-core?" then rose up the form of the scarecrow, who had hidden himself in the cornfield while he examined pon and trot and decided whether they were worthy to be helped. "excuse me," said pon. "i didn't know you were there." "how did you happen to be there, anyhow?" asked trot. the scarecrow came forward with awkward steps and stood beside them. "ah, you are the gardener's boy," he said to pon. then he turned to trot. "and you are the little girl who came to jinxland riding on a big bird, and who has had the misfortune to lose her friend, cap'n bill, and her chum, button-bright." "why, how did you know all that?" she inquired. "i know a lot of things," replied the scarecrow, winking at her comically. "my brains are the carefully-assorted, double-distilled, high-efficiency sort that the wizard of oz makes. he admits, himself, that my brains are the best he ever manufactured." "i think i've heard of you," said trot slowly, as she looked the scarecrow over with much interest; "but you used to live in the land of oz." "oh, i do now," he replied cheerfully. "i've just come over the mountains from the quadling country to see if i can be of any help to you." "who, me?" asked pon. "no, the strangers from the big world. it seems they need looking after." "i'm doing that myself," said pon, a little ungraciously. "if you will pardon me for saying so, i don't see how a scarecrow with painted eyes can look after anyone." "if you don't see that, you are more blind than the scarecrow," asserted trot. "he's a fairy man, pon, and comes from the fairyland of oz, so he can do 'most anything. i hope," she added, turning to the scarecrow, "you can find cap'n bill for me." "i will try, anyhow," he promised. "but who is that old woman who is running toward us and shaking her stick at us?" trot and pon turned around and both uttered an exclamation of fear. the next instant they took to their heels and ran fast up the path. for it was old blinkie, the wicked witch, who had at last traced them to this place. her anger was so great that she was determined not to abandon the chase of pon and trot until she had caught and punished them. the scarecrow understood at once that the old woman meant harm to his new friends, so as she drew near he stepped before her. his appearance was so sudden and unexpected that blinkie ran into him and toppled him over, but she tripped on his straw body and went rolling in the path beside him. the scarecrow sat up and said: "i beg your pardon!" but she whacked him with her stick and knocked him flat again. then, furious with rage, the old witch sprang upon her victim and began pulling the straw out of his body. the poor scarecrow was helpless to resist and in a few moments all that was left of him was an empty suit of clothes and a heap of straw beside it. fortunately, blinkie did not harm his head, for it rolled into a little hollow and escaped her notice. fearing that pon and trot would escape her, she quickly resumed the chase and disappeared over the brow of a hill, following the direction in which she had seen them go. only a short time elapsed before a gray grasshopper with a wooden leg came hopping along and lit directly on the upturned face of the scarecrow's head. "pardon me, but you are resting yourself upon my nose," remarked the scarecrow. "oh! are you alive?" asked the grasshopper. "that is a question i have never been able to decide," said the scarecrow's head. "when my body is properly stuffed i have animation and can move around as well as any live person. the brains in the head you are now occupying as a throne, are of very superior quality and do a lot of very clever thinking. but whether that is being alive, or not, i cannot prove to you; for one who lives is liable to death, while i am only liable to destruction." "seems to me," said the grasshopper, rubbing his nose with his front legs, "that in your case it doesn't matter--unless you're destroyed already." "i am not; all i need is re-stuffing," declared the scarecrow; "and if pon and trot escape the witch, and come back here, i am sure they will do me that favor." "tell me! are trot and pon around here?" inquired the grasshopper, its small voice trembling with excitement. the scarecrow did not answer at once, for both his eyes were staring straight upward at a beautiful face that was slightly bent over his head. it was, indeed, princess gloria, who had wandered to this spot, very much surprised when she heard the scarecrow's head talk and the tiny gray grasshopper answer it. "this," said the scarecrow, still staring at her, "must be the princess who loves pon, the gardener's boy." "oh, indeed!" exclaimed the grasshopper--who of course was cap'n bill--as he examined the young lady curiously. "no," said gloria frigidly, "i do not love pon, or anyone else, for the wicked witch has frozen my heart." "what a shame!" cried the scarecrow. "one so lovely should be able to love. but would you mind, my dear, stuffing that straw into my body again?" the dainty princess glanced at the straw and at the well-worn blue munchkin clothes and shrank back in disdain. but she was spared from refusing the scarecrow's request by the appearance of trot and pon, who had hidden in some bushes just over the brow of the hill and waited until old blinkie had passed them by. their hiding place was on the same side as the witch's blind eye, and she rushed on in the chase of the girl and the youth without being aware that they had tricked her. trot was shocked at the scarecrow's sad condition and at once began putting the straw back into his body. pon, at sight of gloria, again appealed to her to take pity on him, but the frozen-hearted princess turned coldly away and with a sigh the gardener's boy began to assist trot. neither of them at first noticed the small grasshopper, which at their appearance had skipped off the scarecrow's nose and was now clinging to a wisp of grass beside the path, where he was not likely to be stepped upon. not until the scarecrow had been neatly restuffed and set upon his feet again--when he bowed to his restorers and expressed his thanks--did the grasshopper move from his perch. then he leaped lightly into the path and called out: "trot--trot! look at me. i'm cap'n bill! see what the wicked witch has done to me." the voice was small, to be sure, but it reached trot's ears and startled her greatly. she looked intently at the grasshopper, her eyes wide with fear at first; then she knelt down and, noticing the wooden leg, she began to weep sorrowfully. "oh, cap'n bill--dear cap'n bill! what a cruel thing to do!" she sobbed. "don't cry, trot," begged the grasshopper. "it didn't hurt any, and it doesn't hurt now. but it's mighty inconvenient an' humiliatin', to say the least." "i wish," said the girl indignantly, while trying hard to restrain her tears, "that i was big 'nough an' strong 'nough to give that horrid witch a good beating. she ought to be turned into a toad for doing this to you, cap'n bill!" "never mind," urged the scarecrow, in a comforting voice, "such a transformation doesn't last always, and as a general thing there's some way to break the enchantment. i'm sure glinda could do it, in a jiffy." "who is glinda?" inquired cap'n bill. then the scarecrow told them all about glinda, not forgetting to mention her beauty and goodness and her wonderful powers of magic. he also explained how the royal sorceress had sent him to jinxland especially to help the strangers, whom she knew to be in danger because of the wiles of the cruel king and the wicked witch. chapter sixteen pon summons the king to surrender gloria had drawn near to the group to listen to their talk, and it seemed to interest her in spite of her frigid manner. they knew, of course, that the poor princess could not help being cold and reserved, so they tried not to blame her. "i ought to have come here a little sooner," said the scarecrow, regretfully; "but glinda sent me as soon as she discovered you were here and were likely to get into trouble. and now that we are all together--except button-bright, over whom it is useless to worry--i propose we hold a council of war, to decide what is best to be done." that seemed a wise thing to do, so they all sat down upon the grass, including gloria, and the grasshopper perched upon trot's shoulder and allowed her to stroke him gently with her hand. "in the first place," began the scarecrow, "this king krewl is a usurper and has no right to rule this kingdom of jinxland." "that is true," said pon, eagerly. "my father was king before him, and i--" "you are a gardener's boy," interrupted the scarecrow. "your father had no right to rule, either, for the rightful king of this land was the father of princess gloria, and only she is entitled to sit upon the throne of jinxland." "good!" exclaimed trot. "but what'll we do with king krewl? i s'pose he won't give up the throne unless he has to." "no, of course not," said the scarecrow. "therefore it will be our duty to make him give up the throne." "how?" asked trot. "give me time to think," was the reply. "that's what my brains are for. i don't know whether you people ever think, or not, but my brains are the best that the wizard of oz ever turned out, and if i give them plenty of time to work, the result usually surprises me." "take your time, then," suggested trot. "there's no hurry." "thank you," said the straw man, and sat perfectly still for half an hour. during this interval the grasshopper whispered in trot's ear, to which he was very close, and trot whispered back to the grasshopper sitting upon her shoulder. pon cast loving glances at gloria, who paid not the slightest heed to them. finally the scarecrow laughed aloud. "brains working?" inquired trot. "yes. they seem in fine order to-day. we will conquer king krewl and put gloria upon his throne as queen of jinxland." "fine!" cried the little girl, clapping her hands together gleefully. "but how?" "leave the how to me," said the scarecrow proudly. "as a conqueror i'm a wonder. we will, first of all, write a message to send to king krewl, asking him to surrender. if he refuses, then we will make him surrender." "why ask him, when we know he'll refuse?" inquired pon. "why, we must be polite, whatever we do," explained the scarecrow. "it would be very rude to conquer a king without proper notice." they found it difficult to write a message without paper, pen and ink, none of which was at hand; so it was decided to send pon as a messenger, with instructions to ask the king, politely but firmly, to surrender. pon was not anxious to be the messenger. indeed, he hinted that it might prove a dangerous mission. but the scarecrow was now the acknowledged head of the army of conquest, and he would listen to no refusal. so off pon started for the king's castle, and the others accompanied him as far as his hut, where they had decided to await the gardener's boy's return. i think it was because pon had known the scarecrow such a short time that he lacked confidence in the straw man's wisdom. it was easy to say: "we will conquer king krewl," but when pon drew near to the great castle he began to doubt the ability of a straw-stuffed man, a girl, a grasshopper and a frozen-hearted princess to do it. as for himself, he had never thought of defying the king before. that was why the gardener's boy was not very bold when he entered the castle and passed through to the enclosed court where the king was just then seated, with his favorite courtiers around him. none prevented pon's entrance, because he was known to be the gardener's boy, but when the king saw him he began to frown fiercely. he considered pon to be to blame for all his trouble with princess gloria, who since her heart had been frozen had escaped to some unknown place, instead of returning to the castle to wed googly-goo, as she had been expected to do. so the king bared his teeth angrily as he demanded: "what have you done with princess gloria?" "nothing, your majesty! i have done nothing at all," answered pon in a faltering voice. "she does not love me any more and even refuses to speak to me." "then why are you here, you rascal?" roared the king. pon looked first one way and then another, but saw no means of escape; so he plucked up courage. "i am here to summon your majesty to surrender." "what!" shouted the king. "surrender? surrender to whom?" pon's heart sank to his boots. "to the scarecrow," he replied. some of the courtiers began to titter, but king krewl was greatly annoyed. he sprang up and began to beat poor pon with the golden staff he carried. pon howled lustily and would have run away had not two of the soldiers held him until his majesty was exhausted with punishing the boy. then they let him go and he left the castle and returned along the road, sobbing at every step because his body was so sore and aching. "well," said the scarecrow, "did the king surrender?" "no; but he gave me a good drubbing!" sobbed poor pon. trot was very sorry for pon, but gloria did not seem affected in any way by her lover's anguish. the grasshopper leaped to the scarecrow's shoulder and asked him what he was going to do next. "conquer," was the reply. "but i will go alone, this time, for beatings cannot hurt me at all; nor can lance thrusts--or sword cuts--or arrow pricks." "why is that?" inquired trot. "because i have no nerves, such as you meat people possess. even grasshoppers have nerves, but straw doesn't; so whatever they do--except just one thing--they cannot injure me. therefore i expect to conquer king krewl with ease." "what is that one thing you excepted?" asked trot. "they will never think of it, so never mind. and now, if you will kindly excuse me for a time, i'll go over to the castle and do my conquering." "you have no weapons," pon reminded him. "true," said the scarecrow. "but if i carried weapons i might injure someone--perhaps seriously--and that would make me unhappy. i will just borrow that riding-whip, which i see in the corner of your hut, if you don't mind. it isn't exactly proper to walk with a riding-whip, but i trust you will excuse the inconsistency." pon handed him the whip and the scarecrow bowed to all the party and left the hut, proceeding leisurely along the way to the king's castle. chapter seventeen the ork rescues button-bright i must now tell you what had become of button-bright since he wandered away in the morning and got lost. this small boy, as perhaps you have discovered, was almost as destitute of nerves as the scarecrow. nothing ever astonished him much; nothing ever worried him or made him unhappy. good fortune or bad fortune he accepted with a quiet smile, never complaining, whatever happened. this was one reason why button-bright was a favorite with all who knew him--and perhaps it was the reason why he so often got into difficulties, or found himself lost. to-day, as he wandered here and there, over hill and down dale, he missed trot and cap'n bill, of whom he was fond, but nevertheless he was not unhappy. the birds sang merrily and the wildflowers were beautiful and the breeze had a fragrance of new-mown hay. "the only bad thing about this country is its king," he reflected; "but the country isn't to blame for that." a prairie-dog stuck its round head out of a mound of earth and looked at the boy with bright eyes. "walk around my house, please," it said, "and then you won't harm it or disturb the babies." "all right," answered button-bright, and took care not to step on the mound. he went on, whistling merrily, until a petulant voice cried: "oh, stop it! please stop that noise. it gets on my nerves." button-bright saw an old gray owl sitting in the crotch of a tree, and he replied with a laugh: "all right, old fussy," and stopped whistling until he had passed out of the owl's hearing. at noon he came to a farmhouse where an aged couple lived. they gave him a good dinner and treated him kindly, but the man was deaf and the woman was dumb, so they could answer no questions to guide him on the way to pon's house. when he left them he was just as much lost as he had been before. every grove of trees he saw from a distance he visited, for he remembered that the king's castle was near a grove of trees and pon's hut was near the king's castle; but always he met with disappointment. finally, passing through one of these groves, he came out into the open and found himself face to face with the ork. "hello!" said button-bright. "where did you come from?" "from orkland," was the reply. "i've found my own country, at last, and it is not far from here, either. i would have come back to you sooner, to see how you are getting along, had not my family and friends welcomed my return so royally that a great celebration was held in my honor. so i couldn't very well leave orkland again until the excitement was over." "can you find your way back home again?" asked the boy. "yes, easily; for now i know exactly where it is. but where are trot and cap'n bill?" button-bright related to the ork their adventures since it had left them in jinxland, telling of trot's fear that the king had done something wicked to cap'n bill, and of pon's love for gloria, and how trot and button-bright had been turned out of the king's castle. that was all the news that the boy had, but it made the ork anxious for the safety of his friends. "we must go to them at once, for they may need us," he said. "i don't know where to go," confessed button-bright. "i'm lost." "well, i can take you back to the hut of the gardener's boy," promised the ork, "for when i fly high in the air i can look down and easily spy the king's castle. that was how i happened to spy you, just entering the grove; so i flew down and waited until you came out." "how can you carry me?" asked the boy. "you'll have to sit straddle my shoulders and put your arms around my neck. do you think you can keep from falling off?" "i'll try," said button-bright. so the ork squatted down and the boy took his seat and held on tight. then the skinny creature's tail began whirling and up they went, far above all the tree-tops. after the ork had circled around once or twice, its sharp eyes located the towers of the castle and away it flew, straight toward the place. as it hovered in the air, near by the castle, button-bright pointed out pon's hut, so they landed just before it and trot came running out to greet them. gloria was introduced to the ork, who was surprised to find cap'n bill transformed into a grasshopper. "how do you like it?" asked the creature. "why, it worries me good deal," answered cap'n bill, perched upon trot's shoulder. "i'm always afraid o' bein' stepped on, and i don't like the flavor of grass an' can't seem to get used to it. it's my nature to eat grass, you know, but i begin to suspect it's an acquired taste." "can you give molasses?" asked the ork. "i guess i'm not that kind of a grasshopper," replied cap'n bill. "but i can't say what i might do if i was squeezed--which i hope i won't be." "well," said the ork, "it's a great pity, and i'd like to meet that cruel king and his wicked witch and punish them both severely. you're awfully small, cap'n bill, but i think i would recognize you anywhere by your wooden leg." then the ork and button-bright were told all about gloria's frozen heart and how the scarecrow had come from the land of oz to help them. the ork seemed rather disturbed when it learned that the scarecrow had gone alone to conquer king krewl. "i'm afraid he'll make a fizzle of it," said the skinny creature, "and there's no telling what that terrible king might do to the poor scarecrow, who seems like a very interesting person. so i believe i'll take a hand in this conquest myself." "how?" asked trot. "wait and see," was the reply. "but, first of all, i must fly home again--back to my own country--so if you'll forgive my leaving you so soon, i'll be off at once. stand away from my tail, please, so that the wind from it, when it revolves, won't knock you over." they gave the creature plenty of room and away it went like a flash and soon disappeared in the sky. "i wonder," said button-bright, looking solemnly after the ork, "whether he'll ever come back again." "of course he will!" returned trot. "the ork's a pretty good fellow, and we can depend on him. an' mark my words, button-bright, whenever our ork does come back, there's one cruel king in jinxland that'll wish he hadn't." chapter eighteen the scarecrow meets an enemy the scarecrow was not a bit afraid of king krewl. indeed, he rather enjoyed the prospect of conquering the evil king and putting gloria on the throne of jinxland in his place. so he advanced boldly to the royal castle and demanded admittance. seeing that he was a stranger, the soldiers allowed him to enter. he made his way straight to the throne room, where at that time his majesty was settling the disputes among his subjects. "who are you?" demanded the king. "i'm the scarecrow of oz, and i command you to surrender yourself my prisoner." "why should i do that?" inquired the king, much astonished at the straw man's audacity. "because i've decided you are too cruel a king to rule so beautiful a country. you must remember that jinxland is a part of oz, and therefore you owe allegiance to ozma of oz, whose friend and servant i am." now, when he heard this, king krewl was much disturbed in mind, for he knew the scarecrow spoke the truth. but no one had ever before come to jinxland from the land of oz and the king did not intend to be put out of his throne if he could help it. therefore he gave a harsh, wicked laugh of derision and said: "i'm busy, now. stand out of my way, scarecrow, and i'll talk with you by and by." but the scarecrow turned to the assembled courtiers and people and called in a loud voice: "i hereby declare, in the name of ozma of oz, that this man is no longer ruler of jinxland. from this moment princess gloria is your rightful queen, and i ask all of you to be loyal to her and to obey her commands." the people looked fearfully at the king, whom they all hated in their hearts, but likewise feared. krewl was now in a terrible rage and he raised his golden sceptre and struck the scarecrow so heavy a blow that he fell to the floor. but he was up again, in an instant, and with pon's riding-whip he switched the king so hard that the wicked monarch roared with pain as much as with rage, calling on his soldiers to capture the scarecrow. they tried to do that, and thrust their lances and swords into the straw body, but without doing any damage except to make holes in the scarecrow's clothes. however, they were many against one and finally old googly-goo brought a rope which he wound around the scarecrow, binding his legs together and his arms to his sides, and after that the fight was over. the king stormed and danced around in a dreadful fury, for he had never been so switched since he was a boy--and perhaps not then. he ordered the scarecrow thrust into the castle prison, which was no task at all because one man could carry him easily, bound as he was. even after the prisoner was removed the king could not control his anger. he tried to figure out some way to be revenged upon the straw man, but could think of nothing that could hurt him. at last, when the terrified people and the frightened courtiers had all slunk away, old googly-goo approached the king with a malicious grin upon his face. "i'll tell you what to do," said he. "build a big bonfire and burn the scarecrow up, and that will be the end of him." the king was so delighted with this suggestion that he hugged old googly-goo in his joy. "of course!" he cried. "the very thing. why did i not think of it myself?" so he summoned his soldiers and retainers and bade them prepare a great bonfire in an open space in the castle park. also he sent word to all his people to assemble and witness the destruction of the scarecrow who had dared to defy his power. before long a vast throng gathered in the park and the servants had heaped up enough fuel to make a fire that might be seen for miles away--even in the daytime. when all was prepared, the king had his throne brought out for him to sit upon and enjoy the spectacle, and then he sent his soldiers to fetch the scarecrow. now the one thing in all the world that the straw man really feared was fire. he knew he would burn very easily and that his ashes wouldn't amount to much afterward. it wouldn't hurt him to be destroyed in such a manner, but he realized that many people in the land of oz, and especially dorothy and the royal ozma, would feel sad if they learned that their old friend the scarecrow was no longer in existence. in spite of this, the straw man was brave and faced his fiery fate like a hero. when they marched him out before the concourse of people he turned to the king with great calmness and said: "this wicked deed will cost you your throne, as well as much suffering, for my friends will avenge my destruction." "your friends are not here, nor will they know what i have done to you, when you are gone and can-not tell them," answered the king in a scornful voice. then he ordered the scarecrow bound to a stout stake that he had had driven into the ground, and the materials for the fire were heaped all around him. when this had been done, the king's brass band struck up a lively tune and old googly-goo came forward with a lighted match and set fire to the pile. at once the flames shot up and crept closer and closer toward the scarecrow. the king and all his people were so intent upon this terrible spectacle that none of them noticed how the sky grew suddenly dark. perhaps they thought that the loud buzzing sound--like the noise of a dozen moving railway trains--came from the blazing fagots; that the rush of wind was merely a breeze. but suddenly down swept a flock of orks, half a hundred of them at the least, and the powerful currents of air caused by their revolving tails sent the bonfire scattering in every direction, so that not one burning brand ever touched the scarecrow. but that was not the only effect of this sudden tornado. king krewl was blown out of his throne and went tumbling heels over head until he landed with a bump against the stone wall of his own castle, and before he could rise a big ork sat upon him and held him pressed flat to the ground. old googly-goo shot up into the air like a rocket and landed on a tree, where he hung by the middle on a high limb, kicking the air with his feet and clawing the air with his hands, and howling for mercy like the coward he was. the people pressed back until they were jammed close together, while all the soldiers were knocked over and sent sprawling to the earth. the excitement was great for a few minutes, and every frightened inhabitant of jinxland looked with awe and amazement at the great orks whose descent had served to rescue the scarecrow and conquer king krewl at one and the same time. the ork, who was the leader of the band, soon had the scarecrow free of his bonds. then he said: "well, we were just in time to save you, which is better than being a minute too late. you are now the master here, and we are determined to see your orders obeyed." with this the ork picked up krewl's golden crown, which had fallen off his head, and placed it upon the head of the scarecrow, who in his awkward way then shuffled over to the throne and sat down in it. seeing this, a rousing cheer broke from the crowd of people, who tossed their hats and waved their handkerchiefs and hailed the scarecrow as their king. the soldiers joined the people in the cheering, for now they fully realized that their hated master was conquered and it would be wise to show their good will to the conqueror. some of them bound krewl with ropes and dragged him forward, dumping his body on the ground before the scarecrow's throne. googly-goo struggled until he finally slid off the limb of the tree and came tumbling to the ground. he then tried to sneak away and escape, but the soldiers seized and bound him beside krewl. "the tables are turned," said the scarecrow, swelling out his chest until the straw within it crackled pleasantly, for he was highly pleased; "but it was you and your people who did it, friend ork, and from this time you may count me your humble servant." chapter nineteen the conquest of the witch now as soon as the conquest of king krewl had taken place, one of the orks had been dispatched to pon's house with the joyful news. at once gloria and pon and trot and button-bright hastened toward the castle. they were somewhat surprised by the sight that met their eyes, for there was the scarecrow, crowned king, and all the people kneeling humbly before him. so they likewise bowed low to the new ruler and then stood beside the throne. cap'n bill, as the gray grasshopper, was still perched upon trot's shoulder, but now he hopped to the shoulder of the scarecrow and whispered into the painted ear: "i thought gloria was to be queen of jinxland." the scarecrow shook his head. "not yet," he answered. "no queen with a frozen heart is fit to rule any country." then he turned to his new friend, the ork, who was strutting about, very proud of what he had done, and said: "do you suppose you, or your followers, could find old blinkie the witch?" "where is she?" asked the ork. "somewhere in jinxland, i'm sure." "then," said the ork, "we shall certainly be able to find her." "it will give me great pleasure," declared the scarecrow. "when you have found her, bring her here to me, and i will then decide what to do with her." the ork called his followers together and spoke a few words to them in a low tone. a moment after they rose into the air--so suddenly that the scarecrow, who was very light in weight, was blown quite out of his throne and into the arms of pon, who replaced him carefully upon his seat. there was an eddy of dust and ashes, too, and the grasshopper only saved himself from being whirled into the crowd of people by jumping into a tree, from where a series of hops soon brought him back to trot's shoulder again. the orks were quite out of sight by this time, so the scarecrow made a speech to the people and presented gloria to them, whom they knew well already and were fond of. but not all of them knew of her frozen heart, and when the scarecrow related the story of the wicked witch's misdeeds, which had been encouraged and paid for by krewl and googly-goo, the people were very indignant. meantime the fifty orks had scattered all over jinx land, which is not a very big country, and their sharp eyes were peering into every valley and grove and gully. finally one of them spied a pair of heels sticking out from underneath some bushes, and with a shrill whistle to warn his comrades that the witch was found the ork flew down and dragged old blinkie from her hiding-place. then two or three of the orks seized the clothing of the wicked woman in their strong claws and, lifting her high in the air, where she struggled and screamed to no avail, they flew with her straight to the royal castle and set her down before the throne of the scarecrow. "good!" exclaimed the straw man, nodding his stuffed head with satisfaction. "now we can proceed to business. mistress witch, i am obliged to request, gently but firmly, that you undo all the wrongs you have done by means of your witchcraft." "pah!" cried old blinkie in a scornful voice. "i defy you all! by my magic powers i can turn you all into pigs, rooting in the mud, and i'll do it if you are not careful." "i think you are mistaken about that," said the scarecrow, and rising from his throne he walked with wobbling steps to the side of the wicked witch. "before i left the land of oz, glinda the royal sorceress gave me a box, which i was not to open except in an emergency. but i feel pretty sure that this occasion is an emergency; don't you, trot?" he asked, turning toward the little girl. "why, we've got to do something," replied trot seriously. "things seem in an awful muddle here, jus' now, and they'll be worse if we don't stop this witch from doing more harm to people." "that is my idea, exactly," said the scarecrow, and taking a small box from his pocket he opened the cover and tossed the contents toward blinkie. the old woman shrank back, pale and trembling, as a fine white dust settled all about her. under its influence she seemed to the eyes of all observers to shrivel and grow smaller. "oh, dear--oh, dear!" she wailed, wringing her hands in fear. "haven't you the antidote, scarecrow? didn't the great sorceress give you another box?" "she did," answered the scarecrow. "then give it me--quick!" pleaded the witch. "give it me--and i'll do anything you ask me to!" "you will do what i ask first," declared the scarecrow, firmly. the witch was shriveling and growing smaller every moment. "be quick, then!" she cried. "tell me what i must do and let me do it, or it will be too late." "you made trot's friend, cap'n bill, a grasshopper. i command you to give him back his proper form again," said the scarecrow. "where is he? where's the grasshopper? quick--quick!" she screamed. cap'n bill, who had been deeply interested in this conversation, gave a great leap from trot's shoulder and landed on that of the scarecrow. blinkie saw him alight and at once began to make magic passes and to mumble magic incantations. she was in a desperate hurry, knowing that she had no time to waste, and the grasshopper was so suddenly transformed into the old sailor-man, cap'n bill, that he had no opportunity to jump off the scarecrow's shoulder; so his great weight bore the stuffed scarecrow to the ground. no harm was done, however, and the straw man got up and brushed the dust from his clothes while trot delightedly embraced cap'n bill. "the other box! quick! give me the other box," begged blinkie, who had now shrunk to half her former size. "not yet," said the scarecrow. "you must first melt princess gloria's frozen heart." "i can't; it's an awful job to do that! i can't," asserted the witch, in an agony of fear--for still she was growing smaller. "you must!" declared the scarecrow, firmly. the witch cast a shrewd look at him and saw that he meant it; so she began dancing around gloria in a frantic manner. the princess looked coldly on, as if not at all interested in the proceedings, while blinkie tore a handful of hair from her own head and ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of her gown. then the witch sank upon her knees, took a purple powder from her black bag and sprinkled it over the hair and cloth. "i hate to do it--i hate to do it!" she wailed, "for there is no more of this magic compound in all the world. but i must sacrifice it to save my own life. a match! give me a match, quick!" and panting from lack of breath she gazed imploringly from one to another. cap'n bill was the only one who had a match, but he lost no time in handing it to blinkie, who quickly set fire to the hair and the cloth and the purple powder. at once a purple cloud enveloped gloria, and this gradually turned to a rosy pink color--brilliant and quite transparent. through the rosy cloud they could all see the beautiful princess, standing proud and erect. then her heart became visible, at first frosted with ice but slowly growing brighter and warmer until all the frost had disappeared and it was beating as softly and regularly as any other heart. and now the cloud dispersed and disclosed gloria, her face suffused with joy, smiling tenderly upon the friends who were grouped about her. poor pon stepped forward--timidly, fearing a repulse, but with pleading eyes and arms fondly outstretched toward his former sweetheart--and the princess saw him and her sweet face lighted with a radiant smile. without an instant's hesitation she threw herself into pon's arms and this reunion of two loving hearts was so affecting that the people turned away and lowered their eyes so as not to mar the sacred joy of the faithful lovers. but blinkie's small voice was shouting to the scarecrow for help. "the antidote!" she screamed. "give me the other box--quick!" the scarecrow looked at the witch with his quaint, painted eyes and saw that she was now no taller than his knee. so he took from his pocket the second box and scattered its contents on blinkie. she ceased to grow any smaller, but she could never regain her former size, and this the wicked old woman well knew. she did not know, however, that the second powder had destroyed all her power to work magic, and seeking to be revenged upon the scarecrow and his friends she at once began to mumble a charm so terrible in its effect that it would have destroyed half the population of jinxland--had it worked. but it did not work at all, to the amazement of old blinkie. and by this time the scarecrow noticed what the little witch was trying to do, and said to her: "go home, blinkie, and behave yourself. you are no longer a witch, but an ordinary old woman, and since you are powerless to do more evil i advise you to try to do some good in the world. believe me, it is more fun to accomplish a good act than an evil one, as you will discover when once you have tried it." but blinkie was at that moment filled with grief and chagrin at losing her magic powers. she started away toward her home, sobbing and bewailing her fate, and not one who saw her go was at all sorry for her. chapter twenty queen gloria next morning the scarecrow called upon all the courtiers and the people to assemble in the throne room of the castle, where there was room enough for all that were able to attend. they found the straw man seated upon the velvet cushions of the throne, with the king's glittering crown still upon his stuffed head. on one side of the throne, in a lower chair, sat gloria, looking radiantly beautiful and fresh as a new-blown rose. on the other side sat pon, the gardener's boy, still dressed in his old smock frock and looking sad and solemn; for pon could not make himself believe that so splendid a princess would condescend to love him when she had come to her own and was seated upon a throne. trot and cap'n bill sat at the feet of the scarecrow and were much interested in the proceedings. button-bright had lost himself before breakfast, but came into the throne room before the ceremonies were over. back of the throne stood a row of the great orks, with their leader in the center, and the entrance to the palace was guarded by more orks, who were regarded with wonder and awe. when all were assembled, the scarecrow stood up and made a speech. he told how gloria's father, the good king kynd, who had once ruled them and been loved by everyone, had been destroyed by king phearce, the father of pon, and how king phearce had been destroyed by king krewl. this last king had been a bad ruler, as they knew very well, and the scarecrow declared that the only one in all jinxland who had the right to sit upon the throne was princess gloria, the daughter of king kynd. "but," he added, "it is not for me, a stranger, to say who shall rule you. you must decide for yourselves, or you will not be content. so choose now who shall be your future ruler." and they all shouted: "the scarecrow! the scarecrow shall rule us!" which proved that the stuffed man had made himself very popular by his conquest of king krewl, and the people thought they would like him for their king. but the scarecrow shook his head so vigorously that it became loose, and trot had to pin it firmly to his body again. "no," said he, "i belong in the land of oz, where i am the humble servant of the lovely girl who rules us all--the royal ozma. you must choose one of your own inhabitants to rule over jinxland. who shall it be?" they hesitated for a moment, and some few cried: "pon!" but many more shouted: "gloria!" so the scarecrow took gloria's hand and led her to the throne, where he first seated her and then took the glittering crown off his own head and placed it upon that of the young lady, where it nestled prettily amongst her soft curls. the people cheered and shouted then, kneeling before their new queen; but gloria leaned down and took pon's hand in both her own and raised him to the seat beside her. "you shall have both a king and a queen to care for you and to protect you, my dear subjects," she said in a sweet voice, while her face glowed with happiness; "for pon was a king's son before he became a gardener's boy, and because i love him he is to be my royal consort." that pleased them all, especially pon, who realized that this was the most important moment of his life. trot and button-bright and cap'n will all congratulated him on winning the beautiful gloria; but the ork sneezed twice and said that in his opinion the young lady might have done better. then the scarecrow ordered the guards to bring in the wicked krewl, king no longer, and when he appeared, loaded with chains and dressed in fustian, the people hissed him and drew back as he passed so their garments would not touch him. krewl was not haughty or overbearing any more; on the contrary he seemed very meek and in great fear of the fate his conquerors had in store for him. but gloria and pon were too happy to be revengeful and so they offered to appoint krewl to the position of gardener's boy at the castle, pon having resigned to become king. but they said he must promise to reform his wicked ways and to do his duty faithfully, and he must change his name from krewl to grewl. all this the man eagerly promised to do, and so when pon retired to a room in the castle to put on princely raiment, the old brown smock he had formerly worn was given to grewl, who then went out into the garden to water the roses. the remainder of that famous day, which was long remembered in jinxland, was given over to feasting and merrymaking. in the evening there was a grand dance in the courtyard, where the brass band played a new piece of music called the "ork trot" which was dedicated to "our glorious gloria, the queen." while the queen and pon were leading this dance, and all the jinxland people were having a good time, the strangers were gathered in a group in the park outside the castle. cap'n bill, trot, button-bright and the scarecrow were there, and so was their old friend the ork; but of all the great flock of orks which had assisted in the conquest but three remained in jinxland, besides their leader, the others having returned to their own country as soon as gloria was crowned queen. to the young ork who had accompanied them in their adventures cap'n bill said: "you've surely been a friend in need, and we're mighty grateful to you for helping us. i might have been a grasshopper yet if it hadn't been for you, an' i might remark that bein' a grasshopper isn't much fun." "if it hadn't been for you, friend ork," said the scarecrow, "i fear i could not have conquered king krewl." "no," agreed trot, "you'd have been just a heap of ashes by this time." "and i might have been lost yet," added button-bright. "much obliged, mr. ork." "oh, that's all right," replied the ork. "friends must stand together, you know, or they wouldn't be friends. but now i must leave you and be off to my own country, where there's going to be a surprise party on my uncle, and i've promised to attend it." "dear me," said the scarecrow, regretfully. "that is very unfortunate." "why so?" asked the ork. "i hoped you would consent to carry us over those mountains, into the land of oz. my mission here is now finished and i want to get back to the emerald city." "how did you cross the mountains before?" inquired the ork. "i scaled the cliffs by means of a rope, and crossed the great gulf on a strand of spider web. of course i can return in the same manner, but it would be a hard journey--and perhaps an impossible one--for trot and button-bright and cap'n bill. so i thought that if you had the time you and your people would carry us over the mountains and land us all safely on the other side, in the land of oz." the ork thoughtfully considered the matter for a while. then he said: "i mustn't break my promise to be present at the surprise party; but, tell me, could you go to oz to-night?" "what, now?" exclaimed trot. "it is a fine moonlight night," said the ork, "and i've found in my experience that there's no time so good as right away. the fact is," he explained, "it's a long journey to orkland and i and my cousins here are all rather tired by our day's work. but if you will start now, and be content to allow us to carry you over the mountains and dump you on the other side, just say the word and--off we go!" cap'n bill and trot looked at one another questioningly. the little girl was eager to visit the famous fairyland of oz and the old sailor had endured such hardships in jinxland that he would be glad to be out of it. "it's rather impolite of us not to say good-bye to the new king and queen," remarked the scarecrow, "but i'm sure they're too happy to miss us, and i assure you it will be much easier to fly on the backs of the orks over those steep mountains than to climb them as i did." "all right; let's go!" trot decided. "but where's button-bright?" just at this important moment button-bright was lost again, and they all scattered in search of him. he had been standing beside them just a few minutes before, but his friends had an exciting hunt for him before they finally discovered the boy seated among the members of the band, beating the end of the bass drum with the bone of a turkey-leg that he had taken from the table in the banquet room. "hello, trot," he said, looking up at the little girl when she found him. "this is the first chance i ever had to pound a drum with a reg'lar drum stick. and i ate all the meat off the bone myself." "come quick. we're going to the land of oz." "oh, what's the hurry?" said button-bright; but she seized his arm and dragged him away to the park, where the others were waiting. trot climbed upon the back of her old friend, the ork leader, and the others took their seats on the backs of his three cousins. as soon as all were placed and clinging to the skinny necks of the creatures, the revolving tails began to whirl and up rose the four monster orks and sailed away toward the mountains. they were so high in the air that when they passed the crest of the highest peak it seemed far below them. no sooner were they well across the barrier than the orks swooped downward and landed their passengers upon the ground. "here we are, safe in the land of oz!" cried the scarecrow joyfully. "oh, are we?" asked trot, looking around her curiously. she could see the shadows of stately trees and the outlines of rolling hills; beneath her feet was soft turf, but otherwise the subdued light of the moon disclosed nothing clearly. "seems jus' like any other country," was cap'n bill's comment. "but it isn't," the scarecrow assured him. "you are now within the borders of the most glorious fairyland in all the world. this part of it is just a corner of the quadling country, and the least interesting portion of it. it's not very thickly settled, around here, i'll admit, but--" he was interrupted by a sudden whir and a rush of air as the four orks mounted into the sky. "good night!" called the shrill voices of the strange creatures, and although trot shouted "good night!" as loudly as she could, the little girl was almost ready to cry because the orks had not waited to be properly thanked for all their kindness to her and to cap'n bill. but the orks were gone, and thanks for good deeds do not amount to much except to prove one's politeness. "well, friends," said the scarecrow, "we mustn't stay here in the meadows all night, so let us find a pleasant place to sleep. not that it matters to me, in the least, for i never sleep; but i know that meat people like to shut their eyes and lie still during the dark hours." "i'm pretty tired," admitted trot, yawning as she followed the straw man along a tiny path, "so, if you don't find a house handy, cap'n bill and i will sleep under the trees, or even on this soft grass." but a house was not very far off, although when the scarecrow stumbled upon it there was no light in it whatever. cap'n bill knocked on the door several times, and there being no response the scarecrow boldly lifted the latch and walked in, followed by the others. and no sooner had they entered than a soft light filled the room. trot couldn't tell where it came from, for no lamp of any sort was visible, but she did not waste much time on this problem, because directly in the center of the room stood a table set for three, with lots of good food on it and several of the dishes smoking hot. the little girl and button-bright both uttered exclamations of pleasure, but they looked in vain for any cook stove or fireplace, or for any person who might have prepared for them this delicious feast. "it's fairyland," muttered the boy, tossing his cap in a corner and seating himself at the table. "this supper smells 'most as good as that turkey-leg i had in jinxland. please pass the muffins, cap'n bill." trot thought it was strange that no people but themselves were in the house, but on the wall opposite the door was a gold frame bearing in big letters the word: "welcome." so she had no further hesitation in eating of the food so mysteriously prepared for them. "but there are only places for three!" she exclaimed. "three are quite enough," said the scarecrow. "i never eat, because i am stuffed full already, and i like my nice clean straw better than i do food." trot and the sailor-man were hungry and made a hearty meal, for not since they had left home had they tasted such good food. it was surprising that button-bright could eat so soon after his feast in jinxland, but the boy always ate whenever there was an opportunity. "if i don't eat now," he said, "the next time i'm hungry i'll wish i had." "really, cap'n," remarked trot, when she found a dish of ice-cream appear beside her plate, "i b'lieve this is fairyland, sure enough." "there's no doubt of it, trot," he answered gravely "i've been here before," said button-bright, "so i know." after supper they discovered three tiny bedrooms adjoining the big living room of the house, and in each room was a comfortable white bed with downy pillows. you may be sure that the tired mortals were not long in bidding the scarecrow good night and creeping into their beds, where they slept soundly until morning. for the first time since they set eyes on the terrible whirlpool, trot and cap'n bill were free from anxiety and care. button-bright never worried about anything. the scarecrow, not being able to sleep, looked out of the window and tried to count the stars. chapter twenty-one dorothy, betsy and ozma i suppose many of my readers have read descriptions of the beautiful and magnificent emerald city of oz, so i need not describe it here, except to state that never has any city in any fairyland ever equalled this one in stately splendor. it lies almost exactly in the center of the land of oz, and in the center of the emerald city rises the wall of glistening emeralds that surrounds the palace of ozma. the palace is almost a city in itself and is inhabited by many of the ruler's especial friends and those who have won her confidence and favor. as for ozma herself, there are no words in any dictionary i can find that are fitted to describe this young girl's beauty of mind and person. merely to see her is to love her for her charming face and manners; to know her is to love her for her tender sympathy, her generous nature, her truth and honor. born of a long line of fairy queens, ozma is as nearly perfect as any fairy may be, and she is noted for her wisdom as well as for her other qualities. her happy subjects adore their girl ruler and each one considers her a comrade and protector. at the time of which i write, ozma's best friend and most constant companion was a little kansas girl named dorothy, a mortal who had come to the land of oz in a very curious manner and had been offered a home in ozma's palace. furthermore, dorothy had been made a princess of oz, and was as much at home in the royal palace as was the gentle ruler. she knew almost every part of the great country and almost all of its numerous inhabitants. next to ozma she was loved better than anyone in all oz, for dorothy was simple and sweet, seldom became angry and had such a friendly, chummy way that she made friends where-ever she wandered. it was she who first brought the scarecrow and the tin woodman and the cowardly lion to the emerald city. dorothy had also introduced to ozma the shaggy man and the hungry tiger, as well as billina the yellow hen, eureka the pink kitten, and many other delightful characters and creatures. coming as she did from our world, dorothy was much like many other girls we know; so there were times when she was not so wise as she might have been, and other times when she was obstinate and got herself into trouble. but life in a fairy-land had taught the little girl to accept all sorts of surprising things as matters-of-course, for while dorothy was no fairy--but just as mortal as we are--she had seen more wonders than most mortals ever do. another little girl from our outside world also lived in ozma's palace. this was betsy bobbin, whose strange adventures had brought her to the emerald city, where ozma had cordially welcomed her. betsy was a shy little thing and could never get used to the marvels that surrounded her, but she and dorothy were firm friends and thought themselves very fortunate in being together in this delightful country. one day dorothy and betsy were visiting ozma in the girl ruler's private apartment, and among the things that especially interested them was ozma's magic picture, set in a handsome frame and hung upon the wall of the room. this picture was a magic one because it constantly changed its scenes and showed events and adventures happening in all parts of the world. thus it was really a "moving picture" of life, and if the one who stood before it wished to know what any absent person was doing, the picture instantly showed that person, with his or her surroundings. the two girls were not wishing to see anyone in particular, on this occasion, but merely enjoyed watching the shifting scenes, some of which were exceedingly curious and remarkable. suddenly dorothy exclaimed: "why, there's button-bright!" and this drew ozma also to look at the picture, for she and dorothy knew the boy well. "who is button-bright?" asked betsy, who had never met him. "why, he's the little boy who is just getting off the back of that strange flying creature," exclaimed dorothy. then she turned to ozma and asked: "what is that thing, ozma? a bird? i've never seen anything like it before." "it is an ork," answered ozma, for they were watching the scene where the ork and the three big birds were first landing their passengers in jinxland after the long flight across the desert. "i wonder," added the girl ruler, musingly, "why those strangers dare venture into that unfortunate country, which is ruled by a wicked king." "that girl, and the one-legged man, seem to be mortals from the outside world," said dorothy. "the man isn't one-legged," corrected betsy; "he has one wooden leg." "it's almost as bad," declared dorothy, watching cap'n bill stump around. "they are three mortal adventurers," said ozma, "and they seem worthy and honest. but i fear they will be treated badly in jinxland, and if they meet with any misfortune there it will reflect upon me, for jinxland is a part of my dominions." "can't we help them in any way?" inquired dorothy. "that seems like a nice little girl. i'd be sorry if anything happened to her." "let us watch the picture for awhile," suggested ozma, and so they all drew chairs before the magic picture and followed the adventures of trot and cap'n bill and button-bright. presently the scene shifted and showed their friend the scarecrow crossing the mountains into jinxland, and that somewhat relieved ozma's anxiety, for she knew at once that glinda the good had sent the scarecrow to protect the strangers. the adventures in jinxland proved very interesting to the three girls in ozma's palace, who during the succeeding days spent much of their time in watching the picture. it was like a story to them. "that girl's a reg'lar trump!" exclaimed dorothy, referring to trot, and ozma answered: "she's a dear little thing, and i'm sure nothing very bad will happen to her. the old sailor is a fine character, too, for he has never once grumbled over being a grasshopper, as so many would have done." when the scarecrow was so nearly burned up the girls all shivered a little, and they clapped their hands in joy when the flock of orks came and saved him. so it was that when all the exciting adventures in jinxland were over and the four orks had begun their flight across the mountains to carry the mortals into the land of oz, ozma called the wizard to her and asked him to prepare a place for the strangers to sleep. the famous wizard of oz was a quaint little man who inhabited the royal palace and attended to all the magical things that ozma wanted done. he was not as powerful as glinda, to be sure, but he could do a great many wonderful things. he proved this by placing a house in the uninhabited part of the quadling country where the orks landed cap'n bill and trot and button-bright, and fitting it with all the comforts i have described in the last chapter. next morning dorothy said to ozma: "oughtn't we to go meet the strangers, so we can show them the way to the emerald city? i'm sure that little girl will feel shy in this beautiful land, and i know if 'twas me i'd like somebody to give me a welcome." ozma smiled at her little friend and answered: "you and betsy may go to meet them, if you wish, but i can not leave my palace just now, as i am to have a conference with jack pumpkinhead and professor wogglebug on important matters. you may take the sawhorse and the red wagon, and if you start soon you will be able to meet the scarecrow and the strangers at glinda's palace." "oh, thank you!" cried dorothy, and went away to tell betsy and to make preparations for the journey. chapter twenty-two the waterfall glinda's castle was a long way from the mountains, but the scarecrow began the journey cheerfully, since time was of no great importance in the land of oz and he had recently made the trip and knew the way. it never mattered much to button-bright where he was or what he was doing; the boy was content in being alive and having good companions to share his wanderings. as for trot and cap'n bill, they now found themselves so comfortable and free from danger, in this fine fairyland, and they were so awed and amazed by the adventures they were encountering, that the journey to glinda's castle was more like a pleasure trip than a hardship, so many wonderful things were there to see. button-bright had been in oz before, but never in this part of it, so the scarecrow was the only one who knew the paths and could lead them. they had eaten a hearty breakfast, which they found already prepared for them and awaiting them on the table when they arose from their refreshing sleep, so they left the magic house in a contented mood and with hearts lighter and more happy than they had known for many a day. as they marched along through the fields, the sun shone brightly and the breeze was laden with delicious fragrance, for it carried with it the breath of millions of wildflowers. at noon, when they stopped to rest by the bank of a pretty river, trot said with a long-drawn breath that was much like a sigh: "i wish we'd brought with us some of the food that was left from our breakfast, for i'm getting hungry again." scarcely had she spoken when a table rose up before them, as if from the ground itself, and it was loaded with fruits and nuts and cakes and many other good things to eat. the little girl's eyes opened wide at this display of magic, and cap'n bill was not sure that the things were actually there and fit to eat until he had taken them in his hand and tasted them. but the scarecrow said with a laugh: "someone is looking after your welfare, that is certain, and from the looks of this table i suspect my friend the wizard has taken us in his charge. i've known him to do things like this before, and if we are in the wizard's care you need not worry about your future." "who's worrying?" inquired button-bright, already at the table and busily eating. the scarecrow looked around the place while the others were feasting, and finding many things unfamiliar to him he shook his head and remarked: "i must have taken the wrong path, back in that last valley, for on my way to jinxland i remember that i passed around the foot of this river, where there was a great waterfall." "did the river make a bend, after the waterfall?" asked cap'n bill. "no, the river disappeared. only a pool of whirling water showed what had become of the river; but i suppose it is under ground, somewhere, and will come to the surface again in another part of the country." "well," suggested trot, as she finished her luncheon, "as there is no way to cross this river, i s'pose we'll have to find that waterfall, and go around it." "exactly," replied the scarecrow; so they soon renewed their journey, following the river for a long time until the roar of the waterfall sounded in their ears. by and by they came to the waterfall itself, a sheet of silver dropping far, far down into a tiny lake which seemed to have no outlet. from the top of the fall, where they stood, the banks gradually sloped away, so that the descent by land was quite easy, while the river could do nothing but glide over an edge of rock and tumble straight down to the depths below. "you see," said the scarecrow, leaning over the brink, "this is called by our oz people the great waterfall, because it is certainly the highest one in all the land; but i think--help!" he had lost his balance and pitched headforemost into the river. they saw a flash of straw and blue clothes, and the painted face looking upward in surprise. the next moment the scarecrow was swept over the waterfall and plunged into the basin below. the accident had happened so suddenly that for a moment they were all too horrified to speak or move. "quick! we must go to help him or he will be drowned," trot exclaimed. even while speaking she began to descend the bank to the pool below, and cap'n bill followed as swiftly as his wooden leg would let him. button-bright came more slowly, calling to the girl: "he can't drown, trot; he's a scarecrow." but she wasn't sure a scarecrow couldn't drown and never relaxed her speed until she stood on the edge of the pool, with the spray dashing in her face. cap'n bill, puffing and panting, had just voice enough to ask, as he reached her side: "see him, trot?" "not a speck of him. oh, cap'n, what do you s'pose has become of him?" "i s'pose," replied the sailor, "that he's in that water, more or less far down, and i'm 'fraid it'll make his straw pretty soggy. but as fer his bein' drowned, i agree with button-bright that it can't be done." there was small comfort in this assurance and trot stood for some time searching with her eyes the bubbling water, in the hope that the scarecrow would finally come to the surface. presently she heard button-bright calling: "come here, trot!" and looking around she saw that the boy had crept over the wet rocks to the edge of the waterfall and seemed to be peering behind it. making her way toward him, she asked: "what do you see?" "a cave," he answered. "let's go in. p'r'aps we'll find the scarecrow there." she was a little doubtful of that, but the cave interested her, and so did it cap'n bill. there was just space enough at the edge of the sheet of water for them to crowd in behind it, but after that dangerous entrance they found room enough to walk upright and after a time they came to an opening in the wall of rock. approaching this opening, they gazed within it and found a series of steps, cut so that they might easily descend into the cavern. trot turned to look inquiringly at her companions. the falling water made such din and roaring that her voice could not be heard. cap'n bill nodded his head, but before he could enter the cave, button-bright was before him, clambering down the steps without a particle of fear. so the others followed the boy. the first steps were wet with spray, and slippery, but the remainder were quite dry. a rosy light seemed to come from the interior of the cave, and this lighted their way. after the steps there was a short tunnel, high enough for them to walk erect in, and then they reached the cave itself and paused in wonder and admiration. they stood on the edge of a vast cavern, the walls and domed roof of which were lined with countless rubies, exquisitely cut and flashing sparkling rays from one to another. this caused a radiant light that permitted the entire cavern to be distinctly seen, and the effect was so marvelous that trot drew in her breath with a sort of a gasp, and stood quite still in wonder. but the walls and roof of the cavern were merely a setting for a more wonderful scene. in the center was a bubbling caldron of water, for here the river rose again, splashing and dashing till its spray rose high in the air, where it took the ruby color of the jewels and seemed like a seething mass of flame. and while they gazed into the tumbling, tossing water, the body of the scarecrow suddenly rose in the center, struggling and kicking, and the next instant wholly disappeared from view. "my, but he's wet!" exclaimed button-bright; but none of the others heard him. trot and cap'n bill discovered that a broad ledge--covered, like the walls, with glittering rubies--ran all around the cavern; so they followed this gorgeous path to the rear and found where the water made its final dive underground, before it disappeared entirely. where it plunged into this dim abyss the river was black and dreary looking, and they stood gazing in awe until just beside them the body of the scarecrow again popped up from the water. chapter twenty three the land of oz the straw man's appearance on the water was so sudden that it startled trot, but cap'n bill had the presence of mind to stick his wooden leg out over the water and the scarecrow made a desperate clutch and grabbed the leg with both hands. he managed to hold on until trot and button-bright knelt down and seized his clothing, but the children would have been powerless to drag the soaked scarecrow ashore had not cap'n bill now assisted them. when they laid him on the ledge of rubies he was the most useless looking scarecrow you can imagine--his straw sodden and dripping with water, his clothing wet and crumpled, while even the sack upon which his face was painted had become so wrinkled that the old jolly expression of their stuffed friend's features was entirely gone. but he could still speak, and when trot bent down her ear she heard him say: "get me out of here as soon as you can." that seemed a wise thing to do, so cap'n bill lifted his head and shoulders, and trot and button-bright each took a leg; among them they partly carried and partly dragged the damp scarecrow out of the ruby cavern, along the tunnel, and up the flight of rock steps. it was somewhat difficult to get him past the edge of the waterfall, but they succeeded, after much effort, and a few minutes later laid their poor comrade on a grassy bank where the sun shone upon him freely and he was beyond the reach of the spray. cap'n bill now knelt down and examined the straw that the scarecrow was stuffed with. "i don't believe it'll be of much use to him, any more," said he, "for it's full of polliwogs an' fish eggs, an' the water has took all the crinkle out o' the straw an ruined it. i guess, trot, that the best thing for us to do is to empty out all his body an' carry his head an' clothes along the road till we come to a field or a house where we can get some fresh straw." "yes, cap'n," she agreed, "there's nothing else to be done. but how shall we ever find the road to glinda's palace, without the scarecrow to guide us?" "that's easy," said the scarecrow, speaking in a rather feeble but distinct voice. "if cap'n bill will carry my head on his shoulders, eyes front, i can tell him which way to go." so they followed that plan and emptied all the old, wet straw out of the scarecrow's body. then the sailor-man wrung out the clothes and laid them in the sun till they were quite dry. trot took charge of the head and pressed the wrinkles out of the face as it dried, so that after a while the scarecrow's expression became natural again, and as jolly as before. this work consumed some time, but when it was completed they again started upon their journey, button-bright carrying the boots and hat, trot the bundle of clothes, and cap'n bill the head. the scarecrow, having regained his composure and being now in a good humor, despite his recent mishaps, beguiled their way with stories of the land of oz. it was not until the next morning, however, that they found straw with which to restuff the scarecrow. that evening they came to the same little house they had slept in before, only now it was magically transferred to a new place. the same bountiful supper as before was found smoking hot upon the table and the same cosy beds were ready for them to sleep in. they rose early and after breakfast went out of doors, and there, lying just beside the house, was a heap of clean, crisp straw. ozma had noticed the scarecrow's accident in her magic picture and had notified the wizard to provide the straw, for she knew the adventurers were not likely to find straw in the country through which they were now traveling. they lost no time in stuffing the scarecrow anew, and he was greatly delighted at being able to walk around again and to assume the leadership of the little party. "really," said trot, "i think you're better than you were before, for you are fresh and sweet all through and rustle beautifully when you move." "thank you, my dear," he replied gratefully. "i always feel like a new man when i'm freshly stuffed. no one likes to get musty, you know, and even good straw may be spoiled by age." "it was water that spoiled you, the last time," remarked button-bright, "which proves that too much bathing is as bad as too little. but, after all, scarecrow, water is not as dangerous for you as fire." "all things are good in moderation," declared the scarecrow. "but now, let us hurry on, or we shall not reach glinda's palace by nightfall." chapter twenty-four the royal reception at about four o'clock of that same day the red wagon drew up at the entrance to glinda's palace and dorothy and betsy jumped out. ozma's red wagon was almost a chariot, being inlaid with rubies and pearls, and it was drawn by ozma's favorite steed, the wooden sawhorse. "shall i unharness you," asked dorothy, "so you can come in and visit?" "no," replied the sawhorse. "i'll just stand here and think. take your time. thinking doesn't seem to bore me at all." "what will you think of?" inquired betsy. "of the acorn that grew the tree from which i was made." so they left the wooden animal and went in to see glinda, who welcomed the little girls in her most cordial manner. "i knew you were on your way," said the good sorceress when they were seated in her library, "for i learned from my record book that you intended to meet trot and button-bright on their arrival here." "is the strange little girl named trot?" asked dorothy. "yes; and her companion, the old sailor, is named cap'n bill. i think we shall like them very much, for they are just the kind of people to enjoy and appreciate our fairyland and i do not see any way, at present, for them to return again to the outside world." "well, there's room enough here for them, i'm sure," said dorothy. "betsy and i are already eager to welcome trot. it will keep us busy for a year, at least, showing her all the wonderful things in oz." glinda smiled. "i have lived here many years," said she, "and i have not seen all the wonders of oz yet." meantime the travelers were drawing near to the palace, and when they first caught sight of its towers trot realized that it was far more grand and imposing than was the king's castle in jinxland. the nearer they came, the more beautiful the palace appeared, and when finally the scarecrow led them up the great marble steps, even button-bright was filled with awe. "i don't see any soldiers to guard the place," said the little girl. "there is no need to guard glinda's palace," replied the scarecrow. "we have no wicked people in oz, that we know of, and even if there were any, glinda's magic would be powerful enough to protect her." button-bright was now standing on the top steps of the entrance, and he suddenly exclaimed: "why, there's the sawhorse and the red wagon! hip, hooray!" and next moment he was rushing down to throw his arms around the neck of the wooden horse, which good-naturedly permitted this familiarity when it recognized in the boy an old friend. button-bright's shout had been heard inside the palace, so now dorothy and betsy came running out to embrace their beloved friend, the scarecrow, and to welcome trot and cap'n bill to the land of oz. "we've been watching you for a long time, in ozma's magic picture," said dorothy, "and ozma has sent us to invite you to her own palace in the em'rald city. i don't know if you realize how lucky you are to get that invitation, but you'll understand it better after you've seen the royal palace and the em'rald city." glinda now appeared in person to lead all the party into her azure reception room. trot was a little afraid of the stately sorceress, but gained courage by holding fast to the hands of betsy and dorothy. cap'n bill had no one to help him feel at ease, so the old sailor sat stiffly on the edge of his chair and said: "yes, ma'am," or "no, ma'am," when he was spoken to, and was greatly embarrassed by so much splendor. the scarecrow had lived so much in palaces that he felt quite at home, and he chatted to glinda and the oz girls in a merry, light-hearted way. he told all about his adventures in jinxland, and at the great waterfall, and on the journey hither--most of which his hearers knew already--and then he asked dorothy and betsy what had happened in the emerald city since he had left there. they all passed the evening and the night at glinda's palace, and the sorceress was so gracious to cap'n bill that the old man by degrees regained his self-possession and began to enjoy himself. trot had already come to the conclusion that in dorothy and betsy she had found two delightful comrades, and button-bright was just as much at home here as he had been in the fields of jinxland or when he was buried in the popcorn snow of the land of mo. the next morning they arose bright and early and after breakfast bade good-bye to the kind sorceress, whom trot and cap'n bill thanked earnestly for sending the scarecrow to jinxland to rescue them. then they all climbed into the red wagon. there was room for all on the broad seats, and when all had taken their places--dorothy, trot and betsy on the rear seat and cap'n bill, button-bright and the scarecrow in front--they called "gid-dap!" to the sawhorse and the wooden steed moved briskly away, pulling the red wagon with ease. it was now that the strangers began to perceive the real beauties of the land of oz, for they were passing through a more thickly settled part of the country and the population grew more dense as they drew nearer to the emerald city. everyone they met had a cheery word or a smile for the scarecrow, dorothy and betsy bobbin, and some of them remembered button-bright and welcomed him back to their country. it was a happy party, indeed, that journeyed in the red wagon to the emerald city, and trot already began to hope that ozma would permit her and cap'n bill to live always in the land of oz. when they reached the great city they were more amazed than ever, both by the concourse of people in their quaint and picturesque costumes, and by the splendor of the city itself. but the magnificence of the royal palace quite took their breath away, until ozma received them in her own pretty apartment and by her charming manners and assuring smiles made them feel they were no longer strangers. trot was given a lovely little room next to that of dorothy, while cap'n bill had the cosiest sort of a room next to trot's and overlooking the gardens. and that evening ozma gave a grand banquet and reception in honor of the new arrivals. while trot had read of many of the people she then met, cap'n bill was less familiar with them and many of the unusual characters introduced to him that evening caused the old sailor to open his eyes wide in astonishment. he had thought the live scarecrow about as curious as anyone could be, but now he met the tin woodman, who was all made of tin, even to his heart, and carried a gleaming axe over his shoulder wherever he went. then there was jack pumpkinhead, whose head was a real pumpkin with the face carved upon it; and professor wogglebug, who had the shape of an enormous bug but was dressed in neat fitting garments. the professor was an interesting talker and had very polite manners, but his face was so comical that it made cap'n bill smile to look at it. a great friend of dorothy and ozma seemed to be a machine man called tik-tok, who ran down several times during the evening and had to be wound up again by someone before he could move or speak. at the reception appeared the shaggy man and his brother, both very popular in oz, as well as dorothy's uncle henry and aunt em, two happy old people who lived in a pretty cottage near the palace. but what perhaps seemed most surprising to both trot and cap'n bill was the number of peculiar animals admitted into ozma's parlors, where they not only conducted themselves quite properly but were able to talk as well as anyone. there was the cowardly lion, an immense beast with a beautiful mane; and the hungry tiger, who smiled continually; and eureka the pink kitten, who lay curled upon a cushion and had rather supercilious manners; and the wooden sawhorse; and nine tiny piglets that belonged to the wizard; and a mule named hank, who belonged to betsy bobbin. a fuzzy little terrier dog, named toto, lay at dorothy's feet but seldom took part in the conversation, although he listened to every word that was said. but the most wonderful of all to trot was a square beast with a winning smile, that squatted in a corner of the room and wagged his square head at everyone in quite a jolly way. betsy told trot that this unique beast was called the woozy, and there was no other like him in all the world. cap'n bill and trot had both looked around expectantly for the wizard of oz, but the evening was far advanced before the famous little man entered the room. but he went up to the strangers at once and said: "i know you, but you don't know me; so let's get acquainted." and they did get acquainted, in a very short time, and before the evening was over trot felt that she knew every person and animal present at the reception, and that they were all her good friends. suddenly they looked around for button-bright, but he was nowhere to be found. "dear me!" cried trot. "he's lost again." "never mind, my dear," said ozma, with her charming smile, "no one can go far astray in the land of oz, and if button-bright isn't lost occasionally, he isn't happy." the wonderful oz books by l. frank baum the wizard of oz the land of oz ozma of oz dorothy and the wizard in oz the road to oz the emerald city of oz the patchwork girl of oz tik-tok of oz the scarecrow of oz rinkitink in oz the lost princess of oz the tin woodman of oz the magic of oz glinda of oz the storm. an essay. title: an elegy on the author of the true-born-english-man. with an essay on the late storm. by the author of the hymn to the pillory. the storm. an essay. i'm told, _for we have news among the dead_, heaven lately spoke, but few knew what it said; the voice, in loudest tempests spoke, and storms, which nature's strong foundation shook. _i felt it hither_, and i'd have you know i heard the voice, and knew the language too. think it not strange i heard it here, no place is so remote, but when _he speaks_, they hear. besides, tho' i am dead in fame, i never told you where i am. tho' i have lost poetick breath, i'm not in perfect state of death: from whence this _popish consequence_ i draw, _i'm in the_ limbus _of the law_. let me be where i will i heard the storm, from every blast _it eccho'd thus, reform_; i felt the mighty shock, and saw the night, when guilt look'd pale, and own'd the fright; and every time the raging element shook _london_'s lofty towers, at every rent the falling timbers gave, _they cry'd, repent_. i saw, when all the stormy crew, newly commission'd from on high, newly instructed what to do, in lowring, cloudy, troops drew nigh: they hover'd o'er the guilty land, as if they had been backward to obey; as if they wondred at the sad command, and pity'd those they shou'd destroy. but heaven, that long had gentler methods tried, and saw those gentler methods all defied, had now resolv'd to be obey'd. the queen, an emblem of the _soft, still, voice_, had told the nation how to make their choice; told them the only way to happiness was by the blessed door of peace. but the unhappy genius of the land, deaf to the blessing, as to the command, scorn the high caution, and contemn the news, and all the blessed thoughts of peace refuse. since storms are then the nation's choice, _be storms their portion, said the heavenly voice_: he said, and i could hear no more, so soon th' obedient troops began to roar: so soon the blackning clouds drew near, and fill'd with loudest storms the trembling air: i thought i felt the world's foundation shake, and lookt when all the wondrous frame would break. i trembl'd as the winds grew high, and so did many a braver man than i: for he whose valour scorns his sence, has chang'd his courage into impudence. man may to man his valour show, and 'tis his vertue to do so. but if he's of his maker not afraid, he's not courageous then, but mad. soon as i heard the horrid blast, and understood how long 'twould last, view'd all the fury of the element, consider'd well by whom 'twas sent, and _unto whom_ for punishment: it brought my hero to my mind, _william_, the glorious, great, and good, and kind. short epithets to his just memory; the first he was to all the world, _the last to me_. the mighty genius to my thought appear'd, just in the same concern he us'd to show, when private tempests us'd to blow, storms which the monarch more than death or battel fear'd. when party fury shook his throne, and made their mighty malice known, _i've heard the sighing monarch say_, the publick peace so near him lay, it took the pleasure of his crown away. it fill'd with cares his royal breast; often he has those cares prophetickly exprest, that when he should the reins let go, heaven would some token of its anger show, to let the thankless nation see how they despis'd their own felicity. this robb'd the hero of his rest, disturb'd the calm of his serener breast. when to the queen the scepter he resign'd, with a resolv'd and steady mind, tho' he rejoic'd to lay the trifle down, he pity'd her to whom he left the crown: foreseeing long and vig'rous wars, foreseeing endless, private, party jarrs, would always interrupt her rest, and fill with anxious cares her royal breast. for storms of court ambition rage as high almost as tempests in the sky. could i my hasty doom retrieve, and once more in the land of poets live, i'd now the men of flags and fortune greet, and write an elegy upon the fleet. first, those that on the shore were idly found, _whom other fate protects_, while better men were drown'd, they may thank god for being knaves on shore, but sure the q---- will never trust them more. they who rid out the storm, and liv'd, but saw not whence it was deriv'd, sensless of danger, or the mighty hand, that could to cease, as well as blow, command, let such unthinking creatures have a care, for some worse end prepare. let them look out for some such day, when what the sea would not, _the gallows may_. those that in former dangers shunn'd the fight, but met their ends in this disast'rous night, have left this caution, tho' too late, that all events are known to fate. cowards avoid no danger when they run, and courage scapes the death it would not shun; 'tis nonsence from our fate to fly, all men must once have heart enough to die. those sons of plunder are below my pen, because they are below the names of men; who from the shores presenting to their eyes the fatal _goodwin_, where the wreck of _navies_ lyes, a thousand dying saylors talking to the skies. from the sad shores they saw the wretches walk, by signals of distress they talk; there with one tide of life they're vext, for all were sure to die the next. the barbarous shores with men and boats abound, the men more barbarous than the shores are found; off to the shatter'd ships they go, and for the floating purchase row. they spare no hazard, or no pain, but 'tis to save the goods, and not the men. within the sinking supplaints reach appear, as if they'd mock their dying fear. then for some trifle all their hopes supplant, with cruelty would make a _turk_ relent. if i had any _satyr_ left to write, cou'd i with suited spleen indite, my verse should blast that fatal town, and drowned saylors widows pull it down; no footsteps of it should appear, and ships no more cast anchor there. the barbarous hated name of _deal_ shou'd die, or be a term of infamy; and till that's done, the town will stand a just reproach to all the land. the ships come next to be my theme, the men's the loss, i'm not concern'd for them; for had they perish'd e'er they went, where to no purpose they were sent, the ships might ha' been built again, and we had sav'd the money and the men. there the mighty wrecks appear, _hic jacent_, useless things of war. graves of men, and tools of state, there you lye too soon, there you lye too late. but o ye mighty ships of war! what in winter did you there? wild _november_ should our ships restore to _chatham_, _portsmouth_, and the _nore_, so it was always heretofore, for heaven it self is not unkind, if winter storms he'll sometimes send, since 'tis suppos'd the men of war are all laid up, and left secure. nor did our navy feell alone, the dreadful desolation; it shook the _walls of flesh_ as well as stone, and ruffl'd all the nation. the universal fright made guilty _h----_ expect his fatal night; his harden'd soul began to doubt, and storms grew high within, as they grew high without. flaming meteors fill'd the air, but _asgil_ miss'd his _fiery chariot_ there; recall'd his black blaspheming breath, and trembling paid his homage unto death. _terror appear'd in every face_, even _vile blackbourn_ felt some shocks of grace; began to feel the hated truth appear, began to fear, after _he had burlesqu'd a god_ so long, he should at last be in the wrong. some power he plainly saw, (and seeing, felt a strange unusual awe;) some secret hand he plainly found, was bringing some strange thing to pass, and he that neither god nor devil own'd, must needs be at a loss to guess. fain he would not ha' guest the worst, but guilt will always be with terror curst. hell shook, for devils dread almighty power, at every shock they fear'd the fatal hour, the adamantine pillars mov'd, and satan's _pandemonium_ trembl'd too; the tottering _seraphs_ wildly rov'd, doubtful what the almighty meant to do; for in the darkest of the black abode, _there's not a devil but believes a god_. old _lucifer_ has sometimes try'd _to have himself be deify'd_; but devils nor men the being of god deny'd, till men of late found out new ways to sin, and turn'd the devil out to let the atheist in. but when the mighty element began, and storms the weighty truth explain, almighty power upon the whirlwind rode, and every blast proclaim'd aloud _there is, there is, there is_, a god. plague, famine, pestilence, and war, are in their causes seen, the true originals appear before the effects begin: but storms and tempests are above our rules, here our philosophers are fools. the _stagyrite_ himself could never show, from whence, nor how they blow. tis all sublime, 'tis all a mystery, they see no manner how, nor reason why; _all sovereign being_ is the amazing theme, 'tis all resolv'd to power supreme; from this first cause our tempest came, and let the atheists spight of sense blaspheme, they can no room for banter find, till they produce another father for the wind. _satyr_, thy sense of sovereign being declare, he made the mighty prince o'th' air, and devils recognize him by their fear. ancient as time, and elder than the light, ere the first day, or antecedent night, ere matter into settl'd form became, and long before existence had a name; before th' expance of indigested space, while the vast _no-where_ fill'd the room of place. liv'd _the first cause_ the first great _where_ and _why_, existing _to and from_ eternity, of his great self, and _of necessity_. _this i call god_, that one great word of fear, at whose great sound, when from his mighty breath 'tis eccho'd round, nature pays homage with a trembling bow, and conscious men would faintly disallow; the secret trepidation racks the soul, and while he says, no god, replies, thou fool. _but call it what we will_, _first being it had_, does space and substance fill. eternal self-existing power enjoy'd, and whatsoe'er is so, _that same is god_. if then it should fall out, as who can tell, but that there is a heaven and hell, mankind had best consider well for fear 't should be too late when their mistakes appear; such may in vain reform, unless they do't before another storm. they tell us _scotland_ scap'd the blast; no nation else have been without a taste: all _europe_ sure have felt the mighty shock, 't has been a universal stroke. but heaven has other ways to plague the _scots_, as poverty and plots. her majesty confirms it, what she said, i plainly heard it, tho' i'm dead. the dangerous sound has rais'd me from my sleep, i can no longer silence keep, here _satyr_'s thy deliverance, a plot in _scotland_, hatch'd in _france_, and liberty the old pretence. prelatick power with popish join, the queens just government to undermine; this is enough to wake the dead, the call's too loud, it never shall be said the lazy _satyr_ slept too long, when all the nations danger claim'd his song. rise _satyr_ from thy sleep of legal death, and reassume satyrick breath; what tho' to seven years sleep thou art confin'd, thou well may'st wake with such a wind. such blasts as these can seldom blow, but they're both form'd above and heard below. then wake and warn us now the storms are past, lest heaven return with a severer blast. wake and inform mankind of storms that still remain behind. if from this grave thou lift thy head, they'll surely mind one risen from the dead. tho' _moses_ and the prophets can't prevail, a speaking _satyr_ cannot fail. tell 'em while secret discontents appear, there'll ne'er be _peace and union_ here. they that for trifles so contend, have something farther in their end; but let those hasty people know, the storms above reprove the storms below, and 'tis too often known, the storms below do storms above forerun; they say this was a high-church storm, sent out the nation to reform; but th' emblem left the moral in the lurch, for't blew the steeple down upon the church. from whence we now inform the people, the danger of the church is from the steeple. and we've had many a bitter stroke, from pinacle and weather-cock; from whence the learned do relate, that to secure the church and state, the time will come when all the town to save the church, will pull the steeple down. two tempests are blown over, now prepare for storms of treason and intestine war. the high-church fury to the north extends, in haste to ruin all their friends. occasional conforming led the way, and now occasional rebellion comes in play, to let the wond'ring nation know, that high-church honesty's an empty show, a phantasm of delusive air, that as occasion serves can disappear, and loyalty's a sensless phrase, an empty nothing which our interest sways, and as that suffers this decays. who dare the dangerous secret tell, _that church-men can rebel_. faction we thought was by the whigs engross'd, and _forty one_ was banter'd till the jest was lost. _bothwel_ and _pentland-hills_ were fam'd, and _gilly cranky_ hardly nam'd. if living poets dare not speak, _we that are dead_ must silence break; and boldly let them know the time's at hand. when ecclesiastick tempests shake the land. prelatick treason from the crown divides, and now rebellion changes sides. their volumes with their loyalty may swell, but in their turns too they rebel; can plot, contrive, assassinate, and spight of passive laws disturb the state. let fair pretences fill the mouths of men, no fair pretence shall blind my pen; they that _in such a reign as this_ rebel must needs be in confederacy with hell. oppressions, tyranny and pride, may give some reason to divide; but where the laws with open justice rule, he that rebels _must be both knave and fool_. may heaven the growing mischief soon prevent, and traytors meet reward in punishment. _finis._ elsie's journey on inland waters by martha finley [illustration] new york dodd, mead and company publishers copyright, , by dodd, mead and company. _all rights reserved._ chapter i. after her return from the trip across the lake with the bridal party, the _dolphin_ lay at anchor near the white city for a week or more; there were so many interesting and beautiful exhibits at the fair still unseen by them that captain raymond, his family, and guests scarce knew how to tear themselves away. at the breakfast table on the morning after their arrival, they, as usual, considered together the question where the day should be spent. it was soon evident that they were not all of one mind, some preferring a visit to one building, some to another. "i should like nothing better than to spend some hours in the art palace, examining paintings and statuary," said violet, "and i have an idea that mamma would enjoy doing the same," looking enquiringly at her mother as she finished her sentence. "in which you are quite right," responded grandma elsie. "there is nothing i enjoy more than pictures and statuary such as may be found there." "and i am sure your father and i can echo that sentiment," remarked mrs. dinsmore, with a smiling glance at her husband. "very true, my dear," he said. "then that is where we shall go," said the captain. "that includes your four children, i suppose, papa?" remarked lucilla, half enquiringly, half in assertion. "unless one or more of them should prefer to remain at home--here on the yacht," he replied. "how about that, neddie, my boy?" "oh, papa, i don't want to stay here! please let me go with you and mamma," exclaimed the little fellow, with a look of mingled alarm and entreaty. "you certainly shall, if you want to, my son," returned his father. "i am happy to say that my little boy has been very good and given no unnecessary trouble in visiting the fair thus far. and i can say the same of my little elsie and her older sisters also," he added, with an affectionate look from one to another. "thank you, papa," said lucilla and grace, the latter adding, "i think it would be strange indeed should we ever intentionally and willingly give trouble to such a father as ours." "i don't intend ever to do that," said little elsie earnestly, and with a loving upward look into her father's face. "i am glad to hear it, dear child," he returned, with an appreciative smile. "i, too," said her mother. "well, we will make quite a party, even if all the rest choose to go elsewhere." the art palace was a very beautiful building of brick and steel; its style of architecture ionic of the most classic and refined type. it was very large: feet wide by feet in length, with an eastern and western annex, a grand nave and transept feet wide and feet high intersecting it, and that surmounted by a dome very high and wide, and having upon its apex a winged figure of victory. from this dome the central section was flooded with light, and here was a grand collection of sculpture and paintings, in which every civilized nation was represented, the number of pieces shown being nearly twenty-five thousand. it was the largest art exhibition ever made in the history of the world. it was not strange, therefore, that though our friends had been in the building more than once before, they still found an abundance of fine works of art which were well worth attentive study, and as entirely new to them as though they had been but just placed there. little elsie was particularly attracted, and her curiosity was excited by an oil painting among the french exhibits of joan of arc listening to the voices. "is there a story to it?" she asked of her grandma, who stood nearest to her at the moment. "yes, dear; and if you want to hear it, i shall tell it to you when we go back to the _dolphin_," was the kindly rejoinder, and the child, knowing that grandma elsie's promises were sure to be kept, said no more at the moment, but waited patiently until the appointed time. as usual, she and neddie were ready for a rest sooner than the older people, and were taken back to the yacht by their father, grandma elsie and grace accompanying them, saying that they, too, were weary enough to enjoy sitting down with the little folks for an hour or so. "oh, i'm glad grandma's going too!" cried ned, and elsie added, with a joyous look, "so am i, grandma, but i'm very sorry you are tired." "do not let that trouble you, dearest," returned mrs. travilla, with a loving smile. "you know if i were not tired i should miss the enjoyment of resting." "and there is enjoyment in that," remarked the captain; "yet i regret, mother, that your strength is not sufficient to enable you to see and enjoy all the beautiful sights here, which we may never again have an opportunity to behold." "well, captain, one cannot have everything in this world," returned grandma elsie, with a contented little laugh, "and it is a real enjoyment to me to sit on the deck of the _dolphin_ with my dear little grandchildren about me, and entertain them with such stories as will both interest and instruct them." "oh, are you going to tell us the story of that picture i asked you about, grandma?" queried little elsie, with a look of delight. "what picture was that?" asked her father, who had not heard what passed between the lady and the child while gazing together upon maillart's painting. mrs. travilla explained, adding, "i suppose you have no objection to my redeeming my promise?" "oh, no! not at all; it is a historical story, and i do not see that it can do them any harm to hear it, sadly as it ends." they had reached the yacht while talking, and presently were on board and comfortably seated underneath the awning on the deck. then the captain left them, and grandma elsie, noting the look of eager expectancy on little elsie's face, at once began the coveted tale. "the story i am about to tell you," she said, "is of things done and suffered more than four hundred years ago. at that time there was war between the english and french. the king of england, not satisfied with his own dominions, wanted france also and claimed it because his mother was the daughter of a former french king; so he sent an army across the channel into france to force the french to take him for their king, instead of their own monarch." "didn't the french people want to have the english king to be theirs too, grandma?" asked elsie. "no, indeed! and so a long, long war followed, and a great many of both the french and english were killed. "at that time there was a young peasant girl named joan, a modest, industrious, pious girl, who loved her country and was distressed over the dreadful war going on in it. she longed to help to drive the english away; but it did not seem as if she--a girl of fifteen, who could neither read nor write, though she could sew and spin and work out in the fields and gardens--could do anything to help to rid her dear land of the invaders. but she thought a great deal about it and at length imagined that she heard heavenly voices calling to her to go and fight for her king." "and that was the picture that we saw to-day, grandma?" asked elsie. "but it wasn't really true?" "no, dear; probably joan of arc, as she is called, really imagined she heard them, and the painter has imagined how they might have looked." "then it isn't real," remarked the little girl, in a tone of disappointment. "no, not what the picture represents; but the story of what poor joan of arc, or the maid of orleans, as she is often called, thought and did is true. when she told her story of the voices speaking to her no one believed it; they thought she was crazy. but she was not discouraged. she went to her king, or rather the dauphin, for he had not been crowned, and told her story to him and his council--that god had revealed to her that the french troops would succeed in driving the enemy away from the city of orleans, which they were besieging at that time. "the dauphin listened, believed what she told him, and gave her leave to dress herself in male attire and go with the troops, riding on a white palfrey and bearing a sword and a white banner. the soldiers believed in her, and in consequence were filled with such courage and enthusiasm that they fought very bravely and soon succeeded in driving the english away from orleans. "this success so delighted the french, and so raised their hope of ridding france of her enemies, that they won victory after victory, driving the english out of one province after another, and even out of paris itself, so that the english hated and dreaded poor joan. "she conducted the dauphin to rheims, where he was crowned, and she wept for joy as she saluted him as king. then she wanted to go home, thinking her work was done; but king charles begged her to stay with the army, and to please him she did. but she began to have fearful forebodings because she no longer heard the voices. yet she remained with the french army and was present at a good many battles, till at length she was taken prisoner by the burgundians and sold to the english for a large sum by the burgundian officer." "oh, grandma! and did the english hurt her for fighting for her own dear country?" "i cannot say certainly," replied mrs. travilla; "accounts differ, some saying that she was put to death as a heretic and sorceress; others that some five or six years later she arrived at metz, was at once recognized by her two brothers, and afterward married." "oh, i hope that is the true end of the story!" exclaimed elsie. "it would be so dreadful to have her put to death for helping to save her dear country." "so it would," said grace; "but in those early times such dreadful, dreadful deeds used to be done. i often feel thankful that i did not live in those days." "yes," said mrs. travilla, "we may well be full of gratitude and love to god our heavenly father that our lot has been cast in these better times and in our dear land." "and that we have our dear, kind grandma to love," said neddie, nestling closer to her, "and our papa and mamma. some little children haven't any." "no, i had no mother when i was your age, ned," sighed grandma elsie, "and i cannot tell you how much i used to long for her when aunt chloe would tell me how sweet and lovely she had been, and how sorry she was to leave her baby." "her baby? was that you, grandma?" he asked, with a wondering look up into her face. "yes," she replied, with a smile, and stroking his hair caressingly. "but you had a papa? grandpa is your papa, isn't he? i hear you call him that sometimes." "yes, he is; my dear father and your mamma's grandfather, which makes him yours too." "mine, too," said little elsie, in a tone of satisfaction. "oh, see! here comes the boat with evelyn and uncle walter in it!" "you are early to-night as well as ourselves," remarked grace, as they stepped upon the deck and drew near the little group already gathered there. "yes," returned evelyn, "i was tired, and walter kindly brought me home. the yacht seems like a home to me nowadays," she added, with a light laugh. "yes," said grace; "i am sure papa likes to have us all feel that it is a home to us at present." "and a very good and comfortable one it is," remarked walter, handing evelyn to a seat, then taking one himself opposite her and near his mother's side. "where have you two been? and what have you seen that is worth telling about?" asked grace. "visiting buildings," returned walter; "brazil, turkey, hayti, sweden, and lastly venezuela." "and what did you see there?" "in venezuela's exhibit? christopher columbus and general bolivar--that is, their effigies--specimens of birds, animals, minerals, preserves, spices, coffee, vegetables, fine needlework, some manufactured goods, and--most interesting of all, we thought--the flag carried by pizarro in his conquest of peru." "pizarro? who was he? and what did he do, uncle wal?" asked little elsie. "he was a very, very bad man and did some very, very wicked deeds," replied walter. "did he kill people?" "yes, that he did; and got killed himself at last. the bible says, 'whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed,' and there have been a great many examples of it in the history of the world." "does god say that, uncle walter?" asked neddie. "yes; god said it to noah, shortly after he and his family came out of the ark." "when the flood was over?" "yes." "please tell us about that flag and the bad man that carried it," urged little elsie, and walter complied. "pizarro was a spaniard," he began, "a very courageous, but covetous and cruel man; very ignorant, too; he could neither read nor write. he was a swineherd in his youth, but gave up that occupation and came over to america to seek a fortune in this new world. he crossed the isthmus of panama with balboa and discovered the pacific ocean. while there he heard rumors of a country farther south, where gold and silver were said to be as abundant as iron in spain, and he was seized with a great desire to go there and help himself to as much as possible. so he and another fellow named almagro, and luque, a priest, put their money together and fitted out a small expedition, of which pizarro took command. "they did not go very far that time, but afterward tried it again, first making an agreement that all they got of lands, treasures, and other things, vassals included, should be divided equally between them. "they set sail in two ships. they really reached peru, and when pizarro went back to panama he carried with him many beautiful and valuable ornaments of gold and silver which the kind-hearted natives had given him, also specimens of cloth made of wool and having a silky appearance and brilliant color, and some llamas, or alpacas." "they had certainly treated him very kindly," remarked grace, as walter paused for a moment in his narrative. "yes; and what a mean wretch he must have been to want to rob them of everything--even to life, liberty, and happiness. he was determined to do that as soon as possible; so determined that, not being able to find enough volunteers in panama, he went all the way back to spain (a far greater undertaking then than it would be now), told the story of his discoveries before the king, charles v., and his ministers; describing the wealth of the countries and showing the goods and ornaments he had brought from them. "then they gave him--what was not theirs to give--permission to conquer peru, and the titles of governor and captain-general of that country. he on his part agreed to raise a certain number of troops, and to send to the king of spain one-fifth of all the treasures he should obtain. he then returned to panama and soon set sail for peru again." "with a great many soldiers, uncle wal?" queried little ned. "no; with what in these days would be considered a very small army; only soldiers, of whom were cavalry." "cavalry?" repeated ned, in a tone of enquiry. "yes, soldiers on horseback. the peruvians, having never before seen a horse, took each mounted man and the steed he rode to be but one animal, and were much afraid of them. the firearms, too, inspired great terror, as they knew nothing of gunpowder and its uses. "at that time there was war among the natives of peru and quito. huano capac, the former inca of peru, had died some years previous, leaving peru to his son huascar, and quito, which he had conquered shortly before, to another son--half-brother to huascar. the two had quarrelled and had been fighting each other for about two years, and just before the arrival of the spaniards atahualpa had defeated his brother huascar, taken him prisoner, and confined him in a strong fortress." "perhaps," remarked evelyn, "if they had not been so busy fighting each other they might have discovered the approach of pizarro, their common enemy, in season to prevent the mischief he was prepared to do them." "very possibly," returned walter. "as it was, the spaniards drew near atahualpa's victorious camp, where they found fifty thousand men assembled. pizarro had at the most only two hundred; a mere handful in comparison with the numbers of the peruvians, but by a most daring and diabolical stratagem he got possession of the unsuspecting inca. "atahualpa came to visit him in a friendly spirit. a priest began explaining to him the christian, or rather the papal religion; told him that the pope had power over all the kingdoms of the earth and that he had presented peru to the king of spain; also that they had come to take possession in the name of that king. "naturally that made atahualpa very angry; so angry that he indignantly interrupted the priest, saying that the pope--whoever he was--must be a crazy fool to talk of giving away countries which did not belong to him. then he asked on what authority such claims were made. "the priest pointed to a bible. atahualpa dashed it angrily to the ground, and the fields began to fill with indians. then pizarro waved a white scarf--the signal he had agreed upon with his men--and his artillery poured sudden death into the terrified masses of indians, while the spanish cavalry rode them down in a furious, merciless way. the ranks of the poor, unarmed peruvians were thrown into confusion; their foes were butchering them without mercy; they could do little to save themselves; they used every effort to defend and save the sacred inca, but in vain; and after hours of that fiendish murdering of the poor, defenceless creatures, the spaniards got full possession of him. "at first they pretended to be very kind to him, especially when he offered, as his ransom, to fill the room in which he stood with gold as high as he could reach. "huascar, in his prison, heard of this and offered a still larger ransom for himself, and to prevent it atahualpa had him secretly murdered. "soon after that the gold for atahualpa's ransom began to pour in, and when there was as much as he had promised he demanded his freedom. but pizarro refused to let him go--though he took the gold--accusing him of plotting against him; and after much base treachery the spaniards held a mock trial and condemned atahualpa to be burned. but when they led him out to the stake he consented to be baptized, and for that they were so very merciful as to strangle before burning him." "oh, uncle walter, what cruel, cruel men!" exclaimed little elsie. "they were, indeed," sighed her grandma. "the bible tells us 'the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.' pizarro and his band were very, very wicked men. they had no more right to the country of the peruvians than the peruvians would have had to theirs, had they crossed the ocean to spain and seized upon it for their own. 'all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword,' our saviour said, and how true it proved in the case of these men of whom we have been talking! atahualpa caused his brother huascar to be killed; pizarro, almagro, and the others killed atahualpa; pizarro afterward killed almagro; and later on pizarro was himself slain by almagro's son diego." chapter ii. ned had begun to nod, and elsie's eyes drooped as if she too were in need of a nap; perceiving which grandma elsie bade their nurse take them to their berth. a light breeze had sprung up, and it was very pleasant on deck in the shade of the awning; while, resting upon couches or in easy chairs, they talked in a quiet way of the various interesting exhibits to which they had given their attention since leaving the yacht that morning. "we visited the illinois building," said evelyn, "and were very much interested in the wonderful grain picture there. it is an ideal prairie farm--with farmhouse, barn, stock-sheds, all made of corn-husks as well as the picket fence surrounding it; there are stock and poultry in the barnyard; there is a windmill too, and there are fields and cattle." "yes," said walter, as eva paused in her account, "and the perspective showed fields of grass and grain, pasture too, and sky effects--all made of natural grains, grasses, leaves, and berries indigenous to illinois." "oh, i think i must get papa to take us to see it!" exclaimed grace. "there is a curtain that partly covers the picture," continued walter; "it is made of the same materials and caught up by a rope with tassels made of yellow corn. "we visited the idaho building too," he went on, "and i think you should all see it. it is really picturesque--a log-house on a foundation of lava and basaltic rock. the timbers we were told are from young cedar trees, stuffed and stained to produce the effect of age; then it has fine upper and lower balconies shaded by a projecting roof upheld by brackets of logs. i heard people remarking that it was the handsomest log-house ever built, and certainly i never saw any other nearly so handsome." "ah, here comes the boat again with the rest of our folks!" exclaimed grace, and springing to his feet, walter hastened to the side of the vessel to assist the ladies in getting on board. "well, lu, have you had a good time since i left you?" asked grace, in a lively tone, as her sister drew near. "yes; yes, indeed!" returned lucilla; "we have seen and enjoyed a great deal, and i wouldn't have missed it on any account, though we are all very tired, i think. i am, i know," she concluded, dropping into a seat by grace's side. "as we all are," said violet. "i am glad, mamma, that you came back to the yacht when you did." "yes, i thought it wiser not to allow myself to become very weary before taking rest; and we have had a pleasant, quiet time here together," returned grandma elsie, looking up with an affectionate smile into the face of her father, who had just drawn near and was standing by her side, regarding her with a slightly anxious look. "i am glad you were so prudent," he said, "for you have not been over strong since that illness that made us all so anxious." "no; and we all feel that we must be very careful of our dear mother," remarked the captain, who had just joined the little group. "of gracie also," he added, smiling down into her face and laying a caressing hand for a moment on her head. "are you feeling very tired, daughter?" "not so very much now, papa," she answered brightly; "we have been resting nicely here, talking over the sights and historical stories connected with them." then, turning to her sister, "tell us where you have been and what you have seen since we left the party, lu," she requested. "ah, i am afraid i cannot begin to tell all," returned lucilla, in a lively tone and with a pleased little laugh, "for 'their name is legion'; the loveliest pictures and statuary in the fine arts building, and a great variety of curious and interesting things in machinery hall. we went up to the gallery there and took a ride in the travelling crane. it is like an elevated railroad, is moved by electricity, and runs the whole length of the building, twenty or thirty feet above the floor. we stepped in at one end and sat down upon chairs ranged along the front edge, and it was really entertaining to watch the crowds of people moving along the floors below, and to get at last a glance at the exhibits." "exhibits!" echoed grace. "of what kind? oh, machines, of course! but i should hardly expect them to be very interesting." "machines for making ice cream and candy would interest you, wouldn't they?" asked lulu. "perhaps the hot baths, too; though i suppose you wouldn't care much about printing-presses, rock-drills, sewing-machines, washing-machines, looms, and the like. i own i didn't care over much for them myself. but in the restful, cooling, breezy ride, with nothing to do but watch the goings on of other people, and a glance now and then at something interesting as we glided past it, i did find a good deal of enjoyment. ah," drawing out her pretty little watch and glancing at its face, "i must excuse myself now and go to my stateroom; for i see it is nearly meal time, and my hair and dress certainly need some attention;" and with that she left them. mr. dinsmore and the captain, wishing to look at some exhibits in which the ladies took but little interest, went ashore again early in the evening; leaving mrs. dinsmore, mrs. travilla, and the younger ones occupying the comfortable seats on the _dolphin's_ deck, and enjoying the cool evening breeze and the somewhat distant view of the beauties of the brilliantly illuminated white city, as well as that of the starry heavens above them. violet had gone down to the cabin with her children to see them safely in bed, and for some minutes no one left in the little group behind had spoken. but presently grace broke the silence. "i have just been thinking what a wonderful change has come over this part of our country since the war of . i remember that history tells us there was only a fort and a trading post here then, where now this great city stands, and that it was destroyed. grandma elsie, don't you want to tell us the whole story?" she concluded in a coaxing tone. "i am willing, if you all wish it," was the sweet-toned reply, immediately followed by an eager assent from everyone present. "well, then, my dears," she said, "to begin at the beginning--this spot, we are told, was first visited by a white man in . he was a french jesuit called father marquette. he built a cabin there and planted a missionary station. eleven years afterward his cabin was replaced by a fort. i do not know how long that fort stood, but lossing tells us that in a mulatto from st. domingo found his way to that far-off wilderness, and that the indians said of him 'the first white man who settled here was a negro.' he did not stay very long, however, and the improvements he had made fell into the hands of the next comer, who was a native of quebec named john kinzie. "he was an enterprising trader with the indians, and for twenty years the only white man in northern illinois except a few american soldiers. it was in that he made chicago his home, and on the fourth of july of that year a fort our government had been building there was formally dedicated and called fort dearborn, in honor of the then secretary of war. it stood on a slight elevation on the south bank of the chicago river, about half a mile from its mouth, and directly opposite, on the north bank, stood mr. kinzie's dwelling. it was a modest mansion begun by jean baptiste, and enlarged by mr. kinzie. he had some lombardy poplars planted in front within an enclosed yard, and at the back a fine garden and growing orchard. "there he had lived in peace and prosperity, esteemed and confided in by the surrounding indians, for eight years, when in june of war was declared by our government with great britain. of course you all know and remember what were the causes of that second struggle with our mother country?" "indeed we do, mother," exclaimed walter. "she interfered with our commerce, capturing every american vessel bound to, or returning from a port where her commerce was not favored; and worse still, was continually seizing our sailors and forcing them into her service; depriving us of our god-given rights and making slaves of freemen. if ever a war was justifiable on one side that one was on ours. is it not so?" "i think it is, my son," replied grandma elsie, smiling slightly at the lad's heat. "was fort dearborn strong and well built, mamma?" queried rosie. "yes; it was strongly picketed, had a block-house at each of two angles on the southern side, on the north side a sally-port and covered way that led down to the river for the double purpose of obtaining water during a siege and of having a way of escape should that be desirable at any time--and was strongly picketed. "the fort was built by major whistler, his soldiers dragging all the timber to the spot because they had no oxen. some material was furnished from fort wayne, but so economically was the work done that the fortress did not cost the government fifty dollars. "but to return to my story--the garrison there at the time of the declaration of war consisted of fifty-four men. the only other residents of the post at that time were the wives of captain heald and lieutenant helm, the second in command, those of some of the soldiers, a few canadians with their wives and children, and mr. kinzie and his family. "they were all on the most friendly terms with the principal tribes of indians in that neighborhood--the pottawatomies and winnebagoes, yet they could not win them from their attachment for the british, who yearly made them large presents as bribes to secure their alliance. portions of their tribes had been engaged in the battle of tippecanoe, fought the previous autumn, and since that some of the leading chiefs had seemed sullen, and suspicions of intended hostility on their part at times troubled the minds of the officers of the fort. "one day in the spring of two indians of the calumet band were at the fort, and seeing mrs. helm and mrs. heald playing at battledore, one of them, named nan-non-gee, turned to the interpreter with the remark, 'the white chiefs' wives are amusing themselves very much; it will not be long before they will be living in our cornfields.'" "oh!" cried grace, "i should think that ought to have been enough to warn the officers of the fort to make every preparation to repel an assault by the indians." "yes," said grandma elsie, "but heald seems to have been strangely blind and deaf to every kind of warning. "on the evening of the th of april, , mr. kinzie sat by his fireside playing his violin, his children dancing to the music, when their mother, who had been attending a sick neighbor, a mrs. burns, living half a mile above the fort, came rushing wildly in crying out: 'the indians! the indians!' 'what? where?' exclaimed her husband. 'up at lee's, killing and scalping!' she gasped in reply, and went on to tell that the alarm had been given by a boy, the son of mr. lee, and a discharged soldier who had been working for them. they had shouted the dreadful tidings across the river to the burns family, as they ran down the farther side, mr. lee's place being between two and three miles farther up the stream. "not a moment was to be lost. mr. kinzie hurried his family into two pirogues moored in front of his house, and hastened with them across the river and into the fort. the alarm had reached there also, and a scow with ensign ronan and six men started at once up the river to rescue the burns family. also a cannon was fired to give notice of danger to a party of soldiers who were out fishing. mrs. burns and her family, including an infant not yet a day old, were taken safely to the fort." "i hope those soldiers got back safely too," said grace. "yes; they were two miles above lee's; it was already dark when they returned, and in passing his house they came upon the bodies of murdered and scalped persons, which were the next day recovered and buried near the fort. it was afterward learned that the scalping party were winnebagoes from rock river, who had come with the intention of killing every white person outside of the fort, but were frightened away by the sound of the cannon before they had finished their fiendish work; so fled back to their homes. "in those days an agency house stood upon the esplanade, about twenty rods west from the fort, and in it all the whites not belonging to the garrison now took refuge. it was an old-fashioned log-house, with a passage through the centre, and piazzas in front and rear extending the whole length of the building. these were planked up, port-holes cut in the barricades and sentinels were posted there every night. "hostile indians hovered around the post for some time, helping themselves to whatever they could lay their hands upon, but at length disappeared, and for a while there was no further alarm. "on the th of august, toward evening, a friendly pottawatomie chief, named win-ne-meg, or the catfish, came to chicago from fort wayne as the bearer of a despatch from general hull to captain heald. in that despatch hull told of the declaration of war with england, the invasion of canada, and the loss of mackinack. it also ordered captain heald to evacuate fort dearborn, if practicable; and if he did so to distribute all the united states property there among the indians in the neighborhood." "including guns, powder, and balls with which to kill the whites!" said lucilla. "i think i should have concluded from such an order that hull must be either a traitor or an idiot." "his idea," said grandma elsie, "seems to have been to make a peace-offering to the savages to induce them to refrain from joining the british, then menacing detroit. "win-ne-meg, who had some knowledge of the contents of the missive he brought, begged mr. kinzie, with whom he was intimate, to advise captain heald not to evacuate the fort, assuring him it would prove a difficult and dangerous movement; for the indians had already received information from tecumseh of the disasters to the american arms and the withdrawal of hull's army from canada, and were growing insolent and restless. the fort was well supplied with ammunition and provisions sufficient to last for six months; by the end of that time relief might be sent, and why not hold out till then? but if heald was resolved to evacuate, it had better be done at once, before the indians should be informed of the order, and so be prepared to make an attack. "win-ne-meg's advice in that case was to leave the stores as they were, allowing them to make distribution for themselves; for while they were engaged in that business the white people might make their way in safety to fort wayne. "mr. kinzie perceived that this was wise advice, as did the officers of the fort, with the exception of heald, who would not listen to it, but expressed himself as resolved to yield strict obedience to hull's orders as to evacuation and the distribution of the public property. "the next morning hull's order was read to the troops, and heald took the whole responsibility of carrying it out. his officers expected to be summoned to a council, but they were not. toward evening they called upon the commander and remonstrated with him. they said that the march must necessarily be slow on account of the women, children, and infirm persons, therefore, under the circumstances, exceedingly perilous. they reminded him that hull's order left it to his discretion to go or to stay; adding that they thought it much wiser to strengthen the fort, defy the savages, and endure a siege until help could reach them. "but heald replied that he should expect the censure of the government if he remained, for special orders had been issued by the war department that no post should be surrendered without battle having been given by the assailed; and his force was entirely too small to hazard an engagement with the indians. he added that he had full confidence in the professions of friendship of many chiefs about him, and he would call them together, make the required distribution, then take up his march for fort wayne." "and did the other officers submit to him then, grandma elsie?" asked grace. "yes; my dear, he was in authority, and i presume they were too loyal to oppose him. but being determined to abandon the fort, he should have done so at once; for delay was certainly increasing the danger, the indians becoming more unruly every hour; yet he procrastinated and did not call them together for the final arrangements for two or three days. "at last that was done and they met near the fort on the afternoon of the th, when heald held a farewell council with them. he invited his officers to join him in that, but they refused. in some way they had been informed that treachery was intended on the part of the indians, that they had planned to murder them and then destroy those who were in the fort. therefore they remained inside the pickets and opened a port-hole of one of the block-houses so that the indians could see a cannon pointing directly toward their group, thus protecting captain heald. it had the desired effect; no effort was made by the savages to carry out their treacherous design, they professed friendship, and accepted heald's offers to distribute among them the goods in the public store--blankets, calicoes, broadcloths, paints, and other things such as indians fancy." "beads among them, i presume," remarked rosie. "very likely," said her mother, "as they have always been a favorite ornament with the indians. the distribution of those goods, the arms and ammunition and such of the provisions as would not be needed by the garrison, was to take place next day; then the whites were to leave the fort and set out upon their journey through the wilderness, the pottawatomies engaging to furnish them with an escort, on condition of being liberally rewarded on their arrival at fort wayne." "oh, but i should have been afraid to trust them!" exclaimed grace, shuddering at the very thought of the risk. "mr. kinzie, who knew the indians so well, was of your opinion," said grandma elsie, "and earnestly remonstrated with captain heald; telling him they were not to be trusted in the face of such temptations. especially he urged him not to put arms and ammunition in their hands, as that would fearfully increase their ability to carry on the murderous raids which had become so frequent and caused so great terror in the frontier settlements. "he succeeded in convincing heald that he had been very foolish in making that promise, and he resolved to violate his treaty so far as the arms and ammunition were concerned. that very evening something occurred that certainly ought to have opened heald's eyes and led him to shut the gates of the fort and defend it to the last extremity. black partridge, a chief who had thus far always been friendly to the whites, and who was a man of great influence too, came to heald in a quiet way and said, 'father, i come to deliver to you the medal i wear. it was given me by the americans, and i have long worn it in token of our mutual friendship. but our young men are resolved to imbrue their hands in the blood of the white people. i cannot restrain them, and i will not wear a token of peace while i am compelled to act as an enemy.'" "and did heald actually disregard such a warning as that?" exclaimed evelyn leland. "i really do not see how it could have been made plainer that the purpose was to attack and murder all in the fort as soon as they were fairly in their power." "nor do i," said grandma elsie; "yet heald seems to have paid no more attention to it than to the previous warnings. "the next morning, august , was bright and cool. the indians came in great numbers to receive their promised presents. only the goods in the store were distributed that day, and in the evening black partridge said to mr. griffith, the interpreter, 'linden birds have been singing in my ears to-day; be careful on the march you are going to take.' this was repeated to captain heald, but solemn warning as it evidently was, he paid no more attention to it than he had to previous ones. he seems to have been perfectly infatuated, and how he could ever forgive himself in after years i cannot see. he went steadily on in the execution of his plans, of which, as i have told you, all the other officers, mr. kinzie, and friendly indian chiefs disapproved. that night he had all the guns but such as his party could make use of in their journey--gunscrews, flint, shot, and everything belonging to the use of firearms--thrown into the well. this was done at midnight, when the sentinels were posted and the indians in their camp; at least, they were supposed to be, but the night was dark, indians can move noiselessly, and some whose suspicions had been aroused crept to the spot and made themselves acquainted with what was going on. liquor and powder, too, were poured into the well, and a good deal of alcohol, belonging to mr. kinzie, into the river; also a portion of the powder and liquor of the fort was thrown into a canal that came up from the river far under the covered way. but the water of the river was sluggish, and so great a quantity of liquor had been thrown into it that in the morning it was like strong grog; and powder could be seen floating on the surface." "and of course the indians, who loved liquor, were angry when they saw how it had been wasted, instead of given to them," remarked grace. "yes; their complaints and threats were loud, and now the little garrison had no choice but to brave the danger of exposing themselves to their vengeance, for it was no longer possible to hold the fort, and they must set out upon their perilous journey. ah! if heald had but been less obstinately bent upon having his own way--more willing to listen to the advice and remonstrances of his officers, kinzie, who understood the indians so well, and the warning of the friendly chiefs, much suffering might have been averted and valuable lives saved. "mrs. heald had an uncle, the brave captain william wells, who had passed most of his life among the miami indians and been made one of their chiefs. he had heard at fort wayne of hull's order to evacuate fort dearborn, and knowing of the hostility of the pottawatomies, had made a rapid march across the country with a party of his miamis to reinforce heald and help him to hold and defend the fort. but he arrived just too late; the means of defence had already been destroyed, and there was no choice but to attempt the perilous march through the wilderness. "nine o'clock of the th was the hour set for the evacuation, and it was already evident that the indians intended to massacre the whites--men, women, and children. nor could they entertain any hope of being able to defend themselves, so overwhelming was the number of their savage foes, warriors against soldiers, civilians, and or women." "but there were the miamis with wells, mamma," remarked rosie. "who proved of no assistance," returned grandma elsie. "lossing tells us that when, at nine o'clock, the gates were thrown open, and the march began, it was like a funeral procession. the band struck up the dead march in 'saul.' captain wells, with his friendly miamis, took the lead, his face blackened with gunpowder in token of his impending fate. his niece, mrs. heald, with her husband, came next, while the others, i presume, followed in the order of their rank." "were the kinzies with them?" asked grace. "mr. kinzie was, hoping by his personal influence to be able to soften, if not avert their impending fate. his family had left in a boat, in charge of a friendly indian who was to take them to his other trading station, where niles, mich., now stands. poor mrs. kinzie! having a daughter among the seemingly doomed ones, how terribly anxious and distressed she must have been!" added grandma elsie in tones tremulous with feeling. a moment of silence followed, then she went on with her narrative. chapter iii. "the procession, escorted by the five hundred pottawatomies, moved slowly along the lake shore in a southerly direction till they had reached the sand hills between the prairie and the beach. there the indians filed to the right, so that the hills were between them and the white people. "wells and his mounted miamis, who were in the advance, came suddenly dashing back, their leader shouting, 'they are about to attack us: form instantly!' "the words had scarcely left his lips when a storm of bullets came from the sand hills. the pottawatomies, both treacherous and cowardly, had made of those hills a covert from which to attack the little band of whites. "the troops were hastily brought into line, charged up the hill, and one of their number, a white-haired man of seventy, fell dead from his horse, the first victim of the perfidy of the indians hounded on by the inhuman proctor, a worse savage than they. "the miamis proved cowardly and fled at the first onset. their chief rode up to the pottawatomies, charged them with perfidy, and brandishing his tomahawk told them he would be the first to lead americans to punish them; then, wheeling his horse, he dashed away over the prairie, following his fleeing companions. "both men and women among the whites fought bravely for their lives; they could not hope to save them, but they would sell them to the savage foe as dearly as possible. it was a short, desperate, bloody conflict. lossing tells us that captain wells displayed the greatest coolness and gallantry. at the beginning of the fight he was close beside his niece, mrs. heald. "'we have not the slightest chance for life,' he said to her. 'we must part to meet no more in this world; god bless you!' and with that he dashed forward into the midst of the fight. seeing a young warrior, painted like a demon, climb into a wagon in which were twelve children, and scalp them all, he forgot his own danger, and burning to avenge the dreadful deed, cried out, 'if butchering women and children is their game, i'll kill too!' at the same time dashing toward the indian camp where they had left their squaws and papooses. "instantly swift-footed young warriors were in hot pursuit, firing upon him as they ran, while he, lying close to his horse's neck, occasionally turned and fired upon them. he had got almost beyond the range of their rifles when a shot killed his horse and wounded him severely in the leg. "yelling like fiends the young savages rushed forward to make him prisoner, intending, as he well knew, not to kill him at once, but to reserve him for a lingering and painful death by slow torture. two indian friends of his--win-ne-meg and wau-ban-see--tried to save him, but in vain; and he, knowing well for what fate he would be reserved if taken alive, taunted his pursuers with the most insulting epithets, to provoke them to kill him instantly. "he succeeded at last by calling one of them, per-so-tum by name, a squaw, which so enraged him that he despatched wells at once with a tomahawk, jumped upon his body, tore out his heart, and ate a portion of it with savage delight." "oh, how awful!" cried grace, shuddering with horror. "how his niece must have felt when she saw it!" "very possibly she did not see it," said grandma elsie, "so busy as she must have been in defending herself. she was an expert with the rifle and as an equestrienne, defended herself bravely, and received severe wounds; but, though faint and bleeding, managed to keep the saddle. an indian raised his tomahawk over her and she looked him full in the face, saying, with a melancholy smile, 'surely you would not kill a squaw!' at that his arm fell, but he took the horse by the bridle and led it toward the camp with her still in the saddle. it was a fine animal, and the indians had been firing at her in order to get possession of it, till she had received seven bullets in her person. her captor had spared her for the moment, but as he drew near the camp, his covetousness so overcame his better impulses that he took her bonnet from her head and was about to scalp her when mrs. kinzie, sitting in her boat, whence she had heard the sounds of the conflict but could not see the combatants, caught sight of them and cried out to one of her husband's clerks who was standing on the beach, 'run, run, chandonnai! that is mrs. heald. he is going to kill her. take that mule and offer it as a ransom.' "chandonnai made haste to obey the order, offered the mule and two bottles of whisky in addition, and as the three amounted to more value than proctor's offered bounty for a scalp, he succeeded, and mrs. heald was placed in the boat and there hidden from the eyes of other scalp-hunters." "i think you were right, grandma elsie, in calling that proctor a worse savage than those indians! bribing them as he did to murder men, women, and children!" exclaimed lucilla, her eyes flashing with indignation. "is it quite certain that he did?" asked grace. "quite," replied grandma elsie. "lossing tells us that proctor had offered a liberal sum for scalps, and that in consequence nearly all the wounded men were killed, their scalps carried to him at malden, and such a bounty paid for them as is given for the destruction of so many wolves. in a footnote lossing gives an extract from niles' _weekly register_ of april , , in which it is stated that mrs. helm had arrived in buffalo, and in the narrative she gave of her sufferings at and after the massacre at chicago said, 'colonel proctor, the british commander at malden, bought the scalps of our murdered garrison at chicago,' and thanks to her noble spirit, she boldly charged him with the infamy in his own house." "did he deny it?" asked evelyn. "we are not told that he did; but no doubt he was angered, for he afterward treated both her and her husband with great cruelty, causing them to be arrested and sent across the wilderness from detroit to niagara frontier, in the dead of a canadian winter. the writer also stated that mrs. heald had learned from the tribe with whom she was a prisoner, and who were the perpetrators of those murders, that they intended to remain true, but received orders from the british to cut off our garrison whom they were to escort. "in our wars with england many british officers have shown themselves extremely cruel,--not a whit behind the savages in that respect,--but it would be very wrong to judge of the whole nation by their conduct; for there were in the mother country many who felt kindly toward america and the americans. and i think," she added, with her own sweet smile, "that there are many more now." "it seems mrs. helm too escaped with her life," said walter; "but she was wounded, i presume, mother, since you just spoke of her sufferings both at and after the massacre." "yes, a stalwart young indian attempted to scalp her; she sprang to one side, and the blow from his tomahawk fell on her shoulder instead of her head; at the same instant she seized him around the neck and attempted to take his scalping-knife, which hung in a sheath on his breast. before the struggle was ended another indian seized her, dragged her to the margin of the lake, plunged her in, and to her astonishment held her there in a way to enable her to breathe; so that she did not drown. presently she discovered that he was the friendly black partridge, and that he was engaged in saving instead of trying to destroy her life. "the wife of a soldier named corbord fought desperately, suffering herself to be cut to pieces rather than surrender; believing that, if taken prisoner, she would be reserved for torture. the wife of sergeant holt was another brave woman. at the beginning of the engagement her husband was badly wounded in the neck, and taking his sword she fought like an amazon. she rode a fine, spirited horse, which the indians coveted, and several of them attacked her with the butts of their guns, trying to dismount her, but she used her sword with such skill that she foiled them; then suddenly wheeling her horse, she dashed over the prairie, a number of them in hot pursuit and shouting, 'the brave woman! the brave woman! don't hurt her!'" "did they overtake her?" asked grace. "yes, at length; when a powerful savage seized her by the neck and dragged her backward to the ground while several others engaged her in front." "oh, i hope they didn't kill her!" exclaimed grace. "no," replied mrs. travilla; "she was afterward ransomed. but to go on with my story. presently the firing ceased; the little band of whites who had escaped death succeeded in breaking through the ranks of the assassins--who gave way in front--and rallied on the flank, and gained a slight eminence on the prairie near a grove called the oak woods. the indians gathered upon the sand hills and gave signs of a willingness to parley. two-thirds of the whites had been killed or wounded; only strong men remained to cope with the fury of nearly savages--they had lost but in the conflict. to prolong the contest would be little better than madness. captain heald, accompanied only by a half-breed boy in mr. kinzie's service, went forward and met black-bird on the open prairie to arrange terms of surrender. "it was agreed that all the whites who had survived the conflict should become prisoners of war, to be exchanged as soon as practicable. with this understanding captors and captives all started for the indian camp near the fort. on arriving there another terrible scene ensued. the indians did not consider the wounded to be included in the terms of surrender, and immediately proceeded to kill and scalp nearly all of them." "to gain the bounty offered by that--human, or inhuman fiend proctor!" exclaimed walter. "i wonder how he viewed that transaction when he came to die." "i am sure that in the sight of god he was a wholesale murderer," said rosie; "a murderer not of men only, but of innocent women and children also." "yes," said her mother, "there were twelve children killed, besides captain wells, surgeon van voorhees, ensign ronan, and twenty-six private soldiers. "toward evening the family of mr. kinzie were permitted to return to their own home, where they found the friendly black partridge waiting for them. mrs. helm, the daughter of mrs. kinzie, you will remember was his prisoner. he placed her in the house of a frenchman named ouilmette. but the kinzies and all the prisoners were in great danger from a freshly arrived band of pottawatomies from the wabash, who were thirsting for blood and plunder. they thoroughly searched mr. kinzie's house for victims; but some friendly indians arrived just in time to prevent the carrying out of their bloodthirsty intentions. these were led by a half-breed chief called billy caldwell. black partridge told him of the evident purpose of the wabash indians, who had blackened their faces and were sitting sullenly in mr. kinzie's parlor, no doubt intending presently to start out and engage in the savage work they had planned. billy went in and said in a careless way, as he took off his accoutrements: 'how now, my friends! a good-day to you! i was told there were enemies here, but i am glad to find only friends. why have you blackened your faces? is it that you are mourning for your friends lost in battle? or is it that you are fasting? if so, ask our friend here (indicating mr. kinzie) and he will give you to eat. he is the indians' friend, and never yet refused them what they had need of.' "hearing all this the wabash indians were ashamed to own what their intention had been, and so the threatened massacre did not take place. the prisoners were divided among the captors and finally reunited or restored to their friends and families." "but they must have had a great deal to endure before that happy consummation," sighed evelyn. "oh, i think we can never be thankful enough that we live in these better times!" "so do i," said grace. "how very dreadful it must be to fall into the hands of savages and meet with a death so awful and sudden! i wish i knew that they were all christians and ready for heaven." "i can echo that wish," said grandma elsie, in tones full of sadness; "but i very much fear that they were not. some we may hope were, but it is said, on what seems good authority, that mrs. helm, in telling of that terrible scene near the sand hills, spoke of the terror of dr. van voorhees. he had been wounded badly, and his horse shot under him, when he asked her, 'do you think they will take our lives?' and then spoke of offering a large ransom for his. she advised him not to think of that, but of inevitable death. 'oh, i cannot die! i am not fit to die!' he exclaimed. 'if i had only a short time to prepare for it--death is awful!'" "'look at that man! at least he dies like a soldier,' she said, pointing to ensign ronan. 'yes,' gasped the doctor, 'but he has no terror of the future--he is an unbeliever.' "just then mrs. helm's struggle with the young indian who attempted to tomahawk her began, and directly afterward she saw the dead body of van voorhees." "oh, poor, poor fellow!" exclaimed grace, tears starting to her eyes. "one would think that, in such circumstances as theirs had been for months, every man and woman would have been careful to make sure work for eternity." "yes, but satan is ever tempting men to delay, and perhaps more souls are, in christian lands, lost through procrastination than from any other cause," sighed grandma elsie. "'now is the accepted time; now is the day of salvation.'" there was a moment of silence, broken by evelyn. "i remember when i was a very little girl, papa used to talk to me about being a christian, and that once i answered him, 'i would, papa, if i only knew how,' and he said, 'it is very simple, daughter; just to believe in the lord jesus, take him for your saviour, and give yourself to him--soul and body, time, talents, influence--all that you have or ever shall have, to be his forever, trusting in him with all your heart, sure that he meant all that he said in speaking to nicodemus--'god so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' and that other, 'him that cometh to me i will in no wise cast out.' those two texts seem to me to make the way very simple and plain." "they do indeed," said grandma elsie, "and anyone who has the bible and will study it faithfully, with earnest prayer to god for help to understand and obey its teachings, can hardly fail to find the way." chapter iv. the greater part of the next day was spent by our friends in a farewell visit to the fair; but the sun had not yet set when again they all gathered upon the _dolphin's_ deck, and she weighed anchor and proceeded on her course up the lake. "what a wonderful city it is to be so young!" remarked mr. dinsmore when they reached chicago. "yes, sir," said rosie. "mamma was giving us a little sketch of its early history, last evening; and we found it very interesting; but i can't say that the events here, or anywhere else, for that matter, of the war of - have increased my love for the british. think of them hiring the indians to kill men, women, and children, paying just the bounty for them that they would for so many wolf-scalps!" "yes, it was barbarous indeed; but do not forget that even in the days of the revolution there were britons who viewed such doings with horror. in there was a debate in the english parliament concerning the employment of indians against the american colonists, when a member of the house of lords spoke in approval of it, saying it was right to use the means given them by god and nature. 'god and nature!' repeated the earl of chatham in scornful tones. 'those abominable principles and this most abominable avowal of them demand most decisive indignation. i call upon that right reverend bench (pointing to the bishops), those holy ministers of the gospel and pious pastors of the church--i conjure them to join in the holy work, and to vindicate the religion of their god.' that showed that he (chatham) was strongly opposed to such barbarity, but his appeal to the bishops was vain. every man of them voted for the employment of the savages in a war against their brethren, who were fighting for their freedom after years of patient endurance of oppression--years of patient but unsuccessful effort to gain it by peaceful means." "yes, i have always admired william pitt!" said rosie. "but did any of the british people disapprove of the employment of the indians in the war of , grandpa?" "i presume a great many did, though i do not just now remember any historical mention of the fact," replied mr. dinsmore, "except among those whose business interests were sure or likely to suffer," he added musingly. "those sand hills from behind which the pottawatomies fired upon the whites are quite gone now, are they not, papa?" asked grace. "yes," replied captain raymond, "the city now covers the entire theatre of the events of that dreadful day. it has been a rapid and wonderful transformation." "don't you think, papa, it might have been saved--i mean fort dearborn--if captain heald had not been so obstinately determined to do as he thought best, regardless of the opinions of his officers and mr. kinzie, and the warnings of friendly indians?" asked grace. "i do, indeed," was the emphatic reply. "and that mackinack, which fell into the hands of the british about a month earlier, might have been saved to our country but for the criminal neglect of the then secretary of war. hancks, who was in command, did not know, had not heard of the declaration of war, though he might have been informed of it nearly a week earlier than the news reached the british commander of fort st. joseph, who led the attack, and by reason of the ignorance of the garrison and its commander of the true state of affairs came upon them so unexpectedly that they had no opportunity to defend the fortress." "oh, tell us the story of it, papa, please!" pleaded little elsie, and drawing her to a seat upon his knee, he complied at once. "the fort was built in the first place by the french," he said, "and taken from them by the english when they conquered canada. the indians were not pleased with the change and said to the english, 'you have conquered the french, but you have not conquered us.' perhaps you may remember what i told you some weeks ago about the attack of the indians upon the people in the fort. the indians were playing ball outside the walls of the fortress, and, pretending to be very friendly, invited the garrison to view the game. it was a gay and exciting scene, and the unsuspicious members of the garrison were looking on with interest, forgetting to be on their guard against treachery, when a ball went up in a lofty curve and fell near the pickets of the fort. "it was a preconcerted signal; the warriors instantly rushed toward the fort, armed with hatchets which their squaws had concealed under their blankets, and the whites being taken by surprise, a dreadful massacre followed. "the following year the fort was again garrisoned by the english, the indians fleeing at their approach. after the revolutionary war--in --the island with its fort came into possession of the united states, the western military posts being surrendered to the americans by the british, and in the fortress, then called fort holmes, was garrisoned by fifty-seven men under the command of lieutenant hancks of the united states artillery. as a defence of the fur-traders and the scattered settlements of the northwest, it was a very important post. you doubtless remember that it stands on a bluff overlooking the harbor." "it is a beautiful place in the summer," remarked grace, "but must be dreary enough through the long winters." "it is," said her father, "yet by no means so dreary now as it was in those days, surrounded by hordes of savages ever ready to raise the hatchet in the pay of those who seemed to be the stronger party. "lieutenant hancks and his garrison knew that in the event of war they must be prepared to defend themselves, but as you have just been told, they were left in uncertainty for nearly a week after the news should have reached them. there had been rumors of expected hostilities brought by traders, but the first intimation that there had been an actual declaration of war was given by the arrival of the english captain roberts, on the morning of the th of july, with his garrison of british regulars-- , including officers-- canadian militia, and indians--ottawas, chippewas, sioux, winnebagoes. "they came in boats, bateaux, canoes, convoyed by the brig _caledonia_, which belonged to the northwest fur company and was laden with provisions and stores. "on the morning of the day before, the indian interpreter had told hancks he had reliable information that the indians were assembling in large numbers at st. joseph and were about to attack fort holmes. "hancks had no sooner heard that than he summoned the american gentlemen on the island to a conference on the matter, at which it was decided to send a messenger to st. joseph to learn, if possible, the temper of the commandant, and to watch the movements of the indians. "captain darman was the man chosen, and he set off upon his errand about sunset that same evening." "all by himself, papa, when it was just getting dark, too?" asked elsie. "how could he see to row his boat?" "a full moon shone in the sky, daughter, and lighted him on his way," replied the captain. "but he had gone only fifteen miles when he met the boats carrying the british and indians, and was taken prisoner by them." "and did they kill him and scalp him, papa?" "no; they let him go on condition that he would return to the island in advance of them, call the people together to the west side of it to receive the protection of a british guard for themselves and their property, and not give lieutenant hancks any information of the approach of the enemy. also he was to warn the people that if any of them carried the news to the fort there would be a general massacre. darman was landed at dawn, and did exactly as he had promised." "oh, papa! and didn't anybody warn the poor fellows in the fort?" "yes; a dr. day, braver than any of the rest, hurried to the fort and gave the alarm while the others were fleeing from the village to escape from the bloodthirsty savages. but it was too late; the enemy had already landed and taken one of their two heavy guns to the top of the hill at the back of the fort, placing it so as to command the american works at their weakest point. by nine o'clock roberts had possession of the heights, and hideously painted savages were swarming everywhere. "at half-past eleven the americans were summoned to surrender the fortress to the forces of his 'britannic majesty.' hancks then held a consultation with his officers and the american gentlemen in the fort, and all agreeing in the opinion that it would be impossible to defend it against such overwhelming numbers--over a thousand, while the garrison could boast but fifty-seven men rank and file--he decided that it was expedient to surrender. "honorable terms were granted and at noon the american colors were taken down and those of great britain substituted in their stead. the prisoners were all paroled, and those who desired to leave the island were sent in a british vessel to detroit." "i should hardly have supposed any american would want to stay here under british rule," remarked grace. "an order was presently issued that all upon the island who would not take the oath of allegiance to the british government must leave there within a month," said captain raymond. "and they didn't let the indians kill anybody, papa?" asked elsie. "no," replied her father, "but it is altogether likely that if there had been any resistance many, if not all, would have fallen victims to the bloodthirsty savages, for one of the british, who had command of of the indians, said in a letter to colonel claus at fort george, 'it was a fortunate circumstance that the fort surrendered without firing a single gun, for had they done so, i firmly believe not a soul would have been saved.'" "the capture of mackinaw was a great loss to our country, was it not, father?" asked lucilla. "yes, it was indeed," responded the captain, "a loss to the fur-trade of the west and a terrible calamity to the people of detroit and other western pioneers. it gave the enemy command of the upper lakes with all the advantages connected with it, and exposed detroit to fearful raids by the hostile indians." "and all that dreadful state of affairs was the result of the unpardonable negligence of the secretary of war!" she exclaimed. "really, i don't see how he could ever forgive himself." "no, nor do i," said rosie, "especially when afterward detroit too fell into the hands of the british; for its fall was a great assistance to the british cause." "yes," said walter, "in more ways than one; for they got arms, ammunition, and stores; also it was months before another invading army of americans could be raised and furnished with arms and other necessaries; and in the meantime the british made their preparations for further attacks upon us. they got valuable stores at mackinaw, too; among them seven hundred packages of costly furs. by the way, brother levis, was there not an attempt made by our troops, later on in the war, to repossess mackinaw?" "yes; mackinaw was the key to the traffic in furs of the northwest; therefore the americans were determined to recapture it, and the british fully as determined to keep possession of it; for which purpose they sent there a considerable body of troops consisting of regulars, canadian militia, and seamen. they took with them twenty-four bateaux loaded with ordnance, and found on the island a large body of indians waiting to join them as allies. that was in april, , and about the same time commander arthur st. clair with a little squadron consisting of the _caledonia_, _st. lawrence_, _niagara_, _tigress_, and _scorpion_, started on a land and naval expedition to the upper lakes. the land force, under the command of lieutenant-colonel croghan, the gallant defender of fort stephenson, was attacked by the british and indians august , ." "oh, yes, i remember!" exclaimed walter. "what splendid work he did there, though he was but twenty-one years old!" "the expedition left detroit early in july," continued the captain. "i will not go into the whole story of its action at present; sufficient to say they arrived at mackinaw on the th of july. they soon learned that the enemy was very strong in position and numbers, and it was a question between st. clair and croghan whether it would be wise to make an immediate attack. the guns of the vessels could not damage the works because they were so elevated, and they could not carry the place by storm. "finally it was decided that croghan should land on the western side of the island, under cover of the guns of the vessels, and try to attack the works in the rear. he did so on the th of august, landing without much molestation, but was presently met by the garrison, who were strongly supported by the indians in the thickets; also a storm of shot and shell was poured upon them from a battery of guns. there was a sharp fight and croghan was compelled to fall back and return to the ship; officer and privates had been killed, wounded, and others were missing. "the attempt to recover mackinaw at that time had to be given up, and most of the little squadron sailed for detroit. the _scorpion_ and the _tigress_ were left behind to blockade the only route by which provisions and other supplies could reach mackinaw. the two vessels cruised about for some time till the garrison was threatened with starvation or surrender in order to avert it; but early in september they were both captured by british and indians sent out from the fort. they came in five boats and surprised the _tigress_ first, when the _scorpion_ was said to be fifteen miles away. she was at anchor near the shore, it was about nine o'clock in the evening, intensely dark, and the enemy was within fifty yards of the vessel when discovered. "the americans made a gallant defence, but were overpowered by numbers, there being but thirty of them beside the officers, and about one hundred of the assailants. lieutenant bulger, the british commander of the expedition, said in his report of the affair that the defence of the vessel did credit to her officers, who were all severely wounded. they and the crew were all sent prisoners of war to mackinaw, while bulger and his men remained on board the _tigress_. they kept her position unchanged and her pennant flying, and when, on the th, the _scorpion_ was seen approaching, bulger ordered his men to hide. "all this deceived the men on the _scorpion_; they thought the _tigress_ was still in the hands of their comrades, and when within two miles anchored for the night. at dawn the next morning the british ran the _tigress_ down alongside of her, the concealed soldiers ran out from their hiding-places, rushed on board the _scorpion_, and in a few minutes the british flag was floating over her." "and the british were very jubilant over the capture, as i remember reading," remarked violet. "and not very truthful in their report of it," added walter. "lossing says adjutant-general baynes actually reported in a general order that the vessels had crews of each; only exaggerating in stating the aggregate of the crews of the two schooners." but just here the talk was interrupted by the not unwelcome summons to their evening meal. chapter v. as they left the table and gathered upon deck on the evening of the next day, the captain announced that they were nearing mackinaw. "i am glad of that, papa," said grace; "for we shall have a lovely view of it by moonlight." "are we going to stop there, sir?" asked walter. "not unless someone particularly desires it," returned the captain; "but we will pass slowly and quite near, so that we may all have a good view of it. ah! it can be seen in the distance now," he added, pointing it out. "and though the sun has set the moon will, as gracie says, give us a lovely view of it," remarked violet. "yes, she is nearly full," said the captain, glancing skyward, "which will help us to a more vivid conception of how things looked to darman when he set out for fort st. joseph, on the th of july, ." "i'm glad of that," said lucilla. "i want to be able to imagine just how things looked at that time." "yes," said grace, "but it is far more delightful to know that no war is going on now, and we are in no danger from either civilized or savage foes." "it is indeed!" responded her father. "peace is a great blessing; war a dreadful scourge." "it is an indian name the island bears, is it not, captain?" asked evelyn. "yes; and the meaning is the great turtle, alluding to its shape. notice that as we approach, and see if you do not think the name appropriate." "to the tongue of which of the indian tribes does the name belong, sir?" asked walter. "the algonquin." "the harbor is considered a fine one, is it not?" "yes; it is semicircular, mile long; the strait is miles long and miles wide; the island miles in circumference. now we are near enough for a good view." "what makes it look so white, papa?" queried little elsie. "it is limestone rock, my child," replied her father. "see the village down near the water and the fort on higher ground--the white cliffs half covered with green foliage--beyond it the ruins of old fort holmes." "the one the british took in that war you told about, papa?" "the very same," he said. "i believe you were not by when i pointed it out to the others on our former visit to the island." "no, sir; i think neddie and i were asleep in our berths." "yes, so you were," said her mother. "ah, my dear," to her husband, "what a lovely sight it is by this witching light!" "yes," he said. "i think we will visit it again one of these days, when we can spend more time in viewing the various interesting places--such as the arch rock, a natural bridge almost as picturesque as the famous one in virginia, the rabbit's peak, giant's causeway, and the lover's leap. we are passing that last now; and i want you all to notice a projecting crag at the other end of the island, called robinson's folly. these are all famous places, and each has its legendary story." they steamed slowly past, greatly enjoying the moonlight view of the island; then, as it faded from sight, the speed of the vessel was increased, and before the older ones had retired they had entered lake huron. the pleasant weather continued, and most of them spent the greater part of the following day upon the deck. "we will reach detroit early this evening, i suppose, brother levis?" said rosie, in a tone of enquiry. "should nothing happen to prevent," was the pleasant-toned reply. "and now i wonder if my pupils can tell us most of the history of that city?" "beginning with the war of , i suppose, as we have already gone over the story of the doings of pontiac?" "yes; but first i shall give you a few facts concerning its settlement, growth, and so forth: "it is by far the oldest city in the western part of our country, and older than either philadelphia or baltimore on the seaboard. it was founded by the french in , as an outpost for the prosecution of the fur-trade; and as late as it still had less than , inhabitants. it is on the west side of detroit river, about miles from lake st. clair and from lake erie. can you tell me the meaning of the name detroit, elsie, daughter?" "no, papa, you never taught me that," replied the little girl. "it is the french for strait," he said. "the strait or river connecting lakes st. clair and erie gave the name to the city." "at the time we are talking of--when general hull was marching toward the place--detroit had only houses and a population of about , most of them of french descent. it was a very small place considering its age, for it was a trading-post as early as , and established as a settlement as early as , when a jesuit missionary came there with one hundred men. so it was a very old town though so small; but seven years before there had been a fire that destroyed all the houses but one." "but there was a fort, was there not, papa?" asked grace. "yes," replied the captain; "on a hill back of the town, about yards from the river; built by the english after their conquest of canada more than years ago. it covered about acres of ground, was quadrangular in shape, with bastions and barracks. it had embankments nearly feet high, a deep, dry ditch, and was surrounded by a double row of pickets. "the town too was surrounded by strong pickets feet high, with loopholes to shoot through. those pickets had been erected as defences against the indians, and were still in good condition. there were in them four strong gates on different streets." "then the british couldn't get in to harm the folks, could they, papa?" asked elsie. "they would be able to, when they had finished the fortifications they had begun to build on the opposite side of the river," replied the captain; "so general hull decided that it would be best to cross at once and drive them away. "it was not easy to find boats enough to take his twenty-two hundred men across, but by great exertion he succeeded in getting enough to carry four hundred at a time, but should the british see them crossing they would in all probability attack that small number before the others could cross to take part in the fight. so hull resorted to strategy. toward the evening of the th all the boats were sent down the river in full view of the british, while at the same time colonel m'arthur with his regiment marched away in the same direction. the british were deceived and made ready to dispute their passage. but after dark troops and boats returned up the river past detroit to bloody bridge, a mile and a half above the town, and made arrangements to cross the river there, which they did." "why was it called by that dreadful name--bloody bridge, papa?" asked elsie. "because the indians in pontiac's time attacked and killed so many--fifty-nine--of the english there. do you not remember my telling you about it?" "oh, yes, sir, when we went to mackinaw before!" exclaimed the little girl. "at dawn the regular troops and the ohio volunteers crossed over to the canadian side, and there hoisted the american flag," continued the captain. "but i shall not now go into all the details of the marching and fighting that followed--how hull changed his orders and restrained his brave, patriotic officers and men from attacks upon the enemy which they were eager to make, until they were almost convinced that he was either a traitor or a coward. "he was doubtless too old for the command which had been given him. he had done good service in the revolutionary war, and no doubt was really a patriot still, but he lacked energy, vigilance, and decision, and was too slow to take advantage of the necessities and mistakes of the foe; though he might have done much better but for the remissness of the secretary of war and general dearborn. his mistakes and dilatoriness bore very hard upon the brave fellows under him, who were burning with patriotic zeal for the discomfiture of the foe, and he perceived that, though they obeyed orders, there was a mutinous spirit among them that could scarcely be restrained. therefore he called a council of field-officers, and by their advice it was agreed to march immediately upon malden. "orders were at once issued for all the needful preparations and received with universal joy by the little army of men longing to defend their country. "but before these were completed, or the long summer day was quite over, there came another order from the commanding general; an order for the army to recross the river to detroit--abandoning canada and its people to the vengeance of the british; leaving unprotected its inhabitants, who, trusting hull's promised protection, had refused to take up arms for defence against the americans. that order was in consequence of news which had reached hull that a considerable force of british regulars, militia, and indians were coming to attack the little army in the rear." "did our soldiers like to go back without fighting the british first, papa?" asked elsie. "no, my child, not at all; but they were obedient soldiers, and did as they were ordered by their commander, though sullenly, feeling themselves humiliated by being compelled to act like cowards. during that night and the next morning they crossed the deep, dark river and encamped on the rolling plain back of fort detroit. "not quite all of them, however. major denny, with convalescents, and a corps of artillerists, under lieutenant anderson, were left behind in a strong house that had been stockaded and called fort gowris. denny was ordered to defend the post to the last extremity, so long as attacked with only musketry, but to leave it if powerful artillery should be brought against it. "hull and his army were in need of supplies, which he knew were being sent him under the command of captain brush, who had come as far as the river raisin, but was detained there by the knowledge that a party of indians under tecumseh, with perhaps some british regulars, had crossed the detroit from malden and were lying near the mouth of the huron river, twenty-five miles below detroit, for the purpose of seizing the men, cattle, provisions, and mail that captain brush had in charge. "brush had asked hull to send him an escort. hull at first flatly refused; but, after much persuasion on the part of his officers, despatched major van horn with a detachment of two hundred men to join brush and help convoy the cattle, provisions, and mail. the major obeyed promptly, but was not successful; being surprised by the indians, who lay in ambush and attacked him by the way. the americans fought gallantly, but lost seventeen killed and several wounded. "when the news reached the fort hull was greatly disconcerted. his officers urged him to send a larger force to the aid of brush--as many as five hundred; but he refused. 'i can spare only one hundred,' he said. "that, as the officers knew, would not be enough; so, though indignant and alarmed for the safety of brush and the needed stores he was bringing, they had to give up the hope of helping him for the present. "but hull perceived that his troops were angry and felt mutinous, and it was then he called his officers together, and after consulting them gave the orders for preparations to march upon malden; but, as we have seen, before they could be carried out he changed his mind and ordered the army to cross the river to detroit. he now felt the need of securing the supplies under brush and ordered colonel miller to take six hundred men, go to that officer's assistance, and escort him to detroit. before starting upon their perilous expedition the troops paraded on the north side of jefferson avenue, and there colonel miller addressed them as they stood in marching order. 'soldiers,' he said, 'we are going to meet the enemy, and to beat them. the reverse of the th (that was van horn's) must be repaired. the blood of our brethren, spilled by the savages, must be avenged. i will lead you. you shall not disgrace yourselves or me. every man who shall leave the ranks or fall back without orders will be instantly put to death. i charge the officers to execute this order.' "then turning to the veteran fourth regiment of regulars, he said, 'my brave soldiers, you will add another victory to that of tippecanoe--another laurel to that gained upon the wabash last fall. if there is now any man in the ranks of the detachment who fears to meet the enemy, let him fall out and stay behind.' "he paused, and a loud huzza went up from the entire corps, and 'i'll not stay! i'll not stay!' came from every lip. "miller led them to the river rouge that night, and they bivouacked on its southern shore, having crossed it in two scows. early the next morning they took up their march again, major thompson maxwell, with his spies, leading the way; next a vanguard of forty men under captain snelling of the fourth regulars, while the infantry marched in two columns, about two hundred yards apart, the cavalry keeping the road in the centre in double file. the artillery followed, with flank guards of riflemen at suitable distances. marching in that order a line of battle could be formed almost instantly, but it was slow and toilsome work to move the cannon over the marshy ground along which their road lay. "it was sunday morning, the weather sultry, the sky overcast with clouds, not a leaf stirring on the trees; in the distance they could see a few fleet indians hurrying along; but nothing of much consequence occurred until some time in the afternoon, when they were nearing the indian village of maguaga, fourteen miles below detroit. but there a man named white, who had joined them as a new recruit, hurrying on ahead of the rest, was shot from his horse near the cabin of an indian chief called walk-in-the-water, by some indians concealed behind it, and before the vanguard could reach the spot he was scalped. "there were oak woods near maguaga, which captain snelling and his regulars reached between three and four o'clock in the afternoon. in the meantime the flying savages the americans had seen that morning, and who were the scouts of major muir, the commander of the forty-first british regiment, had carried to him, in his camp at brownstown, the news that the americans, strong in numbers, were advancing upon them. there were in that camp regulars, a good many canadian militiamen, and between and indians. lossing mentions chiefs of note among those--tecumseh, walk-in-the-water, split-log, and lame-hand. "these troops had been sent over from fort maiden by proctor to repeat their doings of the th--when van horn was defeated--cut off communication between detroit and captain brush at the raisin, and get possession of the stores he was bringing. "as soon as muir and tecumseh heard the news brought by the spies they broke up their camp, hurried on to maguaga, and formed an ambush in the oak woods, where the trees and bushes were thick enough to conceal them. there they watched for the coming of the americans and were joined by a fresh detachment of troops sent by general brock. "snelling and his soldiers had just entered the clearing when there came first a single shot, then the terrific yells of the scores of savages, followed by a terrible volley from the whole british line." "oh, papa! then did our soldiers turn round and run back to the others?" asked little elsie. "no, my child, they stood their ground and returned the fire like the brave men and patriots they were. colonel miller heard the sounds and he and his men started on the double quick, came up, and formed in battle order, and as they did so he waved his sword high over his head, crying in his clear, loud voice, 'charge, boys! charge!' his order was instantly, gallantly, and effectually obeyed, lossing tells us, while at the same time a six-pounder poured in a storm of grapeshot that harmed the foe not a little. "at the same time the michigan and ohio volunteers charged a body of indians at the left of the british and near the river, driving them back, and causing them to flee; and the whites in the ranks of the enemy, mistaking them for helpers of the americans, fired upon them also, and the indians returned it. so that our foes were helping us by fighting among themselves, and the mistake created such confusion in the british ranks that they wavered, broke, and fled, leaving tecumseh and his indians to bear the brunt of the fight. "muir rallied his men, in a good position, but the sound of firing in the woods on their left alarmed them again, so that they ran away, got in their boats, and fled across the river to malden with all possible expedition. "after a little more fighting the indians too broke, and miller ordered sloan to pursue them. but he seemed to hesitate, and snelling rushing up to him gave him a peremptory order to dismount, sprang into the saddle himself, and dashed away at the head of his troops, his red hair streaming in the wind, for he had lost his hat in the course of the fight. he pursued the flying foe for more than two miles; then lieutenant-colonel miller, realizing the danger of an ambuscade, and that night was approaching, and the wounded needed attention, ordered a suspension of the chase." "ah, that was a victory!" exclaimed walter; "one that ought to have encouraged hull to defend detroit; it seems it didn't, though." "were there many killed in that battle, papa?" asked grace. "of the americans were killed and wounded," replied the captain. "the british, according to their account, lost of their regulars, only of whom was killed. they failed to mention how many of the militia and indians, but our troops found of the indians dead on the field; how many of the militia, if any, i do not know. "miller was anxious to follow up his advantage, to press on to the assistance of captain brush and the getting of his stores to detroit; so sent a messenger to hull to carry the news of his successful fight with the enemy and ask for a supply of provisions. "in response hull sent colonel m'arthur with men and rations, ordering him to go down the river in boats to the relief of miller and his men. m'arthur, who seems to have been always ready and prompt, set out a little past two in the morning, in nine boats, and in the darkness and rain passed the british vessels _queen charlotte_ and _hunter_, and reached his destination in safety. "then the wounded were at once carried to the boats to be taken to detroit. but it was now daylight, and it was found impossible to pass the british vessels. fortunately m'arthur had foreseen that difficulty, and ordered wagons sent down, and now leaving the boats he had the wounded carried through the woods to the road, placed in the wagons, and so taken the rest of the way to their destination." "but what did he do with the boats, papa?" asked elsie. "the british took them," replied her father. "colonel cass had gone down and tried to secure them, but the enemy had already got possession. "miller had been thrown from his horse during the fight, and was too much injured to press on immediately to the river raisin. he sent a messenger to hull, and cass met him on his way. he knew that time was precious, that proctor would be likely to send a larger force to prevent our men from reaching brush, and attack him himself. therefore cass wanted to take miller's place and hurry on with the detachment to brush's assistance, so he sent a laconic despatch to general hull: 'sir, colonel miller is sick; may i relieve him?--l. cass.' no reply came, and he returned to detroit, meeting on the way an express taking positive orders to miller for him and his troops to return to headquarters. "miller and his men were only twenty-two miles from the raisin, and were sorely disappointed by this order, but obeyed it, leaving their camp at noon on the day after the battle, and going slowly back to detroit." "oh, i do think that was too bad!" exclaimed lucilla. "i don't think i could have obeyed such a man as hull." "it would have been even worse than rendering obedience to captain raymond has sometimes proved, eh?" her father said, with a humorous look and smile. "oh, ten thousand times, papa, dear!" she answered earnestly. "haven't you found out that for years it has been--almost always just a pleasure to me to obey you?" "it is long since i have felt at all doubtful of that, daughter," he returned, in tender tones. chapter vi. for a moment captain raymond seemed lost in thought. it was a question from his daughter elsie that caused him to resume the thread of his narrative. "papa," she asked, "had the british got their guns all ready to fire at the americans when colonel miller and his men got back to detroit? and did they begin at once?" "no; the british were still busy with their preparations, with which general hull did not seem disposed to interfere; and it was hard indeed for his brave, patriotic officers to obey his orders to refrain from doing so. they began to think he was either a traitor or an imbecile, and by no means fit to have the command. they consulted together, and concluded that salvation for the little army could be secured only by depriving him of the command and giving it to another. miller was asked to take it, but declined and proposed m'arthur, who was the senior officer of the volunteers and one of the most vigilant, active, and energetic men in the service. "but when it came to carrying out their plans they hesitated to take so bold a step. relief might come soon from ohio, governor meigs accompany it in person, and then the honor could be properly tendered him. colonel cass acted promptly upon that suggestion, writing to the governor a very strong and urgent appeal for help to be forwarded with all haste; telling him that the army was in a very critical situation 'from causes not fit to be put on paper'; that maiden might easily have been reduced, but the golden opportunity had been allowed to pass unimproved. he asked for, at least, two thousand men, and that the governor would accompany them. "but before this letter had been shown to the other officers the british were collecting in force at sandwich, and cass added a postscript. 'since the other side of this letter was written, new circumstances have arisen. the british force is opposite, and our situation had nearly reached its crisis. believe all the bearer will tell you. believe it, however it may astonish you, as much as if told by one of us. even a c---- is talked of by e----. the bearer will supply the vacancy. on you we depend.' the first blank meant a capitulation, the second commanding general." "but why didn't he say what he meant, papa?" asked elsie. "because there was danger of the letter falling into the hands of the wrong person. it was signed by cass, finley, m'arthur, taylor, and colonel elijah brush, of the michigan militia." "was major denny still on the canadian side, captain?" asked evelyn. "no; he had evacuated fort gowris and crossed the river to detroit. on his doing so the british under captain dixon of the royal engineers immediately took possession and planted a battery so as to command detroit. the american artillery begged leave from hull to open upon them from the fort with twenty-four pounders, but were forbidden, and the enemy was allowed to go on unmolested with his preparations to fire upon detroit." "well!" exclaimed lucilla, "i'm sure that looked as if he was in league with his country's foes; unless he had lost his reason." "yes," said her father, "yet i do not doubt his patriotism or his intention to do what he deemed best under the circumstances; but he was timid, and as i have said before, did not receive the help and encouragement he had a right to expect from the secretary of war or general dearborn, who failed to inform him of the armistice, which would have enabled him to wait for the arrival of needed provisions and reinforcements. and he was too honest himself to suspect the deceptions the british practised upon him--dressing raw militiamen in uniform and mixing them in with their regulars, sending a letter to be intercepted by him, threatening a descent of five thousand indians from mackinaw. but i think he owed it to the officers under him to consult with them; which he did not do." "had the british got captain brush with the soldiers and provisions, papa?" asked elsie. "no, he was still in the same place, waiting for reinforcements to enable him to reach detroit; and on the th hull sent him word that he could not spare a large enough detachment to escort him, and that he might either stay where he was till further orders, or take a roundabout course to avoid the enemy. but after the men had gone with the letter hull again changed his mind and sent m'arthur and cass with men to escort brush, who was supposed to be not more than miles away. "they took a circuitous route, got entangled in a swamp, and could not go on. they were without provisions, tired and hungry, and were just preparing to bivouac for the night--for the evening twilight was fading away--when a courier came with an order from hull for them to return immediately to detroit. they obeyed and arrived there about ten o'clock the next morning. "at a little past noon of that day general brock sent two of his officers with a flag to bear a summons to general hull for the unconditional surrender of the post. 'the force at my disposal,' he said, 'authorizes me to require of you the surrender of detroit. it is far from my inclination to join in a war of extermination, but you must be aware that the numerous body of indians who have attached themselves to my troops will be beyond my control the moment the contest commences.'" "and hull meekly surrendered without any more ado?" said lucilla, in a tone between assertion and enquiry. "no, not yet," replied her father. "poor man! really patriotic and proud, he no doubt felt sorely tried and humiliated at the very thought of surrender to his country's foes; at the same time, being ignorant of the armistice and not knowing when succor would arrive, having only a thousand men in fighting condition, his force wasting with disease, disappointment, and death, it seemed to him very uncertain whether he could keep the foe at bay till help would come; but his troops were eager to measure strength with the enemy, and confident in their ability to do so successfully. "so difficult did hull find it to decide what was the best and wisest course of conduct that he kept the flag waiting two hours; but at last he said to brock's messengers that he had no other reply to make than that he was ready to meet any force at his disposal, and any consequence that might result. "his own troops were greatly pleased when they learned what his answer to brock had been. they watched the return of the flag, and when it reached the canadian shore the bearers were startled by a loud huzza from the american fort and camp. our brave soldiers believed and rejoiced in the thought that the time for action had come, or was near at hand; they were confident of victory, and at once set about the most active preparations for the fight. "jesup, serving as adjutant-general to hull, rode down to spring wells to reconnoitre the enemy at sandwich. he saw that the british vessel, _queen charlotte_, had taken such a position that she could cover the landing of the enemy there with her guns. he thought a battery might be used to drive her away, so selecting a suitable spot for it, he hastened back to detroit, told hull what he proposed to do, and asked him to send down a twenty-pounder. "hull refused and jesup rode back to the spot he wished to defend, to find snelling there with a few men and a six-pounder, occupying the very place he had selected. by the way, it is said that snelling was to have been married that evening to a daughter of colonel thomas hunt, and that when about to leave the fort for spring wells, he asked of hull, 'if i drive the redcoats back, may i return and be married?' and that general hull consented, and the marriage took place that same evening. "when detroit was surrendered snelling refused to raise the white flag, and when marched as a prisoner through the streets of montreal, being ordered by a british officer to take off his cap to nelson's monument, he refused and kept it on in spite of the efforts of the soldiers to enforce the order, and finally general brock ordered them to respect the scruples of a brave man." "i respect and like brock for that," said walter. "he was a far better, braver, nobler man than proctor." "he was indeed!" assented the captain. "cruelty and cowardice usually go hand in hand, and they were both prominent traits in proctor's character. but to return. both snelling and jesup, perceiving that the greater part of the british force was at sandwich, hastened back to hull, and, reporting that fact to him, jesup asked for men to go over and spike the enemy's guns opposite detroit. hull said he could not spare so many. 'give me one hundred, then,' entreated jesup. 'only one hundred,' added snelling imploringly. hull only replied that he would consider it, and then took refuge in the fort; for at four o'clock the british battery, whose guns snelling and jesup had proposed to spike, began firing shot and shell upon the fort, the town, and the camp. then all the troops except finley's regiment, which was stationed three hundred yards northwest of the fort, were ordered within the walls, crowding it far too much for comfort." the captain paused, and grandma elsie remarked that she remembered reading of some interesting occurrences given by lossing in notes to his history of the attack upon detroit and its fort. "one was that during the evening a large shell fell upon the roof of a private dwelling, two stories high, and coming down through the roof and upper floor, fell upon the table around which the family were sitting, then through to the cellar, and they had just time to fly from the house when the shell exploded, tearing it to pieces." "that was a very narrow escape for them," remarked violet. "please tell us some more, grandma," begged neddie, and grandma elsie kindly continued. "there was a battery commanded by a brave soldier--lieutenant daliba," she said. "he stood on the ramparts during the cannonade, and when he saw the smoke or flash of the enemy's cannon he would call out to his men, 'down!' and they would drop behind the parapet until the ball had struck. "near the battery was a large pear-tree which was somewhat in the way, and colonel mack, of the michigan militia, ordered a young volunteer named john miller to cut it down. he made haste to obey, seizing an axe and falling vigorously to work; but when he had cut about halfway through the trunk one of the enemy's balls struck it and nearly finished the work. the young man turned coolly toward the british and called out, 'send us another, john bull; you can cut faster than i can.'" "was the british soldier that fired it named john bull?" queried neddie. "why, that's what we call englishmen, don't you know?" said his sister elsie. "and we are all brother jonathans. aren't we, papa?" "that's what they call us," returned her father, with a smile, "and though not a very euphonious name, i, for one, prefer it to john bull." "so do i," she said. "but jonathan's a boy's name," objected ned sturdily. "men and boys can be jonathans, but women and girls can't." "well, i don't want to be," said elsie. "it isn't a pretty name; but john bull's worse. grandma, haven't you another little story to tell us?" "one more, which i found in lossing's book," replied grandma elsie pleasantly. "he says it is related that while cannonading was going on, the shot striking thick and fast around the fort, a negro was seen on its roof. he stood near a chimney, watching the firing of the british on the other side of the river, and whenever he saw the smoke of a cannon would spring behind the chimney till the shot had struck, then peep out again. "at length one struck the top of the chimney just over his head, tore it to pieces, and covered him with brick and mortar. he jumped aside, shaking himself free, as well as he might, from the dust and rubbish, and exclaiming: 'what de debble you doin' up dar?' then hastened away to find a safer spot." "wasn't that a bad, swearing word, grandma?" queried ned. "it was not a nice word," she answered. "i should be sorry indeed to hear it used by my sons or grandsons." "my papa never says such words, nor maxie, nor any of my relations, and i don't mean ever, ever to say them," said the little fellow, looking up into his father's face. "no, my son, i trust you never shall," returned the captain gravely, laying a hand affectionately on the child's head. "please tell the rest, papa," pleaded little elsie, and her father resumed the thread of his narrative. "the british kept up their bombardment until near midnight, our men returning it with great spirit and disabling two of the enemy's guns. about twilight someone proposed that as the fort did not command the river, a strong battery should be placed near the margin of the river and used in destroying the foe when they attempted to land. a suitable place for the purpose was chosen, but hull utterly refused to allow the plan to be carried out; and in the early twilight of the next morning--a beautiful sunday morning--they were allowed to cross without the least attempt being made to hinder them. "six hundred indians, commanded by two british colonels and tecumseh, had crossed the night before and taken position in the woods to attack the americans in flank and rear should they attempt to hinder the landing of the british regulars and militia, strong with pieces of light artillery. "they all breakfasted, then moved upon the fort--the whites in a single column, their left flank covered by the indians, a mile and a half distant in the woods; their right resting on the detroit river, defended by the _queen charlotte_. "colonel miller, with the fourth regiment, was now in the fort; the ohio volunteers with part of the michigan militia were posted behind the town palisades, to annoy the enemy's whole left flank. the rest of the militia were stationed in the upper part of the town to keep back the indians, who had joined the british in order to be permitted to plunder and kill the american whites. "our men were waiting, watching the cautiously approaching foe, eager to fire upon them the moment they were in the best position to receive the most destructive onslaught--for wives, children, and feeble aged ones were in danger of becoming victims to their inhuman thirst for blood and plunder, and that foe had reached a point within five hundred yards of their line when there came a peremptory command from general hull for them to retreat within the fort. "the soldiers were very angry but obeyed, while the enemy drew nearer and prepared to storm the fort. the shot were coming thick and fast now from the canadian shore. a ball came bounding over the wall of the fort and struck a group standing before one of the officer's quarters, killing two officers and a surgeon and badly wounding another. the next moment two other soldiers on the inside of the fort and two on the outside were killed. "there were women and children in the house where the officers were killed, among them general hull's daughter and her children. some of the women were bespattered with the blood of the slain, and almost paralyzed with fear; some were carried senseless to the bomb-proof vault for safety. "the general saw the effect of the ball from a distance, and did not know whether his own child was killed or not. "just then an officer of the michigan militia in the town came to ask if they alone were to defend it, as he had seen the approach of the enemy without a gun being fired from the fort or the twenty-four pounders outside; also to inform hull that the indians were at the tan-yard, close upon the town. hull did not answer his queries, but stepped into a room in the barracks, hastily wrote a note, and handing it to his son, captain hull, directed him to display a white flag immediately from the walls of the fort, where it might be seen by the british captain dixon, over the river. "the order was promptly obeyed. the flag was a tablecloth. by order of general hull it was waved from one of the bastions by captain burton, of the fourth regiment. "the firing soon ceased, and in a few minutes captain hull was seen leaving the fort with a flag of truce. at the same time a boat was despatched across the river to captain dixon, commander of the battery on the canada shore. "general hull was acting without consultation with any of his officers, and no one knew what were his intentions, but the sight of the white flag upon the walls awakened painful suspicions, and presently the arrival of two british officers, colonel m'donell and major glegg, made it evident that the garrison was betrayed. "hull had acted entirely on his own responsibility, consulting no one, and this quick surrender, without a single shot having been fired upon the enemy, or an effort made to stay his course, was almost as unexpected and unwelcome to the brave, patriotic men under him as a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. so angry and indignant were they that for a moment nothing but reverence for gray hairs and veneration for a soldier of the revolution, who had served his country well in that war, saved him from personal violence at their hands; it is said that many of them shed tears of mortification and disappointment. "the terms of capitulation were soon settled, and hull issued a general order to his troops, stating that with pain and anxiety he announced to the northwest army that a sense of duty had compelled him to agree to articles of capitulation which he then enumerated. "you will remember that he had sent colonels m'arthur and cass toward the river raisin, then ordered them back; they were coming, but had not yet arrived; he sent a messenger to meet them, with a note to m'arthur informing him of the surrender, and that he and his command were included in it, as prisoners of war. they had drawn near enough to detroit to see the white flags that had silenced the british cannon, reaching there thoroughly exhausted with marching and hunger--for hull had sent them off without provisions and failed to keep his promise to send some after them; so that for forty-eight hours they had nothing to eat but some green pumpkins and potatoes they had found in the fields. as they went and came they had been observing the enemy, taking note of his numbers and movements, and concluded that they might easily capture him by falling upon his rear while the army at detroit attacked him in front. but what did the silence mean? the armies were within half cannon shot of each other, but there was no firing; both seemed silent as the grave, from where these listeners stood. had there been any evidence of fighting, m'arthur would have fallen upon the rear of the foe, without waiting for orders. "but hull's courier was seen approaching, and in a few moments more these patriots heard the almost unbearable tidings that hull had given them up to the foe without an effort at self-defence. "m'arthur tried to communicate with hull, but failed. he sent hull's note to captain brush, with a message from himself, 'by the within letter you will see that the army under general hull has been surrendered. by the articles you will see that provision has been made for your command; you will, therefore, i hope, return to ohio with us.' "lossing tells us in a note that captain elliott, the son of colonel elliott, with a frenchman and wyandot indian, arrived at brush's camp on the raisin, bearing a flag of truce, a copy of the capitulation at detroit, and authority to receive the surrender of brush and his men. "a lieutenant, the officer of the day, blindfolded elliott and led him to the block-house. brush, when informed of elliott's arrival and on what errand, doubting his authority, had him arrested and placed in confinement. on reading m'arthur's letter, however, he learned his mistake; but instead of releasing elliott at once and complying with hull's order, he hastily packed up the public property at the raisin, and with his whole command and his cattle, started for ohio, leaving orders that elliott should be kept in confinement until the next day. elliott was very angry, and sent for tecumseh to pursue brush; but it was too late." "did m'arthur do that way too, papa?" asked little elsie. "no; when on the evening of the th colonel elliott came with authority from brock to receive tokens of the submission of m'arthur's detachment, the dark eyes of that officer flashed with indignation, then filled with tears of mortification; he thrust his sword into the ground and broke it to pieces, then tore his epaulets from his shoulders. but having in that way relieved his feelings, he became calm and dignified, while in the dim twilight, cass and their whole detachment were marched into the fort and stacked their arms." "oh, how hard it must have been for m'arthur, and all of them, indeed!" exclaimed lucilla. "were they shut up in jail, papa?" asked elsie. "the volunteers and militia with some of the regular officers, not of high rank, were paroled and allowed to go home," replied her father. "those belonging to michigan were discharged right there, the ohioans sent in a vessel to cleveland, and there relieved from british control. general hull and the regulars were held as prisoners of war and sent to montreal." "but that wasn't the worst for poor general hull, was it, papa?" said grace. "the blame he got from the whole country, and being tried for cowardice, condemned to be shot, and all the rest of it, i should think, must have been far worse. do you think he was really a coward and so very much to blame, papa?" "no," replied her father; "he was perhaps weak, but neither wicked nor cowardly; he was very cautious, prudent, and anxious to save the women, children, and aged men in the fort from falling into the hands of the bloodthirsty, tomahawking, scalping savages. had he known of the armistice and that provisions and ammunition were coming, and had dearborn and the secretary of war done their duty, the result might have been very different. as it was, he was made the scapegoat for all." "poor man! i feel sorry for him," sighed grace. "as i do," said her father. "i have no doubt he did what he believed to be his duty as a humane and christian man. in parting at detroit with one of his aids he said to him, 'god bless you, my young friend! you return to your family without a stain; as for myself, i have sacrificed a reputation dearer to me than life, but i have saved the inhabitants of detroit, and my heart approves the act.' in his despatch to the secretary of war he generously said, 'i well know the responsibility of the measure, and take the whole of it on myself.' and after alluding to m'arthur, finley, miller, and cass in commendatory terms, he adds, 'if aught has taken place during the campaign which is honorable to the army, these officers are entitled to a large share of it. if the last act should be disapproved, no part of the censure belongs to them.'" "that was noble and generous!" exclaimed evelyn, with warmth, "and it was shameful, shameful that all the blame was put upon him when dearborn and the government were really so very much more deserving of it." "yes," said grandma elsie, in her own sweet, gentle tones, "and he bore it in such a patient, christian spirit; confident that his countrymen would some day understand and do him justice. i have read that on his deathbed he was asked whether he still believed he had done right in surrendering detroit, and he answered that he did and was thankful he had been enabled to do it." "i suppose," said evelyn, "it was a great mistake, but he acted as he deemed best for others and that at a great sacrifice of himself; so i think he was a noble, generous man, worthy of all honor, and i am very glad he was not made to suffer death, though i am not sure that what he had to bear was not worse." "yes," exclaimed walter, "and how i despise those mean fellows who put all the blame on him when they themselves deserved a great deal more of it than he!" "how long did the british keep possession of detroit, papa?" asked grace. "until perry's victory on lake erie restored it to the americans." "oh, that was a grand victory!" exclaimed lucilla, with enthusiasm. "yes; the navy did well in that war," the captain said, with a smile and a sparkle in his eye. "i have always felt a patriotic pride in the achievements of perry, mcdonough, and isaac hull. the first two were earnest christian men and gave all the glory to god. i do not know, but hope the gallant hull was a christian also." chapter vii. the _dolphin_ reached detroit that evening, did not stop, but slowly passed the city, which extends six or seven miles along the river, then on down the stream, the captain pointing out historical scenes, now on this side now on that. they were already on lake erie before the older ones retired for the night, passed put-in-bay and discussed with interest perry's victory of september , , though, as all were familiar with the details of the famous contest and triumph for the little american navy, the story was not repeated. "how many islands are there in the group, papa?" grace asked, as they neared them; "and to which state do they belong?" "there are ten," he said, "and they are a part of ottawa township, ohio. the group takes its name from the largest one, which contains about two thousand acres. you can see there is a beautiful bay on this north side: that is put-in-bay--it is what gives the name to the island and is celebrated as the place where captain perry with his little united states fleet on lake erie, in the last war with great britain, of which we have been talking so much in the last few days, waited for the coming of her fleet, and whence he sailed out to meet and conquer it. "it required great address and vigilance to make his little squadron ready and get it into the lake, but spite of illness, head winds, and being narrowly watched by the foe, he got safely out upon the lake just as the british squadron hove in sight." "perry had difficulty in getting his vessels over the bar, had he not, sir?" asked walter. "yes; it was done by the use of camels; a very difficult operation." "camels, papa?" exclaimed grace, with a puzzled look. "yes, daughter; not the camels of the desert, however," returned the captain, giving her a slightly amused smile. "nautical camels are hollow cases of wood, made in two halves, so as to embrace the keel and lay hold of the hull of a ship on both sides. those cases are first filled with water and sunk, in order to be fixed on. the water is then pumped out, and while that is being done the vessel gradually rises; and that process is continued till at length it passes over the shoal." "perry must certainly have been a very persevering and energetic man," remarked mrs. travilla. "he certainly was all that and more," returned the captain; "a brave, patriotic, christian man. it has been truly said that the courage with which the _lawrence_ was defended has been hardly, if ever, surpassed; and that his real claim to fame rests less on his actual victory than on the pluck, energy, and readiness to adapt himself to circumstances, which he showed in the preparation of the two brigs and getting them and the other vessels out in the lake, collecting sailors, etc. but it is singular that the american public have always made so much more of his victory over an inferior force, than of mcdonough's on lake champlain, which was won against decided odds in vessels, men, and metal." "oh, papa!" cried lucilla, in a slightly reproachful tone, "you are really the last person i should have expected to try to belittle perry's hard-won victory." "my child, i am not doing that," returned her father in gentle, reproving accents. "i would not have perry's fame lessened, but mcdonough's increased." "excuse me, papa dear, i might have known that," she responded penitently. "what is the name of that little island lying at the mouth of the bay, captain?" queried evelyn. "gibraltar," he replied; "it is picturesque and rocky, and on it stands the monument commemorating the victory and its heroes." "i should like to visit the island one of these days," said grace. "i hope to give you that pleasure at some future time," her father said; "but now it is growing so late in the season that we must hasten on our way if we would make even a flying visit to other and more interesting and important points. the islands are worth visiting; the scenery is lovely, and there is excellent boating, also fishing, in the clear, shallow waters of the bay and lake." "all that sounds quite appetizing," said violet. "i think we might be able to pass some days or weeks there very delightfully when not hurried for time." "there are a great many fine grapes raised here, are there not?" asked evelyn. "yes; grape growing and wine making are the principal industries; the climate and soil being better suited to them than is any other in the union; or rather, i should say, on the atlantic slope. another item of interest is a cave of considerable dimensions." "papa," asked grace, "how long did that battle of lake erie last?" "three hours and a quarter. it was a sanguinary fight, ending in a splendid victory for perry, who was about twenty-seven years old, and had never before borne part in a naval engagement." "yes, it was sanguinary; the carnage was terrible," said mr. dinsmore. "what harrowing scenes there must have been!" "some comical ones, too," remarked walter, with a chuckle. "i have read somewhere that perry's first lieutenant, yarnall, came to him during the fight and told him that all the officers of the first division were either killed or wounded. i don't know that he mentioned himself among them, but it was very evident that he had been hurt, for his face was covered with blood from a wound in his forehead, his nose dreadfully swollen by a blow from a splinter, and there was another wound in his neck." "he must have been a brave and persevering fellow to go on fighting with all those hurts," said grace. "but what was it he wanted of perry?" "more men to help with his part of the fight; and perry let him have them. but soon he came back on the same errand, and that time perry had to refuse. 'you must make out by yourself; i have no more to furnish you,' he said. and now he could not help smiling at yarnall's appearance, for in addition to his swelled nose and the blood on his face he was covered with cattails from the hammock mattresses that had been struck and torn by the enemy's balls; they were sticking all over his face and gave him much the aspect of a great owl. when he went below after the fight was over, even the wounded men had to laugh at his comical and hideous appearance." "i remember reading of the narrow escape that fell to the lot of the second lieutenant," said rosie, when walter had finished his little anecdote, "he was standing close beside perry, fighting his division, when a grape-shot struck him in the breast, and he fell. perry lifted him up, and as there was no wound to be seen, told him to rally, for he could not be hurt. he was only stunned into momentary unconsciousness, and when able to speak, said, pulling out the shot, which had lodged in his waistcoat, 'no, sir! i'm not hurt, but this is my shot.'" "yes," said captain raymond, "more than one man was shot and killed while speaking to perry. one was the captain of the gun whose tackle had been shot away. perry stepped nearer to him to see what was the matter. 'i can fire, sir,' the sailor said, and was in the very act of doing so when a twenty-four-pound shot struck him, passed through his body, and he fell dead at perry's feet." "but perry escaped unwounded, though freely exposing himself to danger when necessary for the performance of duty," remarked grandma elsie. "i have read that he said that he believed his wife's prayers had saved him; i have no doubt that his mother's helped him, for i have read that she was a christian woman, and had brought him up in the fear of the lord. his young brother too--only twelve years old--escaped wonderfully, shots passing through his clothes and hat, a hammock torn from its fastenings by a ball knocking him down, and yet no wound being made." "lieutenant john brooks, a handsome young fellow, was another officer shot while speaking to perry," said captain raymond, "struck in the thigh by a cannon ball that drove him some distance. it was a terribly painful wound, so that he shrieked with agony, and besought perry to shoot him dead. perry ordered him carried below, and while that was being done a mulatto boy, his servant, rolled on the deck, crying out that his master was killed. he had been acting as powder boy, and being ordered to return to his duty did so with the tears rolling down his cheeks all the time at the thought of his master's suffering!" there was a moment of silence, broken by grace. "oh, what a dreadful thing war is!" she sighed. "i hope we will never have another. i think nothing could be worse." "how about submission to despotism, gracie?" asked walter. "what sort of condition would this country be in now had not our ancestors waged those two wars with great britain?" "oh, yes! they were right on the side of america, dreadful as they were," she acknowledged, "the choice being between fighting for freedom or enduring unbearable oppression." "that is true," he said; "better death than slavery; and had we tamely submitted, instead of resisting as we did, we could never have become the strong, free people that we are." "and we may well, even yet, thank god for perry's victory," said the captain; "it led to the immediate evacuation of detroit and the release of the whole of michigan territory from british sway, with all the horrors of indian atrocities, murder, scalping, and fire. also it wiped away the disgrace of hull's ignominious surrender of detroit, strengthened the hands of the government, and gave great encouragement to general harrison and his brave and patriotic soldiers; indeed, to all who were fighting for our country on both land and sea. harrison had completed his arrangements for invading canada, and perry's vessels were used in carrying his army there. that is, the _niagara_ and the lighter vessels of both squadrons. "one of the measures harrison had taken for raising the needed complement of troops had been a call upon governor shelby of kentucky, for fifteen hundred men, accompanied by the generous offer to yield the chief command to him, shelby to be the guiding head and harrison himself the hand. "shelby was one of those who had battled for his country in the days of the revolution; one of the leaders of the militia who defeated the banded tories under major ferguson on king's mountain, south carolina, on the th of october, . his valor was conspicuous on that occasion, and he had since been familiarly styled old king's mountain." "a very old man in , i suppose," said grace. "sixty-three," replied her father. "in these days we would hardly consider a man of that age extremely old, though certainly not young. young enough, however, for harrison's invitation to rouse his martial spirit to such an extent that he resolved to lead, instead of sending his men against the enemies of his country. he called for mounted volunteers to assemble at newport, opposite cincinnati, at the close of july, promising to meet them there in person, lead them to the field of battle, and share with them the dangers and honors of the campaign. "that call seemed to electrify the people of kentucky. young men and veterans vied with each other in enthusiasm, exchanging urgent calls to rally to the defence of their country, for old king's mountain would certainly lead them to victory. twice the required number of men flocked to his standard, and, including colonel r. m. johnson's troop, he led in the direction of lake erie. "on the th of september he reached upper sandusky, from there he pushed forward with his staff, and on the way heard the glad tidings of perry's victory. he despatched a courier with the news to major-general henry, whom he had left in command of his troops, bidding him hasten forward with them. "they, and the whole country as well, were greatly inspirited, filled with joy and exultation by the glad tidings; for that victory relieved the whole region of the most gloomy forebodings of evil, leading, as it did, to the destruction of the indian confederacy, which, in conjunction with the british military power, had been the cause of so much awful suffering and loss to men, women, and children suffering by fire, sword, tomahawk, and scalping knife, and removing the stigma of the surrender of detroit. "that victory was one of the most important events of the war, opening the way for harrison's army to penetrate into canada and to our repossession of the territory of michigan. also removing all doubts of the ability of the americans to maintain the mastery of the great lakes. "a poet of the time concluded an epic with these lines: "'and though britons may brag of their ruling the ocean, and that sort of thing, by the lord i've a notion-- i'll bet all i'm worth, who takes it?--who takes? though they're lords of the sea, we'll be lords of the lakes.' "well, to go on with my story, by the th the whole army of the northwest, except the troops garrisoning fort meigs and minor posts, were on the borders of lake erie. shelby arrived there on the th, only a few minutes before a part of perry's squadron came in, bringing three hundred british prisoners. a few days later they were marched to chillicothe and franklinton, escorted by a guard of kentucky militia. "and now harrison made preparations to embark his army. colonel johnson was directed to remain at fort meigs with his mounted regiment till the expedition should sail, then march toward detroit, keeping as nearly as possible abreast of the army on the transports, and general m'arthur, at that time in command of fort meigs, was directed to embark artillery, provisions, and stores from that post, and march the regulars there, with clay's kentuckians, to the portage. "it was on a delightful day, the th of september, that the army embarked. on the th they rendezvoused on put-in-bay island, and the next day were on the middle sisters, five thousand men encamping on its six or seven acres." "a good many horses besides, i presume," remarked walter. "no," said the captain, "the kentuckians left their horses on the peninsula and were acting as infantry. "on that day general harrison and perry sailed in the _ariel_ to reconnoitre the enemy at malden. they were entirely successful, and returned at sunset. an order was issued that evening, giving directions for the embarking of the troop, stating the place and manner of landing, the order of march, the attack upon the enemy, and other particulars. "the order, signed by general e. p. gaines, exhorted his brave troops to remember that they were the sons of sires whose fame was immortal; that they were to fight for the rights of their insulted country, while their opponents would combat for the unjust pretensions of a master. 'kentuckians,' he said, 'remember the river raisin, but remember it only while victory is suspended. the revenge of a soldier cannot be satisfied upon a fallen enemy.' "it was on a lovely autumnal day, september , that the expedition finally set sail, in sixteen armed vessels and almost one hundred boats. they were all in motion at nine o'clock, going northward toward the hostile shore, and then harrison's stirring address was read to the men on each vessel. at its conclusion there went up a hearty shout for 'harrison and victory'; then all moved on silently into the detroit river. lossing tells us the spectacle was beautiful and sublime. "the landing place selected by harrison and perry was hartley's point, opposite the lower end of bois blanc island, and three or four miles below maiden. a low, sandy beach stretched out in front of high sand drifts, behind which the enemy were supposed to be lying in wait, and our troops landed in battle order--kentucky volunteers on the right, regulars on the left, ball's legion and the friendly indians in the centre. "but no enemy was there. the cowardly proctor, in spite of the indignant remonstrances of tecumseh, had fled northward with his army and all he could take with him; leaving fort maiden, the storehouses, and navy buildings smoking ruins. beside that, he had seized all the horses of the people of the neighborhood to help him in his flight." "the poor people! poor, abused creatures!" exclaimed grace, adding, "and probably they were much frightened lest the americans should treat them still worse." "if so, their fears were soon relieved," replied her father; "for as our troops drew near the town, governor shelby in advance, they were met by a troop of modest, well-dressed women, who came to implore mercy and protection. the kind-hearted general soon calmed their fears. "the army moved on and entered malden with the band playing 'yankee doodle.' they learned that the enemy's rear guard had not been gone an hour, and colonel ball at once sent an officer and twenty men of his cavalry after them to prevent the destruction of a bridge over the tarontee. they were just in time to save it, driving the incendiaries off with a single volley. "the next morning harrison crossed it with all his army, excepting a regiment of riflemen left at amherstburg. at two o'clock on the th they entered sandwich, and the american flotilla reached detroit, which, you will remember, is opposite, on the western side of the river of the same name. the next day colonel johnson and his mounted regiment arrived there." "were not the british still in possession of detroit, papa?" asked lucilla. "no; m'arthur, with seven hundred effective men, had crossed over shortly before and retaken the town, driving off a body of indians who were hovering about it. also general harrison had, to the great joy of the inhabitants, declared proctor's proclamation of martial law null and void, and the civil government of michigan restored. "on johnson's arrival he received an order from harrison to cross the river at once with his troops, as he (harrison) was resolved to push on after the enemy as rapidly as possible. there were two roads, either of which might be taken in the pursuit--by land in the rear of the british, or by lake erie to long point, and thence across the country. harrison called a council of his general officers to consider the question, and it was decided to take the land route. "it was said that proctor was encamped near chatham on the thames; so that was the place for which the whole army of the americans, except m'arthur's brigade, left at detroit, and ball's and cass', left at sandwich, marched on the morning of october . "two days before that perry had learned that some small vessels carrying the artillery and baggage of the british had gone up lake st. clair toward the thames. he sent some of his vessels in pursuit, followed them in the _ariel_, accompanied by the _caledonia_, and on the day that harrison left sandwich the whole of the little squadron appeared off the mouth of the thames with the provisions, baggage, and ammunition wagons of the american army." "had he taken the enemy's vessels?" asked evelyn. "no," replied the captain; "they had too much the start of his, and escaped up the thames. it is said that when the army reached the mouth of that river an eagle was seen hovering above it; and that harrison remarked to those about him that it was a presage of success, and perry, who had landed and was with the general, added the information that an eagle was seen hovering over his little squadron on the morning of the th of september." "the day when he fought his naval battle," remarked grace. "don't you suppose, papa, this eagle may have been the very same?" "i think it quite likely," was the reply. "and it reminds me of the young gamecock that flew upon a gun-slide on the _saratoga_, mcdonough's flagship, early in the naval battle of plattsburg, clapped his wings and crowed so lustily and defiantly," said walter. "and me of 'old abe,' the eagle present in so many battles of the civil war," said his sister rose. "but please go on with your story of the battle of the thames." "to go back to the morning of october , when harrison and his troops left sandwich," continued the captain. "we are told that they pushed on rapidly for miles along the border of the lake, there came upon british deserters who told the general that proctor, with white men and indians was encamped at dolsen's farm, about miles from the mouth of the thames, on its northern bank, and miles from detroit by water. this news roused the americans to still greater exertions, and when they halted for a night's rest they had marched miles from sandwich, their starting point. "the pursuit was renewed the next morning at dawn, and near the mouth of the thames johnson captured a lieutenant and eleven privates, who had just begun to destroy a bridge over a small stream emptying into that river. that made it evident to the americans that proctor had heard they were in pursuit of him and they hastened on, hoping to overtake, fight, and defeat him. that night they encamped on drake's farm, four miles below dolsen's. "as the troops moved on, perry's vessels had passed up the river to cover their movements when they should cross the thames or its tributaries; but here there was a change in the character of the banks; below the river flowed on between prairies, its channel broad, its current sluggish, but here the country became hilly, the stream narrow and rapid, the banks high and wooded, affording convenient places for indian ambuscades, from whence shots could be fired down upon the passing vessels below. so it was thought better not to take them any higher up the stream than dolsen's, and perry landed and offered his services to harrison as volunteer aid; so joining the army in the exciting pursuit of the foe. "the cowardly proctor--much to the disgust of tecumseh--fled up the thames ½ miles from dolsen's to chatham, where an impassable stream called m'gregor's creek empties into that river. on reaching the spot he said to tecumseh, 'here we will defeat harrison or lay our bones.' "tecumseh was pleased with both the speech and the spot, and remarked that when he looked at these streams he would be reminded of the tippecanoe and the wabash. "two bridges--one at the mouth of the creek and the other at a mill a mile above, had been partially destroyed, and at each was a party of indians ready to dispute the passage of the americans should they attempt to cross or to make repairs; but major wood, with two six-pounder cannon, and colonel johnson with his horsemen, soon sent them flying after proctor." "was anybody hurt in either fight, papa?" asked grace. "yes; men of johnson's party were killed, and or wounded. the indians had a large number wounded and killed. it was here that the chief walk-in-the-water with warriors came to harrison and offered to join his army conditionally. but harrison had no time to attend to him, so told him if he left tecumseh, he must keep out of the way of the american army." "did he do it, papa?" asked elsie. "yes, he went back to the detroit river." "and did the americans go on chasing the british, papa?" "yes, and the british retreating, destroying all they could on the way, firing houses and vessels containing military and naval stores as they went, the americans following, putting out the fires and saving houses, vessels, stores as far as possible. "but they did not catch up to the british that night; they encamped and harrison set a double guard; which was well, for at midnight proctor and tecumseh reconnoitred the camp, but did not venture to attack it. "at dawn the americans were again in motion, the mounted regiments in front, led by general harrison and his staff, the kentucky volunteers under general shelby following. it was not long before they had captured two of the enemy's gunboats and several bateaux with army supplies and ammunition, and some prisoners. "it was only nine o'clock when they reached a place where the river was fordable by horses. harrison decided to cross there and each of the mounted men took an infantryman on his horse behind him; others crossed in the bateaux, and by noon the whole american army was on the north side of the river." "i should think they must have been tired," said little elsie. "didn't they stop to rest a while, papa?" "no, indeed," replied her father, stroking her hair and smiling down into the interested little face upturned to his, "they were much too eager to catch and defeat their country's foes. they hastened on as rapidly as possible, passing on their way many evidences of the rapidity of proctor's retreat. "it was two o'clock and they were eight miles from the crossing place when they came upon smouldering embers that showed where the enemy's rear guard had been but a short time before. by that they knew they were not far behind the foe, and colonel johnson dashed forward to learn their exact whereabouts. "it was not long before he had captured a british wagoner who told him that proctor had halted only three hundred yards farther on. johnson, with major james suggett and his spies, moved cautiously on, and found the british drawn up in battle order, waiting for the coming of the americans. "he, johnson, learned enough about their position to enable general harrison and a council of officers, held on horseback, to decide upon the best order for the attack. the american army now consisted of a little more than men-- regulars of the th regiment, brigades of kentucky volunteers under governor shelby, and colonel johnson's regiment of mounted infantry. "the foe had made choice of a good place to make a stand. on one side was the thames river, with high and precipitous bank, on the other a marsh running almost parallel with the river. between the two, about three hundred yards from the river, was a narrow swamp with a strip of solid ground between it and the large marsh. almost the whole space between the river and the marsh was covered with forest trees--oaks, beeches, and sugar maples, with very little undergrowth. "the british regulars were formed in two lines between the river and the small swamp; their artillery planted in the road near the bank of the stream. the indians were posted between the two swamps, those commanded by tecumseh in person on the isthmus or narrowest point. "at first harrison arranged for the horsemen to fall back and let the infantry make the first attack, which would begin the battle; next the cavalry were to charge the british. but when all the preparations were completed major wood, who had been reconnoitring the enemy's position, informed harrison that the british were drawn up in open order, and, though contrary to all precedent, the general immediately decided to change his plan of attack. instead of having the infantry fall upon the british front he ordered johnson to charge their line with his mounted troops. "in explaining his motive for the change, in a report rendered afterward to the secretary of war, he said: 'the american backwoods men ride better in the woods than any other people. a musket or rifle is no impediment, they being accustomed to carrying them on horseback from their earliest youth. i was persuaded, too, that the enemy would be quite unprepared for the shock, and that they could not resist it.' "the event speedily proved the wisdom of the decision. the general's orders were promptly obeyed, then a bugle sounded, and the americans moved coolly forward, neither hesitating nor with undue haste, among huge trees, over fallen timber, and through the undergrowth, those impediments in their path compelling them to move slowly. "while they were still at some distance from the front line of the british regulars the latter opened upon them with a severe fire, which caused some confusion at the head of the column, the horses of some of them taking fright; and before order was restored there came second volley. then with a tremendous shout the american cavalry boldly dashed upon the british line and broke it, scattering it in all directions. then the second line, thirty paces in the rear, was treated in the same way, and the horsemen wheeled right and left, pouring a destructive fire upon the rear of the confused and broken columns, so increasing their panic that they threw down their arms and surrendered as fast as they could. "lossing tells us that in less than five minutes after the first shot was fired the whole british force, more than eight hundred strong, were totally vanquished, and most of them made prisoners; only about fifty men and a single officer escaping." "ah, that was a victory to be proud of!" cried lulu. "and what became of the brave proctor, papa?" "he fled from the field as fast as his horses would carry him, taking with him his personal staff, a few dragoons, and some mounted indians. in the words of the old song "'when proctor saw lost was the day, he fled la tranche's plain: a carriage bore the chief away, who ne'er returned again.' "he was hotly pursued by a part of johnson's corps under major payne." "i think i remember, though, that they did not succeed in catching him," remarked rosie. "no," said the captain; "ten of them continued the pursuit until dark, but could not overtake him." "ah, it seems he was better at running away than at fighting," said walter; "but if i remember right, he had to abandon his fine carriage." "he did so; left the road and escaped by some bypath," replied captain raymond. "so rapid and masterly was his retreat that within twenty-four hours he was sixty-five miles distant from his starting point--the battle ground." "and the american officers and men got nothing for their long chase, papa?" grace said enquiringly. "a trifle more," returned the captain, with a slightly amused look: "major wood captured proctor's carriage, sword, and valuable papers. there were some beautifully written letters from proctor's wife, in which she addresses him as 'dear henry.'" "'dear henry,' indeed!" cried lucilla scornfully. "i could never love such a coward. nor--nor such a cruel wretch--delighting in seeing men, women, and children tortured by the savages, if he didn't take part in it with his own hands. but you haven't finished the story of the battle, papa." "no, not quite. general henry, with his advancing columns, was hardly in sight of the combatants before that part of the battle was over; but at the same time that one bugle sounded for that attack another was heard on the left. colonel johnson and his troops moved against the indians almost at the same instant that the first battalion--under his brother james and major payne--attacked the british regulars. he had divided his force and led them--the second battalion--across the little swamp to attack the indian left. they were in front of shelby, with a company of infantry. harrison had taken a position on the extreme right, near the bank of the river, where he could observe and direct all the movements, and with him were adjutant-general butler, commodore perry, and general cass. "tecumseh's savages reserved their fire till the americans were within a few paces of them, then hurled upon them a deadly shower of bullets, wounding general johnson very severely, and prostrating more than half his vanguard of forlorn hope. on this part of the field the undergrowth and the branches of the trees were too thick to allow mounted men to do much service with their rifles, therefore johnson ordered them to dismount and fight on foot at close quarters. they obeyed, and there were many hand to hand fights, the kentuckians as they fought raising now and again the fearful cry, 'remember the river raisin.'" "what did they mean by that, papa?" asked elsie. "i will explain that at another time," he replied. "you may ask for the story to-morrow. and now, to go on with this--for a while it seemed doubtful which side would win; but general shelby, perceiving it, ordered the regiment of lieutenant-colonel donaldson to the support of johnson, and general king to press forward to the front with his brigade. "the indians had already recoiled from the shock of the kentucky riflemen, and now they fled; they were pursued and a scattering running fight ended the battle. proctor was running away as fast as he could, like some hunted wild animal, and his savage allies scattered themselves through the forest behind the larger swamp." "tecumseh with the rest, papa?" asked elsie. "no, my child, tecumseh was lying dead on the field of battle. but for his loss it is likely the indians would have continued the struggle for some time longer." "who killed him, papa?" she asked. "no one can say certainly," replied her father, "though probably it was johnson. tradition and history tell us that tecumseh had wounded colonel johnson with a rifle bullet, and was springing forward to tomahawk him, when johnson drew a pistol from his belt and shot him through the heart. it is said that johnson himself never either affirmed or denied that his was the hand which slew tecumseh. probably he did not really know whether the indian he had killed was the great chieftain or some other. however, it is certain that he, tecumseh, was slain in that battle,--as it seems he had predicted that he would be,--and it is a question of little importance whose hand sped the bullet or struck the blow that ended his career." there was a moment of silence, broken by grandma elsie's soft voice: "'the moment was fearful: a mightier foe had ne'er swung his battle axe o'er him; but hope nerved his arm for a desperate blow and tecumseh fell prostrate before him. he fought in defence of his kindred and king with spirit most loving and loyal, and long shall the indian warrior sing the deeds of tecumseh the royal.' "i presume you are right, captain, in thinking," she added, "that even johnson himself did not know whether the indian he had shot was tecumseh, but as you have just said, the question is of no historical importance. we do know, however, that johnson behaved most gallantly in the battle of the thames and was sorely wounded in the hip, thigh, and hand; the last from the indian whom he shot. he was disabled and said to his friend, dr. theobald, one of his staff, fighting near him, 'i am severely wounded: where shall i go?' theobald, saying, 'follow me,' led him across the smaller swamp to the road and the stand of governor shelby's surgeon-general. johnson was faint from the loss of blood, and his horse, it would seem, was still more sorely wounded, for as his master was lifted from his back he fell dead." "oh, did the man die too, grandma?" asked little elsie, with a look of eager interest and concern. "no, dear; they gave him water, dressed his wounds, and carried him on board a vessel they had taken from the british. captain champlin, the commander of the _scorpion_, was there on it; he took the colonel down the river in that vessel to his own, lying at dolsen's, and from there, in her, to detroit." "papa, did he get well and go back and fight some more?" asked ned. "no, my son; he went into congress and served his country well there. but now it is high time for you and elsie to go to your berths. bid us all good-night; to-morrow you may ask as many questions as you please, and papa will answer them to the best of his ability." chapter viii. the wind had risen while captain raymond was talking, and now began to blow briskly, bringing with it an occasional dash of rain; a state of affairs that presently sent the whole party into the cabin, and a little later they had all retired to their staterooms but the captain and his two older daughters, who lingered a few moments for the bit of chat with their dearly loved father of which they were so fond. "do you think we are going to have a hard storm, papa?" grace asked a little anxiously, as she came to him to say good-night. "i hope not," he said, "do not be anxious; remember, 'the lord hath his way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet. he rebuketh the sea and maketh it dry.' remember, too, that 'the lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him.'" "oh, yes! thank you for reminding me of those sweet words, father, dear," she returned with a sigh of relief, and laying her cheek affectionately against his as he put an arm about her and held her close for a moment. "i will trust and not be afraid." "that is right, daughter," he said; "no real evil can befall us while trusting in him." "but, papa, christians do have great and real distresses sometimes," she returned, with an enquiring and slightly troubled look up into his face. "yes, daughter, 'whom the lord loveth he chasteneth and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.' but 'like as a father pitieth his children so the lord pitieth them that fear him;' and he will sustain them under all the troubles that he sends. remember that his promise is, 'as thy days, so shall thy strength be.'" "such a sweet, precious promise, papa!" she said. "i will just put my dear ones and myself in his care, trust in him, and not lie awake, dreading shipwreck." "that is what i would have you do, my darling," he returned. "do not forget those sweet words of holy writ: 'the lord knoweth them that trust in him,' nor the promise that he will never leave or forsake them. put yourself into his care and go to sleep untroubled by doubts and fears. good-night," he concluded, as he kissed her tenderly and let her go. "and how is it with my dear eldest daughter?" he asked, turning to lucilla, who stood near awaiting her turn. "i am not naturally so timid as gracie, you know, papa," she answered, smiling up into his face as he passed an arm about her and drew her close to his side, while with the other hand he smoothed her hair caressingly, "and i do believe that god will take care of us all through the instrumentality of my own dear father, who knows so well how to manage a vessel in calm or storm. but you do not think there is much if any danger, do you, papa?" she asked, gazing searchingly into his face, "for you are not looking at all anxious." "there is a pretty stiff breeze," he said, "and erie is a stormy lake, owing to the shallowness of its waters, and the consequent liability to a heavy ground swell which renders its navigation particularly difficult and dangerous; but i have passed over it a number of times and do not feel any great amount of anxiety in regard to our safety--if i attend properly to my duty as commander of the _dolphin_," he concluded, with his pleasant smile. "i must return to the deck, now; so good-night, daughter dear. may you sleep sweetly and peacefully, trusting in the care of your earthly father, and still more in that of your heavenly one." "oh, just one minute more, papa," she said entreatingly, as he released her. "i--i want to say that i am afraid that i was--almost, if not quite, a little disrespectful to you once or twice to-day." "ah! well, darling, if you have been, it is entirely forgiven; so go to your bed in peace. i must hurry on deck and cannot wait to talk with you further now." with the concluding words he hastened away, while she looked after him with eyes full of filial love, then as he disappeared she made her way as quickly as the rolling of the vessel would allow, across the saloon and joined her sister in their stateroom. there were tears in grace's sweet blue eyes as she lifted them to her sister's face. "what, crying, gracie darling?" lulu asked, with concern. "yes; to think of poor papa out on deck in the wind and rain, while we are so comfortable in here," answered grace with a sob, pulling out her handkerchief to wipe her eyes. "oh, i almost wish i were a big, strong sailor, and knew all about managing a vessel, so that i could take his place and have him to his berth to rest and sleep." "i'm sure i wish i could," sighed lulu. "he should never have an ache or pain of any kind if i might bear them for him; never be anything but the happiest man in the world if----" but she paused suddenly, while a vivid blush suffused her face. "i have no right to talk so," she added in a remorseful tone, "i, who so often fail to be the perfectly respectful and cheerfully obedient daughter that i ought." "i really think you judge yourself very hardly, lu," remarked grace, with a surprised glance into her sister's face. "you are always perfectly obedient and very affectionate toward our dear father, seeming to take great delight in doing everything you can to please him and add to his comfort; i really do not think he has a child who loves him better or does more for his comfort; no, not even i, who esteem him the very best and dearest father in the world," she concluded, with a look and smile that said more than her words. "oh, thank you, gracie! i do love him dearly, dearly; but as you know i am shamefully quick-tempered and wilful and sometimes look vexed at a reproof or prohibition, then the next minute could beat myself well for it." "lu, you never, never are in a passion nowadays!" exclaimed grace. "i own you do look vexed sometimes for a minute or two, but then it's all over and you are just as sweet and pleasant as anyone could wish. oh, you are just the dearest, dearest girl! ah, you needn't shake your head and look so dolorous," she added, in a playful tone, putting her arms about lucilla and kissing her with ardent affection. "ah, yes, you are all so dear and loving, so ready to excuse my faults," lulu said, returning the embrace with interest. "no one more so than our dear father, though i well know i have given him more pain and trouble than any other of his children, if not than all put together. gracie, let us kneel down together and ask god to take care of papa and all of us, and that if it is his will the storm may soon so abate that our dear father can go to his berth and get a good night's rest." grace was more than willing, and they spent some minutes in earnest supplication. in that act of prayer grace cast all her care upon the lord, and scarcely had she more than laid her head upon her pillow before she fell asleep; but lucilla lay for hours listening to the howling of the wind, the sound of the waves dashing against the sides of the vessel, her father's voice occasionally giving an order through the speaking trumpet, and the hurried and heavy tread of the sailors as they hastened to obey. it seemed a worse storm than any she had ever been in upon the water, and almost her every breath was a prayer for the safety of the yacht with all its living freight--especially her dearly loved father, now exposed to the fury of the wind, waves, and rain--that they might pass through it in safety. but at last she fell into a deep sleep, and for some hours heard and felt nothing of the storm. yet it was not over when she awoke; she could still hear the howling of the wind, the rush of the waters, and feel the rolling and pitching of the vessel. but it was daylight, and slipping from her berth with care not to rouse her still sleeping sister, she knelt for a moment of heart-felt thanks to her heavenly father, that thus far they had weathered the storm, and fervent supplication that the vessel might outride it in safety to the end. rising from her knees she made a hasty toilet, then, anxious to learn of her father's welfare, stole from the room, and holding on by the furniture, crossed the saloon, then with some difficulty climbed the cabin stairway and reached the windswept deck. one glance showed her her father standing at a little distance, giving some direction to a sailor. he did not see her. there was a momentary lull in the wind, and taking advantage of it she started on a run toward him. but just at that moment came another and fierce gust that took her off her feet and swept her toward the side of the vessel. in another instant she would have been in the water, had her father not turned suddenly and caught her in his arms barely in time to save her from that fate. he held her fast with one arm while he grasped the railing with the other hand, and held on till the gale again moderated for a moment. then he carried her back to the cabin. they were alone there, for the others were still in their staterooms. he strained her to his breast in silence, and she felt a tear fall on her head. "thank god, my darling, precious child is safe in my arms!" he said at last, speaking scarcely above a whisper, pressing his lips again and again to her forehead, her cheek, her mouth. "and my own dear father saved me," she said in quivering tones, her arms about his neck, her face half hidden on his breast. "it was a narrow escape, my child," he sighed, repeating his caresses, "a very narrow escape; and what would i have done had i lost my dear eldest daughter? you must not try it again; don't venture on deck again until i give you permission." "i will not, papa," she returned. "but oh, haven't you been up all night? can't you take some rest now?" "not yet; perhaps after a little. there, there, do not look so distressed," smoothing her hair caressingly as he spoke. "you must remember i am an old sailor and used to such vigils. i had a cup of coffee and a biscuit a while ago which quite refreshed me." "but can't you go to your berth now and take some hours of rest and sleep, papa, dear?" she asked entreatingly, her eyes gazing lovingly into his. "surely someone among your men must be fit to take charge of the yacht for a while." "not just yet, daughter; perhaps before long i can do so. i must leave you now and go back to my duties; and do you go to your stateroom and thank your heavenly father for your escape from a watery grave." with that he released her and hurried away up the cabin stairs, she following him with looks of yearning affection till he disappeared from view, then hastening to obey his parting injunction. her heart was full of love and gratitude to god for her spared life, and that thus far they had escaped shipwreck, and even as she gave thanks it seemed to her that there was a lull in the storm--the wind almost ceasing to blow and the vessel rocking much less. "oh, gracie," she said, as she rose from her knees and perceived that her sister's eyes were open, "i do think--i do hope that the worst of the storm is over." "do you?" cried grace joyously, hastily throwing back the covering and stepping out upon the floor. "oh, how glad i am! how good god has been to us all! but where is papa? has he been up all night?" "yes," replied lulu, "and oh, gracie, if it hadn't been for him i would be at the bottom of the lake now," she added, with tears of gratitude filling her eyes. "why, lu!" exclaimed grace in astonishment, "you surely did not venture up on the deck in this storm?" "i did, and was nearly blown into the lake, but papa caught me, held me fast for a minute, then carried me down into the cabin." "oh, lu! lu! i hope you will never venture so again! i'd be broken-hearted, and so would papa, and indeed, all the rest, if we lost you in that way. what could i ever do without my dear, big sister?" she concluded, putting her arms about lucilla and holding her fast in a most loving embrace. "oh, but it is nice that you love me so, gracie, dear," lulu returned. "it was very foolish in me to venture on deck in such a gale, but papa did not scold me at all; just held me fast, petting and caressing me as if i were one of his greatest treasures." "of course," said grace. "but didn't he forbid you to try going on deck again before the wind dies down?" "yes," acknowledged lulu. "oh, i wish he could stay below too. i want him to go to his berth and sleep off his fatigue. he must be very tired after his long night's vigil. but it is nearly breakfast time, and we should be making ourselves neat to appear at the table, looking as papa would have us." an hour later all had gathered about the table, the captain at the head of it as usual, and looking cheerful and pleasant-tempered as was his wont, though somewhat weary and worn. he reported the storm nearly over, no serious damage done the vessel, nor much time lost. he hoped to be in the welland canal before night, and that they would find themselves on lake ontario when they woke in the morning. "and can you not go to your berth for some hours' rest and sleep when you have finished your breakfast, my dear?" queried violet, with a loving, anxious look into his face. "probably; after a short visit to the deck to see that all is going right there. excuse me, my dear," he added, pushing away his plate and rising to his feet as he spoke. "i must return to my duties at once, but would have everyone else finish the meal at leisure," and with the last word he hurried away. "my dear papa looks so tired, mamma," remarked little elsie in regretful tones, "what has he been doing?" "staying up all night to take care of us," replied violet, the tears shining in her eyes. "don't you think we ought to love dear papa and do all we can to make him happy?" "yes, indeed, mamma!" answered the little girl earnestly. "oh, i hope he can get a good sleep soon so that he will feel rested and well. i was going to ask him to tell me about what happened at the river raisin. you know our soldiers, in that fight with the british and indians that he told us about yesterday, called out over and over again, 'remember the river raisin,' and papa said he would tell me what it meant if i would ask him to-day. but i can wait till to-morrow," she added, with a sigh of resignation. "how would it do for grandma to take your papa's place and tell you the story?" asked grandma elsie, in cheerful tones, and with a loving, smiling look at the little girl. "oh, nicely, grandma! i don't know but you could do it as well as papa could," answered the child eagerly. "ah, dearie, it is a very sad story, and i think i shall have to make it short," sighed mrs. travilla; "the details would but harrow up your feelings unnecessarily." "bad doings of the british and indians, grandma?" queried the little girl. "yes; it was that, indeed!" said mr. dinsmore; "the latter part of the tragedy a terrible slaughter of defenceless prisoners--tortured, scalped, tomahawked, slain in various ways with the utmost cruelty; many of them burned alive in the houses where they lay wounded, unable to move. it was a fearful slaughter which proctor, far from trying to prevent, rewarded with praise and the purchase of the scalps." "oh, wasn't he a very, very bad man, grandpa?" exclaimed little elsie. "more of a devil than a man, i should say," exclaimed walter. "i remember reading an extract from a letter written a few days later, from fort maiden, by a kentuckian to his mother, in which he says, 'never, dear mother, should i live a thousand years can i forget the frightful sight of this morning, when hideously painted indians came into the fort, some of them carrying half a dozen scalps of my countrymen fastened upon sticks and yet covered with blood, and were congratulated by colonel proctor for their bravery." "but all the british officers were not so cruel, walter, my dear," said his mother. "i remember the story of the letter to which you refer, and that the writer went on to say that he heard two british officers talking of that scene together; that one of them, whose name, he had been told, was lieutenant-colonel st. george, remarked to the other that proctor was a disgrace to the british army, that such encouragement to devils was a blot upon the british character." "oh, please, grandma," cried little elsie in distress, "i don't want to hear any more of that story." "no, dear, it is far from being a pleasant one, nor is it worth while to harrow up your feelings with it," returned mrs. travilla. "i will try to find some pleasanter one for you and neddie boy to help you pass the time agreeably while the storm prevents us from enjoying ourselves upon the deck." with that all rose and left the table to gather in the saloon for morning worship, which, in the captain's absence, was conducted by mr. dinsmore. but the storm was abating so that in another half hour captain raymond felt it safe to leave the deck and retire to his stateroom for much needed rest and sleep, and the others could sit comfortably in the saloon, the ladies with their fancy work, while grandma elsie entertained the little folks with stories suited to their tender years. walter, too, was one of the listeners for a time, then with his grandfather ventured upon deck to take an observation of the weather and their surroundings. when they returned it was with the cheering report that the storm had evidently spent its fury, the wind had nearly died down, the rain ceased to fall, and the sun was struggling through the clouds. "oh, then we can go up on deck, can't we, grandpa?" cried neddie, in eager tones. "after a little, sonny," returned his grandpa, sitting down and drawing the young pleader to his knee. "when my papa wakes up?" queried neddie, in a slightly disappointed tone. "yes, indeed, ned," said lucilla, "for though i am so much older than you, papa forbade me to go up there without his permission." "why did he, lu?" asked elsie in a tone of surprise; "and haven't you been up there at all this morning?" "yes, i was, before papa had forbidden me--and would have been blown into the lake if he hadn't caught me in his arms and held me fast." "oh, lu, tell us all about it!" cried ned, while the others who had not heard the story expressed their surprise in various ways and asked question upon question. "there's hardly anything more to tell," replied lucilla. "i know papa is always on deck early in the morning, and as i wake early too, i have a habit of running up there to exchange morning greetings with him. that was what i went for this time, not at all realizing how hard the wind was blowing, but i had scarcely set foot on the deck when it took my skirts and sent me across toward the spot where papa stood holding on to the railing with one hand, his speaking trumpet in the other. he dropped that in an instant and threw his arm round me." as she spoke she shuddered at the thought of her narrow escape from a watery grave, and her voice trembled with emotion. controlling it with an effort, "you see," she concluded, "that i owe my life to my dear father, and--and i love him even better than ever, though i thought before that i loved him as much as was possible." at that violet dropped her work, went quickly to lucilla's side, and bending down over her, kissed her with warmth of affection. "oh, i am so glad--so thankful that he was able to do it," she said in trembling tones and with tears in her eyes. "dear lu, it would have broken our hearts to lose you in that sudden, dreadful way." "as it would mine to lose you, dear mamma vi," returned lucilla with emotion, putting her arms about violet's neck and returning her caresses with interest, "for you are so very good, kind, and loving that i have grown very fond of you. and i know it would break papa's heart to lose you, even more than to lose me or all of his children." "oh, i hope he may never be so tried! for i know he loves us all very dearly, as we do him," said violet. "i don't know what any of us could do without him." chapter ix. the sun was just peeping above the horizon, the yacht moving swiftly and steadily onward as lucilla stepped from the companion-way upon the deck, the next morning, having obtained permission the night before to do so in case the quiet movements of the vessel made it certain she would run no such risk as she had the previous day. her father was pacing the deck, and so near that he took her hand the moment she appeared. "my early bird, as usual! good-morning, daughter mine," he said in tender tones as he bent down and bestowed upon her the caress she never failed to receive from him when first they met at the beginning of a new day. "good-morning, dear, dear papa, yesterday's saver of my life," she returned, in moved tones, putting her arms about his neck and pressing her lips to his again and again. "oh, father, surely i belong to you more than ever now!" "you are my very own, one of my chief treasures," he said, in response to that. "god bless my darling and have her ever in his kind care and keeping!" he clasped her hand tenderly in his as he spoke, and for a while they paced the deck together. "oh, where are we, papa?" she asked, gazing from side to side in eager curiosity. "this wide expanse of water cannot be the welland canal?" "no, we passed through that in the night, and are now in lake ontario." "oh, i am glad we are so far on our journey," she said, "and the water is so quiet that it seems a very suitable place in which to spend this sweet sabbath day." "i think so, if only we try to spend it aright." "i do intend to," she responded. "and we shall have our usual service in the morning; we younger ones a bible lesson with papa in the afternoon, won't we?" "i think so," he said. "i certainly expect to give my own children a bible lesson, and we will not shut out any who may choose to take a part in it. that would be very selfish, would it not?" "yes, sir! yes, indeed! i think so, for you always make a bible lesson very interesting as well as instructive." "i am glad my daughter finds it so," he said, smiling down upon her. they moved silently back and forth for a few minutes, lucilla apparently in deep thought, her father watching with keen and loving interest the changeful expression of her features. "what is it, daughter? of what are you thinking?" he asked at length. "about the narrow escape of yesterday, papa," she answered, lifting to his a face full of solemn awe. "i was asking myself, as i have many times since my narrow escape of yesterday morning, was i ready for heaven? would i have gone there if i had been drowned without time to think and prepare to meet my judge? oh, father, can anyone be saved without time to think and repent of every wrong thought and feeling, and asking god's forgiveness for it? and how would it be possible to do all that while struggling for your life?" "daughter," he said in tender tones, "are you not forgetting these sweet words of holy writ: 'he that believeth on the son hath everlasting life?' take notice, it is not shall have, but _hath_. it is not only the sins already committed which god forgives for jesus' sake when he adopts us for his own, but those also which in his omniscience he sees that we will be guilty of before the work of sanctification is finished. if we are truly his, they are all forgiven in advance. he says: 'i give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand. my father which gave them me is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my father's hand. i and my father are one.' in another place he says, 'verily, verily, i say unto you, he that heareth my word and believeth on him that sent me _hath_ everlasting life and shall not come into condemnation; but _is passed from death unto life_.' the one important question is, are we really his? have we accepted his offered salvation and given ourselves entirely to him? if that be so we have no cause for anxiety or fear; for the lord knoweth them that are his, and will never suffer any real evil to befall them. death will be but going home to him, and that with all the sin taken away and we made perfect in holiness, no want of conformity to his holy will left in us." "yes, papa, but----" "but what, daughter?" "oh, if i should be mistaken in thinking that i really belong to him! papa, how can i know it?" "have you any doubt that you are mine?" "no, indeed, papa, not the slightest." "but how do you know it?" "because you have told me so again and again; and besides, i have only to look in the glass to see that i have your features, that i resemble you about as much in looks as a young girl can resemble a----" "middle-aged man," he added, finishing the sentence for her as she paused with an earnest, loving look up into his face. "and the bible tells us," he continued, "that 'whom he did foreknow he also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his son.' if we are really his, we will, in a greater or less degree, resemble him and will be changed into the same image from glory to glory." "do you see anything of his image in me, papa?" she asked anxiously, humbly. "i am glad, very glad to be able to say that i think i do, daughter," he replied joyously, tenderly. "for years past i have watched you very closely, constantly praying god to bless my efforts to train you up in the way you should go, and bring you to him, and i am very happy to say that for a long while now i have seen that you were striving earnestly to overcome your faults and live as a true disciple of christ. and had you been snatched from me in that sudden way, while the loss of my dear child would have been terrible to me, i should not have mourned as those without hope; but should now be looking forward to a happy meeting with you in that blessed land where sin and sorrow and death are unknown." "thank you, dear papa, oh, thank you very much!" she said, with emotion. "if i am a christian it is because you have taken almost infinite pains to make me such, to point me to christ and lead the way; the way that you made plainer to me than anyone else ever did." "give all the glory and praise to god, my darling," he responded, in moved tones. "it has been my daily, earnest prayer, that he would give me wisdom for the work of bringing my children to him and bless my efforts, and i think my petition has been granted. when you see a work laid to your hands for which you feel incompetent, ask help from on high, remembering and pleading his gracious promise--'if any of you lack wisdom let him ask of god, that giveth to all men liberally and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him. but let him ask in faith, nothing wavering.' never forget that last clause. god knows the heart, and it will be useless for us to plead with him a promise which we do not really believe." "yes, papa; surely that would be insulting to even a human creature. oh, pray for me, that i may have strong faith and never, never doubt one word of god's promises, or threats either, and that i may be always ready for whatever he sends. oh, i can never thank him enough for giving me such a good, kind, praying, christian father!" "and i have great reason for gratitude for the dear children he has bestowed upon me," her father responded, pressing the hand he held, "and for the hope that we will spend a blessed eternity together in that land where sin and sorrow are unknown." "yes, papa, what a delightful thought that is! and yet i cannot help feeling glad to stay a little longer here in this world. oh, this is such a lovely morning and the view is as new to me as it is enchanting, for, as you know, in going to chicago we passed over this part of the route in the night, so that i saw nothing of the scenery." "well, i think you may enjoy it to the full to-day," he returned, "and that some time in the afternoon you will get a sight of the thousand islands; though, by the way, counting all, big and little, there are fifteen hundred or more." "then we won't stop at all of them?" "hardly," he answered with a smile. "they fill the river for twenty-seven miles along its course. most of them are mere rocky islets, covered generally with stunted hemlocks and cedar trees down to the water's edge. some are square miles in extent and others only a few yards." "and how wide is the river where they are, papa?" "it varies from two to nine miles in width. canoes and small boats may pass safely among all the islands, and there is a deep channel for steamboats and large vessels which, having a rocky bottom, never varies in depth or position." "do they belong to our country or to canada, papa? i ought to know, but, if i ever did, i have forgotten." "the boundary line, which was determined in , passes among them. grindstone, carleton, and wells are the names of the largest of those belonging to the united states, and grand and howe of those belonging to canada." "and there are a good many stories connected with them, are there not, papa?" "yes; perhaps one of these days we will hunt them up; for i know that my children--to say nothing of older people--are fond of stories." "especially when told by our father, who is sure to make them interesting," she said, with an upward glance into his face that spoke volumes of love and admiration. "ah, such, it seems, is the opinion of my partial eldest daughter, who can see nothing in her father but what is good and admirable." "a weakness equally shared by his wife," remarked a clear, sweet voice in their rear. they turned quickly at the sound, the captain exclaiming, as he let go his daughter's hand, put an arm about violet, bent down and kissed her tenderly, "this is a most agreeable surprise, my dearest, for i left you, at least, so i thought, fast asleep. i moved as quietly as i could, not wishing to disturb your slumbers." "as you always do move on such occasions, my best and dearest of husbands," she responded, returning his caresses. "you made no noise, but somehow i happened to wake just as you closed the door, and thinking i would secure for myself the rare treat of an early walk with my--better half, i left my berth promptly and began my toilet. so here i am, to spoil lu's private morning interview with the almost idolized father she considers her peculiar property at this hour of the day." "ah!" he returned laughingly, "i put it the other way. she is my property, yet hardly more so than my lovely young wife." "yes; you and i belong to each other, and lu can say the same to you," laughed violet. "can't you, lu?" "so i think, mamma vi," returned lucilla, "and though probably you are nearer and dearer to him than i, you cannot say as i can, that you have his blood in your veins and have belonged to him ever since you were born." "no," acknowledged violet, "but i can say i belong to him of choice, you only of necessity." "oh, that doesn't matter!" laughed lucilla; "since if i had the privilege of choosing, i should be all the same his very, very own. that is, if he would have me," she added, with a look of ardent affection up into her father's face, and laying her hand upon his shoulder. "there is no question about that, dear child," he said, putting his arm round her waist again. "since the day i first heard of your birth there has not been one in which i have not thanked god for this good gift of his to me," he concluded, with a fond caress. "so you see you have no need to be jealous even of me, lu," violet said, with pleased look and smile. "no, i am not, mamma vi, not in the least; for i would far rather be papa's daughter than his wife. but, i suppose, you would rather have him to yourself for a while now, so i will go down----" "no, no, lu dear, stay here with us," interrupted violet, while the captain drew his daughter a little closer, saying, "stay where you are. cannot i have and enjoy you both at once?" "oh, i'm glad enough to be allowed to stay, if you both want me," exclaimed lucilla, with a pleased little laugh. "but i thought i had had my turn and was afraid i'd be in the way now." "when i find you in the way i shall not hesitate to give you an order to go below," her father said, with a look of amusement. then, taking her hand in his and giving the other arm to violet, he resumed the interrupted promenade of the deck till they were joined by the children and older members of the family party. then came the summons to the breakfast table. all were in excellent spirits, greatly enjoying the pleasant change from yesterday's storm to the lovely weather of to-day. most of the day was spent upon the deck holding the sabbath services usual with them there, then in reading and conversation suited to the sacred time, or in gazing out over the waters, watching the passing vessels, and as they steamed from the lake into the st. lawrence river and pursued their way among the islands there, gazing upon them with interest and curiosity. "are we going to stop at any of them, papa?" asked grace. "i think not," he replied. "we are in some haste to reach montreal, as we hope to find letters there from the home folks." "yes," said grandma elsie, "i am hoping to hear from my boys--harold and herbert--that they have arrived safely at home; also for some news from all the other dear ones in that vicinity." "and we hope it will be all good news," added captain raymond cheerily. "and we will send despatches and letters to some of them, that all may be apprised of our safety thus far," added his wife. "yes, indeed," said violet. "by the way, i wonder where our bride and groom are by this time? i wish we might come across them and persuade them to travel in the _dolphin_ again. we would only have to crowd a little as before, to make room for them." "and none of us would object to that, i think," remarked rose. "i, for one, am decidedly of the opinion that it would pay," said lucilla. "don't you think so, father?" "yes; i have always found their society enjoyable," captain raymond replied to that. "and i hope they have found ours agreeable enough to need but little urging to accept our invitation." "perhaps we may come upon them in montreal," remarked grace. "papa, is it not the largest city of lower canada?" "yes; the largest in british america." "where is it, papa?" asked little elsie. "on the left bank of this--the st. lawrence river, miles below lake ontario; above quebec, which will be our next stopping place." "will we get there to-day, papa?" asked elsie. "no," he replied. "to-day is nearly gone, daughter. see, the sun is setting, and you and neddie will be going presently to your beds, to have a good night's sleep, i hope, and be ready to enjoy to-morrow's visit to montreal." chapter x. the drip, drip of rain was the first sound that greeted lucilla's ears on awaking the next morning. she started up in her berth and listened. the _dolphin_ was not moving. "oh, we must be anchored at montreal, and it's raining," she said to herself. "there will not be much sight-seeing for us to-day, i'm afraid. dear, dear! i hope we won't have to hurry away without seeing anything. though in that case, perhaps papa will bring us here again next year." she did not linger long over her toilet, and was soon with her father on the deck. "oh, papa!" she exclaimed, after the usual morning greetings had been exchanged, "aren't you sorry it has turned out a rainy day?" "a bright one would seem pleasanter to us, as we had planned to do some sight-seeing," he replied, "but let us remember who sends the changes of the weather, that he knows what is best for us, and that we may safely trust in his knowledge, power, and love for us?" "yes, papa, that is how i ought to feel about it, and i will try to," she said, a sweet smile replacing the slight frown that had marred the beauty of her face for the moment. "i think," he went on presently, "that it is not going to be a lasting rain. probably showery for some hours, which we can spend with advantage in a short review of the history of montreal, and considering what parts of it are most worthy of our attention; for we cannot take time to visit every locality." "oh, what a nice idea, papa! it quite comforts me!" she cried, looking up into his face with a bright, glad smile, "i do think i have just the very best, kindest, wisest father----" "there, there! that will do!" he said, stopping her flow of words with a kiss full upon her lips. "i am afraid my eldest daughter is a decided flatterer." "oh, papa, the truth isn't flattery, is it?" she asked with a roguish look up into his eyes. "ah! but silly young things, like my daughter lucilla, oftentimes have vivid imaginations. but to change the subject, montreal, you know, is historic ground." "yes, sir; i remember that the first white man who visited it was jacques quartier or cartier, a french navigator. and didn't he discover the gulf and river st. lawrence? and give them those names?" "yes; and named the place here mount royal--in honor of his king, francis i. the city is built upon an island thirty miles long and twelve wide, and upon the site of a noted indian village called hochelaga. cartier's visit was paid in . in a white settlement was gathered there. the indians, friendly at first, afterward became jealous, then hostile. the whites at first defended their town with a stockade and slight bastions, but later with a strong wall of masonry fifteen feet high, with battlements and six gates." "what an old, old town it is!" exclaimed lucilla. "did it become a large city very quickly, papa?" "no; its growth was gradual, but when in the middle of the last century hostilities were begun between the french and english colonies, montreal was an important frontier town. it was threatened by the english under amherst in , and in the autumn of the next year passed out of the possession of the french into that of the english." "and they have kept it ever since?" "yes; though our people invaded it in , after the capture of forts st. john and chambly." "oh, yes, sir! under montgomery and arnold, wasn't it?" "the first attack was under ethan allen, and was made a month earlier than the taking of those forts," replied the captain. "montgomery had sent him to arouse the people in favor of the rebellion, as our cause was then styled by our foes. allen was active and brave, and soon had gathered canadians to his standard. he wrote, lossing tells us, to montgomery, that within three days he would join him, with at least armed canadians, in laying siege to st. john's. "he was marching up the east side of the st. lawrence when he fell in with major brown, at the head of an advanced party of americans and canadians, and brown proposed that they should make a joint attack upon montreal; telling allen it was weak and defenceless. allen agreed and they made their arrangements. allen was to get canoes and cross the river below the city with his troops, while brown was to cross above with men, and they were to attack the city simultaneously. "but for some unexplained reason brown failed to keep his part of the agreement, and allen's party made the attack alone. "it was at night, a rough, windy night, that they, canadians and americans, crossed the river, and they had so few canoes that three crossings were necessary to carry the whole party over. that was safely accomplished by daylight, at which time allen expected to hear brown's signal, telling him that he too had crossed with his men. but the signal was waited for in vain. he did not come at all. "allen would have retreated if the boats could have carried all over at once; as it was, he placed guards on the roads to prevent people from carrying the news of his presence into the city. but in spite of that precaution the inhabitants somehow became aware of it, and soon troops were seen issuing from the gates. they consisted of a force of british regulars, canadians, and a few indians. "two to one of the americans, if not more!" exclaimed lucilla. "yes," said her father, "but so brave were our men that they fought for an hour and three-quarters before they would surrender. at last, however, they all deserted but , of whom were wounded, and allen agreed to surrender upon being promised honorable terms." "the prisoners were marched to montreal and well treated until general prescott got them in his custody, when he behaved toward them in the most brutal manner. learning that allen was the man who captured ticonderoga, he flew into a rage, threatened him with a halter, and ordered him to be bound hand and foot in irons and placed on board the war schooner _gaspee_. a bar of iron eight feet long was attached to his fetters, his fellow-prisoners were fastened together in pairs with handcuffs, and all were thrust into the lowest part of the ship, where they were allowed neither bed nor seat." "oh, papa! what a monster of cruelty that prescott must have been!" exclaimed lucilla. "was he not the same prescott who had command of the british troops in rhode island some two years later?" "the very same; a most unfit man for such a position as he held then and there. a cowardly wretch, a petty tyrant, with a callous heart, a narrow mind, and utterly destitute of benevolence or charity." "but what became of allen finally, papa? if i ever knew, i have forgotten." "he was kept for five weeks in that deplorable condition, at montreal, on board the _gaspee_; then the vessel was sent down to quebec, and he was put on board of another vessel, where he was treated humanely. he was sent to england to be tried for treason, and landed at falmouth, where his grotesque garb attracted a great deal of attention. he was afterward sent to halifax, nova scotia, and thence to new york, where, in may , he was exchanged for colonel campbell." "there is not nearly so much to be seen here as in quebec, is there, papa?" she asked. "no," he replied, "and we will not stay very long here, but will spend more of our time there." "oh, papa, didn't general montgomery come to montreal some time after the events you have been telling of?" "yes; after the fall of st. john's. carleton knew the place was weak, and at once retreated on board of one of a number of small vessels lying in the river, as did general prescott, several officers, and private soldiers. but montgomery, as soon as he was aware that they were trying to flee, sent colonel baston with continental troops, cannon, and armed gondolas to the mouth of the sorel, where they were posted so advantageously that the british fleet could not pass, so were compelled to surrender. but carleton escaped, in a boat with muffled oars, past the american post to three rivers, from which place he soon reached quebec in safety." "what a pity! i wish the americans had been more watchful!" exclaimed lucilla. "they were watchful in their guard boats," replied her father, "but a dark night and secret way were in carleton's favor. they secured prescott, who certainly richly deserved to be made prisoner and treated far worse than he was, but that was by no means the loss to the british that the taking of carleton would have been, for prescott's conduct on many occasions made him a disgrace to their army. but we have had a long talk, and there is the call to breakfast." in spite of the drip and splash of the rain outside the faces that surrounded the breakfast table were bright and cheery. "there will be no going ashore to-day, i presume," remarked grandma elsie, when the blessing had been asked, and the filling of plates and coffee cups had begun. "i do not despair of it, mother," returned the captain, in cheerful tones. "it does not seem to me like a settled rain. i think it will clear by noon, and that then we can go about the city and its environs in carriages." "yes," said mr. dinsmore, "though our own are beyond reach at present, it is altogether likely the city, in the persons of some of its inhabitants, supplies vehicles for those willing to pay for their use." "no doubt of it," said the captain. "where is walter, mamma?" queried violet, noticing that the boy's seat was unoccupied. "i do not know. i fear he has overslept himself," replied her mother. "no, mother," said the captain; "he was early on deck and begged permission of me to go into the city in quest of our mail. ah, here he comes," as a blithe boyish voice was heard at the head of the companion-way. in another moment the lad entered, looking rosy and exultant. "mail for us all, not to speak of telegrams," he said, in lively tones, emptying his pockets as he spoke, and handing letters and papers to one and another. "mamma, your share is a large one, as it ought to be; the telegram, from my brothers, i presume, to announce their safe arrival at home; it is the one at the top of the pile, as you may see," handing her a number of missives. "yes; and most satisfactory," she said, with a smile and a sigh of relief, as she opened and read it at a glance. "'just arrived safely. hear that all the relatives are well.' ah, what cause for gratitude to the giver of all good!" she exclaimed low and feelingly. "there have been so many accidents, yet we and our dear ones have escaped them all." "it is indeed a cause for gratitude," responded her father. "we will trust in him and not be afraid; for wherever we go we are under his kind care and protection." "a most comforting and cheering thought," said the captain. grandma elsie was opening a letter post-marked newport, r. i. "ah, this is from our dear molly!" she said. "she dates 'paradise valley.' where is that?" "it is on the island of rhode island, a few miles out from the city of newport," replied the captain. "ah, yes; so she tells me," responded mrs. travilla, her eyes still upon the letter. "they have taken a furnished house for some months, there is another within a few yards of it, now empty, and they want us all to come there, help fill the two, and have a pleasant time for a few days, or weeks, enjoying the lovely scenery, the sea breeze, and each other's society. what do you all say to the proposition?" "i think we might spend a short time as pleasantly there as anywhere else," said mr. dinsmore. "as i do," said his wife. "i only wish i could be of the party," sighed walter, assuming a very depressed expression of countenance; "but my college duties will claim my attention before that." "for which you may be very thankful, laddie," said his sister rose. "remember it is not every boy--or young man--who attains to the blessing of a college education, without having to earn it by hard work." "i expect and intend to do hard work," returned walter, stirring his coffee, for he had seated himself and was beginning a hearty breakfast. "on which side is your vote to be cast, violet, my dear?" asked the captain in his pleasant tones, turning inquiringly to his young wife. "i think a brief visit there, on our homeward route, might be very enjoyable," she replied; "but if my husband prefers to go directly home i shall be entirely content." "thank you, my dear. i do not see any need of excessive haste in returning home, and it shall be just as you say, whether we accept cousin molly's invitation or decline it." "then suppose we leave it to lu and gracie to say what shall be done, so far as our immediate family is concerned." "very well," he said. "speak freely, daughters, in regard to your preferences for accepting this invitation or going directly home after visiting quebec." "i shall be perfectly satisfied with my father's decision," said lucilla, with a smiling look up into his face. "i have no doubt the little visit to paradise valley would prove very enjoyable, yet home is to me the sweetest place on earth, and we have been away from it a good many weeks already." captain raymond looked not ill pleased with her reply, but turned inquiringly to grace. "i can echo my sister's sentiments, father dear," she said, with her own sweet smile; "keep me with you and i shall be content and happy wherever that may be." the captain's answering smile seemed to say he thought no other man had daughters quite equal to his, but turning to evelyn he asked what were her wishes in regard to the matter. "i have no doubt a visit to paradise valley would be very enjoyable, captain," she replied, with a smile, "that is, if the place is at all suggestive of the name, but like your daughters, i shall be perfectly contented whether we stop there for a time or go on directly home." "there!" exclaimed rosie, "were ever such accommodating girls seen before? now, brother levis, when i am asked that question i shall give a different reply, if only to furnish a trifle of the spice of variety." "consider it asked then, my dear young sister," he returned, with assumed gravity, but a twinkle of fun in his eye. "i do, and my answer is, that i am decidedly in favor of accepting cousin molly's invitation. i have a great desire to see paradise, since the thing may be so easily accomplished, and nobody seems to have any objection to going there." "then we will consider the question decided in the affirmative," said the captain, "and make our arrangements accordingly." "not allowing among them an avoidance of quebec, i trust," said walter; "for i own that i very much want to see that old city." "set your mind at rest on that point, my boy," said the captain pleasantly; "i hardly think there is one of us who would willingly miss that visit." "i am glad to hear you say that, captain," said evelyn, "for i, for one, am looking forward to our visit there with a great deal of interest." the little ones now asked to be excused, and went away to their plays, but the others sat about the table reading their letters--now and then a few sentences aloud, for the benefit of the company--until walter had finished his meal, when they all gathered in the saloon for their regular morning service of prayer, bible reading, and sacred song. when that duty had been duly attended to, the gentlemen and some of the ladies went upon deck for a time. rain was still falling, but less heavily than in the earlier hours, and captain raymond and mr. dinsmore decided to pay a visit to the city, promising to return in an hour or two, bringing vehicles for a drive, in case the weather should so improve that a little excursion might be taken with safety and pleasure. mrs. travilla, violet, and the young girls and walter stood upon the deck, watching their departure. "i hope they may enjoy themselves, but i shouldn't like to walk out in this drizzle," sighed grace. then in a lower, livelier tone, "mamma, are you not proud of your husband? i think he is very handsome, even in that unbecoming waterproof coat." "and i am decidedly of the opinion that everything becomes him," returned violet, with a low, pleased laugh. "well, mamma and you girls, how shall we pass the morning? it really seems to me that the saloon is more inviting and comfortable at present than the deck." the others agreed with her, and all went below, where they found the two little ones begging grandma rose for a story to while away the time. "ah," she said, "here comes your grandma elsie, who is far better than i am at that business. "oh, yes!" cried little elsie. "grandma, won't you please tell us now about things that have happened at montreal and quebec?" "yes, dear; i promised you, and there will be no better time than this for the telling of the story," mrs. travilla answered pleasantly, as she seated herself and took up her fancy work, while the children drew their chairs to her side, each young face full of eager expectancy. chapter xi. grandma elsie took a moment to collect her thoughts, then gave the little ones very much the same story of the settlement and after-history of montreal that lucilla had heard from their father earlier in the day. from that she went on to give a similar account of quebec. "the city," she said, "is built upon a steep promontory, where two rivers, the st. lawrence, on which we now are, and the st. charles meet. there was formerly an indian village there called stadacona. jacques cartier, the same person i have been telling you about as the first white man who visited this spot where montreal now stands, discovered that indian village in the same year. but the city of quebec was not founded until ; and not by cartier, but by another man named champlain, who on the third day of july of that year raised over it a white flag. soon afterward rude cottages were built, a few acres of ground cleared, and one or two gardens were planted." "is that all of it there is now, grandma?" asked elsie. "oh, no, my child! there is a city with a very strong fortress; there are colleges and churches; there is a building yard for vessels, where thirty or forty are built every year. quebec has a very fine harbor, where many vessels can ride at anchor at the same time, and i have read that from fourteen hundred to two thousand come in every year from the ocean." "just to ride there, grandma?" asked neddie, with grave earnestness. then he wondered why grandma smiled at his query and everybody else laughed. "no, sonnie," mrs. travilla replied, "but to trade. they bring goods to the people--silk, cotton, woolen; salt too, coal, and hardware. and they carry away what the folks in canada have to sell, which is mostly timber." "did you say french folks live there, grandma?" asked elsie. "yes; it was built by the french in the first place, but taken from them by the english in ." "that was before our revolution, wasn't it, grandma?" "yes; about sixteen years earlier." "please tell about it, grandma." grandma kindly complied. "there was war at that time between england and france," she said, "and, for that reason, war between the english and french colonies of america. the french built a strong fortress on the island of cape breton, which is at the mouth of this, the st. lawrence river; they began also to build forts along the lakes and the ohio and mississippi rivers. fleets and armies came over from europe, and the english and french colonists, on this side of the ocean, formed armies and engaged indians to help them fight each other. the english attacked the french fortress of louisburgh on cape breton island, and took it. then wolfe, who was in command, put his troops on board of vessels, and went on up the river as far as the island of orleans, a few miles below quebec. there they built batteries for guns, intending to fire upon quebec, where was the french general, montcalm, with an army of , men; some of them regulars, the rest canadians and indians. "but i will not go into all the particulars, as you two little ones could hardly understand them well enough to be much interested." "oh, yes, grandma, please go on," exclaimed elsie. "the english were unsuccessful at first, if i remember right, mamma?" remarked rosie inquiringly. "yes," replied her mother. "it was nearly night when their divisions joined, and the grenadiers were so impatient that they charged madly upon the works of the french before the other troops had time to form and be ready to sustain them. as a natural consequence they were driven back to the beach with severe loss, where they sought shelter behind a redoubt abandoned by the french. "a storm was brewing, and the french kept up a galling fire, until it burst upon their foes with great fury. the tide from the ocean came roaring up against the current of the river with unusual strength, and the british were obliged to retreat to their camp across the montmorency, to avoid being caught in the raging waters and drowned. they had lost killed and wounded. "wolfe, who was not a strong, healthy man, was so distressed over the calamity that he became really ill. of course he was much fatigued, and that, joined to distress of mind, brought on a fever and other illness that nearly cost him his life. it was almost a month before he was able to resume command. "when sufficiently recovered to write a letter, he sent an almost despairing one to pitt, but at its close said he would do his best. then he and admiral saunders contrived their plan for scaling the heights of abraham, and so getting possession of the elevated plateau at the back of the city, where the fortifications were weakest, the french engineers having trusted for their defence to the precipices and the river below. "montcalm and his men saw that the english camp was broken up, and that the troops were conveyed across to point levi, then some distance up the river, by a part of their fleet, while the rest of it remained behind to feign an attack upon the intrenchment at beauport. montcalm, though he saw these movements, was at a loss to understand them; so he remained in his camp, while another officer was stationed a little above the plains of abraham, to watch that part of the english fleet that had sailed up the river. "at night the troops were all embarked in flat boats and proceeded up the river with the tide. the french saw them, and marched up the shore to prevent them from landing. toward daylight the boats moved cautiously down the river, with muffled oars, passing the french without being perceived, and the troops landed safely in a cove below. they were all on shore by daylight. "then the light infantry scrambled up the precipice and dispersed a french guard stationed there, while the rest of the army climbed up a winding and steep ravine. then another division landed, and before sunrise five thousand british troops were drawn up in battle array on the plains of abraham, three hundred feet above the st. lawrence." "how surprised the french must have been!" exclaimed lucilla. "yes," said mrs. travilla, "the first intimation montcalm had of their intentions was the sight of the english army drawn up there, on what he had doubtless deemed those inaccessible heights. he at once perceived that this exposed his garrison and the city to imminent danger, and immediately marched his whole army across the st. charles to attack the enemy. "it was about ten o'clock when he got his troops there and into battle line. he had two field-pieces, while the english had but one; only a light six-pounder which some sailors had dragged up the ravine about eight o'clock that morning. "at that time the plains had no fences or inclosures, and extended to the walls of the city on the st. louis side, their surface being dotted over with bushes which furnished places of concealment for the french and indian marksmen. i will not attempt to describe the relative positions of the two armies, which you little ones would hardly understand. i will only say that wolfe placed himself on the right, at the head of a regiment of grenadiers who were burning to avenge their defeat at the montmorency, and montcalm was on the left of the french, at the head of his regiments. "wolfe ordered his men to load their pieces with two bullets each and reserve their fire until the french should be within forty yards of them, an order which every man was careful to obey. "the english fired several rounds, then charged furiously with their bayonets. wolfe was urging them on, when some canadians singled him out and fired, slightly wounding him in the wrist. he wound his handkerchief about it and still went on, cheering his men, but quickly received another wound in the groin; then another struck him in the breast, and he fell to the ground mortally wounded. but he seemed hardly to think of himself, only of his troops and gaining the victory. 'support me; let not my brave soldiers see me drop,' he said to an officer near him. 'the day is ours--keep it.' then they carried him to the rear while his troops were still charging. the officer on whose shoulder he was leaning cried out, 'they run, they run!' at that the light came back into the dim eyes of the dying hero and he asked, 'who run?' 'the enemy, sir; they give way everywhere,' replied the officer. 'what! do they run already?' asked the feeble, dying voice. 'go to colonel preston and tell him to march webb's regiment immediately to the bridge over the st. charles, and cut off the fugitives' retreat. now, god be praised, i die happy!' he spoke no more, but died, with his sorrowing companions about him, just in the moment of victory. montcalm too was mortally wounded in that battle, and died the next morning about five o'clock." "what a pity!" exclaimed little ned. "what makes men fight so, grandma?" "if there were no sin there would be no fighting," grandma elsie replied. "there is none in heaven; there all is peace and joy and love." "is it bad men that fight, grandma?" "not quite always; sometimes a good man has to fight to protect his wife and children, or other helpless ones, from being injured by a bad man. if a bad man were trying to hurt your mamma, or one of your sisters, it would be right for your papa to prevent him, even if he had to hurt him a great deal in doing so." "oh, yes; and when i grow big i won't let anybody hurt my dear mamma or sisters. i'll help papa drive 'em away if they try to." "please, grandma, tell some more," entreated elsie. "yes, dear," said grandma. "the british have kept quebec ever since they took it that time, and there was no more fighting there till our revolutionary war began some sixteen years later: the th of april, . in the fall of that year troops were sent to canada; some under ethan allen, as you have already learned, some under montgomery, and others commanded by arnold. "they, poor fellows, had dreadful times pushing their way through the wilderness, often suffering for lack of sufficient food and raiment, braving storms and bitter cold. i cannot tell you the whole sad story now, but you can read it when you are older. arnold and his men reached quebec first, but were not strong enough to attack it, and the garrison would not come out and fight them on the plains. then arnold, inspecting his arms, found that most of his cartridges were spoiled, therefore he retreated to a place twenty miles distant. there, on the st of december, he was joined by montgomery and his troops; but very few of them were fit for fighting, many being sick; also a good many had deserted, so that the force was small indeed--only about nine hundred men." "what's desert, grandma, to run away without leave?" asked neddie. "yes," she replied; "and they generally shoot a soldier for it." "i think i won't be a soldier when i get big," said the little fellow reflectively; "'cause i might get scared and run away and the other fellows might catch me and shoot me; and then papa and mamma would feel very sorry; wouldn't they, grandma?" "yes, indeed! and so would a good many other folks, grandma for one," she replied, dropping her work to put an arm about him, stroking his hair with the other hand, patting his rosy cheek, and kissing him again and again. "but we hope our little boy will make a good and brave man, like his father, and never play the coward by running away from dangerous duty." "maxie, my big brother, wouldn't, grandma." "no, i feel very sure max would fight for the right and his dear native land." "so do i," said lucilla. "max is very much like our father in both looks and character; though papa says max has a better temper than his. i never saw papa show a bad temper, but he says he has one and that that's where i get mine." "now, lu, don't talk in that way about yourself," said grace. "i've hardly seen you show any temper at all for years past. if you got it from papa, you got the power of controlling it too, from him, i think." at that moment walter came hurrying down from the deck, whither he had gone shortly before, his face full of joyous excitement. "folks," he cried, "do you know that it is clearing off? the sun is out and the clouds are retreating rapidly before it. surely the change will bring grandpa and the captain back in haste, after the rest of us. so i think we should better be making our preparations as fast as possible." "why, my dear young brother," laughed rosie, "one would imagine our lives or fortunes, one or both, depended on our seeing the sights of montreal to-day." "very well, my wise sister, you can stay behind, if you wish," laughed the lad; "but i'm bound to make one of the exploring party. and there! they have come, for i hear brother levis' voice on deck." the words had scarcely left his lips when captain raymond's quick, manly step was heard coming down the companion-way; then his pleasant voice, saying, "everybody who wants to see montreal to-day must make haste to don hat and coat or shawl, for the air will be quite cool in driving." "oh, have you brought a carriage for us, papa?" asked little elsie. "yes," he replied; "we have three of what they call _calèches_ out here on the wharf. they are pleasant vehicles to ride in, and the three will hold us all very comfortably. we will not want to stop anywhere for dinner," he continued turning to violet, "so i have ordered a lunch put up for each _calèche_." "my dear, you think of everything," she said, with an admiring affectionate look up into his face. "we will be ready in ten minutes; we need no preparations but what you have advised." chapter xii. the sun had already set when our friends returned to the _dolphin_. they had greatly enjoyed their drive and the views of the places of interest visited, but were weary enough to be glad to find themselves again seated upon the deck of their floating home. the little ones were given a simple meal and sent to their berths, then the elder people sat down to a more substantial one, over which they chatted and laughed, discussing with much enjoyment the sights of the day and the historical events with which they were connected. then they talked of quebec and upon what parts of it they should bestow most attention, as they could tarry there for but a short time. "of course we must visit the heights of abraham, whatever else we neglect," remarked rosie. "yes," said walter, "and palace gate, cape diamond, and the citadel that crowns it. i should like to see it, not only for the historical associations, but also because it is said to be the most impregnable fortress on the continent of america." "and i, for the beautiful view it commands of what is called the most magnificent scenery on this continent, if not in the world," added violet. "it must be very large," remarked lucilla, "for i remember reading that, with its ravelins, it covers about forty acres. we will go to see it, papa, will we not?" "i think so; it would hardly do to visit quebec and neglect so important a place." "it was under cape diamond that montgomery fell, if i remember right," remarked evelyn leland. "yes," replied the captain; "on the st of december, . at two o'clock on that morning his troops paraded in three divisions; a part at holland house under the direct command of montgomery. that division, with montgomery at the head, passed down from the plains of abraham to wolf's cove, then along the margin of the river under cape diamond. it was a dark, stormy morning, the snow falling fast and a fierce wind piling it in heaps--frightful drifts. through that darkness and storm montgomery led his men to the narrowest point under the cape, where, on the top of the precipice, the enemy had planted a battery of three-pounders. the post was in charge of a canadian with thirty-eight militiamen, besides nine british seamen under the master of a transport, to work the guns. these men were awake and on the watch, perfectly silent; each artilleryman with a lighted match in his hand. probably from their silence montgomery thought they were asleep. but they were waiting and listening. "barnsfare could see faintly through the dim light and drifting snow, the movements of the americans, and when they drew near, and montgomery called out to his troops, 'men of new york, you will not fear to follow where your general leads: march on!' rushing, as he spoke, over heaps of snow and ice to charge the battery. barnsfare heard, gave his men the word, and they sent a discharge of grape-shot, sweeping down the american ranks with terrible effect. "montgomery, his aid, major m'phunn, captain cheesman, and several privates were killed, and the rest, appalled at the disaster and the death of their brave commander, fled back to wolf's cove." "how dreadful!" sighed grace. "montgomery's death alone was a great loss to our country, was it not, papa?" "it was indeed! throughout the whole country his death was felt to be a great calamity, and even in england, upon the floor of parliament, his praises were sounded by burke, chatham, and barre." "was he buried there--in canada?" she asked. "yes; within the wall that surrounded a powder magazine, near the ramparts on st. louis street. there his body remained for forty-two years, when it was removed to new york and reinterred near the monument erected to his memory by the united states. "while all this was going on at cape diamond, arnold and his division were passing along the st. charles. the snow was worse drifted there than on the st. lawrence; but he and his men pressed on till they reached a narrow street, where, under a high jutting rock, the enemy had a two-gun picketed battery well manned. like montgomery he headed his men, leading lamb's artillery to the attack, and while doing so received a very bad wound in the knee. he had to be carried to the general hospital, and there heard the sad news of montgomery's death. "morgan now took command of arnold's division, and for more than an hour the americans withstood the storm of musket balls and grape-shot at the first barrier, and finally carried it, the deadly aim of the riflemen causing great consternation among the ranks of the british and canadians. then they rushed on to the second, where they fought fiercely for three hours, many being killed on both sides. "our men finally captured the barrier, and were preparing to rush into the town, when carleton sent a large detachment from his garrison, through palace gate, to attack them in the rear. he and his men had heard of the death of montgomery and the retreat of his detachment, which inspired them with renewed courage. the palace gate was thrown open suddenly and the troops rushed out, surprising captain dearborn and some provincials stationed there, and they were taken prisoners. "morgan heard of that disaster and of the death of montgomery while he and his men were pressing on vigorously into the town; also that the enemy was advancing on his rear. he saw that further efforts were useless, as he was surrounded by the foe on all sides, and he and his men surrendered themselves prisoners of war." "the whole american army was not taken, if i remember right, papa?" said grace interrogatively. "no," replied her father, "the rest of the division retreated to their camp, leaving behind a field-piece and some mortars. colonel arnold took command of what was left of the patriot army and was promoted to the rank of brigadier-general. he did not feel safe so near the city, so retired about three miles from it and intrenched himself as well as circumstances would permit. he remained there until the st of april, but accomplished nothing of any consequence. general thomas, who was appointed to succeed montgomery, arrived early in may; but the british received large reinforcements and our men were driven out of canada." "perhaps it was just as well," remarked lucilla, in a tone of indifference, "our country is large enough, and i, for one, don't covet canada." "i think there are very few americans, if any, who do," returned her father with a slightly amused smile. "our country is large enough, and while we like the canadians as friends and neighbors, we have no wish to change their political relations, or to rob england of her colonies." "i think you are quite correct about that matter, captain," said mr. dinsmore. "i have yet to hear from any one of our people an expression of a desire to see canada, or any part of british america, incorporated into our union. we have a great country and are fully satisfied with its size." "'eternal vigilance is the price of liberty,'" quoted walter, "and we need to be careful to exercise that, don't we, grandpa?" "certainly we do," was the reply, "toward foes within and foes without; and that especially by diffusing knowledge and teaching gospel truth." with that they withdrew from the table and gathered upon the deck. the yacht was moving down the river, but through the gathering gloom little could be seen of it or its shores, and wearied with the day's jaunt, all presently retired to their staterooms. chapter xiii. when the _dolphin's_ passengers awoke the next morning they found she had reached quebec and was lying quietly at the wharf there. anxious to view all places of historic interest in and about the city and to be again on their eastward way, they set out as promptly as they conveniently could after leaving the breakfast table. there were so many points of interest, and at some they tarried so long, that the sun had set and shadows were already creeping over land and water as they regained the _dolphin's_ deck. ned was fast asleep in his father's arms, little elsie hardly able to keep her eyes open, and they were taken at once to their stateroom by their parents, the others hurrying to theirs to make due preparation for a suitable appearance at the supper table. the saloon through which they passed was but dimly lighted as yet, and no one noticed a lady and gentleman sitting side by side in a far corner where the shadows were deepest. as the last stateroom door closed upon its occupants, the gentleman leaned down over the lady, saying in a tone scarcely above a whisper, "ah ha, ah ha, um h'm! they are all safe in their rooms for the present, and now let us go upon deck while we may unperceived. raymond will be sure to be up there presently, if none o' the rest." the lady returned a silent assent, both rose, crossed the room noiselessly, ascended the cabin stairway, and in another minute were seated side by side in the shadow of the pilot house, the man at the wheel greeting them with a quiet smile of amusement. "they didn't see you, sir?" he asked in an undertone. "no. and you kept our counsel?" "an easy thing to do under the circumstances, as the captain asked no question, but passed quickly on down into the cabin. but i think, sir, you'd best let him know you're here pretty soon, or the yacht may be starting with you and the lady on it, and you haven't any baggage aboard." "that's true; but the captain shall know of our presence and give us time to land before he weighs anchor." "and here he comes now, sir," as at that moment captain raymond's step and voice were heard near the companion-way. "there, do you hear, sir? he's giving the order to weigh anchor and proceed down the river." "hallo, there, cap'in! jest you wait a bit, sir. there's a couple o' stowaways aboard and i'd advise ye to get rid o' them afore ye start," called a voice that seemed to come from some part of the vessel in the captain's rear. he turned quickly, asking, "and you are one of them?" "well, sir, that's neither here nor there," returned the voice; "but if i was in your place, i'd put 'em off afore starting." "but perhaps the poor fellows need some help," returned the captain. "tell them to show themselves and i'll not be hard upon them." "well, now," exclaimed the invisible speaker, "i must say you're a good, kind-hearted sort o' man, spite o' owning this grand yacht and a lot o' money, so i'll call 'em. halloo, here, mates, don't be afeard to show yerselves and i reckon ye'll git some grub if nuthin' else." "wait a little till this matter is settled," captain raymond said, reversing his order about the anchor, then asked, "have any strangers been allowed to board the yacht during my absence?" addressing his query to the man at the helm. "well, no, sir; not to say strangers," answered the man, hesitatingly and with a slight laugh. "ah! some old friends, though; just as i suspected," and with the words captain raymond glanced searchingly about, then with a quick step drew near the hiding place of the stowaways. "ah, cousins, i see my guess was not wide of the mark," he said, with his good-humored laugh and giving a hand to each. "you are as welcome as sunlight in the morning and shall have all the 'grub' you can stow away. but why not send for your baggage and go on home with us? you have seen all the sights of quebec, have you not?" "about all, captain," replied mr. lilburn, "and we thank you heartily for your very kind invitation. but though travel on the _dolphin_, especially in such good company, is most delightful, we would crowd you too much, i fear." "yes," said annis, "and it would be very selfish to give ourselves so much pleasure at the cost of such inconvenience to our kind friends--our dear relatives. but seeing the _dolphin_ lying here, we felt that we could not deny ourselves the great pleasure of a peep at you all." "the voyage is not likely to be a long one, or the crowding worth mentioning," returned captain raymond in his most cordial tone; "and the slight inconvenience will be paid for over and over again by the pleasure of your company." "it is most kind in you to say so, captain," said annis, with a pleased look, "but are you quite sure the others would be equally willing to endure the inconvenience?" "i haven't a doubt of it," he replied emphatically, "and i know of nothing that could happen just now that would afford our dear mother more pleasure; for i have often heard her speak of you as her very dear friend and cousin, and i know she has missed you sadly since you left us for your bridal trip. if you have seen all you care to of the city, do let me send at once for your baggage and give her and the rest the pleasant surprise of finding you presently at the supper table." "thank you very much," she said, smiling up into his pleasant face; "you don't know how tempting your kind offer is. we have seen all we care to of this interesting old city and were intending to leave it to-night; but----" "ah, my dear cousin, just omit the objections," interrupted captain raymond laughingly, "give me the address and let me send at once for your trunks. excuse my rudeness in not waiting to hear all you could say against my plan, but it is growing late and i can hear it all afterward if you care to have me do so. ah, here comes mother and my wife now," he added, as the two stepped upon the deck at that moment. then moving quickly toward them, "i have something to show you, mother and vi," he said; "a couple of uncommonly interesting stowaways, about the disposal of whom i should like to have your advice." "stowaways?" repeated violet, in accents of surprise. "do they think we are about to cross the ocean?" "suppose you come and have a little talk with them," said her husband, leading the way toward the intruders, the ladies following close in his rear. "oh, cousins annis and ronald! how delightful!" both exclaimed at sight of the intruders, vi adding in gleeful tones, "we'll stow you away safely and keep you as long as possible." then, as annis began repeating her objection on the score of the inevitable crowding, "oh, that will only be fun," she said. "i am not urging you out of politeness, but because i really want your and cousin ronald's pleasant company, and know that all the rest will be delighted to have it." "certainly they will," added grandma elsie. "and you surely cannot be so unkind, annis dear, as to refuse us that pleasure." "ah, annis, my bonny bride, with such assurances we need not hesitate," laughed mr. lilburn. "let us accept the kind invitation and do our best to add to the pleasure of our generous-hearted entertainers." "you can hardly refuse to follow such good advice coming from such a source, annis," said violet, while captain raymond again inquired of mr. lilburn where he should send for the trunks. the requested information was given, a messenger at once despatched for the luggage, and, as the summons to the supper table came at the same moment, all the company upon the deck at once descended the companion-way and met the remainder of the family party at the table. the bride and groom had no reason to complain of their reception, for everyone seemed delighted to see them. fatigue was forgotten in the enjoyment of each other's society, the toothsome viands and the interest of comparing notes as to their experiences--all they had seen, heard, and done--since the parting of a few days before, when the bride and groom left the _dolphin_ for the railroad train at michigan city. the luggage had arrived and the vessel was in motion down the river some time before they left the table. "you will hardly make another stop in this part of her majesty's dominions, captain, but go directly home, i presume?" remarked mr. lilburn inquiringly, at a pause in the conversation. "yes and no," returned captain raymond in playful tones, "i hardly expect to stop again until we reach narragansett bay; but there we expect to visit newport, and paradise valley, a few miles out of it, on the same island. we have some cousins summering there now, who are most urgent with us to come and take temporary possession of a vacant cottage very near the one occupied by them; and we have decided to do so, should nothing interfere. and now, i hope you and cousin annis will decide to go there with us, and afterward return home with us in the _dolphin_." as soon as the captain had ceased speaking, mrs. travilla and violet, the young people also, joined their urgent solicitations to his, and as annis seemed much pleased with the idea, and mr. lilburn himself had really no objection, it was presently decided that they would accept the invitation. they now left the table and gathered upon the deck for a time; but as there was no moon that night little could be seen of the country through which they were passing, and all being somewhat weary with the exertions of the day, they presently held their regular evening service of prayer, praise, and reading of the scriptures, then bade an affectionate good-night and retired to rest. chapter xiv. our friends had a delightful voyage through the gulf of st. lawrence, down the coasts of new brunswick, maine, massachusetts, and rhode island as far as newport on narragansett bay. they left the yacht lying in the harbor there for the present, and taking hired carriages drove out to the cottages of which their cousin, mrs. embury, had written, where they found her and mr. embury, with their children, also mr. and mrs. cyril keith, forming a large and interesting family party, and filling one of the cottages; but the other was still vacant, and large enough to accommodate very conveniently the entire party from the _dolphin_. their welcome was of the warmest. they found their new temporary abode comfortably, though not elegantly, furnished, open and well aired; for, though their friends had been uncertain of the exact time of their arrival, they had expected them daily and made ready, as far as possible, for their comfort and enjoyment. "ah, if we had only known just when you would get here, your supper should have been ready," said isadore, when greetings had been exchanged and the excitement of the arrival had calmed down somewhat. "but i will have it on the table as soon as possible. i am housekeeper this week. molly and i take the position week about, each trying to outdo the other in catering for the united family." "oh, thank you! but we had supper on the yacht just before leaving her," said violet. "besides, we consider ourselves at home and do not expect or wish to be treated as company." "and we have brought a supply of provisions of various kinds, which we hope you may be willing to share with us," said the captain. "that was very kind and thoughtful in you, cousin captain," returned isadore with a pleased look, "and i hardly think any of us will feel inclined to reject your dainties; though we have fared very well indeed since coming here." "please accept my thanks also, and those of our husbands and children," said molly. "aunt rose and cousin elsie, please sit down here with the gentlemen and let us younger ones attend to the unpacking and arranging of the contents of your trunks. if you will trust us, i can assure you we shall enjoy doing it. at least i am sure i shall." "that is a kind offer, molly," said mrs. travilla, "but we have done nothing to-day to tire us and i, for one, am not in the least fatigued; so ought not to indulge my love of ease at your expense." "your love of ease, cousin elsie!" laughed molly. "i never discovered that you had any." "no; but she has a daughter who is both able and willing to attend to the duty in question," said rosie travilla. "so sit you down, mother dear, and enjoy this pleasant company, while we younger folks unpack and find places for your goods and chattels." "yes, do, mother," said captain raymond, bringing forward an easy chair for her. "can't you trust me to oversee and assist these younger folks? if not we will seat you in state in some spot convenient for you to do that part in person." "thanks, captain," she returned with a smile of amusement "as commanding and giving directions has been your business for so many years, i think you may be trusted to attend to the matter even without my added supervision." "yes, come along, sir," said rosie, leading the way, "but please to remember that you and we girls are not in the schoolroom." "i shall endeavor to keep that fact in mind, my sage young sister," he said in return. "but it won't make any difference in your authority over your own daughters, i am happy to know, papa," lucilla said, with a loving, smiling look up into his face. "no; they are mine and under my orders always and under all circumstances," he returned; "and i think would not have it other wise if they might." "indeed we would not," said grace, who, as usual, was near her father and sister. "may i help, papa?" "well, gracie, i think you are not really needed, and would enjoy yourself better out yonder on the porches or on the grass with your little brother and sister and the others, telling them stories, singing them little songs or playing games with them." "yes; do try that, gracie, and i shall be much obliged," violet said, joining them at the moment. "i have just left them with the promise to ask it of you." grace acquiesced, went back at once, and for the next half hour devoted herself to the amusement of the children, to their great satisfaction and enjoyment. "and you, madam raymond, would do well to go back to the society of your older friends and exercise your many gifts for their entertainment," remarked the captain, speaking in playful tones to his young wife, as grace disappeared. "no, my dear, i prefer to exercise them for yours, if you will permit it," she returned. "ah, you fear to trust me to do the work without the supervision of my capable young wife?" he returned laughingly. "possibly it may be done a trifle better, or, at least, more to my mind, with that," she retorted, with becoming gravity. "at all events, i shall know better where to look for what i want, so that, in the end, i shall save myself trouble." "ah, then, i will make no further objection, but freely acknowledge that the work will be twice as enjoyable if done under my young wife's supervision." "thank you, sir," laughed violet; "how glad i am now that i insisted on coming to share it. as our stay is likely to be so short, i think, do not you, it will be best to unpack only such things as we are pretty sure to want while here?" "very well, my dear; as concerns that matter, you have only to give your orders and see them carried out; while i do likewise in regard to another; namely, that all the manual labor is to be left to other hands than yours." "oh, captain raymond, how you do spoil me!" laughed violet. "who shall say that you won't be sorry for it one of these days, and wish you had encouraged me to be industrious and energetic." "i am willing to take the risk," he said, placing a chair for her. "no, i am not ready to sit down yet," she said. "we must first settle who are to be the occupants of each room; and cousin annis and ronald should have the first choice." "decidedly they must have of the best; yet, i think it may be the better plan for us to choose for them, or they will not take the best. there are three comfortable rooms on this first floor. shall we not assign their use to your mother, grandparents, and the lilburn cousins?" "by all means," returned violet. "then rosie will share with mamma, evelyn and our two girls take one of the third story rooms, you and i and our little ones another, and walter the remaining one. he, you know, must leave us in a few days for college. oh, the house will accommodate us all very nicely!" "so i think," he returned, leading the way to the third story; "and now i insist on your having the first choice of the rooms on this floor." violet hesitated, glancing inquiringly at evelyn and lucilla, who had followed them up the stairway. "yes, cousin vi, that is only right, and what we would prefer to have you do," said evelyn. "i see hardly any choice; they all look pleasant," added lucilla, "and if there is a difference, of course, we would all prefer that you and papa should have the best." violet still seemed to hesitate, and walter, who had come up in the rear of the others, said, "i see i'll have to decide this knotty question. my big brother, the captain, being the largest, oldest, best, and most distinguished of this party, besides having a better half and two children to share with him, should be assigned the largest room; the three young ladies should take the next in size, and i--'lone and lorn' bachelor of sixteen--will occupy the smallest, which is quite large enough and good enough for me. so there the knotty question is solved." "many thanks for your wise decision, my dear young bachelor brother," laughed violet. "and now, if you and your big brother will see to the bringing up of the trunks, i think we will soon make an end of unpacking and arranging their contents, and be ready to join the pleasant company on the porches." "yes, i think we need not do much of that work to-night," said her husband; "it is now almost time to get our little ones to bed, and to-morrow will give us another and better opportunity." with that he and walter hastened down the stairway, and not many minutes later all were ready to rejoin the friends and relatives sitting at ease on the porches below. most of the evening was passed in conversation, for they found a great deal to hear and to tell of the scenes they had visited, and occurrences in the family connection since last they had been together. they had been talking of viamede, mrs. travilla asking some questions of mr. cyril keith about the condition of things there, of which he was able to render a very favorable report, in which mr. lilburn, among others, seemed to be much interested. "you visited viamede some time ago, i remember, sir?" remarked cyril, turning to him. "yes; some few years ago, and found it a lovely place--a sort of earthly paradise," returned the old gentleman, adding, with a look of amusement, "i am pleased to perceive that you have not forgotten me entirely, though we were not, at that time, related by marriage as we are now. i have no objection in the world to being called uncle, even by a man of your age, seeing you are own nephew to my bonny young wife." annis laughed, saying with a mirthful look, "hardly young to anyone but yourself, my dear; only a trifle younger than my dear friend and cousin elsie, who is grandmother to quite a number of fine children." "but still almost youthful in appearance, auntie, dear," said cyril, giving mrs. travilla a look of heart-felt affection. then turning to mr. lilburn, "i shall avail myself in the future of the privilege you have accorded me, uncle ronald," he said. "it is a pleasant name to speak, and a dear old gentleman who gives me the privilege of so addressing him." "couldn't you give us all the same privilege, sir?" asked mr. embury. "my wife is own cousin to your new niece, mrs. isadore keith--i think, too, that she is the bright, attractive sort of woman anybody might be proud to claim kin with--and we would all feel just so about claiming it with you. besides that, uncle ronald is a good, agreeable, handy name to use and to hear." "ah ha! ah ha! um h'm! so i think myself; also that this is a handy company to own as nieces and nephews. but what say you, annis, my bonny bride?" turning to her, with a look that spoke proud ownership. "that i am entirely willing you should be uncle and i aunt to the whole crowd of good people here, if they desire it," annis answered, with a look of amusement. "it will not make us really any older in feeling or appearance. and i am quite accustomed to having nieces and nephews not very many years younger than myself." "and have not found it a nearly unendurable trial, i hope, aunt annis?" cyril said inquiringly. "no; quite the contrary," she answered. "but, to change the subject; there is a good deal that is interesting to be seen about here, is there not?" "yes, indeed! this is middletown; it was formerly a part of newport, and known in those times as 'ye woods.' it has an area of twelve and a half square miles. there are five schoolhouses, three churches, and a town hall." "why, i thought it was country!" exclaimed rosie. "as we drove along i noticed little groups of houses here and there, but there seemed to be farms, orchards, and fields; also a good many rocky-looking hills; some that didn't seem to be cultivated at all." "yet, there is so much beauty that it seems to me worthy of its name--paradise valley," remarked her mother. "i think so," said cyril, "and i expect to enjoy taking you all to its various places of interest--purgatory rocks, sachuest and easton's beaches, hanging rocks, and the site of the former residence of bishop berkeley." "who was he?" asked grace. "a clergyman, born in ireland, educated in england; a learned man and author of a number of books; a good christian man too; one of whose projects was the founding of a college in the bermudas for the training of ministers to supply churches and teach christianity to the savages of america. the english government was to supply the means, but failed to do so, and berkeley came on here to newport in january, , bought a farm, built a small house upon it, and there lived and studied, preaching occasionally, while waiting for the performance of the promise of the english government. he waited about three years; then, convinced that the promise would never be kept, went back to england." "and he left the income of his property here to be used in educating students of yale college, did he not?" asked violet. "yes; gave books too--a valuable collection donated by himself and friends--and most of the volumes are still there. he had a share in the formation of redwood library here in newport, also. he was both a very good and very distinguished man." "did he name this paradise valley?" asked grace. "no, i have been told it was named by mr. isaac barker, who owned a large part, if not all of it, in revolutionary days. by the way, his descendants still live here, one of them in the very house owned and occupied by him at that time." "oh, yes," said molly; "we must take you to see that house, so interesting because a relic of the revolution, and the dear old lady who is now its mistress. i know you will be much interested in her, cousin elsie, and all she can tell of events here in this valley during that war." "i shall be glad to call to see her, if you are quite sure she will not deem it an intrusion," replied mrs. travilla. "no, i am sure she will not; she is very kind and hospitable, and seems to really enjoy telling the story of those times to one who shows a deep interest in it." "as we all would do," said mr. dinsmore, glancing at his watch as he spoke. "but it is growing late now. shall we not have our evening worship together and then retire to rest? cousin cyril, as you are a minister, the rest only laymen, suppose you lead our devotions." chapter xv. as they expected to make their stay upon the island but short, and wished to see every interesting spot, all were up and about early the next morning. naturally the history of the state, and particularly of the island upon which they were, was the principal topic of conversation at the breakfast table. walter began it. "if my memory serves me right, it was somewhere about here that general nathaniel greene had his quarters in ." "yes," replied captain raymond, "on a farm owned by colonel richard k. randolph." "why, i thought greene's fighting was done in other parts of the country!" said rosie. "most of it was," replied the captain, "but being a rhode island man he desired to take a part in the attack on the british, who had possession of newport at that time. but i think you all know the story--the failure of the french troops to take the part expected of them, and to do the damage to the british vessels coming in from new york which they essayed to do; then the great storm which damaged the vessels, both of the french and english; and, soon after, the sailing of the french for boston, leaving the americans to meet the british alone. "then the battle was fought on quaker hill, after which, though not defeated, the americans, hearing of the approach of howe with large reinforcements for the british, retreated from the island to the mainland, in good order and without the loss of a man." "did the british go away too, papa?" asked elsie. "not till the fall of the next year," he replied. "they had done a vast amount of mischief, and desolated the island; they had cut down the groves of forest trees and many of the orchards, for fuel and military purposes; they had torn up the meadows, destroyed gardens and ruined farms. so hard had they made life upon the island that many, it is said more than half the people, had left the island; wharves were deserted, commerce was destroyed, and trade abandoned. in december of , the last winter that they were there, there was a fearful storm--a heavy fall of snow and cold so intense that many of the hessians perished, frozen to death. accounts say that more than fifty people, mostly soldiers, lost their lives on that fearful night, and it was long known as the hessian storm. the poor fellows suffered very much that winter, for, after a little, rations were cut down to one-half of bread, made of rice and oatmeal mixed, the other half of rice. and fuel was so scarce that they must have suffered much from the cold; to supply it old houses were destroyed, old wharves torn to pieces. old empty houses were used as barracks, and troops were quartered upon the people still living in others. the state-house was used as a hospital and some of the churches were turned into riding-schools. "general prescott had his quarters in the bannister house, and it is said that his spacious sidewalk in front was made of stepstones taken from private houses, and the whole of the south flight of steps from those belonging to the state-house." "i don't see in what respect he was any better than a thief and a robber!" cried lucilla indignantly. "no, nor do i," said her father; "but we must remember that some of the british officers were a very different kind of men and would not have at all approved of his doings. prescott, as we all know, was a great coward, and cowardice and cruelty are apt to go together." "our washington was very, very brave and never at all cruel," remarked little elsie. "papa, was he ever here?" "he was in newport more than once. his last visit was paid while he was president of these united states in august, . he was escorted to the brenton house, the principal hotel of the place; a dinner was given him in the representative chamber of the state-house, at which thirteen regular toasts were drunk, washington giving one--'the town of newport.' he left before the rest of the company, and then judge marchant gave the toast, 'the man we love.'" "oh, i like that!" said the little girl, her eyes sparkling. "i think everybody must love washington--everybody but the british." "and even some of the british have admired him very much," said her father, smiling at her enthusiasm. "and given him high praise," added walter. "i for one am proud of being his countryman." all had now finished their breakfast, and leaving the table they repaired to the adjoining cottage, exchanged greetings with its occupants, then together they held their morning service, after which they arranged their plans for the day. "as this is saturday and i leave for princeton on tuesday next, i have only to-day and monday for looking about and seeing places of interest in this neighborhood," remarked walter. "how and where do you want to go?" asked mr. embury. "down to the beaches, to all the places connected with the doings of bishop berkeley and the revolution, all about paradise valley, and--to look at purgatory; but not to get into it," replied the lad, concluding with a slight laugh. "do you want company or prefer to go alone?" was the next query, to which walter replied, "i can go alone, i suppose, but i should prefer good company if it is to be had." "would mine answer that description?" "yes, indeed, sir! but, i daresay, you have seen all the places already and perhaps might be only bored by being asked to repeat your visit." "quite a mistake, my young friend; they are worth looking at time and again." "i should think so," remarked the captain. "suppose we make up a party of such of our members as would enjoy a pretty long stroll, go down through this valley to the beach yonder, visit purgatory rocks and as many other of the places of interest as we may feel inclined to see to-day and have time and strength to visit." "i approve of your plan," said molly. "i was thinking it would be best to defer our intended visit to that dear old lady in the revolutionary house till monday, as saturday is apt to be a busy one with housekeepers." "yes," said mrs. dinsmore, "i think it will be quite enough to venture an intrusion upon her at the most convenient time for her that we can select." "a real favor for her to permit it at any time," added grandma elsie. they were gathered on the porch. captain raymond now rose and looking down toward the water said, "ah, yonder is the _dolphin_; according to my order of yesterday she has been brought here to afford a sail along the coast of the island to any who may desire it." "oh, how good and kind in you, captain!" exclaimed mrs. keith. "i for one should be delighted to go." "all can sail who wish," said the captain. "the _dolphin_ has day accommodations for even a larger company than this, and of course we shall return long before night." as he concluded, he looked at mrs. dinsmore as if expecting her to speak first, and as she was the eldest lady in the company she did so, saying: "i for one have been so long on the water that i feel a strong inclination to stroll down to the beach; though i have no doubt that the sail will be very enjoyable." "how would it do to take the stroll to the nearest point to where the yacht is lying, and then continue your walk, or go aboard the vessel, as you feel inclined?" asked the captain. "oh, nicely! i think," she returned; "especially if some of the others would like to join me in so doing." "i should," "and i," "and i," cried several voices, one of them being grandma elsie's, and another violet's; while at the same time nearly every one of the children was asking permission to go along. "yes, yes! let them all go," said the captain. "a walk to the beach down yonder will not be too long for any one of them, i think, and when we get there each one of our party can decide whether to continue the stroll or board the yacht." chapter xvi. "i think we will have to divide our forces," said mr. embury, when, after preliminary preparations and arrangements, all were ready to set out for the beach and the yacht, "for there are so many of us that we will astonish the natives and they will probably be asking the meaning and object of the procession." "well, my dear, what of what?" queried his wife gayly. "it will give them an interesting subject of inquiry and conversation." "very well, my molly; if you like to be talked about, i have no further objection to make," was his cheerful response. "there are a good many of us," remarked the captain, glancing about, "actually two dozen, counting all--big and little, old and young." "and a very respectable-looking crowd it is," remarked violet. "i'm not in the least ashamed of anyone in it. yet it might be well to break up into several smaller parties, by the way of guarding against alarming our good neighbors, or making all the grown up ones keep to the slow pace of the very little folks. ah, i see evelyn, rosie and walter, lu and grace, are already on the wing." "yes," said the captain; "they have just started in response to a motion from me to move on. they will reach the beach probably some minutes ahead of us, but can be trusted not to get into any danger or mischief." "surely," laughed violet. "mamma, shall you and i walk together?" "while i follow with the children," added the captain. "i see your grandpa and his wife are moving on ahead of us." "cousin ronald should go next with his bonny bride, while we of this cottage bring up the rear with our children," said molly. "putting a small space between to avoid being mistaken for a procession," added mrs. keith. "bound for purgatory; but none of us to get inside, i trust," said mr. embury. "i hope the young folks won't attempt to climb up those rocks till we older ones get there to look after them." "no, i think we'll find them on the beach," said the captain. "i bade mine wait there for me, and i can say--for mine, at least, that they love their father well enough to follow his directions carefully." "that is very true," said grandma elsie; "and equally true with regard to the care with which my rosie and walter conform to mine." "and no wonder, mamma and levis," said violet, "for you are both so reasonable in your commands and prohibitions, so kind and affectionate, that it would take a very hard-hearted and stubborn nature to rebel against your authority." "ah ha! ah ha! um h'm! that's exactly my opinion," said mr. lilburn, looking round upon them with a smile. "i have noticed many times, with sincere admiration, the admirable manner in which the children of these families are trained. i only wish i'd been favored with such examples before i went at the business myself." "i see no reason why you should, cousin ronald," returned the captain, "for the only one of your offspring with whom i am acquainted, seems to me to be all a father could ask or wish." "ah ha! um h'm! i'll no deny that my hugh is as fine a lad as could be found in a day's travel; and malcolm not a whit behind him; but neither will i deny that the credit belongs more to the native goodness o' the lads than to their father's training." it was a fine breezy morning, with a delicious coolness in the air, and all keenly enjoyed the walk to the beach. they spent a few moments there, then climbed the rocks and passed along the summit till they reached the deep fissure called purgatory. there the children, carefully guarded by their parents, lest a false step should precipitate them into the deep chasm, were allowed to gaze into its depths for a moment, then led away and seated on a rock to rest. most of the older ones lingered a little longer, watching the movement of the water at the bottom, and speculating about the depth and width of the chasm, and what would be the dire consequence of a fall into it. "i wouldn't advise you to try it, my young friends," said mr. embury. "it must be fully fifty feet down to the water, and if you reached the bottom alive you wouldn't remain so many minutes." "no, i suppose not," said walter, reflectively; "but the fissure is not very wide and i think i could jump across." "oh, walter, don't think of such a thing!" exclaimed rosie, stepping back suddenly, at the same time catching him by the arm and pulling him away. "why, rosie, do you think i could be such a goose as to attempt anything so foolhardy as that, when nothing was to be gained by it?" he exclaimed, in a tone between vexation and amusement. "no, i don't," she said, drawing a long breath, "but the very thought of it frightens me." "to run such a risk without any good object in view--such, for instance, as the saving of the life of someone else--would be a very wicked thing, i think," said mr. keith. "i entirely agree with you," said captain raymond, "no one has a right to rush uncalled into the presence of his maker. "oh, i shouldn't think anybody would ever want to try jumping across here!" exclaimed grace. "i wonder if anyone ever did." "it is said that the thing was done once under peculiar circumstances," replied mr. embury. "the story is that a young and pretty girl, who had many admirers, suitors for her hand, came here with one of them and dared him to jump across the chasm, saying that if he did so successfully, she would marry him; otherwise she would not; whereupon he attempted the dangerous feat and was successful. but his love for his cruel charmer was gone; he turned toward her, lifted his hat, bade her farewell, walked away and left her never to return." "which served her just right," exclaimed lucilla emphatically. "she couldn't have loved him. why, i wouldn't let an entire stranger do so dangerous a thing, if i could hinder him. unless it might be somebody who was here to fight against my country," she added as an afterthought, and with a little laugh. "you would have let prescott do it, i suppose--prescott, the revolutionary tyrant--had you been with him here and he had shown an inclination to try his skill in that line," said walter. "i think i shouldn't have made any very strong objection; for certainly many of my countrymen would have been far better off with him down there at the bottom of the fissure, than where he was--and had no business to be. do you remember the story of the tory lady at a ball in philadelphia, while the british were in possession there, who, when the british general, sir henry clinton, ordered the band to play, 'britons, strike home,' said, 'you should say, "britons, go home"'?" "yes, that was pretty good," laughed walter. "the ladies had at least one advantage over the men in those days, they could give the invaders many a home thrust with their tongues without much danger of personal violence or imprisonment, in return for it." "that reminds me of a little anecdote of something that occurred in charleston, south carolina, when they were in possession there," said grandma elsie. "one of the british officers had taken a great fancy to a beautiful american girl, but she would have nothing to do with him; which, of course, made him very angry. one day they met in the street. a big negro was near at hand and the british officer said to him, so that the lady could hear, 'go and kiss that lady, and i'll give you a guinea.' "'yes,' said she, 'come and kiss me. i'd a thousand times rather be kissed by you than by him.'" "so he didn't make much by that," laughed mr. embury. "i wonder if the darkey did kiss her," said grace. "i'm glad i wasn't in her place, if she had to let either him or the british officer do it." "and you would rather be living now, wouldn't you, daughter?" said her father, giving her a loving look. "and belong to you, papa? yes, indeed!" she replied. "how very straight these openings in the rocks are!" remarked walter. "they look as if they had been cut with a knife." "yes, it is very strange," said rosie. then perceiving that the others had turned away and were going toward the spot where the little ones were, they followed. "there is a fine prospect here on both land and water," remarked mr. embury. "do you see that hanging rock over yonder--not close to the water. that, they say, is where bishop berkeley used to preach. i visited it the other day, and found it so hard a place to climb to that i should think his congregations must have been small; unless they stood in the valley below; which would make his pulpit very high above them." "where is the house he lived in?" asked rosie. "at some distance, i believe. i have not seen it yet." "now," said captain raymond, "will any or all of you take a sail in the _dolphin_? you can all see her lying out yonder and the row-boat will soon carry us to her. there is plenty of room for everyone here, a warm welcome if they choose to go aboard, and a more delightful day for a sail around the island could hardly be found." all accepted the invitation with alacrity, descending the rocks to the beach at once, and were soon aboard. they found it a very delightful trip. the captain, having been frequently in those waters, was able to point out every interesting object, name all the islands, and call attention to the still visible ruins of fortifications on gold, goat, rose, contour, and canonicut islands. that last, he told them, was the dumplings fort, or fort canonicut; and directly opposite was the castle hill of the revolution, now fort adams, three and a quarter miles below newport. in calling attention to it, captain raymond remarked, "that is, as regards strength, the third fortress in the united states. it is newport's defence against foreign foes." "i am glad she has such a defence," said mr. embury. "but may she never suffer again from a foreign foe as she did in revolutionary days. perhaps you all remember that her population in , the year before that war began, was eleven thousand, and in it was reduced to only about six thousand, and private property to the value of $ , in silver money had been destroyed." "yes," said the captain, "there had been great and wanton destruction by the ruthless invaders, in both town and country. the island of rhode island had been so celebrated for its beauty and salubrity, before that war, that it was the chosen resort of the rich and philosophical from nearly every part of the civilized world; but war had sadly changed it before the british left, after three years of occupancy, in which they had pillaged and destroyed more like savages than civilized men; though after prescott was superseded by sir robert pigot as commander of the british forces on the island, the people were much relieved. they were treated with respect, and plunder ceased. general pigot was a gentleman and no marauder." chapter xvii. the sun was setting as the _dolphin_ discharged her complement of passengers, and they walked up the valley to their temporary abodes. they had had their evening meal upon the yacht, and the little ones were ready and glad to be taken at once to their beds, the older to sit in restful quiet upon the porches, enjoying the evening breeze, a cheerful chat over all they had seen and learned in their delightful little excursion around the island, and in laying plans for others of the same kind, and for walks and drives here and there, till every interesting spot in the neighborhood should have received from them due attention. also in making arrangements for attending the public service of the sanctuary on the approaching lord's day; the captain having already planned for the _dolphin's_ crew to do the same, taking turns so that the vessel would not be left at any time entirely unguarded. when all these questions had been discussed and settled, though it was still early, they held their accustomed evening family service, and retired to rest, that they might hope to awake in good season refreshed and ready to engage with enjoyment in the sacred duties of the holy day. it dawned a lovely autumn day, a cool refreshing breeze coming in from the bay, making the walk through the lovely valley to the open churches a pleasure as well as duty. the services over, they returned home, and after partaking of a simple dinner, gathered upon the largest of the porches, and each one old enough to read, with bible in hand, they spent an hour in the study of its sacred pages. the subject engaging their attention was the way of salvation; mr. keith, who was the leader, called for texts showing the one true way, and they were given by one and another as they found them in god's word. "'if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the lord jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that god hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. for with the heart, man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth, confession is made unto salvation,'" repeated the captain, adding the comment, "let us notice that the belief which is unto salvation is evidenced by holy living; belief that is not unto righteousness is not a true and living faith. the devils believe and tremble, but theirs is not a saving faith, for they do not love and trust in jesus. it is the faith which worketh by love that saves." "yes," said mr. dinsmore; "it is not enough to have no doubt of the truth of the gospel--the good news of salvation through jesus christ--but we must give ourselves to him, love him and rejoice in his love to us." "and oh, what a blessing that all may have that faith who will come to jesus for it," remarked mr. embury; "every one, old and young. 'look unto me and be ye saved all ye ends of the earth.'" "yes," added mr. keith, "there are many good and desirable things to which some of us can never attain, but salvation by faith is within the reach of all who will come to jesus for it. he says,'him that cometh to me, i will in no wise cast out.'" it was mrs. dinsmore's turn and she repeated: "'without faith it is impossible to please him; for he that cometh to god must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.'" "'fight the good fight of faith, lay hold on eternal life,'" repeated mrs. keith. then mrs. embury: "'now the just shall live by faith: but if any man draw back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him. but we are not of them that draw back unto perdition; but of them that believe to the saving of the soul.'" "and those who believe in jesus are not to hide their faith, as that of which they are ashamed," said grandma elsie; "we are to confess with the mouth, letting it be known that we believe in christ and take him for our saviour. his own word is, 'whosoever shall confess me before men, him shall the son of man also confess before the angels of god.'" it was evelyn's turn. "in habakkuk ii. ," she said, "i read, 'the just shall live by faith.' again in romans i. , 'the just shall live by faith.' galatians iii. : 'but that no man is justified by the law in the sight of god, it is evident: for, the just shall live by faith.' and here,"--again turning over the leaves of her bible,--"hebrews x. , 'now the just shall live by faith: but if any man draw back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him.'" she paused, and lucilla repeated the next verse, "'but we are not of them who draw back unto perdition; but of them that believe to the saving of the soul.'" now it was rosie's turn. "i will read a few verses from the third chapter of romans," she said, and proceeded to do so. "'even the righteousness of god which is by faith of jesus christ unto all, and upon all them that believe; for there is no difference: for all have sinned, and come short of the glory of god; being justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in christ jesus.'" she ceased and grace, who had turned to the same passage, went on with the reading, "'whom god hath set forth to be a propitiation, through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of god: to declare, i say, at this time his righteousness: that he might be just, and the justifier of him which believeth in jesus.'" she ceased, and walter went on: "'where is boasting then? it is excluded. by what law? of works? nay; but by the law of faith. therefore we conclude, that a man is justified by faith without the deeds of the law.'" "'therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with god through our lord jesus christ,'" repeated annis, in low, feeling tones. then her husband took it up: "'what shall we say then? that the gentiles, which followed not after righteousness, have attained to righteousness, even the righteousness which is of faith. but israel, which followed after righteousness, hath not attained to the law of righteousness. wherefore? because they sought it not by faith, but as it were by the works of the law. for they stumbled at that stumbling stone; as it is written, behold i lay in sion a stumbling stone and rock of offence: and whosoever believeth on him shall not be ashamed.'" walter then spoke again and his was the closing text. "'watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong.'" "let us not forget," said mr. keith, "that we are to confess christ, owning ourselves as his disciples, under his authority, and ready to submit to it in all things. let us not forget that his own word is, 'if any man will be my disciple, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me.' his cross, let us remember; not one of our own devising, or one laid upon us by some earthly power without the master's word. he alone is lord of the conscience and the bible is his word, revealing to us his will. also his own command to each one of us is, 'search the scriptures; for in them ye have eternal life: and they are they which testify of me.' we must never be afraid or ashamed to let it be known at any time, or in any company or place, that we are disciples of christ, to whom the love of our hearts and the obedience of our lives are due." a moment of silence followed the closing of mr. keith's remarks; a silence presently broken by mrs. travilla's sweet voice beginning the hymn: "jesus! and shall it ever be a mortal man ashamed of thee?" the others joined in, filling the air with sweet melody. prayers and other hymns followed till the hour set apart for the service had more than passed away. chapter xviii. the next morning proved bright and fair, as lovely a day as one could desire; no cloud in the sky save the light fleecy ones that are not the presage of a storm. our friends in the cottages gathered about their breakfast tables in rare good spirits, in spite of the fact that walter was to leave them that day, by the evening boat, for his first experience of life away from home and mother. the lad appeared in high spirits, partly real but partly only assumed, to hide the sinking of heart that at times oppressed him at the thought of so long a separation from her who had been almost all the world to him from babyhood till now, when he began to consider himself on the very verge of manhood. she saw it if no one else did, and her tender mother heart ached for her "baby boy." for herself too, that she must do without him and his loving caresses, for months, and know that he was exposed to many a trial and temptation from which mother love could not shield him. but oh, there was comfort in the thought that her best friend was his also, and would still be as near as ever to both mother and son; still to them, as to all his children, the hearer and answerer of prayer. "well, what is to be done to-day?" asked rosie, when the meal had fairly begun. "i propose a visit to 'tonomy hill' for one thing," said captain raymond, addressing his remark to the company in general. "where is that, and what particular claim has it upon our attention?" queried mr. dinsmore in return. "it is about a mile and a half north of newport," replied the captain. "tonomy is an abbreviation of miantonomoh, the name of a narragansett sachem whose seat it was in early times. it is a rocky eminence and the commanding site of a small fort or redoubt during the revolutionary war. it is said to be the highest land upon the island except quaker hill, which you will remember we saw toward the northern end as we sailed round on saturday." "ah, yes! where the battle was fought between the british and our forces under greene and sullivan." "is there anything to be seen there--on tonomy hill--but the ruin of the little fortification?" asked rosie. "yes," replied the captain. "the hill is feet above the bay, and from it we may obtain a fine view on all sides. on the south and west the city and harbor of newport, and many islands in the harbor with the remains of fortifications--canonicut, with its ruined fort, for one. ah, i am forgetting that you saw all from the _dolphin_ the other day! still we could not from there take in the whole view at once as we may from the hill top. "looking oceanward beyond the city, we can see fort adams; and, with a spy-glass, the dim outline of block island; beyond it in the atlantic, perhaps, if your eyes are good, a faint view, a little more to the eastward, of the nearest shore of martha's vineyard; also of some of the islands in buzzard's bay. "on the east can be seen warren and bristol, and the top of mount hope, the throne of king philip. to the north there will be a good view of narragansett bay and the towns along its shores." "indeed, captain, you make it seem very well worth while to go there," observed mrs. dinsmore. "i think that when we get there and look about and around, upon all that is to be seen, you will be still better convinced of it," returned the captain. "in addition to what i have already mentioned we can look upon a large part of the cultivated fields of this island, and find them rich in natural productions as well as in historical associations." "oh, let us go by all means!" exclaimed violet. "perhaps our little folks might not care for it, or might find the climb up the hill too fatiguing, but they can be left in the yacht or carriage, whichever the trip is made in." "oh, mamma!" exclaimed little elsie, "i should very much rather go up that hill with the rest of you, if you will only let me!" "well, dear, i should like to let you do as you prefer, but, of course, it must be just as your papa says," replied violet, smiling down affectionately into the eager, pleading little face. "and papa says you may go if you wish to," said the captain, in his kind, pleasant tones. "me too, papa?" asked ned eagerly. "yes, you too, if you wish to, son," replied his father. "i think even my baby boy will enjoy the drive, the climb up the hill, and the lovely view from its top." "we are going to drive, are we, papa?" queried lucilla. "yes; i have ordered carriages from newport to be here by nine o'clock; so that all who wish can drive. but should anyone prefer the yacht it is at their service. also, it will be welcome to any who desire a sail afterward." after a little more talk, first among themselves, then along with the occupants of the other cottage, it was decided that all would take the drive to tonomy hill and see the view; then some would drive elsewhere, others would board the yacht and have a sail. the engaged vehicles were already at hand, and in a few minutes the entire company of adults and children were on the way to tonomy hill. all, old and young, greatly enjoyed the drive, and the captain was plied with questions about this object and that. the windmills particularly interested little elsie and ned. their father explained what they were, and why there were so many of them, that they were made necessary by the absence of streams sufficiently strong to turn water-wheels, and, of one standing at the junction of the main road and the lane leading to the hill, he remarked: "that is an old, old one, built years before the revolutionary war. at the time of the war it and the dwelling-house near by were owned by a man named hubbard. he was one of the many americans whom prescott turned out of their houses, to take shelter in barns and other miserable abiding places, while his soldiers took possession of their comfortable homes." "what a shame!" exclaimed ned. "papa, i'm glad we don't have those bad fellows here now." "so am i," replied his father. "we ought to thank god every day for making us so free, and giving us this dear land of our own. i hope my boy will always remember to do so." reaching the top of the hill, they found the view from it all that the captain had said. calling attention to it, now on this side, now on that, he named the different towns and other objects worthy of particular attention. mount hope was one, and again he spoke of it as the former home of king philip. "papa," said elsie, "who was he? i thought we never had any king in our country." "the indians used to have them, and he was king of one of their tribes," was the reply. "is there a story about him, papa?" she asked. "yes. would you like to hear it?" "oh, yes, sir! yes, indeed! you know i always like stories." "yes; even if they are rather sad; as this one is. but if you wish, i will tell you a little about it now; perhaps more at another time." "oh, tell it all, if you please, brother levis," said rosie. "i don't believe any one of us would object to hearing it." several of the others joined in the request, and the captain, ever ready to oblige, began at once. "his original name was metacomet, but he is frequently spoken of as king philip and also as pometacom. his father was massasoit, whose dominions extended from this narragansett bay to massachusetts. massasoit took two of his sons, metacomet and wamsutta, to plymouth and asked that english names might be given them. his request was granted, one being called philip and the other alexander. "upon the death of the father, alexander became chief in his stead, but soon died suddenly, of poison, it was supposed, and philip became chief or king in his stead. he was a bright, enterprising man; sagacious, brave, and generous. he soon perceived that his people were being robbed by the whites, who took possession of the best lands, and killed off the game and the fish upon which the indians had been used to subsist. "philip's tribe was known as the wampanoags, or pokanokets, and their principal village was there upon mount hope. they, and other tribes as well, felt that they had been greatly injured by the whites, and planned an offensive alliance against them. "philip began his war preparations by sending the women and children of the tribe away from mount hope to the narragansetts for protection. then he warned some of the whites with whom he was friendly of the coming storm, that they might seek places of safety, and, when they were gone, bade his followers swear eternal hostility to the whites. "a dreadful war followed, beginning on the th of june, , and lasting for more than a year. the whites suffered a great deal, but the indians still more. particularly the narragansetts, who were treated with great cruelty because they had given shelter to the wampanoags and their families. "they had a fort on an elevation of three or four acres surrounded by a swamp, studded with brambles and thick underbrush. there were three thousand indians in it--mostly women and children. the whites surprised them, burned their palisades and straw-covered wigwams, and the poor creatures were burned, suffocated, butchered, frozen, or drowned. six hundred warriors and a thousand women and children were killed, and all the winter provision of the tribe destroyed. their chief, canonchet, escaped then, but was captured and killed the next summer. "it was on the th of the next august that a renegade indian guided a large party of white men to the camp of the wampanoags. the indians were asleep, king philip among them. after the first shot or two he woke, sprang to his feet, gun in hand, and tried to escape, but, as he stumbled and fell in the mire, was shot dead by a treacherous indian. his death ended the war." "poor fellow!" sighed grace. "he was certainly treated with great injustice and cruelty. i don't see how the whites could be so blind to the fact that the indians had the best right to this country, and that it was wicked to rob them of their lands." "self-interest is apt to have a very blinding influence," said her father. "and i am afraid we must acknowledge that the whites were the first aggressors, in their grasping seizure of so much of the land of which the indians were the original and rightful possessors." all having now looked their fill, they returned to their carriages and drove to other points of interest, one of them whitehall, the old residence of bishop berkeley. it was a place that all cared to see, especially a room in it formerly occupied by the dean, where was a fireplace, ornamented with dutch tiles, placed there by the dean himself. "oh, how old they must be!" exclaimed grace. "yes, not much, if at all, under two hundred years old," said walter. "it sometimes seems odd how much longer things may last than people." "in this world, you mean," said his grandfather; "but do not forget that man is immortal, and must live somewhere to all eternity." "and bishop berkeley is no doubt spending his eternity in a far lovelier paradise than that with which he was familiar in this world," remarked mrs. travilla. "yes, indeed! 'blessed are the dead who die in the lord,'" quoted evelyn softly, thinking of the dear father who had left her for the better land years ago. chapter xix. dinner was ready to be put upon the table when the party reached again their temporary home, and their long drive had given each one an appetite that made the meal most enjoyable. they rested upon the porches for a short time after leaving the table, then set out for a walk to the beach, walter at his mother's side, violet, the captain, and their two little ones near at hand. these were at some distance in the rear of the young girls, who had started for the beach a few minutes earlier. "mother," said walter, "i should like very much to see that dear old lady cousin molly talks about; also the old revolutionary house she lives in. do you think we might call there without seeming to intrude?" "really i do not know," replied mrs. travilla. "if molly were only here she could judge better than i." "perhaps she is there," suggested walter. "i noticed that she started a little ahead of the girls." "so she did," said violet, overhearing their talk, "and i think she is probably there now, for she was telling me last evening that she felt anxious that you, walter, should see her dear old lady before leaving to-night. ah! and yonder they both are at the gate of the house now." "then i would suggest that you three hasten on, leaving me to follow more slowly with the children. it would hardly do to overwhelm the old lady with so large a company at once," said the captain, and they promptly carried out his suggestion. mrs. barker and molly were standing by the front gate chatting as they came up. "ah, here they are, mrs. barker!" said molly; "my cousins, mrs. travilla, her daughter, mrs. raymond, and her son walter. he is the lad i was telling you of, who starts for college to-night, and was very desirous to see you and your revolutionary house before going." "and to hear all you can tell me about its experiences in those days, mrs. barker, if you will be so kind," added walter, with a polite bow and his most insinuating smile. "i shall be happy to tell and show all i can to you and your mother and sister," replied the old lady, leading the way toward the house, her guests following. she took them over the greater part of it, telling them what rooms had been occupied by the hessians, and what by the family while the unwelcome intruders were there. they were much interested in all she told them, and admired her housekeeping, everything being in beautiful order. she told them the mr. barker of those days was a true patriot, in fact, a spy working for the american cause, and when their call was finished and they were taking their departure, she went with them to the gate, and pointing out a ledge of rock on the farther side of the valley, beyond the cottages they were occupying, told them that in revolutionary times that was a part of the large tract of land owned by isaac barker; that, in those days, instead of the stone wall now running along its edge overlooking the water, there was a rail fence; and that isaac barker was in the habit of signalling the patriot troops encamped on an island opposite, whenever there was an important item of news for them, and that he did so by alterations in the fence, made under his supervision by the unsuspecting hessians. "oh, that was good!" cried walter; "but did the british never catch him at it?" "no, never," she replied. "if they had, his life would not have been worth much." "you must think a great deal of this old house," said walter, turning and looking it over with admiring eyes. "if it were mine i wouldn't give it for any of the grand palaces built in these later days." "nor would i," she said. "come and see it again; it and me; if you care to do so." "thank you; i should enjoy doing so, but i leave to-night for college." "ah? i am glad for you; for a good education is worth more than money or almost any other earthly thing." "so i think, because it will enable me, or anyone who has it, to be more useful in the world." "that is a right feeling," she said; then turning to the ladies gave them a warm invitation to call again any day, as they passed on their way to the beach. "thank you, mrs. barker," said grandma elsie. "it is quite likely we may do so, for we have greatly enjoyed our chat with you." "and will be glad to have you return our call, if you can conveniently do so, while we linger in your neighborhood," added violet. arrived at the beach, violet joined her husband and the young folks there, but her mother and walter passed on up the cliff, the lad saying laughingly that he wanted another peep into purgatory before leaving the neighborhood; but, as his mother well understood, a bit of private chat with her was the chief object he had in view. they took a peep into the chasm, then wandered away a little and sat down side by side upon a ledge of rock. looking at him with her own loving smile, she laid her hand in his. he clasped it tightly, while unbidden tears sprang to his eyes. "mother," he said low and tremulously, "my own dear mother! you are almost all the world to me. i think no other fellow had so dear and sweet a mother as mine. i don't know how i shall ever stand it to pass weeks and months without a sight of your dear face." "ah, you will soon learn to do without me," she said, between a sigh and a smile. "but i do not believe my dear baby boy will ever cease to love his mother, or to try to make her happy by a faithful attendance to all his duties. but oh, above all, try to please and honor the god of your fathers whose servant you profess to be. begin every day with an earnest supplication for strength to perform every duty and resist every temptation." "it is my fixed purpose to do so, mother dear, and i know you will be ever helping me with your prayers," he answered earnestly. "oh, what a blessing it is to have a praying, christian mother! and i know that you will write to me often, and that your dear letters will be a great help to me in my efforts to resist temptation and keep in the strait and narrow path." "i hope so," she said; "also that my dear youngest son will never learn to conceal things from his mother, but will write me freely of all that concerns him, never doubting my love or my interest in it all, for his dear sake." "doubt your dear love, mother? no, never for one moment! oh, it will be hard to part from you to-day, even though i hope to see you again before you go home!" "yes, i expect to give you a call at the college, to see that my dear son is made as comfortable as possible, and to take a view of his room and all his surroundings, that i may be able to picture him in my mind's eye at his studies, recitations, and sports." "just as i can see my loved mother in every room of the dear home at ion, or the other one at viamede, should you go there at any time without me," he returned, making a determined effort to speak lightly. "it seems a little hard to start off without you, mother; but as cousin cyril has kindly promised to go with me, i shall do very well, especially with the knowledge that i am to see you again in a few days." "yes," she said, "and you will like those new jersey relatives of his, who are more distantly related to us, when you become acquainted with them, as i hope you will at some not very distant day." "the uncle he is expecting to visit there is a brother of cousin annis, is he not?" asked walter. "yes." "then i should think she and her husband, cousin ronald, would go with cousin cyril." "i think they will follow a few days hence, when we start for home," she answered. just at that moment they were startled by a wild shriek, as of one in great peril or affright, instantly followed by a sound as of a heavy body plunging into the water. both started to their feet, walter exclaiming, "oh, mother! someone must have fallen into that dreadful deep chasm they call purgatory! oh, what can we do?" "nothing," she answered, with a laugh that sounded slightly hysterical. "see! cousin ronald and several of the others have come up the hill unnoticed by us." "oh! i think it was rather too bad for him to startle you so, mamma dear!" exclaimed walter. "yes, i must acknowledge that it was," returned mr. lilburn, who had now drawn near enough to overhear the remark. "pardon me, cousin elsie; i really did not intend to give you such a fright; for i deemed it likely you would know at once that it was i and none other." "as i probably should, had i been aware of your vicinity," she returned, in a pleasant tone; "but my boy and i were so engrossed with our talk that we did not perceive your approach. i think walter and i must now go back to the cottage and see to the packing of his trunk." "cannot i do that, mamma?" queried violet. "thank you, daughter, i have no doubt you could, but i have a fancy for the job myself," was the pleasant-toned reply. "besides, your place is with your husband and little ones, who, i think, would find it agreeable and beneficial to remain here on the beach for another hour or so." "i haven't unpacked much since we came here, mother," remarked walter, as they walked away together, "so that it will not be a long job to get my things in my trunk, but i am glad you came away so early with me, as it gives us time and opportunity for another private chat." "yes, my dear boy, that was my principal object in proposing this early return, but i hope for many another pleasant chat with my dear youngest son in the years to come," his mother responded cheerfully. "i haven't seen quite all the places in and about newport or middletown that i should take an interest in examining," remarked walter. "but i presume i may hope to come again some day?" "oh, yes; possibly a good many times in the course of a few years; though there are many other places in our great, beautiful country that are quite as well worth visiting, and far better worth seeing than some noted resorts in europe. i want my sons and daughters to appreciate their own country," she went on, her sweet face lighting with enthusiasm, "with all that is beautiful and valuable in it, as well as its free institutions--religious, civil, and political." "i think i do, mamma," he said, with a smile. "you have brought up all your children to admire and love their own land, believing it the best and greatest country in all the wide world." "yes, and yet, alas! there is a vast deal of wickedness in it," she sighed; "wickedness, error, superstition, and vice, which we should make it our life work to try to root out." "as i truly intend to, mamma. but are not most of the ignorant and vicious those who have come in from foreign lands?" "a very great many--a very large majority no doubt are," she answered; "and yet there are many ignorant and vicious ones who are native born; not a few of them being the children of natives. some of the tories of revolutionary times were even worse than savages. 'the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked,' applies to the whole of adam's fallen race, and each one of us needs to pray, 'create in me a clean heart, o god; and renew a right spirit within me.'" "i feel that i do, mother, but you have always seemed to me so perfect that it is difficult to realize that it can be so with you," said the lad, turning upon her eyes filled with ardent love and admiration. "that is doubtless because your eyes are blinded by filial love, my dear boy," she returned, with her sweet and loving smile. they presently reached the house, and walter set about his packing, under his mother's supervision, which made the work seem but a pleasant pastime. it did not take long and, seated together in one of the porches, they had time before the return of the others for a confidential chat, such as walter dearly loved to have with his mother. then came the call to supper, and the meal was scarcely over when the hack was announced as at the door; there were hasty leave-takings, his mother's the last for walter. she strained him to her heart with some whispered words of love, while he embraced her with ardent affection, and in a moment more he was in the hack, with mr. keith by his side, and they were driving rapidly away toward the city to take the night train for new york. chapter xx. the shades of evening had begun to fall. a cool breeze made the brightly lighted parlor more attractive than the porches, and there the older ones gathered, while the mothers saw their weary little ones to bed. the gentlemen had their newspapers, mrs. dinsmore and mrs. travilla their fancy work, while the four young girls, in a group by themselves, chatted and laughed together, discussing the sights and scenes through which they had passed that day, and the bits of history connected with them. the captain presently threw aside his paper, and taking a vacant seat on the sofa beside his daughter grace, asked in tender tones, as he passed an arm about her and drew her close, if she felt very weary from the day's exertions. "not so very, papa dear," she answered, laying her head on his shoulder and smiling up into the eyes bent so lovingly upon her. "i think i never had a better time. have we been to all the places of interest now?" "not quite all," he replied; "there are a few others to which we may take pleasant little jaunts in the week or so we expect to tarry here." "vaucluse for one, i should say," remarked mr. embury, laying aside his paper and joining in the talk. "where is that?" asked mrs. dinsmore. "over on the shore of the eastern bay, and about six miles out from newport. it is a noted country seat, at present unoccupied except in small part by a caretaker and his wife. it has a very neglected look, but is still well worth seeing, i have been told. but here comes my molly with a manuscript in her hand. something to read to us, i suppose. is it, my dear?" "yes," she said, with a smile; "provided you all wish to hear it. a story of the ship _palatine_ from holland, which struck on sandy point of this island early in the last century. i have used the facts as far as they could be obtained, and drawn upon my imagination for the rest. if all would like to hear it, i shall be glad to have your opinions and criticisms before offering it for publication." "suppose you put it to vote, my dear," suggested her husband. "we are all here now except the little folks, who have gone to their beds," he added, glancing at isadore and violet, who had come into the room just in time to hear molly's last sentence. "i shall be glad to hear it, molly. i always have enjoyed such of your productions as have come under my notice," said violet, in a lively tone, as she took the seat her husband had hastened to offer. "and i can echo those sentiments," added isadore lightly, taking possession of an easy chair gallantly drawn forward for her by her uncle dinsmore. thus encouraged, mrs. embury began at once. "story of the ship _palatine_," she read. "some time in the early years of the last century, a ship named the _palatine_ left holland for america, bearing a large number of emigrants, whose destination was the then colony of pennsylvania, where they intended to buy land and settle; and for that reason they were carrying with them all their earthly possessions--clothing, furniture, and money; of which some had a good deal, others only a little. "among the wealthier ones was herr adolphus follen, with his wife margaret, his daughters katrina and gretchen, and his son karl. also they had with them an elderly woman, lisa kuntz, who had lived with the follens ever since their marriage, and acted as nurse to each of their children in turn. she had no near kin, and being much attached to the family in which she had made her home for so many years, had decided to accompany them to the new world in spite of her fears of indians and wild animals. "as the good ship _palatine_ sailed slowly out of port, all these, with many of their fellow-passengers, stood upon her deck gazing sadly, and not a few with flowing tears, upon the fast-receding shores of their native land. ah, how much bitterer would have been their grief, could they have foreseen the sufferings that fateful voyage held in store for them! though they little suspected it at the time, they had fallen into the hands of men so full of the love of money, so ready to do the most dastardly deeds in order to secure it, that they were no better than the worst of cut-throats and murderers. "the emigrants had not brought a store of provisions for the voyage, because, according to the agreement, these were to be purchased of the captain and his officers. but scarcely had they cleared the coast and stood well out to sea when they were struck with astonishment and dismay at the enormous sums asked for the merest necessaries of life: guilders for a cup of water, rix dollars for a ship's biscuit." "astounding rascality!" exclaimed mr. embury, as his wife paused for an instant in her reading. "why, how much are those coins worth in our money?" she asked. "i really do not know exactly." "a guilder," he replied, "equals cents of our money; so that guilders would be $ . think of that as the price of a cup of water! probably not the coolest or cleanest either. then the rix dollars for a ship biscuit would equal $ . . think of such a conspiracy as that on the part of a ship's officers to rob defenceless passengers!" "why, it was just dreadful!" she exclaimed. "those officers were no better than pirates." "not a whit! in fact, they were pirates. but go on, my dear; let us have the rest of your story." mrs. embury resumed her reading. "'what shall we, what can we do,' asked frau follen of her husband. 'i fear there will be no money left for buying land when we reach america.' "'alas! i fear not, indeed!' he returned; 'and should anything happen to delay the vessel we may be reduced to great extremity even before reaching the shores of america. ah, would we had been satisfied to remain in the fatherland!' he groaned in anguish of spirit. "'ah, father,' said gretchen, the eldest daughter, 'let not your heart fail you yet. help may yet come from some unexpected quarter, and if not--if we die for lack of food--we may hope to awake from the sleep of death in the better land, to suffer and die no more. let us trust in god and not be afraid.' "'you are right, my daughter,' he returned with emotion. 'but oh, god grant i may not be called to see my wife and children suffer and die for lack of food!' "a young man standing near, one with whom they were slightly acquainted, here joined in the conversation. "'it is dreadful, dreadful!' he exclaimed, but speaking in a subdued tone for fear of being overheard by their inhuman oppressors, 'the way these mercenary wretches are robbing the helpless poor whom they have entrapped into their net. every fellow of them deserves the headsman's axe, and i hope will reach it at last. think of the exorbitant sums they are asking for the barest necessaries of life! nor do i believe they will ever carry us to our destination, lest complaint be made of them and they be brought to condign punishment by the authorities of the land.' "'but, what then do you think they will do, herr ernesti?' asked frau follen, gasping with fear and horror, as she spoke. "'i cannot tell,' he answered. 'mayhap land us on some desert island, and leave us there to struggle as we can for life. but, thank god, they cannot take us to any spot where he does not rule and reign, or where his ear will be deaf to the cries of his perishing ones. so, my friends, let us not give up to utter despair. "the lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall i fear? the lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall i be afraid?"' "'yes, yes; what consolation in knowing that!' cried gretchen, tears of mingled joy and sorrow streaming down her face. 'father, mother, sister, and brother, we are all his and he will care for us in his own time and way.' "but who shall describe the scenes that followed through weeks of deepest distress and agony, as fathers and mothers, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters saw their dear ones perishing with famine, while they themselves were goaded almost to madness by the pangs of hunger added to their bitter grief? "but they were entirely in the power of their inhuman torturers, who never relaxed in their demands until they had wrenched from their wretched victims every stiver in their possession. "that accomplished, and no food remaining--unless a very, very scanty store--they, officers and sailors, deserted the vessel, going off in the boats, leaving their helpless victims to their fate, for not one of them had either the needed knowledge or strength for the management of the ship; and so she drifted aimlessly hither and thither at the mercy of the winds and waves, carrying her fearful cargo of dead and dying whither they knew not. "to the survivors that voyage seemed like one long, dreadful dream, full of horrors and keenest anguish of body and mind. of the many emigrants who, filled with the hope of reaching a land of freedom and plenty, had crowded the vessel at the beginning of the voyage, but seventeen feeble, emaciated, almost dying creatures were left when, one cold winter morning, about christmas time, the now dismasted hulk of the good ship _palatine_ drifted into narragansett bay and struck on sandy point, rhode island. "it was sunday morning, but the good people of the island seeing the wreck, and knowing there might be in her some living soul in distress, hastened on board, where they found the poor, perishing creatures, and at once carried them all ashore save one woman--lisa kuntz, the nurse of the follens, who obstinately refused to leave the vessel. she was seated upon the deck with her belongings about her, and there she was determined to stay. but she was not safe there, as the islanders well knew; for the dismasted hulk could not be secured against drifting away, and as the tide arose around it they, as a last resort, set it on fire, thinking the lone woman would certainly be frightened, and prefer coming ashore to remaining upon the burning ship. but she would not, and as the tide rose the blazing hulk drifted away, carrying her with it." "oh, how dreadful!" sighed several of molly's hearers. "wasn't it?" she responded. "i suppose the sufferings of the poor creature must have made her insane." "but the sixteen who were brought ashore, did they live?" asked lucilla; and in reply mrs. embury resumed her reading. "the sixteen who had been carried ashore were treated with the greatest kindness by the islanders, all their wants carefully attended to; but for nearly all of them help had come too late, and all but three soon died. of the follen family gretchen alone remained, a lonely, almost heart-broken creature, having seen father, mother, brother, and sister laid in the grave soon after landing upon the island. but herr hubert ernesti remained. he had been beside her all these dreadful weeks and months, had sympathized in all her griefs, all her sufferings of mind and body, and each had learned to look upon the other as the nearest and dearest of all earthly beings; so that when, beside the newly filled grave that held the last of her family, he asked her to give herself to him that they might meet all coming trials and share all joys together, she did not say him nay, or withdraw the hand he had taken in his and held in a clasp so loving and tender. "it was from them the islanders learned the sad story of the terrible scenes and sufferings on board the _palatine_; an experience poor gretchen could never recall without tears. "hubert and she remained upon that hospitable island for some years, then left it for their original destination, where, we will hope, they lived out the remainder of their lives in peace and happiness." "and that is the end of your sad little story, is it?" asked rosie, as her cousin paused in the reading. "of the story of those two," said molly; "but i have something more to read, if no one is tired of listening." no one seemed to be, and she resumed: "ever since the burning _palatine_ drifted away that night a strange light has been seen at intervals along this coast whence she departed on that last voyage. many have seen it, and the superstitious and ignorant have looked upon it as the phantom of the burning ship _palatine_, ever drifting upon the open sea, always burning but never consumed; seen only at long intervals, as she drifts off the western coast. "a well-known physician of block island, having had two opportunities of seeing it, says, 'this curious irradiation rises from the ocean near the northern point of the island; looks like a blaze of fire; either touches the water or hovers over it. it bears no more resemblance to the _ignis fatuus_ than to the aurora borealis. sometimes it is small, resembling the light through a distant window; at others expanding to the height of a ship with all her canvas spread; the streams, somewhat blended together at the bottom, separate and distinct at the top, the middle one rising higher than the others. it is very variable--sometimes almost disappearing, then shining out anew. it changes about every three minutes; does not always return to the same place, but is sometimes seen shining at a considerable distance from the place of disappearance. it seems to have no certain line of direction. the flame, when most expanded, waves like a torch; is sometimes stationary, at others progressive. it is seen at all seasons of the year and, for the most part, in calm weather which precedes an easterly or southerly storm. it has, however, been noticed in a severe northwesterly gale and when no storm followed immediately. its stay is sometimes short, at others all night, and it has been known to appear several nights in succession.' "'this light,' says another person, 'is often seen blazing at six or seven miles distance, and strangers suppose it to be a vessel on fire. the blaze emits luminous rays. a gentleman whose house is situated near the sea tells me that he has known it to illuminate considerably the walls of his room through the window; but that happens only when the light is within a half mile of the shore.'" "but where did you learn all this, molly?" asked her husband, as she paused to turn a leaf in her manuscript. "from mr. baylor's 'history of newport county,' lent me by my kind friend, mrs. barker, of the old revolutionary house," mrs. embury answered, then continued her reading. "says mr. joseph p. hazard of narragansett pier: 'i first saw it three miles off the coast. i suspected nothing but ordinary sails until i noticed the light, upon reappearing, was apparently stationary for a few moments, when it suddenly started toward the coast, and, immediately expanding, became much less bright, assuming somewhat the form of a long, narrow jib, sometimes two of them, as if each on a different mast. i saw neither spar nor hull, but noticed that the speed was very great, certainly not less than fifteen knots, and they surged and pitched as though madly rushing upon raging billows.'" "superstition, every bit of it!" remarked mr. dinsmore, as mrs. embury folded her manuscript and laid it aside. "why this any more than the _ignis fatuus_?" queried mr. embury, in a tone that seemed a mixture of jest and earnestness. "neither has as yet been altogether satisfactorily accounted for. the latter having puzzled philosophers from the time of aristotle." "true," said mr. dinsmore, "there are various theories advanced in regard to that. all we know certainly is that it is a luminous appearance frequently seen in marshy places, churchyards, and over stagnant pools." "has it ever been seen in this country, grandpa?" asked grace. "i think not," he replied, "but it is not unfrequent in the lowlands of scotland, the south and northwest of england, or the northern parts of germany. the time of year for its appearance is from the middle of autumn till the beginning of november." "i think i have read that the people of the districts where it was frequently seen used to be superstitious about it in olden times; and that they called it will-o'-the-wisp, and jack-a-lantern." "yes; and believed it to be due to the agency of evil spirits who were trying to lure travellers to their destruction. and unfortunately it was sometimes mistaken by unwary travellers for a light, and in trying to reach it, thinking it shone from some human habitation where they might find shelter and a night's lodging, they would follow it and so get into, and sink in, the marsh, thus losing their lives." "is it not about time we were seeking our night's lodgings?" asked mrs. dinsmore pleasantly, as her husband concluded his sentence. "see, the clock is on the stroke of nine, which is a late enough hour for most of us now, when we are moving about so much during the day. surely it is for gracie, whose eyes, i notice, begin to droop." "i think you are right, my dear," replied her husband. then he requested mr. lilburn to lead their family worship. chapter xxi. a few days longer our friends lingered in their pleasant cottages on the beautiful island, loath to leave it, with any one of its many interesting localities unexplored. they walked, rode, drove, and sailed about the bay, visiting now one island, and now another. captain raymond's acquaintance with naval and military officers, and his high reputation among them making it easy for them to gain access to vessels, forts, and fortifications. goat island interested them as the place where the english ship _liberty_ was destroyed before the revolution. they saw the noble stone pier, hundreds of feet long, visited the torpedo station, and the captain pointed out to the others the curving point on which, more than a century ago, very many pirates had been hanged. they visited the city too, and looked with interest upon the old houses that had stood here in and before revolutionary times; among them redwood library, and old trinity church, in which bishop berkeley had often preached. the young people were much interested too, in the old stone mill--that singular relic of the past about which there has been so much speculation--and, when visiting the island cemetery, in the plain obelisk marking the last resting place of commodore perry, the hero of the battle of lake erie. many of these things the captain and his family had seen on former visits to newport, yet they enjoyed seeing them again in company with those of the party to whom they were entirely new. but holidays must come to an end, and at length all felt so great a drawing toward their distant homes that a proposal to return to them was made by mrs. dinsmore, and hailed with delight by all the others. the needed preparations were speedily made, and early one morning they set sail in the yacht, which before night had landed all but the captain's immediate family and evelyn leland in new york, where they took a train for philadelphia. mr. cyril keith was to meet his wife and family there, and they, with the emburys, were to hasten on to their homes in louisiana, pausing on the route for only a short visit to the neighborhood of the old home of isadore and molly, and the relatives there. mr. and mrs. dinsmore had planned a short visit to their relatives in and near philadelphia; and his daughter elsie, with her daughter rosie, one to her son walter at princeton; while mr. and mrs. lilburn were to do likewise by her brother, donald keith and his family, annis feeling very happy in the thought of seeing them all, and showing them the dear, kindly old gentleman to whom she had given her heart and hand. having landed these passengers, the yacht changed her course, and sailed on down the atlantic coast. the little ones were in their berths, the others all on deck. "now, if i were not here, you would be just a family party," remarked evelyn, breaking a momentary silence. "i think we are as it is," said the captain. "as you are a pupil of mine, will you not let me count you as one of my family?" "indeed, sir; i should be only too glad to have you do so," she answered, in a sprightly tone; "but i doubt if lu would be willing to share her choicest treasure--her father's love--with me." "why, yes, i should, eva! because he wouldn't love me any the less for loving you also," said lulu. "oh, then you may adopt me just as soon as you like, captain," laughed evelyn. "now, i think i have a right to some say in this matter," said violet, in a light, jesting tone. "i object to becoming mother to a girl of your age and attainments, but am perfectly willing to have you for a sister." "very well, my dear, that settles it," said the captain. "you and i, eva, will consider ourselves brother and sister." "ah, i like that," said grace; "though i am not sure that i shall consider eva my aunt. papa, are we going directly home now?" "do you not see that we are hurrying onward in that direction?" he asked in reply. a sudden thought seemed to strike grace. "oh, is max in annapolis now?" she asked. "yes," her father answered, with a joyous smile, "and i want to see my boy so badly that i have decided to call there for a few hours before going home; unless some of you strongly object," he added, in a jesting tone. "of course we do, papa," laughed lucilla. "how can you suppose that any of us would be willing to see max?" "very well, anyone who is averse to seeing him will have the privilege of shutting herself into her stateroom while he is on board, and indeed, during the whole visit to annapolis," replied the captain. "and i well know lu will not be one of them," laughed violet. they had a speedy and pleasant voyage, a delightful little visit with max, after that a joyful return home, followed a few weeks later by the coming of the dinsmores, travillas, and lilburns, for whom some pleasant family parties were held, after which all settled down for the winter's duties and pleasures. the captain continued to act as tutor to evelyn and his daughters, but rosie had forsaken the schoolroom, walter was no longer there, and for a time it seemed a trifle lonely to the remaining ones. they soon, however, became accustomed to the state of affairs, and so deeply interested in their studies that the hours devoted to them passed very swiftly and pleasantly. they also resumed their labors for the poor and ignorant of the neighborhood, making clothing for them, and teaching the women and girls to sew for themselves and their families, at the same time cultivating their minds and hearts to some extent, by taking turns in reading aloud to them simple and instructive tales of value for this life and the next. it was grandma elsie who selected the reading matter and took the care and oversight of all the charitable work of her young friends--directing, encouraging, and urging them on, by both precept and example. how dearly they loved her! it might be truly said of her, as of the virtuous woman described in the last chapter of proverbs: "she openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness." the end a list of the elsie books and other popular books by martha finley elsie dinsmore. elsie's holidays at roselands. elsie's girlhood. elsie's womanhood. elsie's motherhood. elsie's children. elsie's widowhood. grandmother elsie. elsie's new relations. elsie at nantucket. the two elsies. elsie's kith and kin. elsie's friends at woodburn. christmas with grandma elsie. elsie and the raymonds. elsie yachting with the raymonds. elsie's vacation. elsie at viamede. elsie at ion. elsie at the world's fair. elsie's journey on inland waters. elsie at home. elsie on the hudson. elsie in the south. elsie's young folks. elsie's winter trip. elsie and her loved ones. mildred keith. mildred at roselands. mildred's married life. mildred and elsie. mildred at home. mildred's boys and girls. mildred's new daughter. casella. signing the contract and what it cost. the tragedy of wild river valley. our fred. an old-fashioned boy. wanted, a pedigree. the thorn in the nest. * * * * * transcriber's notes minor punctuation errors repaired. italic text is denoted by _underscores_ the list of martha finley's books has been moved from the front of the book to the end. p cass added a postcript. replaced with cass added a postscript. p "all that sounds quite appetizing," said voilet. replaced with "all that sounds quite appetizing," said violet. p the provisions, baggage, and amumnition wagons replaced with the provisions, baggage, and ammunition wagons p perry landed and offered his serivces to harrison replaced with perry landed and offered his services to harrison p from dolson's to chatham replaced with from dolsen's to chatham p replacing the sight frown replaced with replacing the slight frown p i shall be glad to heard it, molly. replaced with i shall be glad to hear it, molly. images of public domain material from the google books project.) transcriber notes text emphasis id denoted as _italics_ and =bold=. +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | the | | | | scarecrow of oz | | | | | | | | by | | | | l. frank baum | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ [illustration] ===== the famous oz books ===== since , when l. frank baum introduced to the children of america the wonderful wizard of oz and all the other exciting characters who inhabit the land of oz, these delightful fairy tales have stimulated the imagination of millions of young readers. these are stories which are genuine fantasy creative, funny, tender, exciting and surprising. filled with the rarest and most absurd creatures, each of the volumes which now comprise the series, has been eagerly sought out by generation after generation until to-day they are known to all except the very young or those who were never young at all. when, in a recent survey, the =new york times= polled a group of teen agers on the books they liked best when they were young, the oz books topped the list. the famous oz books ------------------- by l. frank baum: the wizard of oz the land of oz ozma of oz dorothy and the wizard in oz the road to oz the emerald city of oz the patchwork girl of oz tik-tok of oz the scarecrow of oz rinkitink in oz the lost princess of oz the tin woodman of oz the magic of oz glinda of oz chicago the reilly & lee co. _publishers_ [illustration: the scarecrow _of_ oz] dedicated to "the uplifters" of los angeles, california, in grateful appreciation of the pleasure i have derived from association with them, and in recognition of their sincere endeavor to uplift humanity through kindness, consideration and good-fellowship. they are big men all of them and all with the generous hearts of little children. l. frank baum [illustration] +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | the | | | | =scarecrow of oz= | | | | | | by | | | | l. frank baum | | | | author of | | | | the road to oz, dorothy and the wizard in oz, the emerald | | city of oz, the land of oz, ozma of oz. the patchwork girl | | of oz, tik-tok of oz | | | | | | | | [illustration] | | | | | | | | illustrated by | | john r. neill | | | | | | =the reilly & lee co= | | chicago | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | copyright | | | | by | | | | l frank baum | | | | all | | | | rights reserved | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ [illustration] 'twixt you and me the army of children which besieged the postoffice, conquered the postmen and delivered to me its imperious commands, insisted that trot and cap'n bill be admitted to the land of oz, where trot could enjoy the society of dorothy, betsy bobbin and ozma, while the one-legged sailor-man might become a comrade of the tin woodman, the shaggy man, tik-tok and all the other quaint people who inhabit this wonderful fairyland. it was no easy task to obey this order and land trot and cap'n bill safely in oz, as you will discover by reading this book. indeed, it required the best efforts of our dear old friend, the scarecrow, to save them from a dreadful fate on the journey; but the story leaves them happily located in ozma's splendid palace and dorothy has promised me that button-bright and the three girls are sure to encounter, in the near future, some marvelous adventures in the land of oz, which i hope to be permitted to relate to you in the next oz book. meantime, i am deeply grateful to my little readers for their continued enthusiasm over the oz stories, as evinced in the many letters they send me, all of which are lovingly cherished. it takes more and more oz books every year to satisfy the demands of old and new readers, and there have been formed many "oz reading societies," where the oz books owned by different members are read aloud. all this is very gratifying to me and encourages me to write more oz stories. when the children have had enough of them, i hope they will let me know, and then i'll try to write something different. l. frank baum "royal historian of oz." "ozcot" at hollywood in california, . [illustration] list of chapters the great whirlpool cavern under the sea the ork daylight at last! the little old man of the island the flight of the midgets the bumpy man button-bright is lost, and found again the kingdom of jinxland pon, the gardener's boy the wicked king and googly-goo the wooden-legged grasshopper glinda the good and the scarecrow of oz the frozen heart trot meets the scarecrow pon summons the king to surrender the ork rescues button-bright the scarecrow meets an enemy the conquest of the witch queen gloria dorothy, betsy and ozma the waterfall the land of oz the royal reception [illustration] [illustration] [illustration: cap'n bill] chapter the great whirlpool "seems to me," said cap'n bill, as he sat beside trot under the big acacia tree, looking out over the blue ocean, "seems to me, trot, as how the more we know, the more we find we don't know." "i can't quite make that out, cap'n bill," answered the little girl in a serious voice, after a moment's thought, during which her eyes followed those of the old sailor-man across the glassy surface of the sea. "seems to me that all we learn is jus' so much gained." "i know; it looks that way at first sight," said the sailor, nodding his head; "but those as knows the least have a habit of thinkin' they know all there is to know, while them as knows the most admits what a turr'ble big world this is. it's the knowing ones that realize one lifetime ain't long enough to git more'n a few dips o' the oars of knowledge." trot didn't answer. she was a very little girl, with big, solemn eyes and an earnest, simple manner. cap'n bill had been her faithful companion for years and had taught her almost everything she knew. he was a wonderful man, this cap'n bill. not so very old, although his hair was grizzled--what there was of it. most of his head was bald as an egg and as shiny as oilcloth, and this made his big ears stick out in a funny way. his eyes had a gentle look and were pale blue in color, and his round face was rugged and bronzed. cap'n bill's left leg was missing, from the knee down, and that was why the sailor no longer sailed the seas. the wooden leg he wore was good enough to stump around with on land, or even to take trot out for a row or a sail on the ocean, but when it came to "runnin' up aloft" or performing active duties on shipboard, the old sailor was not equal to the task. the loss of his leg had ruined his career and the old sailor found comfort in devoting himself to the education and companionship of the little girl. [illustration: the old sailor devoted himself to the education of the little girl.] the accident to cap'n bill's leg had happened at about the time trot was born, and ever since that he had lived with trot's mother as "a star boarder," having enough money saved up to pay for his weekly "keep." he loved the baby and often held her on his lap; her first ride was on cap'n bill's shoulders, for she had no baby-carriage; and when she began to toddle around, the child and the sailor became close comrades and enjoyed many strange adventures together. it is said the fairies had been present at trot's birth and had marked her forehead with their invisible mystic signs, so that she was able to see and do many wonderful things. the acacia tree was on top of a high bluff, but a path ran down the bank in a zigzag way to the water's edge, where cap'n bill's boat was moored to a rock by means of a stout cable. it had been a hot, sultry afternoon, with scarcely a breath of air stirring, so cap'n bill and trot had been quietly sitting beneath the shade of the tree, waiting for the sun to get low enough for them to take a row. they had decided to visit one of the great caves which the waves had washed out of the rocky coast during many years of steady effort. the caves were a source of continual delight to both the girl and the sailor, who loved to explore their awesome depths. "i b'lieve, cap'n," remarked trot, at last, "that it's time for us to start." the old man cast a shrewd glance at the sky, the sea and the motionless boat. then he shook his head. "mebbe it's time, trot," he answered, "but i don't jes' like the looks o' things this afternoon." "what's wrong?" she asked wonderingly. "can't say as to that. things is too quiet to suit me, that's all. no breeze, not a ripple a-top the water, nary a gull a-flyin' anywhere, an' the end o' the hottest day o' the year. i ain't no weather-prophet, trot, but any sailor would know the signs is ominous." "there's nothing wrong that i can see," said trot. "if there was a cloud in the sky even as big as my thumb, we might worry about it; but--look, cap'n!--the sky is as clear as can be." he looked again and nodded. "p'r'aps we can make the cave, all right," he agreed, not wishing to disappoint her. "it's only a little way out, an' we'll be on the watch; so come along, trot." together they descended the winding path to the beach. it was no trouble for the girl to keep her footing on the steep way, but cap'n bill, because of his wooden leg, had to hold on to rocks and roots now and then to save himself from tumbling. on a level path he was as spry as anyone, but to climb up hill or down required some care. they reached the boat safely and while trot was untying the rope cap'n bill reached into a crevice of the rock and drew out several tallow candles and a box of wax matches, which he thrust into the capacious pockets of his "sou'wester." this sou'wester was a short coat of oilskin which the old sailor wore on all occasions--when he wore a coat at all--and the pockets always contained a variety of objects, useful and ornamental, which made even trot wonder where they all came from and why cap'n bill should treasure them. the jackknives--a big one and a little one--the bits of cord, the fishhooks, the nails: these were handy to have on certain occasions. but bits of shell, and tin boxes with unknown contents, buttons, pincers, bottles of curious stones and the like, seemed quite unnecessary to carry around. that was cap'n bill's business, however, and now that he added the candles and the matches to his collection trot made no comment, for she knew these last were to light their way through the caves. the sailor always rowed the boat, for he handled the oars with strength and skill. trot sat in the stern and steered. the place where they embarked was a little bight or circular bay, and the boat cut across a much larger bay toward a distant headland where the caves were located, right at the water's edge. they were nearly a mile from shore and about half-way across the bay when trot suddenly sat up straight and exclaimed: "what's that, cap'n?" he stopped rowing and turned half around to look. [illustration] "that, trot," he slowly replied, "looks to me mighty like a whirlpool." "what makes it, cap'n?" "a whirl in the air makes the whirl in the water. i was afraid as we'd meet with trouble, trot. things didn't look right. the air was too still." "it's coming closer," said the girl. the old man grabbed the oars and began rowing with all his strength. "'tain't comin' closer to us, trot," he gasped; "it's we that are comin' closer to the whirlpool. the thing is drawin' us to it like a magnet!" trot's sun-bronzed face was a little paler as she grasped the tiller firmly and tried to steer the boat away; but she said not a word to indicate fear. the swirl of the water as they came nearer made a roaring sound that was fearful to listen to. so fierce and powerful was the whirlpool that it drew the surface of the sea into the form of a great basin, slanting downward toward the center, where a big hole had been made in the ocean--a hole with walls of water that were kept in place by the rapid whirling of the air. the boat in which trot and cap'n bill were riding was just on the outer edge of this saucer-like slant, and the old sailor knew very well that unless he could quickly force the little craft away from the rushing current they would soon be drawn into the great black hole that yawned in the middle. so he exerted all his might and pulled as he had never pulled before. he pulled so hard that the left oar snapped in two and sent cap'n bill sprawling upon the bottom of the boat. he scrambled up quickly enough and glanced over the side. then he looked at trot, who sat quite still, with a serious, far-away look in her sweet eyes. the boat was now speeding swiftly of its own accord, following the line of the circular basin round and round and gradually drawing nearer to the great hole in the center. any further effort to escape the whirlpool was useless, and realizing this fact cap'n bill turned toward trot and put an arm around her, as if to shield her from the awful fate before them. he did not try to speak, because the roar of the waters would have drowned the sound of his voice. these two faithful comrades had faced dangers before, but nothing to equal that which now faced them. yet cap'n bill, noting the look in trot's eyes and remembering how often she had been protected by unseen powers, did not quite give way to despair. the great hole in the dark water--now growing nearer and nearer--looked very terrifying; but they were both brave enough to face it and await the result of the adventure. [illustration] chapter the cavern under the sea the circles were so much smaller at the bottom of the basin, and the boat moved so much more swiftly, that trot was beginning to get dizzy with the motion, when suddenly the boat made a leap and dived headlong into the murky depths of the hole. whirling like tops, but still clinging together, the sailor and the girl were separated from their boat and plunged down--down--down--into the farthermost recesses of the great ocean. at first their fall was swift as an arrow, but presently they seemed to be going more moderately and trot was almost sure that unseen arms were about her, supporting her and protecting her. she could see nothing, because the water filled her eyes and blurred her vision, but she clung fast to cap'n bill's sou'wester, while other arms clung fast to her, and so they gradually sank down and down until a full stop was made, when they began to ascend again. but it seemed to trot that they were not rising straight to the surface from where they had come. the water was no longer whirling them and they seemed to be drawn in a slanting direction through still, cool ocean depths. and then--in much quicker time than i have told it--up they popped to the surface and were cast at full length upon a sandy beach, where they lay choking and gasping for breath and wondering what had happened to them. trot was the first to recover. disengaging herself from cap'n bill's wet embrace and sitting up, she rubbed the water from her eyes and then looked around her. a soft, bluish-green glow lighted the place, which seemed to be a sort of cavern, for above and on either side of her were rugged rocks. they had been cast upon a beach of clear sand, which slanted upward from the pool of water at their feet--a pool which doubtless led into the big ocean that fed it. above the reach of the waves of the pool were more rocks, and still more and more, into the dim windings and recesses of which the glowing light from the water did not penetrate. the place looked grim and lonely, but trot was thankful that she was still alive and had suffered no severe injury during her trying adventure under water. at her side cap'n bill was sputtering and coughing, trying to get rid of the water he had swallowed. both of them were soaked through, yet the cavern was warm and comfortable and a wetting did not dismay the little girl in the least. she crawled up the slant of sand and gathered in her hand a bunch of dried seaweed, with which she mopped the face of cap'n bill and cleared the water from his eyes and ears. presently the old man sat up and stared at her intently. then he nodded his bald head three times and said in a gurgling voice: "mighty good, trot; mighty good! we didn't reach davy jones's locker that time, did we? though why we didn't, an' why we're here, is more'n i kin make out." "take it easy, cap'n," she replied. "we're safe enough, i guess, at least for the time being." he squeezed the water out of the bottoms of his loose trousers and felt of his wooden leg and arms and head, and finding he had brought all of his person with him he gathered courage to examine closely their surroundings. "where d'ye think we are, trot?" he presently asked. "can't say, cap'n. p'r'aps in one of our caves." he shook his head. "no," said he, "i don't think that, at all. the distance we came up didn't seem half as far as the distance we went down; an' you'll notice there ain't any outside entrance to this cavern whatever. it's a reg'lar dome over this pool o' water, and unless there's some passage at the back, up yonder, we're fast pris'ners." trot looked thoughtfully over her shoulder. "when we're rested," she said, "we will crawl up there and see if there's a way to get out." cap'n bill reached in the pocket of his oilskin coat and took out his pipe. it was still dry, for he kept it in an oilskin pouch with his tobacco. his matches were in a tight tin box, so in a few moments the old sailor was smoking contentedly. trot knew it helped him to think when he was in any difficulty. also, the pipe did much to restore the old sailor's composure, after his long ducking and his terrible fright--a fright that was more on trot's account than his own. the sand was dry where they sat, and soaked up the water that dripped from their clothing. when trot had squeezed the wet out of her hair she began to feel much like her old self again. by and by they got upon their feet and crept up the incline to the scattered boulders above. some of these were of huge size, but by passing between some and around others, they were able to reach the extreme rear of the cavern. "yes," said trot, with interest, "here's a round hole." "and it's black as night inside it," remarked cap'n bill. "just the same," answered the girl, "we ought to explore it, and see where it goes, 'cause it's the only poss'ble way we can get out of this place." cap'n bill eyed the hole doubtfully. "it may be a way out o' here, trot," he said, "but it may be a way into a far worse place than this. i'm not sure but our best plan is to stay right here." trot wasn't sure, either, when she thought of it in that light.. after awhile she made her way back to the sands again, and cap'n bill followed her. as they sat down, the child looked thoughtfully at the sailor's bulging pockets. [illustration: trot] "how much food have we got, cap'n?" she asked. "half a dozen ship's biscuits an' a hunk o' cheese," he replied. "want some now, trot?" she shook her head, saying: "that ought to keep us alive 'bout three days if we're careful of it." "longer'n that, trot," said cap'n bill, but his voice was a little troubled and unsteady. "but if we stay here we're bound to starve in time," continued the girl, "while if we go into the dark hole--" "some things are more hard to face than starvation," said the sailor-man, gravely. "we don't know what's inside that dark hole. trot, nor where it might lead us to." "there's a way to find that out," she persisted. instead of replying, cap'n bill began searching in his pockets. he soon drew out a little package of fishhooks and a long line. trot watched him join them together. then he crept a little way up the slope and turned over a big rock. two or three small crabs began scurrying away over the sands and the old sailor caught them and put one on his hook and the others in his pocket. coming back to the pool he swung the hook over his shoulder and circled it around his head and cast it nearly into the center of the water, where he allowed it to sink gradually, paying out the line as far as it would go. when the end was reached, he began drawing it in again, until the crab bait was floating on the surface. trot watched him cast the line a second time, and a third. she decided that either there were no fishes in the pool or they would not bite the crab bait. but cap'n bill was an old fisherman and not easily discouraged. when the crab got away he put another on the hook. when the crabs were all gone he climbed up the rocks and found some more. meantime trot tired of watching him and lay down upon the sands, where she fell fast asleep. during the next two hours her clothing dried completely, as did that of the old sailor. they were both so used to salt water that there was no danger of taking cold. finally the little girl was wakened by a splash beside her and a grunt of satisfaction from cap'n bill. she opened her eyes to find that the cap'n had landed a silver-scaled fish weighing about two pounds. this cheered her considerably and she hurried to scrape together a heap of seaweed, while cap'n bill cut up the fish with his jackknife and got it ready for cooking. they had cooked fish with seaweed before. cap'n bill wrapped his fish in some of the weed and dipped it in the water to dampen it. then he lighted a match and set fire to trot's heap, which speedily burned down to a glowing bed of ashes. then they laid the wrapped fish on the ashes, covered it with more seaweed, and allowed this to catch fire and burn to embers. after feeding the fire with seaweed for some time, the sailor finally decided that their supper was ready, so he scattered the ashes and drew out the bits of fish, still encased in their smoking wrappings. when these wrappings were removed, the fish was found thoroughly cooked and both trot and cap'n bill ate of it freely. it had a slight flavor of seaweed and would have been better with a sprinkling of salt. the soft glow which until now had lighted the cavern, began to grow dim, but there was a great quantity of seaweed in the place, so after they had eaten their fish they kept the fire alive for a time by giving it a handful of fuel now and then. from an inner pocket the sailor drew a small flask of battered metal and unscrewing the cap handed it to trot. she took but one swallow of the water, although she wanted more, and she noticed that cap'n bill merely wet his lips with it. "s'pose," said she, staring at the glowing seaweed fire and speaking slowly, "that we can catch all the fish we need; how 'bout the drinking-water, cap'n?" he moved uneasily but did not reply. both of them were thinking about the dark hole, but while trot had little fear of it the old man could not overcome his dislike to enter the place. he knew that trot was right, though. to remain in the cavern, where they now were, could only result in slow but sure death. it was nighttime upon the earth's surface, so the little girl became drowsy and soon fell asleep. after a time the old sailor slumbered on the sands beside her. it was very still and nothing disturbed them for hours. when at last they awoke the cavern was light again. they had divided one of the biscuits and were munching it for breakfast when they were startled by a sudden splash in the pool. looking toward it they saw emerging from the water the most curious creature either of them had ever beheld. it wasn't a fish, trot decided, nor was it a beast. it had wings, though, and queer wings they were: shaped like an inverted chopping-bowl and covered with tough skin instead of feathers. it had four legs--much like the legs of a stork, only double the number--and its head was shaped a good deal like that of a poll parrot, with a beak that curved downward in front and upward at the edges, and was half bill and half mouth. but to call it a bird was out of the question, because it had feathers whatever except a crest of wavy plumes of a scarlet color on the very top of its head. the strange creature must have weighed as much as cap'n bill, and as it floundered and struggled to get out of the water to the sandy beach it was so big and unusual that both trot and her companion stared at it in wonder--in wonder that was not unmixed with fear. [illustration] [illustration] chapter the ork the eyes that regarded them, as the creature stood dripping before them, were bright and mild in expression, and the queer addition to their party made no attempt to attack them and seemed quite as surprised by the meeting as they were. "i wonder," whispered trot, "what it is." "who, me?" exclaimed the creature in a shrill, high-pitched voice. "why, i'm an ork." "oh!" said the girl. "but what is an ork?" "i am," he repeated, a little proudly, as he shook the water from his funny wings; "and if ever an ork was glad to be out of the water and on dry land again, you can be mighty sure that i'm that especial, individual ork!" "have you been in the water long?" inquired cap'n bill, thinking it only polite to show an interest in the strange creature.. "why, this last ducking was about ten minutes, i believe, and that's about nine minutes and sixty seconds too long for comfort," was the reply. "but last night i was in an awful pickle, i assure you. the whirlpool caught me, and--" "oh, were you in the whirlpool, too?" asked trot eagerly. he gave her a glance that was somewhat reproachful. "i believe i was mentioning the fact, young lady, when your desire to talk interrupted me," said the ork. "i am not usually careless in my actions, but that whirlpool was so busy yesterday that i thought i'd see what mischief it was up to. so i flew a little too near it and the suction of the air drew me down into the depths of the ocean. water and i are natural enemies, and it would have conquered me this time had not a bevy of pretty mermaids come to my assistance and dragged me away from the whirling water and far up into a cavern, where they deserted me." "why, that's about the same thing that happened to us," cried trot. "was your cavern like this one?" "i haven't examined this one yet," answered the ork; "but if they happen to be alike i shudder at our fate, for the other one was a prison, with no outlet except by means of the water. i stayed there all night, however, and this morning i plunged into the pool, as far down as i could go, and then swam as hard and as far as i could. the rocks scraped my back, now and then, and i barely escaped the clutches of an ugly sea-monster; but by and by i came to the surface to catch my breath, and found myself here. that's the whole story, and as i see you have something to eat i entreat you to give me a share of it. the truth is, i'm half starved." with these words the ork squatted down beside them. very reluctantly cap'n bill drew another biscuit from his pocket and held it out. the ork promptly seized it in one of its front claws and began to nibble the biscuit in much the same manner a parrot might have done. "we haven't much grub," said the sailor-man, "but we're willin' to share it with a comrade in distress." "that's right," returned the ork, cocking its head sidewise in a cheerful manner, and then for a few minutes there was silence while they all ate of the biscuits. after a while trot said: "i've never seen or heard of an ork before. are there many of you?" "we are rather few and exclusive, i believe," was the reply. "in the country where i was born we are the absolute rulers of all living things, from ants to elephants." "what country is that?" asked cap'n bill. "orkland." "where does it lie?" "i don't know, exactly. you see, i have a restless nature, for some reason, while all the rest of my race are quiet and contented orks and seldom stray far from home. from childhood days i loved to fly long distances away, although father often warned me that i would get into trouble by so doing. "'it's a big world, flipper, my son,' he would say, 'and i've heard that in parts of it live queer two-legged creatures called men, who war upon all other living things and would have little respect for even an ork.' "this naturally aroused my curiosity and after i had completed my education and left school i decided to fly out into the world and try to get a glimpse of the creatures called men. so i left home without saying good-bye, an act i shall always regret. adventures were many, i found. i sighted men several times, but have never before been so close to them as now. also i had to fight my way through the air, for i met gigantic birds, with fluffy feathers all over them, which attacked me fiercely. besides, it kept me busy escaping from floating airships. in my rambling i had lost all track of distance or direction, so that when i wanted to go home i had no idea where my country was located. i've now been trying to find it for several months and it was during one of my flights over the ocean that i met the whirlpool and became its victim." trot and cap'n bill listened to this recital with much interest, and from the friendly tone and harmless appearance of the ork they judged he was not likely to prove so disagreeable a companion as at first they had feared he might be. the ork sat upon its haunches much as a cat does, but used the finger-like claws of its front legs almost as cleverly as if they were hands. perhaps the most curious thing about the creature was its tail, or what ought to have been its tail. this queer arrangement of skin, bones and muscle was shaped like the propellers used on boats and airships, having fan-like surfaces and being pivoted to its body. cap'n bill knew something of mechanics, and observing the propeller-like tail of the ork he said: "i s'pose you're a pretty swift flyer?" "yes, indeed; the orks are admitted to be kings of the air." "your wings don't seem to amount to much," remarked trot. "well, they are not very big," admitted the ork, waving the four hollow skins gently to and fro, "but they serve to support my body in the air while i speed along by means of my tail. still, taken altogether, i'm very handsomely formed, don't you think?" trot did not like to reply, but cap'n bill nodded gravely. "for an ork," said he, "you're a wonder. i've never seen one afore, but i can imagine you're as good as any." that seemed to please the creature and it began walking around the cavern, making its way easily up the slope. while it was gone, trot and cap'n bill each took another sip from the water-flask, to wash down their breakfast. "why, here's a hole--an exit--an outlet!" exclaimed the ork from above. "we know," said trot. "we found it last night." "well, then, let's be off," continued the ork, after sticking its head into the black hole and sniffing once or twice. "the air seems fresh and sweet, and it can't lead us to any worse place than this." [illustration] the girl and the sailor-man got up and climbed to the side of the ork. "we'd about decided to explore this hole before you came," explained cap'n bill; "but it's a dangerous place to navigate in the dark, so wait till i light a candle." "what is a candle?" inquired the ork. "you'll see in a minute," said trot. the old sailor drew one of the candles from his right-side pocket and the tin matchbox from his left-side pocket. when he lighted the match the ork gave a startled jump and eyed the flame suspiciously; but cap'n bill proceeded to light the candle and the action interested the ork very much. "light," it said, somewhat nervously, "is valuable in a hole of this sort. the candle is not dangerous, i hope?" "sometimes it burns your fingers," answered trot, "but that's about the worst it can do--'cept to blow out when you don't want it to." cap'n bill shielded the flame with his hand and crept into the hole. it wasn't any too big for a grown man, but after he had crawled a few feet it grew larger. trot came close behind him and then the ork followed. "seems like a reg'lar tunnel," muttered the sailor-man, who was creeping along awkwardly because of his wooden leg. the rocks, too, hurt his knees. for nearly half an hour the three moved slowly along the tunnel, which made many twists and turns and sometimes slanted downward and sometimes upward. finally cap'n bill stopped short, with an exclamation of disappointment, and held the flickering candle far ahead to light the scene. "what's wrong?' demanded trot, who could see nothing because the sailor's form completely filled the hole. "why, we've come to the end of our travels, i guess," he replied. "is the hole blocked?" inquired the ork. "no; it's wuss nor that," replied cap'n bill sadly. "i'm on the edge of a precipice. wait a minute an' i'll move along and let you see for yourselves. be careful, trot, not to fall." then he crept forward a little and moved to one side, holding the candle so that the girl could see to follow him. the ork came next and now all three knelt on a narrow ledge of rock which dropped straight away and left a huge black space which the tiny flame of the candle could not illuminate. "h-m!" said the ork, peering over the edge; "this doesn't look very promising, i'll admit. but let me take your candle, and i'll fly down and see what's below us." "aren't you afraid?" asked trot. "certainly i'm afraid," responded the ork. "but if we intend to escape we can't stay on this shelf forever. so, as i notice you poor creatures cannot fly, it is my duty to explore the place for you." cap'n bill handed the ork the candle, which had now burned to about half its length. the ork took it in one claw rather cautiously and then tipped its body forward and slipped over the edge. they heard a queer buzzing sound, as the tail revolved, and a brisk flapping of the peculiar wings, but they were more interested just then in following with their eyes the tiny speck of light which marked the location of the candle. this light first made a great circle, then dropped slowly downward and suddenly was extinguished, leaving everything before them black as ink. "hi, there! how did that happen?" cried the ork. "it blew out, i guess," shouted cap'n bill. "fetch it here." "i can't see where you are," said the ork. so cap'n bill got out another candle and lighted it, and its flame enabled the ork to fly back to them. it alighted on the edge and held out the bit of candle. "what made it stop burning?" asked the creature. "the wind," said trot. "you must be more careful, this time." "what's the place like?" inquired cap'n bill. "i don't know, yet; but there must be a bottom to it, so i'll try to find it." with this the ork started out again and this time sank downward more slowly. down, down, down it went, till the candle was a mere spark, and then it headed away to the left and trot and cap'n bill lost all sight of it. [illustration] in a few minutes, however, they saw the spark of light again, and as the sailor still held the second lighted candle the ork made straight toward them. it was only a few yards distant when suddenly it dropped the candle with a cry of pain and next moment alighted, fluttering wildly, upon the rocky ledge. "what's the matter?" asked trot. "it bit me!" wailed the ork. "i don't like your candles. the thing began to disappear slowly as soon as i took it in my claw, and it grew smaller and smaller until just now it turned and bit me--a most unfriendly thing to do. oh--oh! ouch, what a bite!" "that's the nature of candles, i'm sorry to say," explained cap'n bill, with a grin. "you have to handle 'em mighty keerful. but tell us, what did you find down there?" "i found a way to continue our journey," said the ork, nursing tenderly the claw which had been burned. "just below us is a great lake of black water, which looked so cold and wicked that it made me shudder; but away at the left there's a big tunnel, which we can easily walk through. i don't know where it leads to, of course, but we must follow it and find out." "why, we can't get to it," protested the little girl. "we can't fly, as you do, you must remember." "no, that's true," replied the ork musingly. "your bodies are built very poorly, it seems to me, since all you can do is crawl upon the earth's surface. but you may ride upon my back, and in that way t can promise you a safe journey to the tunnel." "are you strong enough to carry us?" asked cap'n bill, doubtfully. "yes, indeed; i'm strong enough to carry a dozen of you, if you could find a place to sit," was the reply; "but there's only room between my wings for one at a time, so i'll have to make two trips." "all right; i'll go first," decided cap'n bill. he lit another candle for trot to hold while they were gone and to light the ork on his return to her, and then the old sailor got upon the ork's back, where he sat with his wooden leg sticking straight out sidewise. "if you start to fall, clasp your arms around my neck," advised the creature. "if i start to fall, it's good night an' pleasant dreams," said cap'n bill. "all ready?" asked the ork. "start the buzz-tail," said cap'n bill, with a tremble in his voice. but the ork flew away so gently that the old man never even tottered in his seat. trot watched the light of cap'n bill's candle till it disappeared in the far distance. she didn't like to be left alone on this dangerous ledge, with a lake of black water hundreds of feet below her; but she was a brave little girl and waited patiently for the return of the ork. it came even sooner than she had expected and the creature said to her: "your friend is safe in the tunnel. now, then, get aboard and i'll carry you to him in a jiffy." i'm sure not many little girls would have cared to take that awful ride through the huge black cavern on the back of a skinny ork. trot didn't care for it, herself, but it just had to be done and so she did it as courageously as possible. her heart beat fast and she was so nervous she could scarcely hold the candle in her fingers as the ork sped swiftly through the darkness. it seemed like a long ride to her, yet in reality the ork covered the distance in a wonderfully brief period of time and soon trot stood safely beside cap'n bill on the level floor of a big arched tunnel. the sailor-man was very glad to greet his little comrade again and both were grateful to the ork for his assistance. "i dunno where this tunnel leads to," remarked cap'n bill, "but it surely looks more promisin' than that other hole we crept through." "when the ork is rested," said trot, "we'll travel on and see what happens." "rested!" cried the ork, as scornfully as his shrill voice would allow. "that bit of flying didn't tire me at all. i'm used to flying days at a time, without ever once stopping." "then let's move on," proposed cap'n bill. he still held in his hand one lighted candle, so trot blew out the other flame and placed her candle in the sailor's big pocket. she knew it was not wise to burn two candles at once. the tunnel was straight and smooth and very easy to walk through, so they made good progress. trot thought that the tunnel began about two miles from the cavern where they had been cast by the whirlpool, but now it was impossible to guess the miles traveled, for they walked steadily for hours and hours without any change in their surroundings. finally cap'n bill stopped to rest. "there's somethin' queer about this 'ere tunnel, i'm certain," he declared, wagging his head dolefully. "here's three candles gone a'ready, an' only three more left us, yet the tunnel's the same as it was when we started. an' how long it's goin' to keep up, no one knows." "couldn't we walk without a light?" asked trot. "the way seems safe enough." "it does right now," was the reply, "but we can't tell when we are likely to come to another gulf, or somethin' jes' as dangerous. in that case we'd be killed afore we knew it." "suppose i go ahead?" suggested the ork. "i don't fear a fall, you know, and if anything happens i'll call out and warn you." "that's a good idea," declared trot, and cap'n bill thought so, too. so the ork started off ahead, quite in the dark, and hand in hand the two followed him. when they had walked in this way for a good long time the ork halted and demanded food. cap'n bill had not mentioned food because there was so little left--only three biscuits and a lump of cheese about as big as his two fingers--but he gave the ork half of a biscuit, sighing as he did so. the creature didn't care for the cheese, so the sailor divided it between himself and trot. they lighted a candle and sat down in the tunnel while they ate. "my feet hurt me," grumbled the ork. "i'm not used to walking and this rocky passage is so uneven and lumpy that it hurts me to walk upon it." "can't you fly along?" asked trot. "no; the roof is too low," said the ork. after the meal they resumed their journey, which trot began to fear would never end. when cap'n bill noticed how tired the little girl was, he paused and lighted a match and looked at his big silver watch. "why, it's night!" he exclaimed. "we've tramped all day, an' still we're in this awful passage, which mebbe goes straight through the middle of the world, an' mebbe is a circle--in which case we can keep walkin' till doomsday. not knowin' what's before us so well as we know what's behind us, i propose we make a stop, now, an' try to sleep till mornin'." "that will suit me," asserted the ork, with a groan. "my feet are hurting me dreadfully and for the last few miles i've been limping with pain." "my foot hurts, too," said the sailor, looking for a smooth place on the rocky floor to sit down. "_your_ foot!" cried the ork. "why, you've only one to hurt you, while i have four. so i suffer four times as much as you possibly can. here; hold the candle while i look at the bottoms of my claws. i declare," he said, examining them by the flickering light, "there are bunches of pain all over them!" "p'r'aps," said trot, who was very glad to sit down beside her companions, "you've got corns." "corns? nonsense! orks never have corns," protested the creature, rubbing its sore feet tenderly. "then mebbe they're--they're--what do you call 'em, cap'n bill? something 'bout the pilgrim's progress, you know." "bunions," said cap'n bill. "oh, yes; mebbe you've got bunions." "it is possible," moaned the ork. "but whatever they are, another day of such walking on them would drive me crazy." "i'm sure they'll feel better by mornin'," said cap'n bill, encouragingly. "go to sleep an' try to forget your sore feet." the ork cast a reproachful look at the sailor-man, who didn't see it. then the creature asked plaintively: "do we eat now, or do we starve?" "there's only half a biscuit left for you," answered cap'n bill. "no one knows how long we'll have to stay in this dark tunnel, where there's nothing whatever to eat; so i advise you to save that morsel o' food till later." "give it me now!" demanded the ork. "if i'm going to starve, i'll do it all at once--not by degrees." cap'n bill produced the biscuit and the creature ate it in a trice. trot was rather hungry and whispered to cap'n bill that she'd take part of her share; but the old man secretly broke his own half-biscuit in two, saving trot's share for a time of greater need. he was beginning to be worried over the little girl's plight and long after she was asleep and the ork was snoring in a rather disagreeable manner, cap'n bill sat with his back to a rock and smoked his pipe and tried to think of some way to escape from this seemingly endless tunnel. but after a time he also slept, for hobbling on a wooden leg all day was tiresome, and there in the dark slumbered the three adventurers for many hours, until the ork roused itself and kicked the old sailor with one foot. "it must be another day," said he. [illustration] [illustration] chapter daylight at last cap'n bill rubbed his eyes, lit a match and consulted his watch. "nine o'clock. yes, i guess it's another day, sure enough. shall we go on?' he asked. "of course," replied the ork. "unless this tunnel is different from everything else in the world, and has no end, we'll find a way out of it sooner or later." the sailor gently wakened trot. she felt much rested by her long sleep and sprang to her feet eagerly. "let's start, cap'n," was all she said. they resumed the journey and had only taken a few steps when the ork cried "wow!" and made a great fluttering of its wings and whirling of its tail. the others, who were following a short distance behind, stopped abruptly. "what's the matter?" asked cap'n bill. "give us a light," was the reply. "i think we've come to the end of the tunnel." then, while cap'n bill lighted a candle, the creature added: "if that is true, we needn't have wakened so soon, for we were almost at the end of this place when we went to sleep." the sailor-man and trot came forward with a light. a wall of rock really faced the tunnel, but now they saw that the opening made a sharp turn to the left. so they followed on, by a narrower passage, and then made another sharp turn--this time to the right. "blow out the light, cap'n," said the ork, in a pleased voice. "we've struck daylight." daylight at last! a shaft of mellow light fell almost at their feet as trot and the sailor turned the corner of the passage, but it came from above, and raising their eyes they found they were at the bottom of a deep, rocky well, with the top far, far above their heads. and here the passage ended. [illustration] for a while they gazed in silence, at least two of them being filled with dismay at the sight. but the ork merely whistled softly and said cheerfully: "that was the toughest journey i ever had the misfortune to undertake, and i'm glad it's over. yet, unless i can manage to fly to the top of this pit, we are entombed here forever." "do you think there is room enough for you to fly in?" asked the little girl anxiously; and cap'n bill added: "it's a straight-up shaft, so i don't see how you'll ever manage it." "were i an ordinary bird--one of those horrid feathered things--i wouldn't even make the attempt to fly out," said the ork. "but my mechanical propeller tail can accomplish wonders, and whenever you're ready i'll show you a trick that is worth while." "oh!" exclaimed trot; "do you intend to take us up, too?" "why not?" "i thought," said cap'n bill, "as you'd go first, an' then send somebody to help us by lettin' down a rope." "ropes are dangerous," replied the ork, "and i might not be able to find one to reach all this distance. besides, it stands to reason that if i can get out myself i can also carry you two with me." "well, i'm not afraid," said trot, who longed to be on the earth's surface again. "s'pose we fall?'' suggested cap'n bill, doubtfully. "why, in that case we would all fall together," returned the ork. "get aboard, little girl; sit across my shoulders and put both your arms around my neck." trot obeyed and when she was seated on the ork, cap'n bill inquired: "how 'bout me, mr. ork?" "why, i think you'd best grab hold of my rear legs and let me carry you up in that manner," was the reply. cap'n bill looked way up at the top of the well, and then he looked at the ork's slender, skinny legs and heaved a deep sigh. "it's goin' to be some dangle, i guess; but if you don't waste too much time on the way up, i may be able to hang on," said he. "all ready, then!" cried the ork, and at once his whirling tail began to revolve. trot felt herself rising into the air; when the creature's legs left the ground cap'n bill grasped two of them firmly and held on for dear life. the ork's body was tipped straight upward, and trot had to embrace the neck very tightly to keep from sliding off. even in this position the ork had trouble in escaping the rough sides of the well. several times it exclaimed "wow!" as it bumped its back, or a wing hit against some jagged projection; but the tail kept whirling with remarkable swiftness and the daylight grew brighter and brighter. it was, indeed, a long journey from the bottom to the top, yet almost before trot realized they had come so far, they popped out of the hole into the clear air and sunshine and a moment later the ork alighted gently upon the ground. [illustration] the release was so sudden that even with the creature's care for its passengers cap'n bill struck the earth with a shock that sent him rolling heel over head; but by the time trot had slid down from her seat the old sailor-man was sitting up and looking around him with much satisfaction. "it's sort o' pretty here," said he. "earth is a beautiful place!" cried trot. "i wonder where on earth we are?' pondered the ork, turning first one bright eye and then the other to this side and that. trees there were, in plenty, and shrubs and flowers and green turf. but there were no houses; there were no paths; there was no sign of civilization whatever. "just before i settled down on the ground i thought i caught a view of the ocean," said the ork. "let's see if i was right." then he flew to a little hill, near by, and trot and cap'n bill followed him more slowly. when they stood on the top of the hill they could see the blue waves of the ocean in front of them, to the right of them, and at the left of them. behind the hill was a forest that shut out the view. "i hope it ain't an island, trot," said cap'n bill gravely. "if it is, i s'pose we're prisoners," she replied. "ezzackly so, trot." "but, even so, it's better than those terr'ble underground tunnels and caverns," declared the girl. "you are right, little one," agreed the ork. "anything above ground is better than the best that lies under ground. so let's not quarrel with our fate but be thankful we've escaped." "we are, indeed!" she replied. "but i wonder if we can find something to eat in this place?" "let's explore an' find out," proposed cap'n bill. "those trees over at the left look like cherry-trees." on the way to them the explorers had to walk through a tangle of vines and cap'n bill, who went first, stumbled and pitched forward on his face. "why, it's a melon!" cried trot delightedly, as she saw what had caused the sailor to fall. [illustration] cap'n bill rose to his foot, for he was not at all hurt, and examined the melon. then he took his big jackknife from his pocket and cut the melon open. it was quite ripe and looked delicious; but the old man tasted it before he permitted trot to eat any. deciding it was good he gave her a big slice and then offered the ork some. the creature looked at the fruit somewhat disdainfully, at first, but once he had tasted its flavor he ate of it as heartily as did the others. among the vines they discovered many other melons, and trot said gratefully: "well, there's no danger of our starving, even if this _is_ an island." "melons," remarked cap'n bill, "are both food an' water. we couldn't have struck anything better." farther on they came to the cherry-trees, where they obtained some of the fruit, and at the edge of the little forest were wild plums. the forest itself consisted entirely of nut trees--walnuts, filberts, almonds and chestnuts--so there would be plenty of wholesome food for them while they remained there. cap'n bill and trot decided to walk through the forest, to discover what was on the other side of it, but the ork's feet were still so sore and "lumpy" from walking on the rocks that the creature said he preferred to fly over the tree-tops and meet them on the other side. the forest was not large, so by walking briskly for fifteen minutes they reached its farthest edge and saw before them the shore of the ocean. "it's an island, all right," said trot, with a sigh. "yes, and a pretty island, too," said cap'n bill, trying to conceal his disappointment on trot's account. "i guess, partner, if the wuss comes to the wuss, i could build a raft--or even a boat--from those trees, so's we could sail away in it." the little girl brightened at this suggestion. "i don't see the ork anywhere," she remarked, looking around. then her eyes lighted upon something and she exclaimed: "oh, cap'n bill! isn't that a house, over there to the left?" cap'n bill, looking closely, saw a shed-like structure built at one edge of the forest. "seems like it, trot. not that i'd call it much of a house, but it's a buildin', all right. let's go over an' see if it's occypied." [illustration] [illustration] chapter the little old man of the island a few steps brought them to the shed, which was merely a roof of boughs built over a square space, with some branches of trees fastened to the sides to keep off the wind. the front was quite open and faced the sea, and as our friends came nearer they observed a little man, with a long pointed beard, sitting motionless on a stool and staring thoughtfully out over the water. "get out of the way, please," he called in a fretful voice. "can't you see you are obstructing my view?" "good morning," said cap'n bill, politely. "it isn't a good morning!" snapped the little man. "i've seen plenty of mornings better than this. do you call it a good morning when i'm pestered with such a crowd as you?" trot was astonished to hear such words from a stranger whom they had greeted quite properly, and cap'n bill grew red at the little man's rudeness. but the sailor said, in a quiet tone of voice: "are you the only one as lives on this 'ere island?" "your grammar's bad," was the reply. "but this is my own exclusive island, and i'll thank you to get off it as soon as possible." "we'd like to do that," said trot, and then she and cap'n bill turned away and walked down to the shore, to see if any other land was in sight. the little man rose and followed them, although both were now too provoked to pay any attention to him. "nothin' in sight, partner," reported cap'n bill, shading his eyes with his hand; "so we'll have to stay here for a time, anyhow. it isn't a bad place, trot, by any means." "that's all you know about it!" broke in the little man. "the trees are altogether too green and the rocks are harder than they ought to be. i find the sand very grainy and the water dreadfully wet. every breeze makes a draught and the sun shines in the daytime, when there's no need of it, and disappears just as soon as it begins to get dark. if you remain here you'll find the island very unsatisfactory." trot turned to look at him, and her sweet face was grave and curious. "i wonder who you are," she said. "my name is pessim," said he, with an air of pride. "i'm called the observer." "oh. what do you observe?" asked the little girl. "everything i see," was the reply, in a more surly tone. then pessim drew back with a startled exclamation and looked at some footprints in the sand. "why, good gracious me!' he cried in distress. "what's the matter now?' asked cap'n bill. "someone has pushed the earth in! don't you see it?" "it isn't pushed in far enough to hurt anything," said trot, examining the footprints. "everything hurts that isn't right," insisted the man. "if the earth were pushed in a mile, it would be a great calamity, wouldn't it?" "i s'pose so," admitted the little girl. "well, here it is pushed in a full inch! that's a twelfth of a foot, or a little more than a millionth part of a mile. therefore it is one-millionth part of a calamity--oh, dear! how dreadful!" said pessim in a wailing voice. "try to forget it, sir," advised cap'n bill, soothingly. "it's beginning to rain. let's get under your shed and keep dry." "raining! is it really raining?' asked pessim, beginning to weep. "it is," answered cap'n bill, as the drops began to descend, "and i don't see any way to stop it--although i'm some observer myself." "no; we can't stop it, i fear," said the man. "are you very busy just now?" "i won't be after i get to the shed," replied the sailor-man. "then do me a favor, please," begged pessim, walking briskly along behind them, for they were hastening to the shed. "depends on what it is," said cap'n bill. "i wish you would take my umbrella down to the shore and hold it over the poor fishes till it stops raining. i'm afraid they'll get wet," said pessim. trot laughed, but cap'n bill thought the little man was poking fun at him and so he scowled upon pessim in a way that showed he was angry. they reached the shed before getting very wet, although the rain was now coming down in big drops. the roof of the shed protected them and while they stood watching the rainstorm something buzzed in and circled around pessim's head. at once the observer began beating it away with his hands, crying out: "a bumblebee! a bumblebee! the queerest bumblebee i ever saw!" cap'n bill and trot both looked at it and the little girl said in surprise: "dear me! it's a wee little ork!" "that's what it is, sure enough," exclaimed cap'n bill. really, it wasn't much bigger than a big bumblebee, and when it came toward trot she allowed it to alight on her shoulder. "it's me, all right," said a very small voice in her ear; "but i'm in an awful pickle, just the same!" "what, are you _our_ ork, then?" demanded the girl, much amazed. "no, i'm my own ork. but i'm the only ork you know," replied the tiny creature. "what's happened to you?" asked the sailor, putting his head close to trot's shoulder in order to hear the reply better. pessim also put his head close, and the ork said: [illustration] "you will remember that when i left you i started to fly over the trees, and just as i got to this side of the forest i saw a bush that was loaded down with the most luscious fruit you can imagine. the fruit was about the size of a gooseberry and of a lovely lavender color. so i swooped down and picked off one in my bill and ate it. at once i began to grow small. i could feel myself shrinking, shrinking away, and it frightened me terribly, so that i alighted on the ground to think over what was happening. in a few seconds i had shrunk to the size you now see me; but there i remained, getting no smaller, indeed, but no larger. it is certainly a dreadful affliction! after i had recovered somewhat from the shock i began to search for you. it is not so easy to find one's way when a creature is so small, but fortunately i spied you here in this shed and came to you at once." cap'n bill and trot were much astonished at this story and felt grieved for the poor ork, but the little man pessim seemed to think it a good joke. he began laughing when he heard the story and laughed until he choked, after which he lay down on the ground and rolled and laughed again, while the tears of merriment coursed down his wrinkled cheeks. "oh, dear! oh, dear!" he finally gasped, sitting up and wiping his eyes. "this is too rich! it's almost too joyful to be true." "i don't see anything funny about it," remarked trot indignantly. "you would if you'd had my experience," said pessim, getting upon his feet and gradually resuming his solemn and dissatisfied expression of countenance. "the same thing happened to me." "oh, did it? and how did you happen to come to this island?" asked the girl. "i didn't come; the neighbors brought me," replied the little man, with a frown at the recollection. "they said i was quarrelsome and fault-finding and blamed me because i told them all the things that went wrong, or never were right, and because i told them how things ought to be. so they brought me here and left me all alone, saying that if i quarreled with myself, no one else would be made unhappy. absurd, wasn't it?" "seems to me," said cap'n bill, "those neighbors did the proper thing." "well," resumed pessim, "when i found myself king of this island i was obliged to live upon fruits, and i found many fruits growing here that i had never seen before. i tasted several and found them good and wholesome. but one day i ate a lavender berry--as the ork did--and immediately i grew so small that i was scarcely two inches high. it was a very unpleasant condition and like the ork i became frightened. i could not walk very well nor very far, for every lump of earth in my way seemed a mountain, every blade of grass a tree and every grain of sand a rocky boulder. for several days i stumbled around in an agony of fear. once a tree toad nearly gobbled me up, and if i ran out from the shelter of the bushes the gulls and cormorants swooped down upon me. finally i decided to eat another berry and become nothing at all, since life, to one as small as i was, had become a dreary nightmare. "at last i found a small tree that i thought bore the same fruit as that i had eaten. the berry was dark purple instead of light lavender, but otherwise it was quite similar. being unable to climb the tree, i was obliged to wait underneath it until a sharp breeze arose and shook the limbs so that a berry fell. instantly i seized it and taking a last view of the world--as i then thought--i ate the berry in a twinkling. then, to my surprise, i began to grow big again, until i became of my former stature, and so i have since remained. needless to say, i have never eaten again of the lavender fruit, nor do any of the beasts or birds that live upon this island eat it." they had all three listened eagerly to this amazing tale, and when it was finished the ork exclaimed: "do you think, then, that the deep purple berry is the antidote for the lavender one?" "i'm sure of it," answered pessim. "then lead me to the tree at once!" begged the ork, "for this tiny form i now have terrifies me greatly." pessim examined the ork closely. [illustration] "you are ugly enough as you are," said he. "were you any larger you might be dangerous." "oh, no," trot assured him; "the ork has been our good friend. please take us to the tree." then pessim consented, although rather reluctantly. he led them to the right, which was the east side of the island, and in a few minutes brought them near to the edge of the grove which faced the shore of the ocean. here stood a small tree bearing berries of a deep purple color. the fruit looked very enticing and cap'n bill reached up and selected one that seemed especially plump and ripe. the ork had remained perched upon trot's shoulder but now it flew down to the ground. it was so difficult for cap'n bill to kneel down, with his wooden leg, that the little girl took the berry from him and held it close to the ork's head. "it's too big to go into my mouth," said the little creature, looking at the fruit sidewise. "you'll have to make sev'ral mouthfuls of it, i guess," said trot; and that is what the ork did. he pecked at the soft, ripe fruit with his bill and ate it up very quickly, because it was good. even before he had finished the berry they could see the ork begin to grow. in a few minutes he had regained his natural size and was strutting before them, quite delighted with his transformation. "well, well! what do you think of me now?" he asked proudly. "you are very skinny and remarkably ugly," declared pessim. "you are a poor judge of orks," was the reply. "anyone can see that i'm much handsomer than those dreadful things called birds, which are all fluff and feathers." "their feathers make soft beds," asserted pessim. "and my skin would make excellent drumheads," retorted the ork. "nevertheless, a plucked bird or a skinned ork would be of no value to himself, so we needn't brag of our usefulness after we are dead. but for the sake of argument, friend pessim, i'd like to know what good _you_ would be, were you not alive?" "never mind that," said cap'n bill. "he isn't much good as he is." "i am king of this island, allow me to say, and you're intruding on my property," declared the little man, scowling upon them. "if you don't like me--and i'm sure you don't, for no one else does--why don't you go away and leave me to myself?" "well, the ork can fly, but we can't," explained trot, in answer. "we don't want to stay here a bit, but i don't see how we can get away." "you can go back into the hole you came from." cap'n bill shook his head; trot shuddered at the thought; the ork laughed aloud. "you may be king here," the creature said to pessim, "but we intend to run this island to suit ourselves, for we are three and you are one, and the balance of power lies with us." the little man made no reply to this, although as they walked back to the shed his face wore its fiercest scowl. cap'n bill gathered a lot of leaves and, assisted by trot, prepared two nice beds in opposite corners of the shed. pessim slept in a hammock which he swung between two trees. they required no dishes, as all their food consisted of fruits and nuts picked from the trees; they made no fire, for the weather was warm and there was nothing to cook; the shed had no furniture other than the rude stool which the little man was accustomed to sit upon. he called it his "throne" and they let him keep it. so they lived upon the island for three days, and rested and ate to their hearts' content. still, they were not at all happy in this life because of pessim. he continually found fault with them, and all that they did, and all their surroundings. he could see nothing good or admirable in all the world and trot soon came to understand why the little man's former neighbors had brought him to this island and left him there, all alone, so he could not annoy anyone. it was their misfortune that they had been led to this place by their adventures, for often they would have preferred the company of a wild beast to that of pessim. on the fourth day a happy thought came to the ork. they had all been racking their brains for a possible way to leave the island, and discussing this or that method, without finding a plan that was practical. cap'n bill had said he could make a raft of the trees, big enough to float them all, but he had no tools except those two pocketknives and it was not possible to chop down trees with such small blades. "and s'pose we got afloat on the ocean," said trot, "where would we drift to, and how long would it take us to get there?" cap'n bill was forced to admit he didn't know. the ork could fly away from the island any time it wished to, but the queer creature was loyal to his new friends and refused to leave them in such a lonely, forsaken place. it was when trot urged him to go, on this fourth morning, that the ork had his happy thought. "i will go," said he, "if you two will agree to ride upon my back." "we are too heavy; you might drop us," objected cap'n bill. "yes, you are rather heavy for a long journey," acknowledged the ork, "but you might eat of those lavender berries and become so small that i could carry you with ease." this quaint suggestion startled trot and she looked gravely at the speaker while she considered it, but cap'n bill gave a scornful snort and asked: "what would become of us afterward! we wouldn't be much good if we were some two or three inches high. no, mr. ork, i'd rather stay here, as i am, than be a hop-o'-my-thumb somewhere else." "why couldn't you take some of the dark purple berries along with you, to eat after we had reached our destination?" inquired the ork. "then you could grow big again whenever you pleased." trot clapped her hands with delight. "that's it!" she exclaimed. "let's do it, cap'n bill." the old sailor did not like the idea at first, but he thought it over carefully and the more he thought the better it seemed. "how could you manage to carry us, if we were so small?" he asked. "i could put you in a paper bag, and tie the bag around my neck." "but we haven't a paper bag," objected trot. the ork looked at her. "there's your sunbonnet," it said presently, "which is hollow in the middle and has two strings that you could tie around my neck." [illustration] trot took off her sunbonnet and regarded it critically. yes, it might easily hold both her and cap'n bill, after they had eaten the lavender berries and been reduced in size. she tied the strings around the ork's neck and the sunbonnet made a bag in which two tiny people might ride without danger of falling out. so she said: "i b'lieve we'll do it that way, cap'n." cap'n bill groaned but could make no logical objection except that the plan seemed to him quite dangerous--and dangerous in more ways than one. "i think so, myself," said trot soberly. "but nobody can stay alive without getting into danger sometimes, and danger doesn't mean getting hurt, cap'n; it only means we _might_ get hurt. so i guess we'll have to take the risk." "let's go and find the berries," said the ork. they said nothing to pessim, who was sitting on his stool and scowling dismally as he stared at the ocean, but started at once to seek the trees that bore the magic fruits. the ork remembered very well where the lavender berries grew and led his companions quickly to the spot. cap'n bill gathered two berries and placed them carefully in his pocket. then they went around to the east side of the island and found the tree that bore the dark purple berries. "i guess i'll take four of these," said the sailor-man, "so in case one doesn't make us grow big we can eat another." "better take six," advised the ork. "it's well to be on the safe side, and i'm sure these trees grow nowhere else in all the world." so cap'n bill gathered six of the purple berries and with their precious fruit they returned to the shed to bid good-bye to pessim. perhaps they would not have granted the surly little man this courtesy had they not wished to use him to tie the sunbonnet around the ork's neck. when pessim learned they were about to leave him he at first looked greatly pleased, but he suddenly recollected that nothing ought to please him and so began to grumble about being left alone. "we knew it wouldn't suit you," remarked cap'n bill. "it didn't suit you to have us here, and it won't suit you to have us go away." "that is quite true," admitted pessim. "i haven't been suited since i can remember; so it doesn't matter to me in the least whether you go or stay." he was interested in their experiment, however, and willingly agreed to assist, although he prophesied they would fall out of the sunbonnet on their way and be either drowned in the ocean or crushed upon some rocky shore. this uncheerful prospect did not daunt trot, but it made cap'n bill quite nervous. "i will eat my berry first," said trot, as she placed her sunbonnet on the ground, in such manner that they could get into it. then she ate the lavender berry and in a few seconds became so small that cap'n bill picked her up gently with his thumb and one finger and placed her in the middle of the sunbonnet. then he placed beside her the six purple berries--each one being about as big as the tiny trot's head--and all preparations being now made the old sailor ate his lavender berry and became very small--wooden leg and all! cap'n bill stumbled sadly in trying to climb over the edge of the sunbonnet and pitched in beside trot headfirst, which caused the unhappy pessim to laugh with glee. then the king of the island picked up the sunbonnet--so rudely that he shook its occupants like peas in a pod--and tied it, by means of its strings, securely around the ork's neck. "i hope, trot, you sewed those strings on tight," said cap'n bill anxiously. "why, we are not very heavy, you know," she replied, "so i think the stitches will hold. but be careful and not crush the berries, cap'n." "one is jammed already," he said, looking at them. "all ready?" asked the ork. "yes!" they cried together, and pessim came close to the sunbonnet and called out to them: "you'll be smashed or drowned, i'm sure you will! but farewell, and good riddance to you." the ork was provoked by this unkind speech, so he turned his tail toward the little man and made it revolve so fast that the rush of air tumbled pessim over backward and he rolled several times upon the ground before he could stop himself and sit up. by that time the ork was high in the air and speeding swiftly over the ocean. [illustration] [illustration] chapter the flight of the midgets cap'n bill and trot rode very comfortably in the sunbonnet. the motion was quite steady, for they weighed so little that the ork flew without effort. yet they were both somewhat nervous about their future fate and could not help wishing they were safe on land and their natural size again. "you're terr'ble small, trot," remarked cap'n bill, looking at his companion. "same to you, cap'n," she said with a laugh; "but as long as we have the purple berries we needn't worry about our size." "in a circus," mused the old man, "we'd be curiosities. but in a sunbonnet--high up in the air--sailin' over a big, unknown ocean--they ain't no word in any booktionary to describe us." "why, we're midgets, that's all," said the little girl. the ork flew silently for a long time. the slight swaying of the sunbonnet made cap'n bill drowsy, and he began to doze. trot, however, was wide awake, and after enduring the monotonous journey as long as she was able she called out: "don't you see land anywhere, mr. ork?" "not yet," he answered. "this is a big ocean and i've no idea in which direction the nearest land to that island lies; but if i keep flying in a straight line i'm sure to reach some place some time." that seemed reasonable, so the little people in the sunbonnet remained as patient as possible; that is, cap'n bill dozed and trot tried to remember her geography lessons so she could figure out what land they were likely to arrive at. for hours and hours the ork flew steadily, keeping to the straight line and searching with his eyes the horizon of the ocean for land. cap'n bill was fast asleep and snoring and trot had laid her head on his shoulder to rest it when suddenly the ork exclaimed: "there! i've caught a glimpse of land, at last." at this announcement they roused themselves. cap'n bill stood up and tried to peek over the edge of the sunbonnet. "what does it look like?" he inquired. "looks like another island," said the ork; "but i can judge it better in a minute or two." "i don't care much for islands, since we visited that other one," declared trot. soon the ork made another announcement. "it is surely an island, and a little one, too," said he. "but i won't stop, because i see a much bigger land straight ahead of it." "that's right," approved cap'n bill. "the bigger the land, the better it will suit us." "it's almost a continent," continued the ork after a brief silence, during which he did not decrease the speed of his flight. "i wonder if it can be orkland, the place i have been seeking so long?" "i hope not," whispered trot to cap'n bill--so softly that the ork could not hear her--"for i shouldn't like to be in a country where only orks live. this one ork isn't a bad companion, but a lot of him wouldn't be much fun." after a few more minutes of flying the ork called out in a sad voice: "no! this is not my country. it's a place i have never seen before, although i have wandered far and wide. it seems to be all mountains and deserts and green valleys and queer cities and lakes and rivers--mixed up in a very puzzling way." "most countries are like that," commented cap'n bill. "are you going to land?" "pretty soon," was the reply. "there is a mountain peak just ahead of me. what do you say to our landing on that?" "all right," agreed the sailor-man, for both he and trot were getting tired of riding in the sunbonnet and longed to set foot on solid ground again. so in a few minutes the ork slowed down his speed and then came to a stop so easily that they were scarcely jarred at all. then the creature squatted down until the sunbonnet rested on the ground, and began trying to unfasten with its claws the knotted strings. this proved a very clumsy task, because the strings were tied at the back of the ork's neck, just where his claws would not easily reach. after much fumbling he said: "i'm afraid i can't let you out, and there is no one near to help me." this was at first discouraging, but after a little thought cap'n bill said: "if you don't mind, trot, i can cut a slit in your sunbonnet with my knife." "do," she replied. "the slit won't matter, 'cause i can sew it up again afterward, when i am big." so cap'n bill got out his knife, which was just as small, in proportion, as he was, and after considerable trouble managed to cut a long slit in the sunbonnet. first he squeezed through the opening himself and then helped trot to get out. [illustration] when they stood on firm ground again their first act was to begin eating the dark purple berries which they had brought with them. two of these trot had guarded carefully during the long journey, by holding them in her lap, for their safety meant much to the tiny people. "i'm not very hungry," said the little girl as she handed a berry to cap'n bill, "but hunger doesn't count, in this case. it's like taking medicine to make you well, so we must manage to eat 'em, somehow or other." but the berries proved quite pleasant to taste and as cap'n bill and trot nibbled at their edges their forms began to grow in size--slowly but steadily. the bigger they grew the easier it was for them to eat the berries, which of course became smaller to them, and by the time the fruit was eaten our friends had regained their natural size. the little girl was greatly relieved when she found herself as large as she had ever been, and cap'n bill shared her satisfaction; for, although they had seen the effect of the berries on the ork, they had not been sure the magic fruit would have the same effect on human beings, or that the magic would work in any other country than that in which the berries grew. "what shall we do with the other four berries?" asked trot, as she picked up her sunbonnet, marveling that she had ever been small enough to ride in it. "they're no good to us now, are they, cap'n?" "i'm not sure as to that," he replied. "if they were eaten by one who had never eaten the lavender berries, they might have no effect at all; but then, contrarywise, they might. one of 'em has got badly jammed, so i'll throw it away, but the other three i b'lieve i'll carry with me. they're magic things, you know, and may come handy to us some time." he now searched in his big pockets and drew out a small wooden box with a sliding cover. the sailor had kept an assortment of nails, of various sizes, in this box, but those he now dumped loosely into his pocket and in the box placed the three sound purple berries. when this important matter was attended to they found time to look about them and see what sort of place the ork had landed them in. [illustration] [illustration] chapter the bumpy man the mountain on which they had alighted was not a barren waste, but had on its sides patches of green grass, some bushes, a few slender trees and here and there masses of tumbled rocks. the sides of the slope seemed rather steep, but with care one could climb up or down them with ease and safety. the view from where they now stood showed pleasant valleys and fertile hills lying below the heights. trot thought she saw some houses of queer shapes scattered about the lower landscape, and there were moving dots that might be people or animals, yet were too far away for her to see them clearly. not far from the place where they stood was the top of the mountain, which seemed to be flat, so the ork proposed to his companions that he would fly up and see what was there. "that's a good idea," said trot, "'cause it's getting toward evening and we'll have to find a place to sleep." the ork had not been gone more than a few minutes when they saw him appear on the edge of the top which was nearest them. "come on up!" he called. so trot and cap'n bill began to ascend the steep slope and it did not take them long to reach the place where the ork awaited them. their first view of the mountain-top pleased them very much. it was a level space of wider extent than they had guessed and upon it grew grass of a brilliant green color. in the very center stood a house built of stone and very neatly constructed. no one was in sight, but smoke was coming from the chimney, so with one accord all three began walking toward the house. "i wonder," said trot, "in what country we are, and if it's very far from my home in california." "can't say as to that, partner," answered cap'n bill, "but i'm mighty certain we've come a long way since we struck that whirlpool." "yes," she agreed, with a sigh, "it must be miles and miles!" "distance means nothing," said the ork. "i have flown pretty much all over the world, trying to find my home, and it is astonishing how many little countries there are, hidden away in the cracks and corners of this big globe of earth. if one travels, he may find some new country at every turn, and a good many of them have never yet been put upon the maps." "p'raps this is one of them," suggested trot. they reached the house after a brisk walk and cap'n bill knocked upon the door. it was at once opened by a rugged looking man who had "bumps all over him," as trot afterward declared. there were bumps on his head, bumps on his body and bumps on his arms and legs and hands. even his fingers had bumps on the ends of them. for dress he wore an old gray suit of fantastic design, which fitted him very badly because of the bumps it covered but could not conceal. but the bumpy man's eyes were kind and twinkling in expression and as soon as he saw his visitors he bowed low and said in a rather bumpy voice: "happy day! come in and shut the door, for it grows cool when the sun goes down. winter is now upon us." "why, it isn't cold a bit, outside," said trot, "so it can't be winter yet." "you will change your mind about that in a little while," declared the bumpy man. "my bumps always tell me the state of the weather, and they feel just now as if a snowstorm was coming this way. but make yourselves at home, strangers. supper is nearly ready and there is food enough for all." inside the house there was but one large room, simply but comfortably furnished. it had benches, a table and a fireplace, all made of stone. on the hearth a pot was bubbling and steaming, and trot thought it had a rather nice smell. the visitors seated themselves upon the benches--except the ork, which squatted by the fireplace--and the bumpy man began stirring the kettle briskly. "may i ask what country this is, sir?' inquired cap'n bill. "goodness me--fruit-cake and apple-sauce!--don't you know where you are?' asked the bumpy man, as he stopped stirring and looked at the speaker in surprise. "no," admitted cap'n bill. "we've just arrived." "lost your way?" questioned the bumpy man. "not exactly," said cap'n bill. "we didn't have any way to lose." "ah!" said the bumpy man, nodding his bumpy head. "this," he announced, in a solemn, impressive voice, "is the famous land of mo." "oh!" exclaimed the sailor and the girl, both in one breath. but, never having heard of the land of mo, they were no wiser than before. "i thought that would startle you," remarked the bumpy man, well pleased, as he resumed his stirring. the ork watched him a while in silence and then asked: "who may _you_ be?" "me?" answered the bumpy man. "haven't you heard of me? gingerbread and lemon-juice! i'm known, far and wide, as the mountain ear." they all received this information in silence at first, for they were trying to think what he could mean. finally trot mustered up courage to ask: "what is a mountain ear, please?" for answer the man turned around and faced them, waving the spoon with which he had been stirring the kettle, as he recited the following verses in a singsong tone of voice: "here's a mountain, hard of hearing, that's sad-hearted and needs cheering, so my duty is to listen to all sounds that nature makes, so the hill won't get uneasy-- get to coughing, or get sneezy-- for this monster bump, when frightened, is quite liable to quakes. "_you_ can hear a bell that's ringing; _i_ can feel some people's singing; but a mountain isn't sensible of what goes on, and so when i hear a blizzard blowing or it's raining hard, or snowing, i tell it to the mountain and the mountain seems to know. "thus i benefit all people while i'm living on this steeple, for i keep the mountain steady so my neighbors all may thrive. with my list'ning and my shouting i prevent this mount from spouting, and that makes me so important that i'm glad that i'm alive." when he had finished these lines of verse the bumpy man turned again to resume his stirring. the ork laughed softly and cap'n bill whistled to himself and trot made up her mind that the mountain ear must be a little crazy. but the bumpy man seemed satisfied that he had explained his position fully and presently he placed four stone plates upon the table and then lifted the kettle from the fire and poured some of its contents on each of the plates. cap'n bill and trot at once approached the table, for they were hungry, but when she examined her plate the little girl exclaimed: "why, it's molasses candy!" "to be sure," returned the bumpy man, with a pleasant smile. "eat it quick, while it's hot, for it cools very quickly this winter weather." with this he seized a stone spoon and began putting the hot molasses candy into his mouth, while the others watched him in astonishment. "doesn't it burn you?" asked the girl. "no indeed," said he. "why don't you eat? aren't you hungry?" "yes," she replied, "i am hungry. but we usually eat our candy when it is cold and hard. we always pull molasses candy before we eat it." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the mountain ear. "what a funny idea! where in the world did you come from?" "california," she said. "california! pooh! there isn't any such place. i've heard of every place in the land of mo, but i never before heard of california." [illustration] "it isn't in the land of mo," she explained. "then it isn't worth talking about," declared the bumpy man, helping himself again from the steaming kettle, for he had been eating all the time he talked. "for my part," sighed cap'n bill, "i'd like a decent square meal, once more, just by way of variety. in the last place there was nothing but fruit to eat, and here it's worse, for there's nothing but candy." "molasses candy isn't so bad," said trot. "mine's nearly cool enough to pull, already. wait a bit, cap'n, and you can eat it." a little later she was able to gather the candy from the stone plate and begin to work it back and forth with her hands. the mountain ear was greatly amazed at this and watched her closely. it was really good candy and pulled beautifully, so that trot was soon ready to cut it into chunks for eating. cap'n bill condescended to eat one or two pieces and the ork ate several, but the bumpy man refused to try it. trot finished the plate of candy herself and then asked for a drink of water. "water?" said the mountain ear wonderingly. "what is that?" "something to drink. don't you have water in mo?" "none that ever i heard of," said he. "but i can give you some fresh lemonade. i caught it in a 'jar the last time it rained, which was only day before yesterday." "oh, does it rain lemonade here?" she inquired. "always; and it is very refreshing and healthful." [illustration ] with this he brought from a cupboard a stone jar and a dipper, and the girl found it very nice lemonade, indeed. cap'n bill liked it, too; but the ork would not touch it. "if there is no water in this country, i cannot stay here for long," the creature declared. "water means life to man and beast and bird." "there must be water in lemonade," said trot. "yes," answered the ork, "i suppose so; but there are other things in it, too, and they spoil the good water." the day's adventures had made our wanderers tired, so the bumpy man brought them some blankets in which they rolled themselves and then lay down before the fire, which their host kept alive with fuel all through the night. trot wakened several times and found the mountain ear always alert and listening intently for the slightest sound. but the little girl could hear no sound at all except the snores of cap'n bill. [illustration] chapter button-bright is lost and found again "wake up--wake up!" called the voice of the bumpy man. "didn't i tell you winter was coming? i could hear it coming with my left ear, and the proof is that it is now snowing hard outside." "is it?" said trot, rubbing her eyes and creeping out of her blanket. "where i live, in california, i have never seen snow, except far away on the tops of high mountains." "well, this is the top of a high mountain," returned the bumpy one, "and for that reason we get our heaviest snowfalls right here." the little girl went to the window and looked out. the air was filled with falling white flakes, so large in size and so queer in form that she was puzzled. "are you certain this is snow?" she asked. "to be sure. i must get my snow-shovel and turn out to shovel a path. would you like to come with me?" "yes," she said, and followed the bumpy man out when he opened the door. then she exclaimed: "why, it isn't cold a bit!" "of course not," replied the man. "it was cold last night, before the snowstorm; but snow, when it falls, is always crisp and warm." trot gathered a handful of it. "why, it's popcorn? she cried. "certainly; all snow is popcorn. what did you expect it to be?" "popcorn is not snow in my country." "well, it is the only snow we have in the land of mo, so you may as well make the best of it," said he, a little impatiently. "i'm not responsible for the absurd things that happen in your country, and when you're in mo you must do as the momen do. eat some of our snow, and you will find it is good. the only fault i find with our snow is that we get too much of it at times." with this the bumpy man set to work shoveling a path and he was so quick and industrious that he piled up the popcorn in great banks on either side of the trail that led to the mountain-top from the plains below. while he worked, trot ate popcorn and found it crisp and slightly warm, as well as nicely salted and buttered. presently cap'n bill came out of the house and joined her. "what's this?" he asked. "mo snow," said she. "but it isn't real snow, although it falls from the sky. it's popcorn." cap'n bill tasted it; then he sat down in the path and began to eat. the ork came out and pecked away with its bill as fast as it could. they all liked popcorn and they all were hungry this morning. meantime the flakes of "mo snow" came down so fast that the number of them almost darkened the air. the bumpy man was now shoveling quite a distance down the mountain-side, while the path behind him rapidly filled up with fresh-fallen popcorn. suddenly trot heard him call out: "goodness gracious--mince pie and pancakes!--here is some one buried in the snow." she ran toward him at once and the others followed, wading through the corn and crunching it underneath their feet. the mo snow was pretty deep where the bumpy man was shoveling and from beneath a great bank of it he had uncovered a pair of feet. "dear me! someone has been lost in the storm," said cap'n bill. "i hope he is still alive. let's pull him out and see." he took hold of one foot and the bumpy man took hold of the other. then they both pulled and out from the heap of popcorn came a little boy. he was dressed in a brown velvet jacket and knickerbockers, with brown stockings, buckled shoes and a blue shirt-waist that had frills down its front. when drawn from the heap the boy was chewing a mouthful of popcorn and both his hands were full of it. so at first he couldn't speak to his rescuers but lay quite still and eyed them calmly until he had swallowed his mouthful. then he said: "get my cap," and stuffed more popcorn into his mouth. while the bumpy man began shoveling into the corn-bank to find the boy's cap, trot was laughing joyfully and cap'n bill had a broad grin on his face. the ork looked from one to another and asked: "who is this stranger?" "why, it's button-bright, of course," answered trot. "if anyone ever finds a lost boy, he can make up his mind it's button-bright. but how he ever came to be lost in this far-away country is more'n i can make out." "where does he belong?" inquired the ork. [illustration] "his home used to be in philadelphia, i think; but i'm quite sure button-bright doesn't belong anywhere." "that's right," said the boy, nodding his head as he swallowed the second mouthful. "everyone belongs somewhere," remarked the ork. "not me," insisted button-bright. "i'm half-way 'round the world from philadelphia, and i've lost my magic umbrella, that used to carry me anywhere. stands to reason that if i can't get back i haven't any home. but i don't care much. this is a pretty good country, trot. i've had lots of fun here." by this time the mountain ear had secured the boy's cap and was listening to the conversation with much interest. "it seems you know this poor, snow-covered castaway," he said. "yes, indeed," answered trot. "we made a journey together to sky island, once, and were good friends." "well, then i'm glad i saved his life," said the bumpy man. "much obliged, mr. knobs," said button-bright, sitting up and staring at him, "but i don't believe you've saved anything except some popcorn that i might have eaten had you not disturbed me. it was nice and warm in that bank of popcorn, and there was plenty to eat. what made you dig me out? and what makes you so bumpy everywhere?" "as for the bumps," replied the man, looking at himself with much pride, "i was born with them and i suspect they were a gift from the fairies. they make me look rugged and big, like the mountain i serve." "all right," said button-bright and began eating popcorn again. it had stopped snowing, now, and great flocks of birds were gathering around the mountain-side, eating the popcorn with much eagerness and scarcely noticing the people at all. there were birds of every size and color, most of them having gorgeous feathers and plumes. "just look at them!" exclaimed the ork scornfully. "aren't they dreadful creatures, all covered with feathers?" "i think they're beautiful," said trot, and this made the ork so indignant that he went back into the house and sulked. button-bright reached out his hand and caught a big bird by the leg. at once it rose into the air and it was so strong that it nearly carried the little boy with it. he let go the leg in a hurry and the bird flew down again and began to eat of the popcorn, not being frightened in the least. this gave cap'n bill an idea. he felt in his pocket and drew out several pieces of stout string. moving very quietly, so as to not alarm the birds, he crept up to several of the biggest ones and tied cords around their legs, thus making them prisoners. the birds were so intent on their eating that they did not notice what had happened to them, and when about twenty had been captured in this manner cap'n bill tied the ends of all the strings together and fastened them to a huge stone, so they could not escape. the bumpy man watched the old sailor's actions with much curiosity. "the birds will be quiet until they've eaten up all the snow," he said, "but then they will want to fly away to their homes. tell me, sir, what will the poor things do when they find they can't fly?" "it may worry 'em a little," replied cap'n bill, "but they're not going to be hurt if they take it easy and behave themselves." our friends had all made a good breakfast of the delicious popcorn and now they walked toward the house again. button-bright walked beside trot and held her hand in his, because they were old friends and he liked the little girl very much. the boy was not so old as trot, and small as she was he was half a head shorter in height. the most remarkable thing about button-bright was that he was always quiet and composed, whatever happened, and nothing was ever able to astonish him. trot liked him because he was not rude and never tried to plague her. cap'n bill liked him because he had found the boy cheerful and brave at all times, and willing to do anything he was asked to do. when they came to the house trot sniffed the air and asked: "don't i smell perfume?'" [illustration] "i think you do," said the bumpy man. "you smell violets, and that proves there is a breeze springing up from the south. all our winds and breezes are perfumed and for that reason we are glad to have them blow in our direction. the south breeze always has a violet odor; the north breeze has the fragrance of wild roses; the east breeze is perfumed with lilies-of-the-valley and the west wind with lilac blossoms. so we need no weather-vane to tell us which way the wind is blowing. we have only to smell the perfume and it informs us at once." inside the house they found the ork, and button-bright regarded the strange, bird-like creature with curious interest. after examining it closely for a time he asked: "which way does your tail whirl?" "either way," said the ork. button-bright put out his hand and tried to spin it. "don't do that!" exclaimed the ork. "why not?' inquired the boy. "because it happens to be my tail, and i reserve the right to whirl it myself," explained the ork. "let's go out and fly somewhere," proposed button-bright. "i want to see how the tail works." "not now," said the ork. "i appreciate your interest in me, which i fully deserve; but i only fly when i am going somewhere, and if i got started i might not stop." "that reminds me," remarked cap'n bill, "to ask you, friend ork, how we are going to get away from here?" "get away!" exclaimed the bumpy man. "why don't you stay here? you won't find any nicer place than mo." "have you been anywhere else, sir?" "no; i can't say that i have," admitted the mountain ear. "then permit me to say you're no judge," declared cap'n bill. "but you haven't answered my question, friend ork. how are we to get away from this mountain?" the ork reflected a while before he answered. "i might carry one of you--the boy or the girl--upon my back," said he, "but three big people are more than i can manage, although i have carried two of you for a short distance. you ought not to have eaten those purple berries so soon." "p'r'aps we did make a mistake," cap'n bill acknowledged. "or we might have brought some of those lavender berries with us, instead of so many purple ones," suggested trot regretfully. cap'n bill made no reply to this statement, which showed he did not fully agree with the little girl; but he fell into deep thought, with wrinkled brows, and finally he said: "if those purple berries would make anything grow bigger, whether it'd eaten the lavender ones or not, i could find a way out of our troubles." they did not understand this speech and looked at the old sailor as if expecting him to explain what he meant. but just then a chorus of shrill cries rose from outside. "here! let me go--let me go!" the voices seemed to say. "why are we insulted in this way? mountain ear, come and help us!" trot ran to the window and looked out. "it's the birds you caught, cap'n," she said. "i didn't know they could talk." "oh, yes; all the birds in mo are educated to talk," said the bumpy man. then he looked at cap'n bill uneasily and added: "won't you let the poor things go?" "i'll see," replied the sailor, and walked out to where the birds were fluttering and complaining because the strings would not allow them to fly away. "listen to me!" he cried, and at once they became still. "we three people who are strangers in your land want to go to some other country, and we want three of you birds to carry us there. we know we are asking a great favor, but it's the only way we can think of--excep' walkin', an' i'm not much good at that because i've a wooden leg. besides, trot an' button-bright are too small to undertake a long and tiresome journey. now, tell me: which three of you birds will consent to carry us?" [illustration] the birds looked at one another as if greatly astonished. then one of them replied: "you must be crazy, old man. not one of us is big enough to fly with even the smallest of your party." "i'll fix the matter of size," promised cap'n bill. "if three of you will agree to carry us, i'll make you big an' strong enough to do it, so it won't worry you a bit." the birds considered this gravely. living in a magic country, they had no doubt but that the strange one-legged man could do what he said. after a little, one of them asked: "if you make us big, would we stay big always?" "i think so," replied cap'n bill. they chattered a while among themselves and then the bird that had first spoken said: "til go, for one." "so will i," said another; and after a pause a third said: "i'll go, too." perhaps more would have volunteered, for it seemed that for some reason they all longed to be bigger than they were; but three were enough for cap'n bill's purpose and so he promptly released all the others, who immediately flew away. the three that remained were cousins, and all were of the same brilliant plumage and in size about as large as eagles. when trot questioned them she found they were quite young, having only abandoned their nests a few weeks before. they were strong young birds, with clear, brave eyes, and the little girl decided they were the most beautiful of all the feathered creatures she had ever seen. [illustration] cap'n bill now took from his pocket the wooden box with the sliding cover and removed the three purple berries, which were still in good condition. "eat these," he said, and gave one to each of the birds. they obeyed, finding the fruit very pleasant to taste. in a few seconds they began to grow in size and grew so fast that trot feared they would never stop. but they finally did stop growing, and then they were much larger than the ork, and nearly the size of full-grown ostriches. cap'n bill was much pleased by this result. "you can carry us now, all right," said he. the birds strutted around with pride, highly pleased with their immense size. "i don't see, though," said trot doubtfully, "how we're going to ride on their backs without falling off." "we're not going to ride on their backs," answered cap'n bill. "i'm going to make swings for us to ride in." he then asked the bumpy man for some rope, but the man had no rope. he had, however, an old suit of gray clothes which he gladly presented to cap'n bill, who cut the cloth into strips and twisted it so that it was almost as strong as rope. with this material he attached to each bird a swing that dangled below its feet, and button-bright made a trial flight in one of them to prove that it was safe and comfortable. when all this had been arranged one of the birds asked: "where do you wish us to take you?" "why, just follow the ork," said cap'n bill. "he will be our leader, and wherever the ork flies you are to fly, and wherever the ork lands you are to land. is that satisfactory?" [illustration] the birds declared it was quite satisfactory, so cap'n bill took counsel with the ork. "on our way here," said that peculiar creature, "i noticed a broad, sandy desert at the left of me, on which was no living thing." "then we'd better keep away from it," replied the sailor. "not so," insisted the ork. "i have found, on my travels, that the most pleasant countries often lie in the midst of deserts; so i think it would be wise for us to fly over this desert and discover what lies beyond it. for in the direction we came from lies the ocean, as we well know, and beyond here is this strange land of mo, which we do not care to explore. on one side, as we can see from this mountain, is a broad expanse of plain, and on the other the desert. for my part, i vote for the desert." "what do you say, trot?" inquired cap'n bill. "it's all the same to me," she replied. no one thought of asking button-bright's opinion, so it was decided to fly over the desert. they bade good-bye to the bumpy man and thanked him for his kindness and hospitality. then they seated themselves in the swings--one for each bird--and told the ork to start away and they would follow. the whirl of the ork's tail astonished the birds at first, but after he had gone a short distance they rose in the air, carrying their passengers easily, and flew with strong, regular strokes of their great wings in the wake of their leader. [illustration] chapter the kingdom of jinxland trot rode with more comfort than she had expected, although the swing swayed so much that she had to hold on tight with both hands. cap'n bill's bird followed the ork, and trot came next, with button-bright trailing behind her. it was quite an imposing procession, but unfortunately there was no one to see it, for the ork had headed straight for the great sandy desert and in a few minutes after starting they were flying high over the broad waste, where no living thing could exist. the little girl thought this would be a bad place for the birds to lose strength, or for the cloth ropes to give way; but although she could not help feeling a trifle nervous and fidgety she had confidence in the huge and brilliantly plumaged bird that bore her, as well as in cap'n bill's knowledge of how to twist and fasten a rope so it would hold. that was a remarkably big desert. there was nothing to relieve the monotony of view and every minute seemed an hour and every hour a day. disagreeable fumes and gases rose from the sands, which would have been deadly to the travelers had they not been so high in the air. as it was, trot was beginning to feel sick, when a breath of fresher air filled her nostrils and on looking ahead she saw a great cloud of pink-tinted mist. even while she wondered what it could be, the ork plunged boldly into the mist and the other birds followed. she could see nothing for a time, nor could the bird which carried her see where the ork had gone, but it kept flying as sturdily as ever and in a few moments the mist was passed and the girl saw a most beautiful landscape spread out below her, extending as far as her eye could reach. she saw bits of forest, verdure clothed hills, fields of waving grain, fountains, rivers and lakes; and throughout the scene were scattered groups of pretty houses and a few grand castles and palaces. over all this delightful landscape--which from trot's high perch seemed like a magnificent painted picture--was a rosy glow such as we sometimes see in the west at sunset. in this case, however, it was not in the west only, but everywhere. no wonder the ork paused to circle slowly over this lovely country. the other birds followed his action, all eyeing the place with equal delight. then, as with one accord, the four formed a group and slowly sailed downward. this brought them to that part of the newly-discovered land which bordered on the desert's edge; but it was just as pretty here as anywhere, so the ork and the birds alighted and the three passengers at once got out of their swings. "oh, cap'n bill, isn't this fine an' dandy?" exclaimed trot rapturously. "how lucky we were to discover this beautiful country!" "the country seems rather high class, i'll admit, trot," replied the old sailor-man, looking around him, "but we don't know, as yet, what its people are like." "no one could live in such a country without being happy and good--i'm sure of that," she said earnestly. "don't you think so, button-bright?" "i'm not thinking, just now," answered the little boy. "it tires me to think, and i never seem to gain anything by it. when we see the people who live here we will know what they are like, and no 'mount of thinking will make them any different." "that's true enough," said the ork. "but now i want to make a proposal. while you are getting acquainted with this new country, which looks as if it contains everything to make one happy, i would like to fly along--all by myself--and see if i can find my home on the other side of the great desert. if i do, i will stay there, of course. but if i fail to find orkland i will return to you in a week, to see if i can do anything more to assist you." they were sorry to lose their queer companion, but could offer no objection to the plan; so the ork bade them good-bye and rising swiftly in the air, he flew over the country and was soon lost to view in the distance. the three birds which had carried our friends now begged permission to return by the way they had come, to their own homes, saying they were anxious to show their families how big they had become. so cap'n bill and trot and button-bright all thanked them gratefully for their assistance and soon the birds began their long flight toward the land of mo. being now left to themselves in this strange land, the three comrades selected a pretty pathway and began walking along it. they believed this path would lead them to a splendid castle which they espied in the distance, the turrets of which towered far above the tops of the trees which surrounded it. it did not seem very far away, so they sauntered on slowly, admiring the beautiful ferns and flowers that lined the pathway and listening to the singing of the birds and the soft chirping of the grasshoppers. [illustration] presently the path wound over a little hill. in a valley that lay beyond the hill was a tiny cottage surrounded by flower beds and fruit trees. on the shady porch of the cottage they saw, as they approached, a pleasant faced woman sitting amidst a group of children, to whom she was telling stories. the children quickly discovered the strangers and ran toward them with exclamations of astonishment, so that trot and her friends became the center of a curious group, all chattering excitedly. cap'n bill's wooden leg seemed to arouse the wonder of the children, as they could not understand why he had not two meat legs. this attention seemed to please the old sailor, who patted the heads of the children kindly and then, raising his hat to the woman, he inquired: "can you tell us, madam, just what country this is?" she stared hard at all three of the strangers as she replied briefly: "jinxland." "oh!" exclaimed cap'n bill, with a puzzled look. "and where is jinxland, please?" "in the quadling country," said she. "what!" cried trot, in sudden excitement. "do you mean to say this is the quadling country of the land of oz?" "to be sure i do," the woman answered. "every bit of land that is surrounded by the great desert is the land of oz, as you ought to know as well as i do; but i'm sorry to say that jinxland is separated from the rest of the quadling country by that row of high mountains you see yonder, which have such steep sides that no one can cross them. so we live here all by ourselves, and are ruled by our own king, instead of by ozma of oz." "i've been to the land of oz before," said button-bright, "but i've never been here." "did you ever hear of jinxland before?' asked trot. "no," said button-bright. "it is on the map of oz, though," asserted the woman, "and it's a fine country, i assure you. if only," she added, and then paused to look around her with a frightened expression. "if only--" here she stopped again, as if not daring to go on with her speech. "if only what, ma'am?" asked cap'n bill. the woman sent the children into the house. then she came closer to the strangers and whispered: "if only we had a different king, we would be very happy and contented." "what's the matter with your king?" asked trot, curiously. but the woman seemed frightened to have said so much. she retreated to her porch, merely saying: "the king punishes severely any treason on the part of his subjects." "what's treason?" asked button-bright. "in this case," replied cap'n bill, "treason seems to consist of knockin' the king; but i guess we know his disposition now as well as if the lady had said more." "i wonder," said trot, going up to the woman, "if you could spare us something to eat. we haven't had anything but popcorn and lemonade for a long time." "bless your heart! of course i can spare you some food," the woman answered, and entering her cottage she soon returned with a tray loaded with sandwiches, cakes and cheese. one of the children drew a bucket of clear, cold water from a spring and the three wanderers ate heartily and enjoyed the good things immensely. when button-bright could eat no more he filled the pockets of his jacket with cakes and cheese, and not even the children objected to this. indeed they all seemed pleased to see the strangers eat, so cap'n bill decided that no matter what the king of jinxland was like, the people would prove friendly and hospitable. [illustration] "whose castle is that, yonder, ma'am?" he asked, waving his hand toward the towers that rose above the trees. "it belongs to his majesty, king krewl," she said. "oh, indeed; and does he live there?" "when he is not out hunting with his fierce courtiers and war captains," she replied. "is he hunting now?" trot inquired. "i do not know, my dear. the less we know about the king's actions the safer we are." it was evident the woman did not like to talk about king krewl and so, having finished their meal, they said good-bye and continued along the pathway. "don't you think we'd better keep away from that king's castle, cap'n?" asked trot. "well," said he, "king krewl would find out, sooner or later, that we are in his country, so we may as well face the music now. perhaps he isn't quite so bad as that woman thinks he is. kings aren't always popular with their people, you know, even if they do the best they know how." "ozma is pop'lar," said button-bright. "ozma is diff'rent from any other ruler, from all i've heard," remarked trot musingly, as she walked beside the boy. "and, after all, we are really in the land of oz, where ozma rules ev'ry king and ev'rybody else. i never heard of anybody getting hurt in her dominions, did you, button-bright?" "not when she knows about it," he replied. "but those birds landed us in just the wrong place, seems to me. they might have carried us right on, over that row of mountains, to the em'rald city." "true enough," said cap'n bill; "but they didn't, an' so we must make the best of jinxland. let's try not to be afraid." "oh, i'm not very scared," said button-bright, pausing to look at a pink rabbit that popped its head out of a hole in the field near by. "nor am i," added trot. "really, cap'n, i'm so glad to be anywhere at all in the wonderful fairyland of oz that i think i'm the luckiest girl in all the world. dorothy lives in the em'rald city, you know, and so does the scarecrow and the tin woodman and tik-tok and the shaggy man--and all the rest of 'em that we've heard so much about not to mention ozma, who must be the sweetest and loveliest girl in all the world!" "take your time, trot," advised button-bright. "you don't have to say it all in one breath, you know. and you haven't mentioned half of the curious people in the em'rald city." "that 'ere em'rald city," said cap'n bill impressively, "happens to be on the other side o' those mountains, that we're told no one is able to cross. i don't want to discourage of you, trot, but we're a'most as much separated from your ozma an' dorothy as we were when we lived in californy." there was so much truth in this statement that they all walked on in silence for some time. finally they reached the grove of stately trees that bordered the grounds of the king's castle. they had gone half-way through it when the sound of sobbing, as of someone in bitter distress, reached their ears and caused them to halt abruptly. [illustration] [illustration] chapter pon, the gardener's boy it was button-bright who first discovered, lying on his face beneath a broad spreading tree near the pathway, a young man whose body shook with the force of his sobs. he was dressed in a long brown smock and had sandals on his feet, betokening one in humble life. his head was bare and showed a shock of brown, curly hair. button-bright looked down on the young man and said: "who cares, anyhow?" "i do!" cried the young man, interrupting his sobs to roll over, face upward, that he might see who had spoken. "i care, for my heart is broken!" "can't you get another one?" asked the little boy. "i don't want another!" wailed the young man. by this time trot and cap'n bill arrived at the spot and the girl leaned over and said in a sympathetic voice: "tell us your troubles and perhaps we may help you." the youth sat up, then, and bowed politely. afterward he got upon his feet, but still kept wringing his hands as he tried to choke down his sobs. trot thought he was very brave to control such awful agony so well. "my name is pon," he began. "i'm the gardener's boy." "then the gardener of the king is your father, i suppose," said trot. "not my father, but my master," was the reply. "i do the work and the gardener gives the orders. and it was not my fault, in the least, that the princess gloria fell in love with me." "did she, really?" asked the little girl. "i don't see why," remarked button-bright, staring at the youth. "and who may the princess gloria be?" inquired cap'n bill. "she is the niece of king krewl, who is her guardian. the princess lives in the castle and is the loveliest and sweetest maiden in all jinxland. she is fond of flowers and used to walk in the gardens with her attendants. at such times, if i was working at my tasks, i used to cast down my eyes as gloria passed me; but one day i glanced up and found her gazing at me with a very tender look in her eyes. the next day she dismissed her attendants and, coming to my side, began to talk with me. she said i had touched her heart as no other young man had ever done. i kissed her hand. just then the king came around a bend in the walk. he struck me with his fist and kicked me with his foot. then he seized the arm of the princess and rudely dragged her into the castle." "wasn't he awful!" gasped trot indignantly. "he is a very abrupt king," said pon, "so it was the least i could expect. up to that time i had not thought of loving princess gloria, but realizing it would be impolite not to return her love, i did so. we met at evening, now and then, and she told me the king wanted her to marry a rich courtier named googly-goo, who is old enough to be gloria's father. she has refused googly-goo thirty-nine times, but he still persists and has brought many rich presents to bribe the king. on that account king krewl has commanded his niece to marry the old man, but the princess has assured me, time and again, that she will wed only me. this morning we happened to meet in the grape arbor and as i was respectfully saluting the cheek of the princess, two of the king's guards seized me and beat me terribly before the very eyes of gloria, whom the king himself held back so she could not interfere." [illustration] "why, this king must be a monster!" cried trot. "he is far worse than that," said pon, mournfully. "but, see here," interrupted cap'n bill, who had listened carefully to pon. "this king may not be so much to blame, after all. kings are proud folks, because they're so high an' mighty, an' it isn't reasonable for a royal princess to marry a common gardener's boy." "it isn't right," declared button-bright. "a princess should marry a prince." "i'm not a common gardener's boy," protested pon. "if i had my rights i would be the king instead of krewl. as it is, i'm a prince, and as royal as any man in jinxland." "how does that come?" asked cap'n bill. "my father used to be the king and krewl was his prime minister. but one day while out hunting, king phearse--that was my father's name--had a quarrel with krewl and tapped him gently on the nose with the knuckles of his closed hand. this so provoked the wicked krewl that he tripped my father backward, so that he fell into a deep pond. at once krewl threw in a mass of heavy stones, which so weighted down my poor father that his body could not rise again to the surface. it is impossible to kill anyone in this land, as perhaps you know, but when my father was pressed down into the mud at the bottom of the deep pool and the stones held him so he could never escape, he was of no more use to himself or the world than if he had died. knowing this, krewl proclaimed himself king, taking possession of the royal castle and driving all my father's people out. i was a small boy, then, but when i grew up i became a gardener. i have served king krewl without his knowing that i am the son of the same king phearse whom he so cruelly made away with." "my, but that's a terr'bly exciting story!" said trot, drawing a long breath. "but tell us, pon, who was gloria's father?" "oh, he was the king before my father," replied pon. "father was prime minister for king kynd, who was gloria's father. she was only a baby when king kynd fell into the great gulf that lies just this side of the mountains--the same mountains that separate jinxland from the rest of the land of oz. it is said the great gulf has no bottom; but, however that may be, king kynd has never been seen again and my father became king in his place." "seems to me," said trot, "that if gloria had her rights she would be queen of jinxland." "well, her father was a king," admitted pon, "and so was my father; so we are of equal rank, although she's a great lady and i'm a humble gardener's boy. i can't see why we should not marry if we want to--except that king krewl won't let us." "it's a sort of mixed-up mess, taken altogether," remarked cap'n bill. "but we are on our way to visit king krewl, and if we get a chance, young man, we'll put in a good word for you." "do, please!" begged pon. "was it the flogging you got that broke your heart?' inquired button-bright. "why, it helped to break it, of course," said pon. "i'd get it fixed up, if i were you," advised the boy, tossing a pebble at a chipmunk in a tree. "you ought to give gloria just as good a heart as she gives you." "that's common sense," agreed cap'n bill. so they left the gardener's boy standing beside the path, and resumed their journey toward the castle. [illustration] [illustration] chapter the wicked king and googly-goo when our friends approached the great doorway of the castle they found it guarded by several soldiers dressed in splendid uniforms. they were armed with swords and lances. cap'n bill walked straight up to them and asked: "does the king happen to be at home?" "his magnificent and glorious majesty, king krewl, is at present inhabiting his royal castle," was the stiff reply. "then i guess we'll go in an' say how-d'ye-do," continued cap'n bill, attempting to enter the doorway. but a soldier barred his way with a lance. "who are you, what are your names, and where do you come from? demanded the soldier. "you wouldn't know if we told you," returned the sailor, "seein' as we're strangers in a strange land." "oh, if you are strangers you will be permitted to enter," said the soldier, lowering his lance. "his majesty is very fond of strangers." "do many strangers come here?" asked trot. "you are the first that ever came to our country," said the man. "but his majesty has often said that if strangers ever arrived in jinxland he would see that they had a very exciting time." cap'n bill scratched his chin thoughtfully. he wasn't very favorably impressed by this last remark. but he decided that as there was no way of escape from jinxland it would be wise to confront--the king boldly and try to win his favor. so they entered the castle, escorted by one of the soldiers. it was certainly a fine castle, with many large rooms, all beautifully furnished. the passages were winding and handsomely decorated, and after following several of these the soldier led them into an open court that occupied the very center of the huge building. it was surrounded on every side by high turreted walls, and contained beds of flowers, fountains and walks of many colored marbles which were matched together in quaint designs. in an open space near the middle of the court they saw a group of courtiers and their ladies, who surrounded a lean man who wore upon his head a jeweled crown. his face was hard and sullen and through the slits of his half-closed eyelids the eyes glowed like coals of fire. he was dressed in brilliant satins and velvets and was seated in a golden throne-chair. this personage was king krewl, and as soon as cap'n bill saw him the old sailor knew at once that he was not going to like the king of jinxland. "hello! who's here?" said his majesty, with a deep scowl. "strangers, sire," answered the soldier, bowing so low that his forehead touched the marble tiles. "strangers, eh? well, well; what an unexpected visit! advance, strangers, and give an account of yourselves." the king's voice was as harsh as his features. trot shuddered a little but cap'n bill calmly replied: "there ain't much for us to say, 'cept as we've arrived to look over your country an' see how we like it. judgin' from the way you speak, you don't know who we are, or you'd be jumpin' up to shake hands an' offer us seats. kings usually treat us pretty well, in the great big outside world where we come from, but in this little kingdom which don't amount to much, anyhow folks don't seem to 'a' got much culchure." the king listened with amazement to this bold speech, first with a frown and then gazing at the two children and the old sailor with evident curiosity. the courtiers were dumb with fear, for no one had ever dared speak in such a manner to their self-willed, cruel king before. his majesty, however, was somewhat frightened, for cruel people are always cowards, and he feared these mysterious strangers might possess magic powers that would destroy him unless he treated them well. so he commanded his people to give the new arrivals seats, and they obeyed with trembling haste. after being seated, cap'n bill lighted his pipe and began puffing smoke from it, a sight so strange to them that it filled them all with wonder. presently the king asked: "how did you penetrate to this hidden country? did you cross the desert or the mountains?" "desert," answered cap'n bill, as if the task were too easy to be worth talking about. "indeed! no one has ever been able to do that before," said the king. "well, it's easy enough, if you know how," asserted cap'n bill, so carelessly that it greatly impressed his hearers. the king shifted in his throne uneasily. he was more afraid of these strangers than before. "do you intend to stay long in jinxland?" was his next anxious question. "depends on how we like it," said cap'n bill. "just now i might suggest to your majesty to order some rooms got ready for us in your dinky little castle here. and a royal banquet, with some fried onions an' pickled tripe, would set easy on our stomicks an' make us a bit happier than we are now." "your wishes shall be attended to," said king krewl, but his eyes flashed from between their slits in a wicked way that made trot hope the food wouldn't be poisoned. at the king's command several of his attendants hastened away to give the proper orders to the castle servants and no sooner were they gone than a skinny old man entered the courtyard and bowed before the king. this disagreeable person was dressed in rich velvets, with many furbelows and laces. he was covered with golden chains, finely wrought rings and jeweled ornaments. he walked with mincing steps and glared at all the courtiers as if he considered himself far superior to any or all of them. [illustration] "well, well, your majesty; what news--what news?" he demanded, in a shrill, cracked voice. the king gave him a surly look. "no news, lord googly-goo, except that strangers have arrived," he said. googly-goo cast a contemptuous glance at cap'n bill and a disdainful one at trot and button-bright. then he said: "strangers do not interest me, your majesty. but the princess gloria is very interesting--very interesting, indeed! what does she say, sire? will she marry me?" "ask her," retorted the king. "i have, many times; and every time she has refused." "well?" said the king harshly. "well," said googly-goo in a jaunty tone, "a bird that _can_ sing, and _won't_ sing, must be _made_ to sing." "huh!" sneered the king. "that's easy, with a bird; but a girl is harder to manage." "still," persisted googly-goo, "we must overcome difficulties. the chief trouble is that gloria fancies she loves that miserable gardener's boy, pon. suppose we throw pon into the great gulf, your majesty?" "it would do you no good," returned the king. "she would still love him." "too bad, too bad!" sighed googly-goo. "i have laid aside more than a bushel of precious gems--each worth a king's ransom--to present to your majesty on the day i wed gloria." the king's eyes sparkled, for he loved wealth above everything; but the next moment he frowned deeply again. "it won't help us to kill pon," he muttered. "what we must do is kill gloria's love for pon." "that is better, if you can find a way to do it," agreed googly-goo. "everything would come right if you could kill gloria's love for that gardener's boy. really, sire, now that i come to think of it, there must be fully a bushel and a half of those jewels!" just then a messenger entered the court to say that the banquet was prepared for the strangers. so cap'n bill, trot and button-bright entered the castle and were taken to a room where a fine feast was spread upon the table. "i don't like that lord googly-goo," remarked trot as she was busily eating. "nor i," said cap'n bill. "but from the talk we heard i guess the gardener's boy won't get the princess." "perhaps not," returned the girl; "but i hope old googly doesn't get her, either." "the king means to sell her for all those jewels," observed button-bright, his mouth half full of cake and jam. "poor princess!" sighed trot. "i'm sorry for her, although i've never seen her. but if she says no to googly-goo, and means it, what can they do?" "don't let us worry about a strange princess," advised cap'n bill. "i've a notion we're not too safe, ourselves, with this cruel king." the two children felt the same way and all three were rather solemn during the remainder of the meal. when they had eaten, the servants escorted them to their rooms. cap'n bill's room was way to one end of the castle, very high up, and trot's room was at the opposite end, rather low down. as for button-bright, they placed him in the middle, so that all were as far apart as they could possibly be. they didn't like this arrangement very well, but all the rooms were handsomely furnished and being guests of the king they dared not complain. after the strangers had left the courtyard the king and googly-goo had a long talk together, and the king said: [illustration] "i cannot force gloria to marry you just now, because those strangers may interfere. i suspect that the wooden-legged man possesses great magical powers, or he would never have been able to carry himself and those children across the deadly desert." "i don't like him; he looks dangerous," answered googly-goo. "but perhaps you are mistaken about his being a wizard. why don't you test his powers?" "how?" asked the king. "send for the wicked witch. she will tell you in a moment whether that wooden-legged person is a common man or a magician." "ha! that's a good idea," cried the king. "why didn't i think of the wicked witch before? but the woman demands rich rewards for her services." "never mind; i will pay her," promised the wealthy googly-goo. so a servant was dispatched to summon the wicked witch, who lived but a few leagues from king krewl's castle. while they awaited her, the withered old courtier proposed that they pay a visit to princess gloria and see if she was not now in a more complaisant mood. so the two started away together and searched the castle over without finding gloria. at last googly-goo suggested she might be in the rear garden, which was a large park filled with bushes and trees and surrounded by a high wall. and what was their anger, when they turned a corner of the path, to find in a quiet nook the beautiful princess, and kneeling before her, pon, the gardener's boy! with a roar of rage the king dashed forward; but pon had scaled the wall by means of a ladder, which still stood in its place, and when he saw the king coming he ran up the ladder and made good his escape. but this left gloria confronted by her angry guardian, the king, and by old googly-goo, who was trembling with a fury he could not express in words. seizing the princess by her arm the king dragged her back to the castle. pushing her into a room on the lower floor he locked the door upon the unhappy girl. and at that moment the arrival of the wicked witch was announced. [illustration] hearing this, the king smiled, as a tiger smiles, showing his teeth. and googly-goo smiled, as a serpent smiles, for he had no teeth except a couple of fangs. and having frightened each other with these smiles the two dreadful men went away to the royal council chamber to meet the wicked witch. [illustration: queen gloria] [illustration] chapter the wooden-legged grass-hopper now it so happened that trot, from the window of her room, had witnessed the meeting of the lovers in the garden and had seen the king come and drag gloria away. the little girl's heart went out in sympathy for the poor princess, who seemed to her to be one of the sweetest and loveliest young ladies she had ever seen, so she crept along the passages and from a hidden niche saw gloria locked in her room. the key was still in the lock, so when the king had gone away, followed by googly-goo, trot stole up to the door, turned the key and entered. the princess lay prone upon a couch, sobbing bitterly. trot went up to her and smoothed her hair and tried to comfort her. "don't cry," she said. "i've unlocked the door, so you can go away any time you want to." "it isn't that," sobbed the princess. "i am unhappy because they will not let me love pon, the gardener's boy!" "well, never mind; pon isn't any great shakes, anyhow, seems to me," said trot soothingly. "there are lots of other people you can love." gloria rolled over on the couch and looked at the little girl reproachfully. "pon has won my heart, and i can't help loving him," she explained. then with sudden indignation she added: "but i'll never love googly-goo--never, as long as i live!" "i should say not!" replied trot. "pon may not be much good, but old googly is very, very bad. hunt around, and i'm sure you'll find someone worth your love. you're very pretty, you know, and almost anyone ought to love you." "you don't understand, my dear," said gloria, as she wiped the tears from her eyes with a dainty lace handkerchief bordered with pearls. "when you are older you will realize that a young lady cannot decide whom she will love, or choose the most worthy. her heart alone decides for her, and whomsoever her heart selects, she must love, whether he amounts to much or not." trot was a little puzzled by this speech, which seemed to her unreasonable; but she made no reply and presently gloria's grief softened and she began to question the little girl about herself and her adventures. trot told her how they had happened to come to jinxland, and all about cap'n bill and the ork and pessim and the bumpy man. while they were thus conversing together, getting more and more friendly as they became better acquainted, in the council chamber the king and googly-goo were talking with the wicked witch. this evil creature was old and ugly. she had lost one eye and wore a black patch over it, so the people of jinxland had named her "blinkie." of course witches are forbidden to exist in the land of oz, but jinxland was so far removed from the center of ozma's dominions, and so absolutely cut off from it by the steep mountains and the bottomless gulf, that the laws of oz were not obeyed very well in that country. so there were several witches in jinxland who were the terror of the people, but king krewl favored them and permitted them to exercise their evil sorcery. blinkie was the leader of all the other witches and therefore the most hated and feared. the king used her witchcraft at times to assist him in carrying out his cruelties and revenge, but he was always obliged to pay blinkie large sums of money or heaps of precious jewels before she would undertake an enchantment. this made him hate the old woman almost as much as his subjects did, but to-day lord googly-goo had agreed to pay the witch's price, so the king greeted her with gracious favor. "can you destroy the love of princess gloria for the gardener's boy?" inquired his majesty. the wicked witch thought about it before she replied: "that's a hard question to answer. i can do lots of clever magic, but love is a stubborn thing to conquer. when you think you've killed it, it's liable to bob up again as strong as ever. i believe love and cats have nine lives. in other words, killing love is a hard job, even for a skillful witch, but i believe i can do something that will answer your purpose just as well." "what is that?" asked the king. [illustration] "i can freeze the girl's heart. i've got a special incantation for that, and when gloria's heart is thoroughly frozen she can no longer love pon." "just the thing!" exclaimed googly-goo, and the king was likewise much pleased. they bargained a long time as to the price, but finally the old courtier agreed to pay the wicked witch's demands. it was arranged that they should take gloria to blinkie's house the next day, to have her heart frozen. then king krewl mentioned to the old hag the strangers who had that day arrived in jinxland, and said to her: "i think the two children--the boy and the girl--are unable to harm me, but i have a suspicion that the wooden-legged man is a powerful wizard." the witch's face wore a troubled look when she heard this. "if you are right," she said, "this wizard might spoil my incantation and interfere with me in other ways. so it will be best for me to meet this stranger at once and match my magic against his, to decide which is the stronger." "all right," said the king. "come with me and i will lead you to the man's room." googly-goo did not accompany them, as he was obliged to go home to get the money and jewels he had promised to pay old blinkie, so the other two climbed several flights of stairs and went through many passages until they came to the room occupied by cap'n bill. the sailor-man, finding his bed soft and inviting, and being tired with the adventures he had experienced, had decided to take a nap. when the wicked witch and the king softly opened his door and entered, cap'n bill was snoring with such vigor that he did not hear them at all. blinkie approached the bed and with her one eye anxiously stared at the sleeping stranger. "ah," she said in a soft whisper, "i believe you are right, king krewl. the man looks to me like a very powerful wizard. but by good luck i have caught him asleep, so i shall transform him before he wakes up, giving him such a form that he will be unable to oppose me." "careful!" cautioned the king, also speaking low. "if he discovers what you are doing he may destroy you, and that would annoy me because i need you to attend to gloria." but the wicked witch realized as well as he did that she must be careful. she carried over her arm a black bag, from which she now drew several packets carefully wrapped in paper. three of these she selected, replacing the others in the bag. two of the packets she mixed together and then she cautiously opened the third. "better stand back, your majesty," she advised, "for if this powder falls on you you might be transformed yourself." the king hastily retreated to the end of the room. as blinkie mixed the third powder with the others she waved her hands over it, mumbled a few words, and then backed away as quickly as she could. cap'n bill was slumbering peacefully, all unconscious of what was going on. puff! a great cloud of smoke rolled over the bed and completely hid him from view. when the smoke rolled away, both blinkie and the king saw that the body of the stranger had quite disappeared, while in his place, crouching in the middle of the bed, was a little gray grasshopper. one curious thing about this grasshopper was that the last joint of its left leg was made of wood. another curious thing--considering it was a grasshopper--was that it began talking, crying out in a tiny but sharp voice: "here--you people! what do you mean by treating me so? put me back where i belong, at once, or you'll be sorry!" [illustration] the cruel king turned pale at hearing the grasshopper's threats, but the wicked witch merely laughed in derision. then she raised her stick and aimed a vicious blow at the grasshopper, but before the stick struck the bed the tiny hopper made a marvelous jump--marvelous, indeed, when we consider that it had a wooden leg. it rose in the air and sailed across the room and passed right through the open window, where it disappeared from their view. "good!" shouted the king. "we are well rid of this desperate wizard." and then they both laughed heartily at the success of the incantation, and went away to complete their horrid plans. after trot had visited a time with princess gloria, the little girl went to button-bright's room but did not find him there. then she went to cap'n bill's room, but he was not there because the witch and the king had been there before her. so she made her way downstairs and questioned the servants. they said they had seen the little boy go out into the garden, some time ago, but the old man with the wooden leg they had not seen at all. therefore trot, not knowing what else to do, rambled through the great gardens, seeking for button-bright or cap'n bill and not finding either of them. this part of the garden, which lay before the castle, was not walled in, but extended to the roadway, and the paths were open to the edge of the forest; so, after two hours of vain search for her friends, the little girl returned to the castle. but at the doorway a soldier stopped her. "i live here," said trot, "so it's all right to let me in. the king has given me a room." "well, he has taken it back again," was the soldier's reply. "his majesty's orders are to turn you away if you attempt to enter. i am also ordered to forbid the boy, your companion, to again enter the king's castle." "how 'bout cap'n bill'?' she inquired. "why, it seems he has mysteriously disappeared," replied the soldier, shaking his head ominously. "where he has gone to, i can't make out, but i can assure you he is no longer in this castle. i'm sorry, little girl, to disappoint you. don't blame me; i must obey my master's orders." now, all her life trot had been accustomed to depend on cap'n bill, so when this good friend was suddenly taken from her she felt very miserable and forlorn indeed. she was brave enough not to cry before the soldier, or even to let him see her grief and anxiety, but after she was turned away from the castle she sought a quiet bench in the garden and for a time sobbed as if her heart would break. it was button-bright who found her, at last, just as the sun had set and the shades of evening were falling. he also had been turned away from the king's castle, when he tried to enter it, and in the park he came across trot. "never mind," said the boy. "we can find a place to sleep." "i want cap'n bill," wailed the girl. "well, so do i," was the reply. "but we haven't got him. where do you s'pose he is, trot?" "i don't s'pose anything. he's gone, an' that's all i know 'bout it." button-bright sat on the bench beside her and thrust his hands in the pockets of his knickerbockers. then he reflected somewhat gravely for him. "cap'n bill isn't around here," he said, letting his eyes wander over the dim garden, "so we must go somewhere else if we want to find him. besides, it's fast getting dark, and if we want to find a place to sleep we must get busy while we can see where to go." he rose from the bench as he said this and trot also jumped up, drying her eyes on her apron. then she walked beside him out of the grounds of the king's castle. they did not go by the main path, but passed through an opening in a hedge and found themselves in a small but well-worn roadway. following this for some distance, along a winding way, they came upon no house or building that would afford them refuge for the night. it became so dark that they could scarcely see their way, and finally trot stopped and suggested that they camp under a tree. [illustration] "all right," said button-bright, "i've often found that leaves make a good warm blanket. but--look there, trot!--isn't that a light flashing over yonder?" "it certainly is, button-bright. let's go over and see if it's a house. whoever lives there couldn't treat us worse than the king did." to reach the light they had to leave the road, so they stumbled over hillocks and brushwood, hand in hand, keeping the tiny speck of light always in sight. they were rather forlorn little waifs, outcasts in a strange country and forsaken by their only friend and guardian, cap'n bill. so they were very glad when finally they reached a small cottage and, looking in through its one window, saw pon, the gardener's boy, sitting by a fire of twigs. as trot opened the door and walked boldly in, pon sprang up to greet them. they told him of cap'n bill's disappearance and how they had been turned out of the king's castle. as they finished the story pon shook his head sadly. "king krewl is plotting mischief, i fear," said he, "for to-day he sent for old blinkie, the wicked witch, and with my own eyes i saw her come from the castle and hobble away toward her hut. she had been with the king and googly-goo, and i was afraid they were going to work some enchantment on gloria so she would no longer love me. but perhaps the witch was only called to the castle to enchant your friend, cap'n bill." "could she do that?" asked trot, horrified by the suggestion. "i suppose so, for old blinkie can do a lot of wicked magical things." "what sort of an enchantment could she put on cap'n bill?" "i don't know. but he has disappeared, so i'm pretty certain she has done something dreadful to him. but don't worry. if it has happened, it can't be helped, and if it hasn't happened we may be able to find him in the morning." with this pon went to the cupboard and brought food for them. trot was far too worried to eat, but button-bright made a good supper from the simple food and then lay down before the fire and went to sleep. the little girl and the gardener's boy, however, sat for a long time staring into the fire, busy with their thoughts. but at last trot, too, became sleepy and pon gently covered her with the one blanket he possessed. then he threw more wood on the fire and laid himself down before it, next to button-bright. soon all three were fast asleep. they were in a good deal of trouble; but they were young, and sleep was good to them because for a time it made them forget. [illustration] [illustration] chapter glinda the good and the scarecrow of oz that country south of the emerald city, in the land of oz, is known as the quadling country, and in the very southernmost part of it stands a splendid palace in which lives glinda the good. glinda is the royal sorceress of oz. she has wonderful magical powers and uses them only to benefit the subjects of ozma's kingdom. even the famous wizard of oz pays tribute to her, for glinda taught him all the real magic he knows, and she is his superior in all sorts of sorcery. everyone loves glinda, from the dainty and exquisite ruler, ozma, down to the humblest inhabitant of oz, for she is always kindly and helpful and willing to listen to their troubles, however busy she may be. no one knows her age, but all can see how beautiful and stately she is. her hair is like red gold and finer than the finest silken strands. her eyes are blue as the sky and always frank and smiling. her cheeks are the envy of peach-blows and her mouth is enticing as a rosebud. glinda is tall and wears splendid gowns that trail behind her as she walks. she wears no jewels, for her beauty would shame them. for attendants glinda has half a hundred of the loveliest girls in oz. they are gathered from all over oz, from among the winkies, the munchkins, the gillikins and the quadlings, as well as from ozma's magnificent emerald city, and it is considered a great favor to be allowed to serve the royal sorceress. among the many wonderful things in glinda's palace is the great book of records. in this book is inscribed everything that takes place in all the world, just the instant it happens; so that by referring to its pages glinda knows what is taking place far and near, in every country that exists. in this way she learns when and where she can help any in distress or danger, and although her duties are confined to assisting those who inhabit the land of oz, she is always interested in what takes place in the unprotected outside world. [illustration: the most popular man in the land of oz] so it was that on a certain evening glinda sat in her library, surrounded by a bevy of her maids, who were engaged in spinning, weaving and embroidery, when an attendant announced the arrival at the palace of the scarecrow. this personage was one of the most famous and popular in all the land of oz. his body was merely a suit of munchkin clothes stuffed with straw, but his head was a round sack filled with bran, with which the wizard of oz had mixed some magic brains of a very superior sort. the eyes, nose and mouth of the scarecrow were painted upon the front of the sack, as were his ears, and since this quaint being had been endowed with life, the expression of his face was very interesting, if somewhat comical. the scarecrow was good all through, even to his brains, and while he was naturally awkward in his movements and lacked the neat symmetry of other people, his disposition was so kind and considerate and he was so obliging and honest, that all who knew him loved him, and there were few people in oz who had not met our scarecrow and made his acquaintance. he lived part of the time in ozma's palace at the emerald city, part of the time in his own corncob castle in the winkie country, and part of the time he traveled over all oz, visiting with the people and playing with the children, whom he dearly loved. it was on one of his wandering journeys that the scarecrow had arrived at glinda's palace, and the sorceress at once made him welcome. as he sat beside her, talking of his adventures, he asked: "what's new in the way of news?" glinda opened her great book of records and read some of the last pages. "here is an item quite curious and interesting," she announced, an accent of surprise in her voice. "three people from the big outside world have arrived in jinxland." "where is jinxland?' inquired the scarecrow. "very near here, a little to the east of us," she said. "in fact, jinxland is a little slice taken off the quadling country, but separated from it by a range of high mountains, at the foot of which lies a wide, deep gulf that is supposed to be impassable." "then jinxland is really a part of the land of oz," said he. "yes," returned glinda, "but oz people know nothing of it, except what is recorded here in my book." "what does the book say about it?' asked the scarecrow. "it is ruled by a wicked man called king krewl, although he has no right to the title. most of the people are good, but they are very timid and live in constant fear of their fierce ruler. there are also several wicked witches who keep the inhabitants of jinxland in a state of terror." "do those witches have any magical powers?" inquired the scarecrow. "yes, they seem to understand witchcraft in its most evil form, for one of them has just transformed a respectable and honest old sailor--one of the strangers who arrived there--into a grasshopper. this same witch, blinkie by name, is also planning to freeze the heart of a beautiful jinxland girl named princess gloria." "why, that's a dreadful thing to do!" exclaimed the scarecrow. glinda's face was very grave. she read in her book how trot and button-bright were turned out of the king's castle, and how they found refuge in the hut of pon, the gardener's boy. "i'm afraid those helpless earth people will endure much suffering in jinxland, even if the wicked king and the witches permit them to live," said the good sorceress, thoughtfully. "i wish i might help them." "can i do anything?" asked the scarecrow, anxiously. "if so, tell me what to do, and til do it." [illustration] for a few moments glinda did not reply, but sat musing over the records. then she said: "i am going to send you to jinxland, to protect trot and button-bright and cap'n bill." "all right," answered the scarecrow in a cheerful voice. "i know button-bright already, for he has been in the land of oz before. you remember he went away from the land of oz in one of our wizard's big bubbles." "yes," said glinda, "i remember that." then she carefully instructed the scarecrow what to do and gave him certain magical things which he placed in the pockets of his ragged munchkin coat. "as you have no need to sleep," said she, "you may as well start at once." "the night is the same as day to me," he replied, "except that i cannot see my way so well in the dark." "i will furnish a light to guide you," promised the sorceress. so the scarecrow bade her good-bye and at once started on his journey. by morning he had reached the mountains that separated the quadling country from jinxland. the sides of these mountains were too steep to climb, but the scarecrow took a small rope from his pocket and tossed one end upward, into the air. the rope unwound itself for hundreds of feet, until it caught upon a peak of rock at the very top of a mountain, for it was a magic rope furnished him by glinda. the scarecrow climbed the rope and, after pulling it up, let it down on the other side of the mountain range. when he descended the rope on this side he found himself in jinxland, but at his feet yawned the great gulf, which must be crossed before he could proceed any farther. [illustration] [illustration] the scarecrow knelt down and examined the ground carefully, and in a moment he discovered a fuzzy brown spider that had rolled itself into a ball. so he took two tiny pills from his pocket and laid them beside the spider, which unrolled itself and quickly ate up the pills. then the scarecrow said in a voice of command: "spin!" and the spider obeyed instantly. [illustration] in a few moments the little creature had spun two slender but strong strands that reached way across the gulf, one being five or six feet above the other. when these were completed the scarecrow started across the tiny bridge, walking upon one strand as a person walks upon a rope, and holding to the upper strand with his hands to prevent him from losing his balance and toppling over into the gulf. the tiny threads held him safely, thanks to the strength given them by the magic pills. presently he was safe across and standing on the plains of jinxland. far away he could see the towers of the king's castle and toward this he at once began to walk. [illustration] chapter the frozen heart in the hut of pon, the gardener's boy, button-bright was the first to waken in the morning. leaving his companions still asleep, he went out into the fresh morning air and saw some blackberries growing on bushes in a field not far away. going to the bushes he found the berries ripe and sweet, so he began eating them. more bushes were scattered over the fields, so the boy wandered on, from bush to bush, without paying any heed to where he was wandering. then a butterfly fluttered by. he gave chase to it and followed it a long way. when finally he paused to look around him, button-bright could see no sign of pon's house, nor had he the slightest idea in which direction it lay. "well, i'm lost again," he remarked to himself. "but never mind; i've been lost lots of times. someone is sure to find me." trot was a little worried about button-bright when she awoke and found him gone. knowing how careless he was, she believed that he had strayed away, but felt that he would come back in time, because he had a habit of not staying lost. pon got the little girl some food for her breakfast and then together they went out of the hut and stood in the sunshine. pon's house was some distance off the road, but they could see it from where they stood and both gave a start of surprise when they discovered two soldiers walking along the roadway and escorting princess gloria between them. the poor girl had her hands bound together, to prevent her from struggling, and the soldiers rudely dragged her forward when her steps seemed to lag. behind this group came king krewl, wearing his jeweled crown and swinging in his hand a slender golden staff with a ball of clustered gems at one end. "where are they going?'' asked trot. "to the house of the wicked witch, i fear," pon replied. "come, let us follow them, for i am sure they intend to harm my dear gloria." "won't they see us?" she asked timidly. "we won't let them. i know a short cut through the trees to blinkie's house," said he. so they hurried away through the trees and reached the house of the witch ahead of the king and his soldiers. hiding themselves in the shrubbery, they watched the approach of poor gloria and her escort, all of whom passed so near to them that pon could have put out a hand and touched his sweetheart, had he dared to. blinkie's house had eight sides, with a door and a window in each side. smoke was coming out of the chimney and as the guards brought gloria to one of the doors it was opened by the old witch in person. she chuckled with evil glee and rubbed her skinny hands together to show the delight with which she greeted her victim, for blinkie was pleased to be able to perform her wicked rites on one so fair and sweet as the princess. gloria struggled to resist when they bade her enter the house, so the soldiers forced her through the doorway and even the king gave her a shove as he followed close behind. pon was so incensed at the cruelty shown gloria that he forgot all caution and rushed forward to enter the house also; but one of the soldiers prevented him, pushing the gardener's boy away with violence and slamming the door in his face. "never mind," said trot soothingly, as pon rose from where he had fallen. "you couldn't do much to help the poor princess if you were inside. how unfortunate it is that you are in love with her!" "true," he answered sadly, "it is indeed my misfortune. if i did not love her, it would be none of my business what the king did to his niece gloria; but the unlucky circumstance of my loving her makes it my duty to defend her." "i don't see how you can, duty or no duty," observed trot. "no; i am powerless, for they are stronger than i. but we might peek in through the window and see what they are doing." trot was somewhat curious, too, so they crept up to one of the windows and looked in, and it so happened that those inside the witch's house were so busy they did not notice that pon and trot were watching them. gloria had been tied to a stout post in the center of the room and the king was giving the wicked witch a quantity of money and jewels, which googly-goo had provided in payment. when this had been done the king said to her: "are you perfectly sure you can freeze this maiden's heart, so that she will no longer love that low gardener's boy?" "sure as witchcraft, your majesty," the creature replied. "then get to work," said the king. "there may be some unpleasant features about the ceremony that would annoy me, so i'll bid you good day and leave you to carry out your contract. one word, however: if you fail, i shall burn you at the stake!" then he beckoned to his soldiers to follow him, and throwing wide the door of the house walked out. this action was so sudden that king krewl almost caught trot and pon eavesdropping, but they managed to run around the house before he saw them. away he marched, up the road, followed by his men, heartlessly leaving gloria to the mercies of old blinkie. [illustration] when they again crept up to the window, trot and pon saw blinkie gloating over her victim. although nearly fainting from fear, the proud princess gazed with haughty defiance into the face of the wicked creature; but she was bound so tightly to the post that she could do no more to express her loathing. pretty soon blinkie went to a kettle that was swinging by a chain over the fire and tossed into it several magical compounds. the kettle gave three flashes, and at every flash another witch appeared in the room. these hags were very ugly but when one-eyed blinkie whispered her orders to them they grinned with joy as they began dancing around gloria. first one and then another cast something into the kettle, when to the astonishment of the watchers at the window all three of the old women were instantly transformed into maidens of exquisite beauty, dressed in the daintiest costumes imaginable. only their eyes could not be disguised, and an evil glare still shone in their depths. but if the eyes were cast down or hidden, one could not help but admire these beautiful creatures, even with the knowledge that they were mere illusions of witchcraft. trot certainly admired them, for she had never seen anything so dainty and bewitching, but her attention was quickly drawn to their deeds instead of their persons, and then horror replaced admiration. into the kettle old blinkie poured another mess from a big brass bottle she took from a chest, and this made the kettle begin to bubble and smoke violently. one by one the beautiful witches approached to stir the contents of the kettle and to mutter a magic charm. their movements were graceful and rhythmic and the wicked witch who had called them to her aid watched them with an evil grin upon her wrinkled face. finally the incantation was complete. the kettle ceased bubbling and together the witches lifted it from the fire. then blinkie brought a wooden ladle and filled it from the contents of the kettle. going with the spoon to princess gloria she cried: "love no more! magic art now will freeze your mortal heart!" with this she dashed the contents of the ladle full upon gloria's breast. trot saw the body of the princess become transparent, so that her beating heart showed plainly. but now the heart turned from a vivid red to gray, and then to white. a layer of frost formed about it and tiny icicles clung to its surface. then slowly the body of the girl became visible again and the heart was hidden from view. gloria seemed to have fainted, but now she recovered and, opening her beautiful eyes, stared coldly and without emotion at the group of witches confronting her. blinkie and the others knew by that one cold look that their charm had been successful. they burst into a chorus of wild laughter and the three beautiful ones began dancing again, while blinkie unbound the princess and set her free. trot rubbed her eyes to prove that she was wide awake and seeing clearly, for her astonishment was great when the three lovely maidens turned into ugly, crooked hags again, leaning on broomsticks and canes. they jeered at gloria, but the princess regarded them with cold disdain. being now free, she walked to a door, opened it and passed out. and the witches let her go. trot and pon had been so intent upon this scene that in their eagerness they had pressed quite hard against the window. just as gloria went out of the house the window-sash broke loose from its fastenings and fell with a crash into the room. the witches uttered a chorus of screams and then, seeing that their magical incantation had been observed, they rushed for the open window with uplifted broomsticks and canes. but pon was off like the wind, and trot followed at his heels. fear lent them strength to run, to leap across ditches, to speed up the hills and to vault the low fences as a deer would. [illustration] the band of witches had dashed through the window in pursuit; but blinkie was so old, and the others so crooked and awkward, that they soon realized they would be unable to overtake the fugitives. so the three who had been summoned by the wicked witch put their canes or broomsticks between their legs and flew away through the air, quickly disappearing against the blue sky. blinkie, however, was so enraged at pon and trot that she hobbled on in the direction they had taken, fully determined to catch them, in time, and to punish them terribly for spying upon her witchcraft. when pon and trot had run so far that they were confident they had made good their escape, they sat down near the edge of a forest to get their breath again, for both were panting hard from their exertions. trot was the first to recover speech, and she said to her companion: "my! wasn't it tenable?" "the most terrible thing i ever saw," pon agreed. "and they froze gloria's heart; so now she can't love you any more." "well, they froze her heart, to be sure," admitted pon, "but i'm in hopes i can melt it with my love." "where do you s'pose gloria is?' asked the girl, after a pause. "she left the witch's house just before we did. perhaps she has gone back to the king's castle," he said. "i'm pretty sure she started off in a different direction," declared trot. "i looked over my shoulder, as i ran, to see how close the witches were, and i'm sure i saw gloria walking slowly away toward the north." "then let us circle around that way," proposed pon, "and perhaps we shall meet her." trot agreed to this and they left the grove and began to circle around toward the north, thus drawing nearer and nearer to old blinkie's house again. the wicked witch did not suspect this change of direction, so when she came to the grove she passed through it and continued on. pon and trot had reached a place less than half a mile from the witch's house when they saw gloria walking toward them. the princess moved with great dignity and with no show of haste whatever, holding her head high and looking neither to right nor left. pon rushed forward, holding out his arms as if to embrace her and calling her sweet names. but gloria gazed upon him coldly and repelled him with a haughty gesture. at this the poor gardener's boy sank upon his knees and hid his face in his arms, weeping bitter tears; but the princess was not at all moved by his distress. passing him by, she drew her skirts aside, as if unwilling they should touch him, and then she walked up the path a way and hesitated, as if uncertain where to go next. trot was grieved by pon's sobs and indignant because gloria treated him so badly. but she remembered why. "i guess your heart is frozen, all right," she said to the princess. gloria nodded gravely, in reply, and then turned her back upon the little girl. "can't you like even me?" asked trot, half pleadingly. "no," said gloria. "your voice sounds like a refrig'rator," sighed the little girl. "i'm awful sorry for you, 'cause you were sweet an' nice to me before this happened. you can't help it, of course; but it's a dreadful thing, jus' the same." "my heart is frozen to all mortal loves," announced gloria, calmly. "i do not love even myself." [illustration] "that's too bad," said trot, "for, if you can't love anybody, you can't expect anybody to love you." "i do!" cried pon. "i shall always love her." "well, you're just a gardener's boy," replied trot, "and i didn't think you 'mounted to much, from the first. i can love the old princess gloria, with a warm heart an' nice manners, but this one gives me the shivers." "it's her icy heart, that's all," said pon. "that's enough," insisted trot. "seeing her heart isn't big enough to skate on, i can't see that she's of any use to anyone. for my part, i'm goin' to try to find button-bright an' cap'n bill." "i will go with you," decided pon. "it is evident that gloria no longer loves me and that her heart is frozen too stiff for me to melt it with my own love; therefore i may as well help you to find your friends." as trot started off, pon cast one more imploring look at the princess, who returned it with a chilly stare. so he followed after the little girl. as for the princess, she hesitated a moment and then turned in the same direction the others had taken, but going far more slowly. soon she heard footsteps pattering behind her, and up came googly-goo, a little out of breath with running. "stop, gloria!" he cried. "i have come to take you back to my mansion, where we are to be married." she looked at him wonderingly a moment, then tossed her head disdainfully and walked on. but googly-goo kept beside her. "what does this mean?" he demanded. "haven't you discovered that you no longer love that gardener's boy, who stood in my way?" "yes; i have discovered it," she replied. "my heart is frozen to all mortal loves. i cannot love you, or pon, or the cruel king my uncle, or even myself. go your way, googly-goo, for i will wed no one at all." he stopped in dismay when he heard this, but in another minute he exclaimed angrily: "you _must_ wed me, princess gloria, whether you want to or not! i paid to have your heart frozen; i also paid the king to permit our marriage. if you now refuse me it will mean that i have been robbed--robbed--robbed of my precious money and jewels!" he almost wept with despair, but she laughed a cold, bitter laugh and passed on. googly-goo caught at her arm, as if to restrain her, but she whirled and dealt him a blow that sent him reeling into a ditch beside the path. here he lay for a long time, half covered by muddy water, dazed with surprise. finally the old courtier arose, dripping, and climbed from the ditch. the princess had gone; so, muttering threats of vengeance upon her, upon the king and upon blinkie, old googly-goo hobbled back to his mansion to have the mud removed from his costly velvet clothes. [illustration] [illustration] chapter trot meets the scarecrow trot and pon covered many leagues of ground, searching through forests, in fields and in many of the little villages of jinxland, but could find no trace of either cap'n bill or button-bright. finally they paused beside a cornfield and sat upon a stile to rest. pon took some apples from his pocket and gave one to trot. then he began eating another himself, for this was their time for luncheon. when his apple was finished pon tossed the core into the field. "tchuk-tchuk!" said a strange voice. "what do you mean by hitting me in the eye with an apple-core?" then rose up the form of the scarecrow, who had hidden himself in the cornfield while he examined pon and trot and decided whether they were worthy to be helped. "excuse me," said pon. "i didn't know you were there." "how did you happen to be there, anyhow?" asked trot. the scarecrow came forward with awkward steps and stood beside them. "ah, you are the gardener's boy," he said to pon. then he turned to trot. "and you are the little girl who came to jinxland riding on a big bird, and who has had the misfortune to lose her friend, cap'n bill, and her chum, button-bright." "why, how did you know all that?" she inquired. "i know a lot of things," replied the scarecrow, winking at her comically. "my brains are the carefully-assorted, double-distilled, high-efficiency sort that the wizard of oz makes. he admits, himself, that my brains are the best he ever manufactured." "i think i've heard of you," said trot slowly, as she looked the scarecrow over with much interest; "but you used to live in the land of oz." "oh, i do now," he replied cheerfully. "i've just come over the mountains from the quadling country to see if i can be of any help to you." "who, me?" asked pon. "no, the strangers from the big world. it seems they need looking after." "i'm doing that myself," said pon, a little ungraciously. "if you will pardon me for saying so, i don't see how a scarecrow with painted eyes can look after anyone." "if you don't see that, you are more blind than the scarecrow," asserted trot. "he's a fairy man, pon, and comes from the fairyland of oz, so he can do 'most anything. i hope," she added, turning to the scarecrow, "you can find cap'n bill for me." "i will try, anyhow," he promised. "but who is that old woman who is running toward us and shaking her stick at us?" trot and pon turned around and both uttered an exclamation of fear. the next instant they took to their heels and ran fast up the path. for it was old blinkie, the wicked witch, who had at last traced them to this place. her anger was so great that she was determined not to abandon the chase of pon and trot until she had caught and punished them. the scarecrow understood at once that the old woman meant harm to his new friends, so as she drew near he stepped before her. his appearance was so sudden and unexpected that blinkie ran into him and toppled him over, but she tripped on his straw body and went rolling in the path beside him. [illustration] the scarecrow sat up and said: "i beg your pardon!" but she whacked him with her stick and knocked him flat again. then, furious with rage, the old witch sprang upon her victim and began pulling the straw out of his body. the poor scarecrow was helpless to resist and in a few moments all that was left of him was an empty suit of clothes and a heap of straw beside it. fortunately, blinkie did not harm his head, for it rolled into a little hollow and escaped her notice. fearing that pon and trot would escape her, she quickly resumed the chase and disappeared over the brow of a hill, following the direction in which she had seen them go. only a short time elapsed before a gray grasshopper with a wooden leg came hopping along and lit directly on the upturned face of the scarecrow's head. "pardon me, but you are resting yourself upon my nose," remarked the scarecrow. [illustration] "oh! are you alive?" asked the grasshopper. "that is a question i have never been able to decide," said the scarecrow's head. "when my body is properly stuffed i have animation and can move around as well as any live person. the brains in the head you are now occupying as a throne, are of very superior quality and do a lot of very clever thinking. but whether that is being alive, or not, i cannot prove to you; for one who lives is liable to death, while i am only liable to destruction." "seems to me," said the grasshopper, rubbing his nose with his front legs, "that in your case it doesn't matter--unless you're destroyed already." "i am not; all i need is re-stuffing," declared the scarecrow; "and if pon and trot escape the witch, and come back here, i am sure they will do me that favor." "tell me! are trot and pon around here?" inquired the grasshopper, its small voice trembling with excitement. the scarecrow did not answer at once, for both his eyes were staring straight upward at a beautiful face that was slightly bent over his head. it was, indeed, princess gloria, who had wandered to this spot, very much surprised when she heard the scarecrow's head talk and the tiny gray grasshopper answer it. "this," said the scarecrow, still staring at her, "must be the princess who loves pon, the gardener's boy." "oh, indeed!" exclaimed the grasshopper--who of course was cap'n bill--as he examined the young lady curiously. "no," said gloria frigidly, "i do not love pon, or anyone else, for the wicked witch has frozen my heart." "what a shame!" cried the scarecrow. "one so lovely should be able to love. but would you mind, my dear, stuffing that straw into my body again?" the dainty princess glanced at the straw and at the well-worn blue munchkin clothes and shrank back in disdain. but she was spared from refusing the scarecrow's request by the appearance of trot and pon, who had hidden in some bushes just over the brow of the hill and waited until old blinkie had passed them by. their hiding place was on the same side as the witch's blind eye, and she rushed on in the chase of the girl and the youth without being aware that they had tricked her. [illustration] trot was shocked at the scarecrow's sad condition and at once began putting the straw back into his body. pon, at sight of gloria, again appealed to her to take pity on him, but the frozen-hearted princess turned coldly away and with a sigh the gardener's boy began to assist trot. neither of them at first noticed the small grasshopper, which at their appearance had skipped off the scarecrow's nose and was now clinging to a wisp of grass beside the path, where he was not likely to be stepped upon. not until the scarecrow had been neatly restuffed and set upon his feet again when he bowed to his restorers and expressed his thanks did the grasshopper move from his perch. then he leaped lightly into the path and called out: "trot--trot! look at me. i'm cap'n bill! see what the wicked witch has done to me." the voice was small, to be sure, but it reached trot's ears and startled her greatly. she looked intently at the grasshopper, her eyes wide with fear at first; then she knelt down and, noticing the wooden leg, she began to weep sorrowfully. "oh, cap'n bill--dear cap'n bill! what a cruel thing to do!'' she sobbed. "don't cry, trot," begged the grasshopper. "it didn't hurt any, and it doesn't hurt now. but it's mighty inconvenient an' humiliatin', to say the least." "i wish," said the girl indignantly, while trying hard to restrain her tears, "that i was big 'nough an' strong 'nough to give that horrid witch a good beating. she ought to be turned into a toad for doing this to you, cap'n bill!" "never mind," urged the scarecrow, in a comforting voice, "such a transformation doesn't last always, and as a general thing there's some way to break the enchantment. i'm sure glinda could do it, in a jiffy." "who is glinda?" inquired cap'n bill. then the scarecrow told them all about glinda, not forgetting to mention her beauty and goodness and her wonderful powers of magic. he also explained how the royal sorceress had sent him to jinxland especially to help the strangers, whom she knew to be in danger because of the wiles of the cruel king and the wicked witch. [illustration] [illustration] chapter pon summons the king to surrender gloria had drawn near to the group to listen to their talk, and it seemed to interest her in spite of her frigid manner. they knew, of course, that the poor princess could not help being cold and reserved, so they tried not to blame her. "i ought to have come here a little sooner," said the scarecrow, regretfully; "but glinda sent me as soon as she discovered you were here and were likely to get into trouble. and now that we are all together--except button-bright, over whom it is useless to worry--i propose we hold a council of war, to decide what is best to be done." that seemed a wise thing to do, so they all sat down upon the grass, including gloria, and the grasshopper perched upon trot's shoulder and allowed her to stroke him gently with her hand. "in the first place," began the scarecrow, "this king krewl is a usurper and has no right to rule this kingdom of jinxland." "that is true," said pon, eagerly. "my father was king before him, and i--" "you are a gardener's boy," interrupted the scarecrow. "your father had no right to rule, either, for the rightful king of this land was the father of princess gloria, and only she is entitled to sit upon the throne of jinxland." "good!" exclaimed trot. "but what'll we do with king krewl? i s'pose he won't give up the throne unless he has to." "no, of course not," said the scarecrow. "therefore it will be our duty to _make_ him give up the throne." "how?" asked trot. "give me time to think," was the reply. "that's what my brains are for. i don't know whether you people ever think, or not, but my brains are the best that the wizard of oz ever turned out, and if i give them plenty of time to work, the result usually surprises me." "take your time, then," suggested trot. "there's no hurry." "thank you," said the straw man, and sat perfectly still for half an hour. during this interval the grasshopper whispered in trot's ear, to which he was very close, and trot whispered back to the grasshopper sitting upon her shoulder. pon cast loving glances at gloria, who paid not the slightest heed to them. finally the scarecrow laughed aloud. "brains working?" inquired trot. "yes. they seem in fine order to-day. we will conquer king krewl and put gloria upon his throne as queen of jinxland." "fine!" cried the little girl, clapping her hands together gleefully. "but how?" "leave the _how_ to me," said the scarecrow proudly. "as a conqueror i'm a wonder. we will, first of all, write a message to send to king krewl, asking him to surrender. if he refuses, then we will make him surrender." "why ask him, when we _know_ he'll refuse?" inquired pon. "why, we must be polite, whatever we do," explained the scarecrow. "it would be very rude to conquer a king without proper notice." [illustration] they found it difficult to write a message without paper, pen and ink, none of which was at hand; so it was decided to send pon as a messenger, with instructions to ask the king, politely but firmly, to surrender. pon was not anxious to be the messenger. indeed, he hinted that it might prove a dangerous mission. but the scarecrow was now the acknowledged head of the army of conquest, and he would listen to no refusal. so off pon started for the king's castle, and the others accompanied him as far as his hut, where they had decided to await the gardener's boy's return. i think it was because pon had known the scarecrow such a short time that he lacked confidence in the straw man's wisdom. it was easy to say: "we will conquer king krewl," but when pon drew near to the great castle he began to doubt the ability of a straw-stuffed man, a girl, a grasshopper and a frozen-hearted princess to do it. as for himself, he had never thought of defying the king before. that was why the gardener's boy was not very bold when he entered the castle and passed through to the enclosed court where the king was just then seated, with his favorite courtiers around him. none prevented pon's entrance, because he was known to be the gardener's boy, but when the king saw him he began to frown fiercely. he considered pon to be to blame for all his trouble with princess gloria, who since her heart had been frozen had escaped to some unknown place, instead of returning to the castle to wed googly-goo, as she had been expected to do. so the king bared his teeth angrily as he demanded: [illustration] "what have you done with princess gloria?" "nothing, your majesty! i have done nothing at all," answered pon in a faltering voice. "she does not love me any more and even refuses to speak to me." "then why are you here, you rascal?" roared the king. pon looked first one way and then another, but saw no means of escape; so he plucked up courage. "i am here to summon your majesty to surrender." "what!" shouted the king. "surrender? surrender to whom?" pon's heart sank to his boots. "to the scarecrow," he replied. some of the courtiers began to titter, but king krewl was greatly annoyed. he sprang up and began to beat poor pon with the golden staff he carried. pon howled lustily and would have run away had not two of the soldiers held him until his majesty was exhausted with punishing the boy. then they let him go and he left the castle and returned along the road, sobbing at every step because his body was so sore and aching. "well," said the scarecrow, "did the king surrender?" "no; but he gave me a good drubbing!" sobbed poor pon. trot was very sorry for pon, but gloria did not seem affected in any way by her lover's anguish. the grasshopper leaped to the scarecrow's shoulder and asked him what he was going to do next. "conquer," was the reply. "but i will go alone, this time, for beatings cannot hurt me at all; nor can lance thrusts--or sword cuts--or arrow pricks." "why is that?" inquired trot. "because i have no nerves, such as you meat people possess. even grasshoppers have nerves, but straw doesn't; so whatever they do--except just one thing--they cannot injure me. therefore i expect to conquer king krewl with ease." "what is that one thing you excepted?" asked trot. "they will never think of it, so never mind. and now, if you will kindly excuse me for a time, i'll go over to the castle and do my conquering." "you have no weapons," pon reminded him. "true," said the scarecrow. "but if i carried weapons i might injure someone--perhaps seriously--and that would make me unhappy. i will just borrow that riding-whip, which i see in the corner of your hut, if you don't mind. it isn't exactly proper to walk with a riding-whip, but i trust you will excuse the inconsistency." pon handed him the whip and the scarecrow bowed to all the party and left the hut, proceeding leisurely along the way to the king's castle. [illustration] [illustration] chapter the ork rescues button-bright i must now tell you what had become of button-bright since he wandered away in the morning and got lost. this small boy, as perhaps you have discovered, was almost as destitute of nerves as the scarecrow. nothing ever astonished him much; nothing ever worried him or made him unhappy. good fortune or bad fortune he accepted with a quiet smile, never complaining, whatever happened. this was one reason why button-bright was a favorite with all who knew him--and perhaps it was the reason why he so often got into difficulties, or found himself lost. to-day, as he wandered here and there, over hill and down dale, he missed trot and cap'n bill, of whom he was fond, but nevertheless he was not unhappy. the birds sang merrily and the wildflowers were beautiful and the breeze had a fragrance of new-mown hay. "the only bad thing about this country is its king," he reflected; "but the country isn't to blame for that." a prairie-dog stuck its round head out of a mound of earth and looked at the boy with bright eyes. "walk around my house, please," it said, "and then you won't harm it or disturb the babies." "all right," answered button-bright, and took care not to step on the mound. he went on, whistling merrily, until a petulant voice cried: "oh, stop it! please stop that noise. it gets on my nerves." button-bright saw an old gray owl sitting in the crotch of a tree, and he replied with a laugh: "all right, old fussy," and stopped whistling until he had passed out of the owl's hearing. at noon he came to a farmhouse where an aged couple lived. they gave him a good dinner and treated him kindly, but the man was deaf and the woman was dumb, so they could answer no questions to guide him on the way to port's house. when he left them he was just as much lost as he had been before. every grove of trees he saw from a distance he visited, for he remembered that the king's castle was near a grove of trees and pon's hut was near the king's castle; but always he met with disappointment. finally, passing through one of these groves, he came out into the open and found himself face to face with the ork. "hello!" said button-bright. "where did _you_ come from?" [illustration] "from orkland," was the reply. "i've found my own country, at last, and it is not far from here, either. i would have come back to you sooner, to see how you are getting along, had not my family and friends welcomed my return so royally that a great celebration was held in my honor. so i couldn't very well leave orkland again until the excitement was over." "can you find your way back home again?" asked the boy. "yes, easily; for now i know exactly where it is. but where are trot and cap'n bill?" button-bright related to the ork their adventures since it had left them in jinxland, telling of trot's fear that the king had done something wicked to cap'n bill, and of pon's love for gloria, and how trot and button-bright had been turned out of the king's castle. that was all the news that the boy had, but it made the ork anxious for the safety of his friends. "we must go to them at once, for they may need us," he said. "i don't know where to go," confessed button-bright. "i'm lost." "well, i can take you back to the hut of the gardener's boy," promised the ork, "for when i fly high in the air i can look down and easily spy the king's castle. that was how i happened to spy you, just entering the grove; so i flew down and waited until you came out." "how can you carry me?" asked the boy. "you'll have to sit straddle my shoulders and put your arms around my neck. do you think you can keep from falling off?" "til try," said button-bright. so the ork squatted down and the boy took his seat and held on tight. then the skinny creature's tail began whirling and up they went, far above all the tree-tops. after the ork had circled around once or twice, its sharp eyes located the towers of the castle and away it flew, straight toward the place. as it hovered in the air, near by the castle, button-bright pointed out pon's hut, so they landed just before it and trot came running out to greet them. gloria was introduced to the ork, who was surprised to find cap'n bill transformed into a grasshopper. "how do you like it?" asked the creature. "why, it worries me a good deal," answered cap'n bill, perched upon trot's shoulder. "i'm always afraid o' bein' stepped on, and i don't like the flavor of grass an' can't seem to get used to it. it's my nature to eat grass, you know, but i begin to suspect it's an acquired taste." "can you give molasses?" asked the ork. "i guess i'm not that kind of a grasshopper," replied cap'n bill. "but i can't say what i might do if i was squeezed--which i hope i won't be." "well," said the ork, "it's a great pity, and i'd like to meet that cruel king and his wicked witch and punish them both severely. you're awfully small, cap'n bill, but i think i would recognize you anywhere by your wooden leg." then the ork and button-bright were told all about gloria's frozen heart and how the scarecrow had come from the land of oz to help them. the ork seemed rather disturbed when it learned that the scarecrow had gone alone to conquer king krewl. "i'm afraid he'll make a fizzle of it," said the skinny creature, "and there's no telling what that terrible king might do to the poor scarecrow, who seems like a very interesting person. so i believe i'll take a hand in this conquest myself." "how?" asked trot. "wait and see," was the reply. "but, first of all, i must fly home again--back to my own country--so if you'll forgive my leaving you so soon, i'll be off at once. stand away from my tail, please, so that the wind from it, when it revolves, won't knock you over." they gave the creature plenty of room and away it went like a flash and soon disappeared in the sky. "i wonder," said button-bright, looking solemnly after the ork, "whether he'll ever come back again." "of course he will!" returned trot. "the ork's a pretty good fellow, and we can depend on him. an' mark my words, button-bright, whenever our ork does come back, there's one cruel king in jinxland that'll wish he hadn't." [illustration] [illustration] chapter the scarecrow meets an enemy the scarecrow was not a bit afraid of king krewl. indeed, he rather enjoyed the prospect of conquering the evil king and putting gloria on the throne of jinxland in his place. so he advanced boldly to the royal castle and demanded admittance. seeing that he was a stranger, the soldiers allowed him to enter. he made his way straight to the throne room, where at that time his majesty was settling the disputes among his subjects. "who are you?" demanded the king. "i'm the scarecrow of oz, and i command you to surrender yourself my prisoner." [illustration] "why should i do that?" inquired the king, much astonished at the straw man's audacity. "because i've decided you are too cruel a king to rule so beautiful a country. you must remember that jinxland is a part of oz, and therefore you owe allegiance to ozma of oz, whose friend and servant i am." now, when he heard this, king krewl was much disturbed in mind, for he knew the scarecrow spoke the truth. but no one had ever before come to jinxland from the land of oz and the king did not intend to be put out of his throne if he could help it. therefore he gave a harsh, wicked laugh of derision and said: "i'm busy, now. stand out of my way, scarecrow, and i'll talk with you by and by." but the scarecrow turned to the assembled courtiers and people and called in a loud voice: "i hereby declare, in the name of ozma of oz, that this man is no longer ruler of jinxland. from this moment princess gloria is your rightful queen, and i ask all of you to be loyal to her and to obey her commands." the people looked fearfully at the king, whom they all hated in their hearts, but likewise feared. krewl was now in a terrible rage and he raised his golden sceptre and struck the scarecrow so heavy a blow that he fell to the floor. but he was up again, in an instant, and with pon's riding-whip he switched the king so hard that the wicked monarch roared with pain as much as with rage, calling on his soldiers to capture the scarecrow. they tried to do that, and thrust their lances and swords into the straw body, but without doing any damage except to make holes in the scarecrow's clothes. however, they were many against one and finally old googly-goo brought a rope which he wound around the scarecrow, binding his legs together and his arms to his sides, and after that the fight was over. the king stormed and danced around in a dreadful fury, for he had never been so switched since he was a boy--and perhaps not then. he ordered the scarecrow thrust into the castle prison, which was no task at all because one man could carry him easily, bound as he was. even after the prisoner was removed the king could not control his anger. he tried to figure out some way to be revenged upon the straw man, but could think of nothing that could hurt him. at last, when the terrified people and the frightened courtiers had all slunk away, old googly-goo approached the king with a malicious grin upon his face. "i'll tell you what to do," said he. "build a big bonfire and burn the scarecrow up, and that will be the end of him." the king was so delighted with this suggestion that he hugged old googly-goo in his joy. "of course!" he cried. "the very thing. why did i not think of it my self?" so he summoned his soldiers and retainers and bade them prepare a great bonfire in an open space in the castle park. also he sent word to all his people to assemble and witness the destruction of the scarecrow who had dared to defy his power. before long a vast throng gathered in the park and the servants had heaped up enough fuel to make a fire that might be seen for miles away--even in the daytime. when all was prepared, the king had his throne brought out for him to sit upon and enjoy the spectacle, and then he sent his soldiers to fetch the scarecrow. [illustration] now the one thing in all the world that the straw man really feared was fire. he knew he would burn very easily and that his ashes wouldn't amount to much afterward. it wouldn't hurt him to be destroyed in such a manner, but he realized that many people in the land of oz, and especially dorothy and the royal ozma, would feel sad if they learned that their old friend the scarecrow was no longer in existence. in spite of this, the straw man was brave and faced his fiery fate like a hero. when they marched him out before the concourse of people he turned to the king with great calmness and said: "this wicked deed will cost you your throne, as well as much suffering, for my friends will avenge my destruction." "your friends are not here, nor will they know what i have done to you, when you are gone and cannot tell them," answered the king in a scornful voice. then he ordered the scarecrow bound to a stout stake that he had had driven into the ground, and the materials for the fire were heaped all around him. when this had been done, the king's brass band struck up a lively tune and old googly-goo came forward with a lighted match and set fire to the pile. [illustration] at once the flames shot up and crept closer and closer toward the scarecrow. the king and all his people were so intent upon this terrible spectacle that none of them noticed how the sky grew suddenly dark. perhaps they thought that the loud buzzing sound--like the noise of a dozen moving railway trains--came from the blazing fagots; that the rush of wind was merely a breeze. but suddenly down swept a flock of orks, half a hundred of them at the least, and the powerful currents of air caused by their revolving tails sent the bonfire scattering in every direction, so that not one burning brand ever touched the scarecrow. but that was not the only effect of this sudden tornado. king krewl was blown out of his throne and went tumbling heels over head until he landed with a bump against the stone wall of his own castle, and before he could rise a big ork sat upon him and held him pressed flat to the ground. old googly-goo shot up into the air like a rocket and landed on a tree, where he hung by the middle on a high limb, kicking the air with his feet and clawing the air with his hands, and howling for mercy like the coward he was. the people pressed back until they were jammed close together, while all the soldiers were knocked over and sent sprawling to the earth. the excitement was great for a few minutes, and every frightened inhabitant of jinxland looked with awe and amazement at the great orks whose descent had served to rescue the scarecrow and conquer king krewl at one and the same time. the ork, who was the leader of the band, soon had the scarecrow free of his bonds. then he said: "well, we were just in time to save you, which is better than being a minute too late. you are now the master here, and we are determined to see your orders obeyed." with this the ork picked up krewl's golden crown, which had fallen off his head, and placed it upon the head of the scarecrow, who in his awkward way then shuffled over to the throne and sat down in it. seeing this, a rousing cheer broke from the crowd of people, who tossed their hats and waved their handkerchiefs and hailed the scarecrow as their king. the soldiers joined the people in the cheering, for now they fully realized that their hated master was conquered and it would be wise to show their good will to the conqueror. some of them bound krewl with ropes and dragged him forward, dumping his body on the ground before the scarecrow's throne. googly-goo struggled until he finally slid off the limb of the tree and came tumbling to the ground. he then tried to sneak away and escape, but the soldiers seized and bound him beside krewl. "the tables are turned," said the scarecrow, swelling out his chest until the straw within it crackled pleasantly, for he was highly pleased; "but it was you and your people who did it, friend ork, and from this time you may count me your humble servant." [illustration] [illustration] chapter the conquest of the witch now as soon as the conquest of king krewl had taken place, one of the orks had been dispatched to pon's house with the joyful news. at once gloria and pon and trot and button-bright hastened toward the castle. they were somewhat surprised by the sight that met their eyes, for there was the scarecrow, crowned king, and all the people kneeling humbly before him. so they likewise bowed low to the new ruler and then stood beside the throne. cap'n bill, as the gray grasshopper, was still perched upon trot's shoulder, but now he hopped to the shoulder of the scarecrow and whispered into the painted ear: "i thought gloria was to be queen of jinxland." the scarecrow shook his head. "not yet," he answered. "no queen with a frozen heart is fit to rule any country." then he turned to his new friend, the ork, who was strutting about, very proud of what he had done, and said: "do you suppose you, or your followers, could find old blinkie the witch?" "where is she?" asked the ork. "somewhere in jinxland, i'm sure." "then," said the ork, "we shall certainly be able to find her." "it will give me great pleasure," declared the scarecrow. "when you have found her, bring her here to me, and i will then decide what to do with her." the ork called his followers together and spoke a few words to them in a low tone. a moment after they rose into the air--so suddenly that the scarecrow, who was very light in weight, was blown quite out of his throne and into the arms of pon, who replaced him carefully upon his seat. there was an eddy of dust and ashes, too, and the grasshopper only saved himself from being whirled into the crowd of people by jumping into a tree, from where a series of hops soon brought him back to trot's shoulder again. the orks were quite out of sight by this time, so the scarecrow made a speech to the people and presented gloria to them, whom they knew well already and were fond of. but not all of them knew of her frozen heart, and when the scarecrow related the story of the wicked witch's misdeeds, which had been encouraged and paid for by krewl and googly-goo, the people were very indignant. meantime the fifty orks had scattered all over jinxland, which is not a very big country, and their sharp eyes were peering into every valley and grove and gully. finally one of them spied a pair of heels sticking out from underneath some bushes, and with a shrill whistle to warn his comrades that the witch was found the ork flew down and dragged old blinkie from her hiding-place. then two or three of the orks seized the clothing of the wicked woman in their strong claws and, lifting her high in the air, where she struggled and screamed to no avail, they flew with her straight to the royal castle and set her down before the throne of the scarecrow. [illustration] [illustration] "good!" exclaimed the straw man, nodding his stuffed head with satisfaction. "now we can proceed to business. mistress witch, i am obliged to request, gently but firmly, that you undo all the wrongs you have done by means of your witchcraft." "pah!" cried old blinkie in a scornful voice. "i defy you all! by my magic powers i can turn you all into pigs, rooting in the mud, and i'll do it if you are not careful." "i think you are mistaken about that," said the scarecrow, and rising from his throne he walked with wobbling steps to the side of the wicked witch. "before i left the land of oz, glinda the royal sorceress gave me a box, which i was not to open except in an emergency. but i feel pretty sure that this occasion is an emergency; don't you, trot?' he asked, turning toward the little girl. "why, we've got to do _something_," replied trot seriously. "things seem in an awful muddle here, jus' now, and they'll be worse if we don't stop this witch from doing more harm to people." "that is my idea, exactly," said the scarecrow, and taking a small box from his pocket he opened the cover and tossed the contents toward blinkie. the old woman shrank back, pale and trembling, as a fine white dust settled all about her. under its influence she seemed to the eyes of all observers to shrivel and grow smaller. "oh, dear--oh, dear!" she wailed, wringing her hands in fear. "haven't you the antidote, scarecrow? didn't the great sorceress give you another box?" "she did," answered the scarecrow. "then give it me--quick!" pleaded the witch. "give it me--and i'll do anything you ask me to!" "you will do what i ask first," declared the scarecrow, firmly. the witch was shriveling and growing smaller every moment. "be quick, then!" she cried. "tell me what i must do and let me do it, or it will be too late." "you made trot's friend, cap'n bill, a grasshopper. i command you to give him back his proper form again," said the scarecrow. "where is he? where's the grasshopper? quick--quick!" she screamed. cap'n bill, who had been deeply interested in this conversation, gave a great leap from trot's shoulder and landed on that of the scarecrow. blinkie saw him alight and at once began to make magic passes and to mumble magic incantations. she was in a desperate hurry, knowing that she had no time to waste, and the grasshopper was so suddenly transformed into the old sailor-man, cap'n bill, that he had no opportunity to jump off the scarecrow's shoulder; so his great weight bore the stuffed scarecrow to the ground. no harm was done, however, and the straw man got up and brushed the dust from his clothes while trot delightedly embraced cap'n bill. "the other box! quick! give me the other box," begged blinkie, who had now shrunk to half her former size. "not yet," said the scarecrow. "you must first melt princess gloria's frozen heart." "i can't; it's an awful job to do that! i can't," asserted the witch, in an agony of fear--for still she was growing smaller. "you must!" declared the scarecrow, firmly. the witch cast a shrewd look at him and saw that he meant it; so she began dancing around gloria in a frantic manner. the princess looked coldly on, as if not at all interested in the proceedings, while blinkie tore a handful of hair from her own head and ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of her gown. then the witch sank upon her knees, took a purple powder from her black bag and sprinkled it over the hair and cloth. "i hate to do it--i hate to do it!" she wailed, "for there is no more of this magic compound in all the world. but i must sacrifice it to save my own life. a match! give me a match, quick!" and panting from lack of breath she gazed imploringly from one to another. [illustration] cap'n bill was the only one who had a match, but he lost no time in handing it to blinkie, who quickly set fire to the hair and the cloth and the purple powder. at once a purple cloud enveloped gloria, and this gradually turned to a rosy pink color--brilliant and quite transparent. through the rosy cloud they could all see the beautiful princess, standing proud and erect. then her heart became visible, at first frosted with ice but slowly growing brighter and warmer until all the frost had disappeared and it was beating as softly and regularly as any other heart. and now the cloud dispersed and disclosed gloria, her face suffused with joy, smiling tenderly upon the friends who were grouped about her. poor pon stepped forward--timidly, fearing a repulse, but with pleading eyes and arms fondly outstretched toward his former sweetheart--and the princess saw him and her sweet face lighted with a radiant smile. without an instant's hesitation she threw herself into pon's arms and this reunion of two loving hearts was so affecting that the people turned away and lowered their eyes so as not to mar the sacred joy of the faithful lovers. but blinkie's small voice was shouting to the scarecrow for help. "the antidote!" she screamed. "give me the other box--quick!" the scarecrow looked at the witch with his quaint, painted eyes and saw that she was now no taller than his knee. so he took from his pocket the second box and scattered its contents on blinkie. she ceased to grow any smaller, but she could never regain her former size, and this the wicked old woman well knew. [illustration] she did not know, however, that the second powder had destroyed all her power to work magic, and seeking to be revenged upon the scarecrow and his friends she at once began to mumble a charm so terrible in its effect that it would have destroyed half the population of jinxland--had it worked. but it did not work at all, to the amazement of old blinkie. and by this time the scarecrow noticed what the little witch was trying to do, and said to her: "go home, blinkie, and behave yourself. you are no longer a witch, but an ordinary old woman, and since you are powerless to do more evil i advise you to try to do some good in the world. believe me, it is more fun to accomplish a good act than an evil one, as you will discover when once you have tried it." but blinkie was at that moment filled with grief and chagrin at losing her magic powers. she started away toward her home, sobbing and bewailing her fate, and not one who saw her go was at all sorry for her. [illustration] chapter queen gloria next morning the scarecrow called upon all the courtiers and the people to assemble in the throne room of the castle, where there was room enough for all that were able to attend. they found the straw man seated upon the velvet cushions of the throne, with the king's glittering crown still upon his stuffed head. on one side of the throne, in a lower chair, sat gloria, looking radiantly beautiful and fresh as a new-blown rose. on the other side sat pon, the gardener's boy, still dressed in his old smock frock and looking sad and solemn; for pon could not make himself believe that so splendid a princess would condescend to love him when she had come to her own and was seated upon a throne. trot and cap'n bill sat at the feet of the scarecrow and were much interested in the proceedings. button-bright had lost himself before breakfast, but came into the throne room before the ceremonies were over. back of the throne stood a row of the great orks, with their leader in the center, and the entrance to the palace was guarded by more orks, who were regarded with wonder and awe. when all were assembled, the scarecrow stood up and made a speech. he told how gloria's father, the good king kynd, who had once ruled them and been loved by everyone, had been destroyed by king phearse, the father of pon, and how king phearse had been destroyed by king krewl. this last king had been a bad ruler, as they knew very well, and the scarecrow declared that the only one in all jinxland who had the right to sit upon the throne was princess gloria, the daughter of king kynd. "but," he added, "it is not for me, a stranger, to say who shall rule you. you must decide for yourselves, or you will not be content. so choose now who shall be your future ruler." and they all shouted: "the scarecrow! the scarecrow shall rule us!" which proved that the stuffed man had made himself very popular by his conquest of king krewl, and the people thought they would like him for their king. but the scarecrow shook his head so vigorously that it became loose, and trot had to pin it firmly to his body again. "no," said he, "i belong in the land of oz, where i am the humble servant of the lovely girl who rules us all the royal ozma. you must choose one of your own inhabitants to rule over jinxland. who shall it be?" they hesitated for a moment, and some few cried: "pon!" but many more shouted: "gloria!" so the scarecrow took gloria's hand and led her to the throne, where he first seated her and then took the glittering crown off his own head and placed it upon that of the young lady, where it nestled prettily amongst her soft curls. the people cheered and shouted then, kneeling before their new queen; but gloria leaned down and took pon's hand in both her own and raised him to the seat beside her. "you shall have both a king and a queen to care for you and to protect you, my dear subjects," she said in a sweet voice, while her face glowed with happiness; "for pon was a king's son before he became a gardener's boy, and because i love him he is to be my royal consort." that pleased them all, especially pon, who realized that this was the most important moment of his life. trot and button-bright and cap'n bill all congratulated him on winning the beautiful gloria; but the ork sneezed twice and said that in his opinion the young lady might have done better. then the scarecrow ordered the guards to bring in the wicked krewl, king no longer, and when he appeared, loaded with chains and dressed in fustian, the people hissed him and drew back as he passed so their garments would not touch him. krewl was not haughty or overbearing any more; on the contrary he seemed very meek and in great fear of the fate his conquerors had in store for him. but gloria and pon were too happy to be revengeful and so they offered to appoint krewl to the position of gardener's boy at the castle, pon having resigned to become king. but they said he must promise to reform his wicked ways and to do his duty faithfully, and he must change his name from krewl to grewl. all this the man eagerly promised to do, and so when pon retired to a room in the castle to put on princely raiment, the old brown smock he had formerly worn was given to grewl, who then went out into the garden to water the roses. [illustration] the remainder of that famous day, which was long remembered in jinxland, was given over to feasting and merrymaking. in the evening there was a grand dance in the courtyard, where the brass band played a new piece of music called the "ork trot" which was dedicated to "our glorious gloria, the queen." while the queen and pon were leading this dance, and all the jinxland people were having a good time, the strangers were gathered in a group in the park outside the castle. cap'n bill, trot, button-bright and the scarecrow were there, and so was their old friend the ork; but of all the great flock of orks which had assisted in the conquest but three remained in jinxland, besides their leader, the others having returned to their own country as soon as gloria was crowned queen. to the young ork who had accompanied them in their adventures cap'n bill said: "you've surely been a friend in need, and we're mighty grateful to you for helping us. i might have been a grasshopper yet if it hadn't been for you, an' i might remark that bein' a grasshopper isn't much fun." "if it hadn't been for you, friend ork," said the scarecrow, "i fear i could not have conquered king krewl." "no," agreed trot, "you'd have been just a heap of ashes by this time." "and i might have been lost yet," added button-bright. "much obliged, mr. ork." "oh, that's all right," replied the ork. "friends must stand together, you know, or they wouldn't be friends. but now i must leave you and be off to my own country, where there's going to be a surprise party on my uncle, and i've promised to attend it." "dear me," said the scarecrow, regretfully. "that is very unfortunate." "why so?" asked the ork. "i hoped you would consent to carry us over those mountains, into the land of oz. my mission here is now finished and i want to get back to the emerald city." "how did you cross the mountains before?" inquired the ork. "i scaled the cliffs by means of a rope, and crossed the great gulf on a strand of spider web. of course i can return in the same manner, but it would be a hard journey and perhaps an impossible one for trot and button-bright and cap'n bill. so i thought that if you had the time you and your people would carry us over the mountains and land us all safely on the other side, in the land of oz." the ork thoughtfully considered the matter for a while. then he said: "i mustn't break my promise to be present at the surprise party; but, tell me, could you go to oz to-night?" "what, now?" exclaimed trot. "it is a fine moonlight night," said the ork, "and i've found in my experience that there's no time so good as right away. the fact is," he explained, "it's a long journey to orkland and i and my cousins here are all rather tired by our day's work. but if you will start now, and be content to allow us to carry you over the mountains and dump you on the other side, just say the word and--off we go!" cap'n bill and trot looked at one another questioningly. the little girl was eager to visit the famous fairyland of oz and the old sailor had endured such hardships in jinxland that he would be glad to be out of it. "it's rather impolite of us not to say good-bye to the new king and queen," remarked the scarecrow, "but i'm sure they're too happy to miss us, and i assure you it will be much easier to fly on the backs of the orks over those steep mountains than to climb them as i did." "all right; let's go!" trot decided. "but where's button-bright?" just at this important moment button-bright was lost again, and they all scattered in search of him. he had been standing beside them just a few minutes before, but his friends had an exciting hunt for him before they finally discovered the boy seated among the members of the band, beating the end of the bass drum with the bone of a turkey-leg that he had taken from the table in the banquet room. "hello, trot," he said, looking up at the little girl when she found him. "this is the first chance i ever had to pound a drum with a regular drum stick. and i ate all the meat off the bone myself." "come quick. we're going to the land of oz." "oh, what's the hurry?" said button-bright; but she seized his arm and dragged him away to the park, where the others were waiting. trot climbed upon the back of her old friend, the ork leader, and the others took their seats on the backs of his three cousins. as soon as all were placed and clinging to the skinny necks of the creatures, the revolving tails began to whirl and up rose the four monster orks and sailed away toward the mountains. they were so high in the air that when they passed the crest of the highest peak it seemed far below them. no sooner were they well across the barrier than the orks swooped downward and landed their passengers upon the ground. "here we are, safe in the land of oz!' cried the scarecrow joyfully. "oh, are we?" asked trot, looking around her curiously. she could see the shadows of stately trees and the outlines of rolling hills; beneath her feet was soft turf, but otherwise the subdued light of the moon disclosed nothing clearly. "seems jus' like any other country," was cap'n bill's comment. [illustration] "but it isn't," the scarecrow assured him. "you are now within the borders of the most glorious fairyland in all the world. this part of it is just a corner of the quadling country, and the least interesting portion of it. it's not very thickly settled, around here, i'll admit, but--" he was interrupted by a sudden whir and a rush of air as the four orks mounted into the sky. "good night!" called the shrill voices of the strange creatures, and although trot shouted "good night!" as loudly as she could, the little girl was almost ready to cry because the orks had not waited to be properly thanked for all their kindness to her and to cap'n bill. but the orks were gone, and thanks for good deeds do not amount to much except to prove one's politeness. "well, friends," said the scarecrow, "we mustn't stay here in the meadows all night, so let us find a pleasant place to sleep. not that it matters to me, in the least, for i never sleep; but i know that meat people like to shut their eyes and lie still during the dark hours." "i'm pretty tired," admitted trot, yawning as she followed the straw man along a tiny path, "so, if you don't find a house handy, cap'n bill and i will sleep under the trees, or even on this soft grass." but a house was not very far off, although when the scarecrow stumbled upon it there was no light in it whatever. cap'n bill knocked on the door several times, and there being no response the scarecrow boldly lifted the latch and walked in, followed by the others. and no sooner had they entered than a soft light filled the room. trot couldn't tell where it came from, for no lamp of any sort was visible, but she did not waste much time on this problem, because directly in the center of the room stood a table set for three, with lots of good food on it and several of the dishes smoking hot. [illustration] the little girl and button-bright both uttered exclamations of pleasure, but they looked in vain for any cook stove or fireplace, or for any person who might have prepared for them this delicious feast. "it's fairyland," muttered the boy, tossing his cap in a corner and seating himself at the table. "this supper smells 'most as good as that turkey-leg i had in jinxland. please pass the muffins, cap'n bill." trot thought it was strange that no people but themselves were in the house, but on the wall opposite the door was a gold frame bearing in big letters the word: "welcome." so she had no further hesitation in eating of the food so mysteriously prepared for them. "but there are only places for three!' she exclaimed. "three are quite enough," said the scarecrow. "i never eat, because i am stuffed full already, and i like my nice clean straw better than i do food." trot and the sailor-man were hungry and made a hearty meal, for not since they had left home had they tasted such good food. it was surprising that button-bright could eat so soon after his feast in jinxland, but the boy always ate whenever there was an opportunity. "if i don't eat now," he said, "the next time i'm hungry i'll wish i had." "really, cap'n," remarked trot, when she found a dish of ice-cream appear beside her plate, "i b'lieve this is fairyland, sure enough." "there's no doubt of it, trot," he answered gravely. "i've been here before," said button-bright, "so i know." after supper they discovered three tiny bedrooms adjoining the big living room of the house, and in each room was a comfortable white bed with downy pillows. you may be sure that the tired mortals were not long in bidding the scarecrow good night and creeping into their beds, where they slept soundly until morning. for the first time since they set eyes on the terrible whirlpool, trot and cap'n bill were free from anxiety and care. button-bright never worried about anything. the scarecrow, not being able to sleep, looked out of the window and tried to count the stars. [illustration] chapter dorothy, betsy and ozma i suppose many of my readers have read descriptions of the beautiful and magnificent emerald city of oz, so i need not describe it here, except to state that never has any city in any fairyland ever equalled this one in stately splendor. it lies almost exactly in the center of the land of oz, and in the center of the emerald city rises the wall of glistening emeralds that surrounds the palace of ozma. the palace is almost a city in itself and is inhabited by many of the ruler's especial friends and those who have won her confidence and favor. as for ozma herself, there are no words in any dictionary i can find that are fitted to describe this young girl's beauty of mind and person. merely to see her is to love her for her charming face and manners; to know her is to love her for her tender sympathy, her generous nature, her truth and honor. born of a long line of fairy queens, ozma is as nearly perfect as any fairy may be, and she is noted for her wisdom as well as for her other qualities. her happy subjects adore their girl ruler and each one considers her a comrade and protector. at the time of which i write, ozma's best friend and most constant companion was a little kansas girl named dorothy, a mortal who had come to the land of oz in a very curious manner and had been offered a home in ozma's palace. furthermore, dorothy had been made a princess of oz, and was as much at home in the royal palace as was the gentle ruler. she knew almost every part of the great country and almost all of its numerous inhabitants. next to ozma she was loved better than anyone in all oz, for dorothy was simple and sweet, seldom became angry and had such a friendly, chummy way that she made friends wherever she wandered. it was she who first brought the scarecrow and the tin woodman and the cowardly lion to the emerald city. dorothy had also introduced to ozma the shaggy man and the hungry tiger, as well as billina the yellow hen, eureka the pink kitten, and many other delightful characters and creatures. coming as she did from our world, dorothy was much like many other girls we know; so there were times when she was not so wise as she might have been, and other times when she was obstinate and got herself into trouble. but life in a fairyland had taught the little girl to accept all sorts of surprising things as matters-of-course, for while dorothy was no fairy--but just as mortal as we are--she had seen more wonders than most mortals ever do. another little girl from our outside world also lived in ozma's palace. this was betsy bobbin, whose strange adventures had brought her to the emerald city, where ozma had cordially welcomed her. betsy was a shy little thing and could never get used to the marvels that surrounded her, but she and dorothy were firm friends and thought themselves very fortunate in being together in this delightful country. one day dorothy and betsy were visiting ozma in the girl ruler's private apartment, and among the things that especially interested them was ozma's magic picture, set in a handsome frame and hung upon the wall of the room. this picture was a magic one because it constantly changed its scenes and showed events and adventures happening in all parts of the world. thus it was really a "moving picture" of life, and if the one who stood before it wished to know what any absent person was doing, the picture instantly showed that person, with his or her surroundings. the two girls were not wishing to see anyone in particular, on this occasion, but merely enjoyed watching the shifting scenes, some of which were exceedingly curious and remarkable. suddenly dorothy exclaimed: "why, there's button-bright!" and this drew ozma also to look at the picture, for she and dorothy knew the boy well. "who is button-bright?" asked betsy, who had never met him. "why, he's the little boy who is just getting off the back of that strange flying creature," exclaimed dorothy. then she turned to ozma and asked: "what is that thing, ozma? a bird? i've never seen anything like it before." [illustration] "it is an ork," answered ozma, for they were watching the scene where the ork and the three big birds were first landing their passengers in jinxland, after the long flight across the desert. "i wonder," added the girl ruler, musingly, "why those strangers dare venture into that unfortunate country, which is ruled by a wicked king." "that girl, and the one-legged man, seem to be mortals from the outside world," said dorothy. "the man isn't one-legged," corrected betsy; "he has one wooden leg." "it's almost as bad," declared dorothy, watching cap'n bill stump around. "they are three mortal adventurers," said ozma, "and they seem worthy and honest. but i fear they will be treated badly in jinxland, and if they meet with any misfortune there it will reflect upon me, for jinxland is a part of my dominions." "can't we help them in any way?" inquired dorothy. "that seems like a nice little girl. i'd be sorry if anything happened to her." "let us watch the picture for awhile," suggested ozma, and so they all drew chairs before the magic picture and followed the adventures of trot and cap'n bill and button-bright. presently the scene shifted and showed their friend the scarecrow crossing the mountains into jinxland, and that somewhat relieved ozma's anxiety, for she knew at once that glinda the good had sent the scarecrow to protect the strangers. the adventures in jinxland proved very interesting to the three girls in ozma's palace, who during the succeeding days spent much of their time in watching the picture. it was like a story to them. [illustration: dorothy] "that girl's a reg'lar trump!' exclaimed dorothy, referring to trot, and ozma answered: "she's a dear little thing, and i'm sure nothing very bad will happen to her. the old sailor is a fine character, too, for he has never once grumbled over being a grasshopper, as so many would have done." when the scarecrow was so nearly burned up the girls all shivered a little, and they clapped their hands in joy when the flock of orks came and saved him. so it was that when all the exciting adventures in jinxland were over and the four orks had begun their flight across the mountains to carry the mortals into the land of oz, ozma called the wizard to her and asked him to prepare a place for the strangers to sleep. the famous wizard of oz was a quaint little man who inhabited the royal palace and attended to all the magical things that ozma wanted done. he was not as powerful as glinda, to be sure, but he could do a great many wonderful things. he proved this by placing a house in the uninhabited part of the quadling country where the orks landed cap'n bill and trot and button-bright, and fitting it with all the comforts i have described in the last chapter. next morning dorothy said to ozma: "oughtn't we to go meet the strangers, so we can show them the way to the emerald city? i'm sure that little girl will feel shy in this beautiful land, and i know if 'twas me i'd like somebody to give me a welcome." ozma smiled at her little friend and answered: "you and betsy may go to meet them, if you wish, but i can not leave my palace just now, as i am to have a conference with jack pumpkinhead and professor wogglebug on important matters. you may take the sawhorse and the red wagon, and if you start soon you will be able to meet the scarecrow and the strangers at glinda's palace." "oh, thank you!" cried dorothy, and went away to tell betsy and to make preparations for the journey. [illustration: betsy] [illustration] chapter the waterfall glinda's castle was a long way from the mountains, but the scarecrow began the journey cheerfully, since time was of no great importance in the land of oz and he had recently made the trip and knew the way. it never mattered much to button-bright where he was or what he was doing; the boy was content in being alive and having good companions to share his wanderings. as for trot and cap'n bill, they now found themselves so comfortable and free from danger, in this fine fairyland, and they were so awed and amazed by the adventures they were encountering, that the journey to glinda's castle was more like a pleasure trip than a hardship, so many wonderful things were there to see. button-bright had been in oz before, but never in this part of it, so the scarecrow was the only one who knew the paths and could lead them. they had eaten a hearty breakfast, which they found already prepared for them and awaiting them on the table when they arose from their refreshing sleep, so they left the magic house in a contented mood and with hearts lighter and more happy than they had known for many a day. as they marched along through the fields, the sun shone brightly and the breeze was laden with delicious fragrance, for it carried with it the breath of millions of wildflowers. at noon, when they stopped to rest by the banks of a pretty river, trot said with a long-drawn breath that was much like a sigh: "i wish we'd brought with us some of the food that was left from our breakfast, for i'm getting hungry again." scarcely had she spoken when a table rose up before them, as if from the ground itself, and it was loaded with fruits and nuts and cakes and many other good things to eat. the little girl's eyes opened wide at this display of magic, and cap'n bill was not sure that the things were actually there and fit to eat until he had taken them in his hand and tasted them. but the scarecrow said with a laugh: "someone is looking after your welfare, that is certain, and from the looks of this table i suspect my friend the wizard has taken us in his charge. i've known him to do things like this before, and if we are in the wizard's care you need not worry about your future." "who's worrying?" inquired button-bright, already at the table and busily eating. the scarecrow looked around the place while the others were feasting, and finding many things unfamiliar to him he shook his head and remarked: "i must have taken the wrong path, back in that last valley, for on my way to jinxland i remember that i passed around the foot of this river, where there was a great waterfall." "did the river make a bend, after the waterfall?" asked cap'n bill. "no, the river disappeared. only a pool of whirling water showed what had become of the river; but i suppose it is under ground, somewhere, and will come to the surface again in another part of the country." "well," suggested trot, as she finished her luncheon, "as there is no way to cross this river, i s'pose we'll have to find that waterfall, and go around it." "exactly," replied the scarecrow; so they soon renewed their journey, following the river for a long time until the roar of the waterfall sounded in their ears. by and by they came to the waterfall itself, a sheet of silver dropping far, far down into a tiny lake which seemed to have no outlet. from the top of the fall, where they stood, the banks gradually sloped away, so that the descent by land was quite easy, while the river could do nothing but glide over an edge of rock and tumble straight down to the depths below. "you see," said the scarecrow, leaning over the brink, "this is called by our oz people the great waterfall, because it is certainly the highest one in all the land; but i think--help!" [illustration] he had lost his balance and pitched headforemost into the river. they saw a flash of straw and blue clothes, and the painted face looking upward in surprise. the next moment the scarecrow was swept over the waterfall and plunged into the basin below. the accident had happened so suddenly that for a moment they were all too horrified to speak or move. "quick! we must go to help him or he will be drowned," trot exclaimed. even while speaking she began to descend the bank to the pool below, and cap'n bill followed as swiftly as his wooden leg would let him. button-bright came more slowly, calling to the girl: "he can't drown, trot; he's a scarecrow." but she wasn't sure a scarecrow couldn't drown and never relaxed her speed until she stood on the edge of the pool, with the spray dashing in her face. cap'n bill, puffing and panting, had just voice enough to ask, as he reached her side: "see him, trot?" "not a speck of him. oh, cap'n, what do you s'pose has become of him?" "i s'pose," replied the sailor, "that he's in that water, more or less far down, and i'm 'fraid it'll make his straw pretty soggy. but as fer his bein' drowned, i agree with button-bright that it can't be done." [illustration] there was small comfort in this assurance and trot stood for some time searching with her eyes the bubbling water, in the hope that the scarecrow would finally come to the surface. presently she heard button-bright calling: "come here, trot!" and looking around she saw that the boy had crept over the wet rocks to the edge of the waterfall and seemed to be peering behind it. making her way toward him, she asked: "what do you see?" "a cave," he answered. "let's go in. perhaps we'll find the scarecrow there." she was a little doubtful of that, but the cave interested her, and so did it cap'n bill. there was just space enough at the edge of the sheet of water for them to crowd in behind it, but after that dangerous entrance they found room enough to walk upright and after a time they came to an opening in the w r all of rock. approaching this opening, they gazed within it and found a series of steps, cut so that they might easily descend into the cavern. trot turned to look inquiringly at her companions. the falling water made such din and roaring that her voice could not be heard. cap'n bill nodded his head, but before he could enter the cave, button-bright was before him, clambering down the steps without a particle of fear. so the others followed the boy. the first steps were wet with spray, and slippery, but the remainder were quite dry. a rosy light seemed to come from the interior of the cave, and this lighted their way. after the steps there was a short tunnel, high enough for them to walk erect in, and then they reached the cave itself and paused in wonder and admiration. they stood on the edge of a vast cavern, the walls and domed roof of which were lined with countless rubies, exquisitely cut and flashing sparkling rays from one to another. this caused a radiant light that permitted the entire cavern to be distinctly seen, and the effect was so marvelous that trot drew in her breath with a sort of a gasp, and stood quite still in wonder. but the walls and roof of the cavern were merely a setting for a more wonderful scene. in the center was a bubbling cauldron of water, for here the river rose again, splashing and dashing till its spray rose high in the air, where it took the ruby color of the jewels and seemed like a seething mass of flame. and while they gazed into the tumbling, tossing water, the body of the scarecrow suddenly rose in the center, struggling and kicking, and the next instant wholly disappeared from view. "my, but he's wet!" exclaimed button-bright; but none of the others heard him. trot and cap'n bill discovered that a broad ledge--covered, like the walls, with glittering rubies--ran all around the cavern; so they followed this gorgeous path to the rear and found where the water made its final dive underground, before it disappeared entirely. where it plunged into this dim abyss the river was black and dreary looking, and they stood gazing in awe until just beside them the body of the scarecrow again popped up from the water. [illustration] [illustration] chapter the land of oz the straw man's appearance on the water was so sudden that it startled trot, but cap'n bill had the presence of mind to stick his wooden leg out over the water and the scarecrow made a desperate clutch and grabbed the leg with both hands. he managed to hold on until trot and button-bright knelt down and seized his clothing, but the children would have been powerless to drag the soaked scarecrow ashore had not cap'n bill now assisted them. when they laid him on the ledge of rubies he was the most useless looking scarecrow you can imagine--his straw sodden and dripping with water, his clothing wet and crumpled, while even the sack upon which his face was painted had become so wrinkled that the old jolly expression of their stuffed friend's features was entirely gone. but he could still speak, and when trot bent down her ear she heard him say: "get me out of here as soon as you can." that seemed a wise thing to do, so cap'n bill lifted his head and shoulders, and trot and button-bright each took a leg; among them they partly carried and partly dragged the damp scarecrow out of the ruby cavern, along the tunnel, and up the flight of rock steps. it was somewhat difficult to get him past the edge of the waterfall, but they succeeded, after much effort, and a few minutes later laid their poor comrade on a grassy bank where the sun shone upon him freely and he was beyond the reach of the spray. cap'n bill now knelt down and examined the straw that the scarecrow was stuffed with. "i don't believe it'll be of much use to him, any more," said he, "for it's full of polliwogs an' fish eggs, an' the water has took all the crinkle out o' the straw an' ruined it. i guess, trot, that the best thing for us to do is to empty out all his body an' carry his head an' clothes along the road till we come to a field or a house where we can get some fresh straw." "yes, cap'n," she agreed, "there's nothing else to be done. but how shall we ever find the road to glinda's palace, without the scarecrow to guide us?" "that's easy," said the scarecrow, speaking in a rather feeble but distinct voice. "if cap'n bill will carry my head on his shoulders, eyes front, i can tell him which way to go." so they followed that plan and emptied all the old, wet straw out of the scarecrow's body. then the sailor-man wrung out the clothes and laid them in the sun till they were quite dry. trot took charge of the head and pressed the wrinkles out of the face as it dried, so that after a while the scarecrow's expression became natural again, and as jolly as before. this work consumed some time, but when it was completed they again started upon their journey, button-bright carrying the boots and hat, trot the bundle of clothes, and cap'n bill the head. the scarecrow, having regained his composure and being now in a good humor, despite his recent mishaps, beguiled their way with stories of the land of oz. [illustration] it was not until the next morning, however, that they found straw with which to restuff the scarecrow. that evening they came to the same little house they had slept in before, only now it was magically transferred to a new place. the same bountiful supper as before was found smoking hot upon the table and the same cosy beds were ready for them to sleep in. they rose early and after breakfast went out of doors, and there, lying just beside the house, was a heap of clean, crisp straw. ozma had noticed the scarecrow's accident in her magic picture and had notified the wizard to provide the straw, for she knew the adventurers were not likely to find straw in the country through which they were now traveling. they lost no time in stuffing the scarecrow anew, and he was greatly delighted at being able to walk around again and to assume the leadership of the little party. "really," said trot, "i think you're better than you were before, for you are fresh and sweet all through and rustle beautifully when you move." "thank you, my dear," he replied gratefully. "i always feel like a new man when i'm freshly stuffed. no one likes to get musty, you know, and even good straw may be spoiled by age." "it was water that spoiled you, the last time," remarked button-bright, "which proves that too much bathing is as bad as too little. but, after all, scarecrow, water is not as dangerous for you as fire." "all things are good in moderation," declared the scarecrow. "but now, let us hurry on, or we shall not reach glinda's palace by nightfall." [illustration] [illustration] chapter the royal reception at about four o'clock of that same day the red wagon drew up at the entrance to glinda's palace and dorothy and betsy jumped out. ozma's red wagon was almost a chariot, being inlaid with rubies and pearls, and it was drawn by ozma's favorite steed, the wooden sawhorse. "shall i unharness you," asked dorothy, "so you can come in and visit?" "no," replied the sawhorse. "til just stand here and think. take your time. thinking doesn't seem to bore me at all." "what will you think of?" inquired betsy. "of the acorn that grew the tree from which i was made." so they left the wooden animal and went in to see glinda, who welcomed the little girls in her most cordial manner. "i knew you were on your way," said the good sorceress when they were seated in her library, "for i learned from my record book that you intended to meet trot and button-bright on their arrival here." "is the strange little girl named trot?' asked dorothy. "yes; and her companion, the old sailor, is named cap'n bill. i think we shall like them very much, for they are just the kind of people to enjoy and appreciate our fairyland and i do not see any way, at present, for them to return again to the outside world." "well, there's room enough here for them, i'm sure," said dorothy. "betsy and i are already eager to welcome trot. it will keep us busy for a year, at least, showing her all the wonderful things in oz." glinda smiled. "i have lived here many years," said she, "and i have not seen all the wonders of oz vet." meantime the travelers were drawing near to the palace, and when they first caught sight of its towers trot realized that it was far more grand and imposing than was the king's castle in jinxland. the nearer they came, the more beautiful the palace appeared, and when finally the scarecrow led them up the great marble steps, even button-bright was filled with awe. "i don't see any soldiers to guard the place," said the little girl. "there is no need to guard glinda's palace," replied the scarecrow. "we have no wicked people in oz, that we know of, and even if there were any, glinda's magic would be powerful enough to protect her." button-bright was now standing on the top steps of the entrance, and he suddenly exclaimed: "why, there's the sawhorse and the red wagon! hip, hooray!" and next moment he was rushing down to throw his arms around the neck of the wooden horse, which good-naturedly permitted this familiarity when it recognized in the boy an old friend. button-bright's shout had been heard inside the palace, so now dorothy and betsy came running out to embrace their beloved friend, the scarecrow, and to welcome trot and cap'n bill to the land of oz. "we've been watching you for a long time, in ozma's magic picture," said dorothy, "and ozma has sent us to invite you to her own palace in the em'rald city. i don't know if you realize how lucky you are to get that invitation, but you'll understand it better after you've seen the royal palace and the em'rald city." glinda now appeared in person to lead all the party into her azure reception room. trot was a little afraid of the stately sorceress, but gained courage by holding fast to the hands of betsy and dorothy. cap'n bill had no one to help him feel at ease, so the old sailor sat stiffly on the edge of his chair and said: "yes, ma'am," or "no, ma'am," when he was spoken to, and was greatly embarrassed by so much splendor. the scarecrow had lived so much in palaces that he felt quite at home, and he chatted to glinda and the oz girls in a merry, light-hearted way. he told all about his adventures in jinxland, and at the great waterfall, and on the journey hither--most of which his hearers knew already--and then he asked dorothy and betsy what had happened in the emerald city since he had left there. they all passed the evening and the night at glinda's palace, and the sorceress was so gracious to cap'n bill that the old man by degrees regained his self-possession and began to enjoy himself. trot had already come to the conclusion that in dorothy and betsy she had found two delightful comrades, and button-bright was just as much at home here as he had been in the fields of jinxland or when he was buried in the popcorn snow of the land of mo. the next morning they arose bright and early and after breakfast bade good-bye to the kind sorceress, whom trot and cap'n bill thanked earnestly for sending the scarecrow to jinxland to rescue them. then they all climbed into the red wagon. there was room for all on the broad seats, and when all had taken their places--dorothy, trot and betsy on the rear seat and cap'n bill, button-bright and the scarecrow in front--they called "gid-dap!" to the sawhorse and the wooden steed moved briskly away, pulling the red wagon with ease. it was now that the strangers began to perceive the real beauties of the land of oz, for they were passing through a more thickly settled part of the country and the population grew more dense as they drew nearer to the emerald city. everyone they met had a cheery word or a smile for the scarecrow, dorothy and betsy bobbin, and some of them remembered button-bright and welcomed him back to their country. it was a happy party, indeed, that journeyed in the red wagon to the emerald city, and trot already began to hope that ozma would permit her and cap'n bill to live always in the land of oz. when they reached the great city they were more amazed than ever, both by the concourse of people in their quaint and picturesque costumes, and by the splendor of the city itself. but the magnificence of the royal palace quite took their breath away, until ozma received them in her own pretty apartment and by her charming manners and assuring smiles made them feel they were no longer strangers. trot was given a lovely little room next to that of dorothy, while cap'n bill had the cosiest sort of a room next to trot's and overlooking the gardens. and that evening ozma gave a grand banquet and reception in honor of the new arrivals. while trot had read of many of the people she then met, cap'n bill was less familiar with them and many of the unusual characters introduced to him that evening caused the old sailor to open his eyes wide in astonishment. [illustration] [illustration] he had thought the live scarecrow about as curious as anyone could be, but now he met the tin woodman, who was all made of tin, even to his heart, and carried a gleaming axe over his shoulder wherever he went. then there was jack pumpkinhead, whose head was a real pumpkin with the face carved upon it; and professor wogglebug, who had the shape of an enormous bug but was dressed in neat fitting garments. the professor was an interesting talker and had very polite manners, but his face was so comical that it made cap'n bill smile to look at it. a great friend of dorothy and ozma seemed to be a machine man called tik-tok, who ran down several times during the evening and had to be wound up again by someone before he could move or speak. at the reception appeared the shaggy man and his brother, both very popular in oz, as well as dorothy's uncle henry and aunt em, two happy old people who lived in a pretty cottage near the palace. but what perhaps seemed most surprising to both trot and cap'n bill was the number of peculiar animals admitted into ozma's parlors, where they not only conducted themselves quite properly but were able to talk as well as anyone. there was the cowardly lion, an immense beast with a beautiful mane; and the hungry tiger, who smiled continually; and eureka the pink kitten, who lay curled upon a cushion and had rather supercilious manners; and the wooden sawhorse; and nine tiny piglets that belonged to the wizard; and a mule named hank, who belonged to betsy bobbin. a fuzzy little terrier dog, named toto, lay at dorothy's feet but seldom took part in the conversation, although he listened to every word that was said. but the most wonderful of all to trot was a square beast with a winning smile, that squatted in a corner of the room and wagged his square head at everyone in quite a jolly way. betsy told trot that this unique beast was called the woozy, and there was no other like him in all the world. cap'n bill and trot had both looked around expectantly for the wizard of oz, but the evening was far advanced before the famous little man entered the room. but he went up to the strangers at once and said: "i know you, but you don't know me; so let's get acquainted." and they did get acquainted, in a very short time, and before the evening was over trot felt that she knew every person and animal present at the reception, and that they were all her good friends. suddenly they looked around for button-bright, but he was nowhere to be found. "dear me!" cried trot. "he's lost again." "never mind, my dear," said ozma, with her charming smile, "no one can go far astray in the land of oz, and if button-bright isn't lost occasionally, he isn't happy." [illustration] * * * * * transcriber notes all illustrations were placed so as to not split paragraphs. the color illustrations were grouped together (between pages and ) in the printed version; but have been moved to the relevent point within the story. minor typos corrected. proofreading team. [illustration: they found tom at the lake-side, standing over a huge dead bear.] the crusoes of the frozen north from the well-known story by dr. gordon stables chapter i "i'm sure of one thing," said aralia to her little sister pansy, as they sat together one lovely summer afternoon on the garden seat, and gazed away and away far over the north sea. "i'm quite sure of one thing. nobody ever could have so good an uncle as our uncle. now, could anybody, pansy?" "oh no!" answered pansy, shaking her pretty head. pansy was hardly eight years old, and always agreed with her older sister, who was nearly eleven. "how i wish he were home again from his old ship," sighed aralia, "and tom with him!" "well, ara, we can sit here hours and hours every day and watch the sea, can't we?" "yes, and we shall easily know the ship. as she goes by, shell set all her flags a-flying, and, if father isn't at home, mother will send up our great red flag on the garden pole. oh dear! i could nearly cry for joy to think of it!" "and me too!" said pansy. "and me too!" veevee seemed to say, as he gave a short bark, and, jumping down from the seat, ran round the garden, looking like a fluffy white ball. the sea was very blue, only patched with green wherever a cloud-shadow fell on it. down beneath the cliff on which the cottage stood, the waves broke lazily in long white lines of foam. on the sea itself were vessels of almost every kind, from the little fishing craft with brown sails to great ships sailing away to distant lands. aralia knew what class of vessel each was by its rig; her best of uncles had taught her. and well could she use the spy-glass too, which she now held to her right eye. it had been hard at first to keep the left closed, but she could manage it now quite easily without asking pansy to clap a hand over it. soon she began to talk in little gasps: "oh, pansy--i think--oh, i'm nearly sure--yes--yes--it must be! it _is_ uncle's ship! i can see the flags all a-flying--hurrah! come and look!" [illustration] pansy sat on her sister's knee and peeped through the glass. then both the children started up and waved their arms in the air at the far-off ship. they were just about to rush off to tell mother, when their cousin frank came up. he was a lad of about thirteen or fourteen, but he was so tall and manly that he looked older. frank came into the garden with a rush and a run when he heard the girls call out. a fishing basket was slung over his back, from which the tails of fish stuck out, showing what good sport he had had. "hillo, ara! hillo, pansy! what are you dancing and 'hoo-laying' about? been stung by a wasp, my little pansy blossom?" "oh, frank," cried the elder girl, "look through the glass! uncle's coming! look at the ship, and all the flags." the boy was almost as excited now as the girls themselves, and presently they were all running in a string through the pretty garden towards the cottage with the news, veevee bringing up the rear and barking bravely. * * * * * rat-tat-tat at the door next afternoon, and little pansy ran to open it, expecting to see the postman, but the knocking was only a bit of tom's fun. frank had left for hull the evening before to meet him, and here was tom the sailor, tall and bonny and dark. pansy jumped into his arms like a baby, aralia rushed to meet him, and his mother came out, though a little more slowly. when the bustle was all over, and tom had answered nearly a hundred questions, they all went in to tea. "yes, aralia, uncle is coming up from hull with father and cousin frank, and we shall stop here three whole days before we go back to clear ship and pay off" "and," added tom, "uncle has something so strange and nice to tell you!" "what is it, tom?" said his two sisters, both in a breath as it were. "i can't, won't, and sha'n't tell you, girls," cried tom, laughing, "because that would spoil the fun when uncle comes." so all, even veevee, who would not get off tom's knees for a minute, had to be as patient as they could. but the time passed so quickly, listening to all this hearty young sailor had to tell of his voyage to the far north, that before anyone was aware it was nearly seven o'clock. and now down jumps veevee and runs towards the door, barking aloud as if he were a very big dog. "they're coming! they're coming! veevee knows!" and coming they were indeed. tom had had a hearty welcome when he arrived, but when this best of uncles at last managed to sit down on the sofa: "shiver my timbers, sister," he said to mrs. dunlop, "if it isn't worth while going all the way to the back of the north pole just to get such a welcome home as this." jack staysail was a sailor every inch of him. he had roughed it so much in the greenland seas, and been out in so many storms, that his face was as red as a boiled beet; but his eyes were as full of fun and merriment as a boy's. "we're not all here yet," he said. "i have asked my friend, professor peterkin, the swede, to come in to-night with his mastiff." when their uncle mentioned the mastiff, aralia and pansy began to tremble for veevee, but tom only laughed. "why," he said, "although briton--that's his name--is big enough to tackle a bear, he wouldn't injure a mouse." it was nearly nine o'clock when the professor arrived. briton marched in first, and a bigger and more noble-looking fellow was never seen. veevee said he couldn't stand another dog in the place. so he started up, barking loudly, and offering to fight the mastiff to the death on the spot. but briton stepped gingerly over the little dog, and went and lay quietly down on the rug. then in bustled the professor himself, very droll, very small, clean-shaven, merry-eyed, and with as much hair on his great head as would have stuffed a cushion. he bowed and smiled to all, patted the children, and at last sat down to supper. all made a very hearty supper, though it was long past the children's bed-time. only uncle didn't come home every night, you know. when they had finished, briton had a huge dish of scraps; veevee sat watching him eat, and the children were very much surprised to see briton shove one of the biggest and best morsels towards him. the tiny dog picked up the titbit and wagged his tail. after he had eaten it, he went and lay down beside briton on the hearth-rug. the "something nice" that uncle had to tell was soon told now. captain staysail cleared his throat before he began: "ahem! oh, you're all waiting, are you, to hear what i've got to say? well, then--ahem!--professor peterkin--" "pete--pete--pete--pete!" cried the droll, wee man, stopping him, and one would have thought he was calling a dog. "i'm not going to be called professor, and i won't peterkin. just pete, as i was on board ship, as i am to everybody, and must be to you. "but just look here, staysail, you're a sailor, and you can't make a speech. let me speak." and speak he did without waiting for a reply. "it's all in a nutshell, dear mr. and mrs. dunlop, and i'll tell you in two or three sentences what your worthy sailor-brother would have kept you up all night to hear. now listen! briton, you lie down! good again! now i, dan peterkin, am a man who has been used to study hard, and think hard. you follow me so far? good again! "well, there is one thing has taken me years to work out, and that is, where in this world gold and coal are to be found. and i've done it. i can go right to the spots. one of them lies on an island right away up in the frozen north. and we're going there. your brother, mrs. dunlop, is going to take me. "well, we may have some hardships. paff! what do we care? we shall win such wealth as has never been seen before. you follow still? good again! well, i go to a town in the north last spring, when the seal ships are all there, and i look for an honest face. i find staysail. i say to him: 'you give me a passage to greenland, my friend.' he say: 'what for i give you passage?' i smile. i take him by one button, and pull him all the way into a private room of the hotel. briton follows. we all dine well--we all come out smiling--briton too. and now, my friends, all is arranged. we sail away and away and away next spring for the seas of ice and the islands of gold. "that is all. you have followed me? good again!" and once more the professor sat down, and the big arm-chair seemed to swallow him up. * * * * * ara and pansy lay awake a long time that night thinking of what pete had said. but the next day they went about their duties as usual. they did not go to school, as they had a governess, of whom they were both very fond. nearly half their day would be spent out-of-doors with her and veevee. in spring and summer they would gather flowers inland, but what they liked best was to play about on the sands, to go out boating with an old seaman they knew, or climb the rocks and get into very steep and giddy places. [illustration] poor frank dunlop was an orphan, and was now the adopted son of ara's father. as for tom, who was a year or two older, his father had wanted him to go into business at home in england, but nothing would satisfy the lad but going to sea, so he had been sent to rough it with his uncle in the stormy seas of the frozen north. the cruise now ended was his second, and tom wasn't tired of the sea yet. frank went back to school, and appeared no more at the cottage until christmas came round. then not only uncle, but pete and briton came to spend a whole fortnight with the dunlop family, and to make their final plans for the spring. and i should say that no fortnight seemed to pass so quickly to the children as did the two weeks when their visitors stayed with them. at last, one day in early spring, there left hull on a trial trip one of the handsomest little steamers, and, for her size, one of the strongest that ever put to sea from that port. she was captain staysail's new ship, the _valhalla_. everything on board, both on deck and between decks, and in the saloon, was as clean and beautiful as if she had been a royal yacht. the decks were as white as ivory, the polished wood shone in the sun, and the brass-work looked like gold. the saloon itself, with its curtains, its mirrors, tables pillars, and piano, was really fit for a fairy princess to live in. everything had been prepared under the eye of professor peterkin himself, so everything was perfect in its way. pansy, who was on board, and had been peeping in some of the rooms, said to aralia at last: "oh, aralia, what a dear little doll's house of a cabin; i should like to live in it always!" neither of the children was sea-sick when the _valhalla_ went out under steam, and they had such fun with the sailors and the two dogs that they were quite sorry when the ship once more steamed into port. and didn't everybody sleep soundly that night in the hotel! i should say so! chapter ii the merry month of may had hardly begun when the brave _valhalla_ steamed away on her perilous cruise to the far and icy north. frank, with his two little cousins, had begged leave to go to hull in order to see the very, very last of the beautiful ship and that best of uncles, captain staysail. leave had been given by their parents, because "wherever frank is," said mr. dunlop, "the children are sure to be safe." there had been a good deal of stir and bustle on the very last evening, and many visitors had been to the _valhalla_, for somehow word had gone out that professor peterkin, the great swedish traveller, was off to find the north pole! and all believed that he would find it. some of the sailors even went so far as to say that he would bring it back with him rigged up as a mast of his ship! but by the time eight bells had rung out all was quiet. the hands had turned in, and only tom and two men were left on watch. "go forward," said tom, "and have a cup of coffee and a smoke, and i'll see to the safety of the ship here at the gangway." the men took the young officer at his word, and it was not very long ere their smoke was finished, and they, too, were fast asleep. had any other eyes than tom's been watching the shore, about half an hour afterwards, they must have noticed that something very strange was taking place. dark figures could be seen drawing near with stealthy footsteps to the farther end of the gangway. then they stopped as if in fear and dread. but tom whistled a long, low whistle, and three figures, muffled in oil-skins, stole along the gangway and stepped silently on deck. then tom sprang a small bull's-eye lantern, and let its light shine right in front of him, so that no one meeting him could have told who or what was stealing up behind. in the same quiet way he led the little party down a ladder to the deck below, and then beneath hammocks filled with sleeping sailors, and along a passage, until he came to a door, which he carefully unlocked, and soon afterwards locked again. [illustration] * * * * * by midnight next night the _valhalla_ was far out at sea, bearing to the north, for captain staysail did not mean to touch at any of the english or scotch ports on this voyage. the weather at first was very beautiful, and so it remained, with a calm sea and hardly a breath of wind, until nearly sunset of the second day. then clouds began to bank up, dark and threatening, and the glass--so webb, the first mate, reported to the captain--was going tumbling down. "we are going to have a blow, sir," he said, "and it's coming up sharp behind us. i reckon, sir, we'll have a ten-knotter afore the middle watch is called!" "well, then, have the fires banked, mr. webb, as soon as the wind is strong enough to get way on her. i wouldn't set too much sail, and if it does come a gale, i'd ease her right away. you know what she can do, mate." "ay, ay, sir!" "well, i think that's all." but the mate didn't move. "anything else, mr. webb?" "there is something else, sir," said the mate rather sheepishly. "well, out with it. why, you look as if you'd seen a ghost!" "well, sir, there is a ghost, or demon, or something aboard of this very ship, and some of the crew are in a state next door to mutiny about it." "what on earth do you mean, mr. webb?" the tall, handsome, fair-haired webb leaned over the table and spoke to staysail almost in a whisper. "it's the little professor they all blame, sir; and there are four of them who swear the ship is haunted--that he keeps evil spirits under lock and key for'ard--" "but--but--mr. webb--evil spirits under lock and key! do you mean bad rum? and who is he?" "hush, sir! don't talk so loud. he's walking the deck now. it's the professor i mean, sir. as to the evil spirits, i've heard them myself--mutter, mutter, squeak, squeak, squeak! ugh! it is awful, sir--awful!" and the mate shuddered as he spoke. now, staysail was always a good laugher, but at this tale he fairly yelled with laughter until everything jingled in the cabin, and the tears ran down his cheeks. the mate never moved a muscle. "that awful fore-cabin, sir!" he said. "it's in there, and broomberg, the finlander, declares that if you don't land him and his mates at bergen they'll seize the ship and sail for aberdeen." "but why on earth don't you open the fore-cabin?" "oh, that's where it is, sir! the key is lost, or else the professor has it." "hark!" a squall at that moment struck the ship and heeled her over. it blew with tremendous force for a time, and at last settled down to a steady gale. but in less than an hour the captain's orders were carried out, and the good ship _valhalla_ was speeding before the wind at a good rate with very little sail on her. the storm increased towards midnight, and at that dark hour the _valhalla_ had to lie to under almost bare poles. so busy had all hands been kept that there was very little time to think of ghosts or evil spirits, and now that the crew had a chance of turning in, it is needless to say that sleep was the first thing to be considered. but fresh trouble came with the new day. the wind had gone down, and the sea as well, and the _valhalla_ was now bowling along on a pretty even keel, for the breeze was well astern. webb, the mate, and tom both slept in bunks in the same cabin. just as the steward was laying breakfast, webb popped his head out from his cabin curtains. "hillo, steward!" "good-morning, sah!" said jake brown, who, strange as it may seem, was a tall and important-looking black man, with hair as white as snow. "have you seen master tom? he hasn't been here all night. i slept too sound to take much notice." "sakes alive, no!" cried burly jake. "i run and search de ship plenty quick." and away he went. webb was dressed and leaving his cabin when jake returned. but neither high nor low, fore nor aft, could tom be found, nor had he been seen since the main-topsail had carried away just before midnight. the captain was now roused and the terrible news reported. "poor tom! poor tom! washed overboard without a doubt!" he said. tom had been a great favourite on board, and the news caused a general gloom all over the ship. but broomberg and his mates received the news in another way. "it is von unlucky ship," cried the former, "and did not those below hear the shrieking of the ghosts when the waves and wind were highest? come we to the captain at once, men. i will not sail in a haunted ship. no, no." some minutes before eight bells rang out in the morning air, the captain on the quarter-deck, with mr. webb and the professor, were engaged in angry talk with broomberg and his fellows. "return to your duty, men," the captain said. "i will make enquiries into the matter. as for you, broomberg, hand over that knife you are fingering, and consider yourself under arrest." "i will not," shouted the fellow. "see!" he made a wild rush aft, holding the glittering blade high in air, and seized the professor by the neck. but help from an unexpected quarter was at hand, and next moment broomberg was sprawling on his back with briton's great paws on his chest. mutiny and ghosts and storm were at once forgotten. the men cheered wildly, broomberg's knife was snatched from his hand, and he himself bound hand and foot, while everybody crowded round to shake hands with the little professor, or to pat the noble dog who had saved his life. but suddenly joy was changed to terror, for shriek after shriek could be heard forward, and in a few seconds' time the cook rushed helter-skelter up on deck, almost pale with fright, followed by the men of the watch below. "the ghosts!" somebody shouted. the captain stood as if stupefied, the little professor's eyes were as big as watch-glasses, and the mate had to catch hold of a back-stay to prevent himself from falling. the whole crew now took to the rigging, and the only marvel is that some of them did not slip overboard and make food for the sharks. "look, look!--oh, look, sir!" shouted the mate with a cry like one in a nightmare; and the next moment he fainted and fell on the top of broomberg the mutineer. chapter iii two little girls, one little boy, and one little dog, all as black as chimney-sweeps, the girls with their arms in the air, now came wildly racing aft. tom himself, come back to life, was standing on the capstan waving his cap in the air, and cheering and laughing like a mad thing. aralia and pansy reached the quarter-deck before anyone could say "knife", and, black as they were, sprang right into captain staysail's arms, hugging him and kissing him. "what!--what!--what!--" he tried to get out a sentence, but failed. "oh, i was so frightened, unky dear, but i is so happy now!" cried pansy. "bless my soul and body," cried staysail at last, "how did all this happen?" [illustration] then he went forward a few paces, the little ones clinging to him all the time, and veevee racing round the deck like a live muff. "tom, you young rascal, jump down here at once. this is all your work. now, give a full account of it, sir." "oh, i do hope, uncle, you'll forgive me, but frank and little pansy and aralia did want to come with us so much, that--that--!" "that you took them as stowaways, eh?" "i'm afraid that's it, sir." the captain pretended to be awfully angry, and said he would put about and land the lot at aberdeen. "in the meantime, go below, children, and get yourselves washed; the steward will see to you. steward!" "ay, ay, sir, i'se heah, sah." "let miss aralia and pansy have that spare cabin near mine. i'll talk to you afterwards, tom." tom hung his head in sorrow--so it seemed,--but it really was to hide a smile. he got near enough to his sisters to say: "keep up your pecker, pansy, for there won't be any aberdeen about it." in the spare cabin stood a big box that nobody had noticed before. tom had smuggled it on board, and it contained his sisters' best things, and a full rig-out for them for the arctic regions. sly old tom! he now stole into their cabin and gave them their clothes, and when staysail came down to dinner at twelve, with his spy-glass under his arm, no wonder he cried: "hillo! hillo!" for here were the three children, all mirth and smiles, seated beside pete, and tom, with head bowed down, waiting to take his seat. "hillo! hillo! but what will your father and mother think, my dears?" "oh," cried tom, "we made that all right! father gave his consent, and he'll easily manage mother." "steward!" shouted the captain, and jake came running. "put the other half-leaf in the table to-night, and lay covers for three more, for these young ragamuffins must mess with us in future." there was no more word about ghosts now, and the kind professor forgave the finlander. he was set free and sent to duty, and now for weeks and weeks there wasn't a much happier vessel afloat than the brave ship _valhalla_ bound for the frozen north. the two dogs became great friends, but, strangely enough, both disliked broomberg, and kept out of his way whenever they could. once, indeed, when the man bent down to stroke veevee, briton stood guard over his little friend and growled. "hands off!" the mastiff seemed to say, "hands off till we know more about you!" * * * * * of course uncle was chief favourite with the children, but all the three of them came to like the little professor very much indeed. he was with them nearly all day long. tom was usually very busy; so, too, was uncle staysail; and though it must not be thought that pete was an idle man, for he had much to study, still he always found time to romp and play with aralia, pansy, and the two dogs. though the weather grew colder for a time, it was all one long, long summer's day. for in the arctic regions the sun never sets for at least three months, but just goes round and round, blazing high in the south at mid-day, and lower in the north at midnight. indeed, in these seas, if you were not to look at the clock, you could not really tell whether it was night or day. every evening now the little party gathered round the large stove, on which a copper urn of coffee was always gently simmering. then the professor told his strangest stories, with perhaps pansy on his knee, and aralia lying on the hearth-rug with the dogs. most of his yarns were about the frozen north, its dangers and perils, its joys and pleasures. "and shall we see all these strange sights?" pansy used to ask. "yes, dear, and many more than these, because i mean to give you a treat if you are good and don't get your fingers frozen." one day great lumps of white snow-clad ice came floating by, and that same evening the crow's-nest was hoisted high, high up at the very top of the main-mast. the crow's-nest was like a big barrel with a lid at the bottom, pansy said, and tom, or the mate, used to climb and crawl through the bottom, and stand, spy-glass in hand, and look all about them. "oh," cried pansy one day, "shouldn't i like to get up just once! wouldn't you, ara?" "but we could never climb up," sighed her sister. the clever professor heard them, and lo and behold! the very next day he had a kind of easy-chair ready for them to go up in. he himself sat down in it with the children, and up they were hoisted, up and up. it was so fearsome that the girls shut their eyes and clung to pete, but when they did open them what a sight they saw! they were not far off the main pack, and as far as the eye could see was one vast field of snow-covered ice. their eyes were dazzled in looking at it. they were not in the crow's-nest, but close beside it, and pete made them look through the spy-glass. this was wonderful, for away yonder to the north, and near to the edge of the pack, where the sea looked as black as ink, they could see four great ships, with their crews on the ice, shooting seals and dragging skins. but in two hours' time the _valhalla_ herself got north as far as these ships, and was stopped. neither of the girls felt cold, for they wore great mits and hoods, and were altogether as snug as mice. then a boat was lowered, and when they looked down they could see tom himself get in with shooting-clothes on and a great rifle in his hand. he waved his cap to them, and pansy cried: "hoo-lay!" the boat pulled away and soon touched the ice; tom sprang nimbly on shore, and before long he could be seen only as a little black dot on that dazzling plain of snow. then he was observed to stop and kneel down while some huge monster, yellowish-white in colour, came rushing towards him. aralia must have the glass now. "oh, the bear! the bear!" she cried in grief. "it is going to kill tom. oh! oh! oh! my brother tom!" "let me see! let me see!" screamed pansy. "look now!" said aralia with a smile. "isn't tom brave?" tom was indeed. for pansy could now see the monster lying dead, and tom leaning on his gun, and once more waving his cap. then men came up and skinned the bear, and dragged the head and hide and paws to the ship. [illustration] tom was a splendid shot, and this was his first bear. when he came aboard, his sisters met him with pleasure, although with tears in their eyes, for he had run a great risk. a day or two after this, when still farther north, the children had had their first run upon the ice. it was all so strange, and the ice was so white, that they felt very giddy for a time. but the professor held pansy, and tom walked by aralia. the whole ice-pack seemed one vast plain, like a bleak moorland in winter, only with little hillocks of ice here and there called hummocks, for the flat pieces of ice were all frozen hard together, and ara wondered where "greenland's icy mountains" had all got to. there were no bears about to-day, and no seals, only the sea-birds that went wheeling and screaming about them in thousands. when they got back to the ship it was dinner-time, and both were snow-blind. the black steward carried them down and seated them at table, but it was quite half an hour before they could see. although the ship was now kept well away from the ice-pack, they could often see vessels far in through frozen ice, but busy, busy at their terrible work. sometimes tom and the mate would have a boat lowered, and would set off bear-hunting. one day tom brought home a young seal. it was such a beauty, with soft eyes and long, warm, fluffy hair. it was so small that even pansy could carry it a little way in her arms. "oh, do let us have it for a pet!" cried aralia, and her uncle consented. so they called the seal "flossy", and warmed frozen milk for it--great stores of which had been taken on board,--and fed it with a spoon, and soon the wee thing knew pansy, and used to crawl and waddle after her. the dogs didn't know what to make of flossy at first, and briton used to roll it all round the deck with his big nose; but flossy rather liked this. but one day, when briton tried to lift it up by the tail, it struck him a slap with its flipper that could be heard from stem to stern. "take that," flossy seemed to say, "and leave my tail alone!" the vessel was now kept farther to the east, and every day they passed between great patches of ice, big pieces of which kept striking the ship with such a noise that when anyone wanted to be heard he had to shout aloud. the professor was very busy now, taking soundings almost every day, and doing all kinds of clever work that even tom, smart as he was, couldn't understand. but in the evenings he still played with the children, or amused them by showing them, through magnifying-glasses, some of the wonderful things he had brought up from the bottom of the ocean. it was all very strange and beautiful, and the children were enchanted. but their greatest treat was when he brought some little glass tanks containing forms of animal life they had never seen before, and were never tired of watching. only professor pete didn't--because he said he couldn't--bring them out every night. chapter iv on and on sailed the beautiful _valhalla_. east and west, but always north, went she. peterkin was on a voyage of discovery, and one of his chief objects seemed to be to keep clear of the ice, which had grown very heavy indeed. it was a delightful holiday for the children as yet, but for the professor a time of harder work than many know anything about at all. it was really wonderful how this busy little man found time to play with the children, with flossy and with the dogs, or even to play his fiddle. but this, he would have told you, was his way of taking exercise; and he told pansy that if it were not for her he didn't think he should ever be able to find the island of gold he was in search of. do not think, though, it was all and always plain sailing. there were dangers of many kinds. sometimes storms would suddenly rise and blow for a day or two at a stretch. at such times the sun was hidden, and the cold became intense. the waves that broke on board were turned into ice, covering the decks and bows, and giving to the ship a wondrous appearance. one evening, after a gale like this had blown over, the stowaways, who had not dared to show face all day, were told to come up on deck. what a sight! why, the _valhalla_ was like a ghost-ship. the decks were white, and the bulwarks too. every rope and stay seemed made of frosted silver, while great icicles hung everywhere around. it was very dark this evening, so that the children at first could hardly see anything. but pete soon had them all hoisted up on to the bridge. and now he turned on the electric and coloured lights--crimson, blue, and orange. then, what a sight was there! it was one that caused pansy and aralia quite to forget the beauty of a pantomime they had seen the winter before. they stood spell-bound, and would not have been a bit surprised if all the deck had suddenly been crowded with fairies, with silver wands, garlands of flowers, and wings of pearly gauze. but the only fairies were the sailors, and every one of these looked like a very old man, because heads and beards were white with frost and snow, and little icicles hung round their hats. the children dreamt of it all again that night; but lo! when they went on deck next morning, before breakfast, to have a romp and a run with the dogs and flossy, everything was changed. and what a change! the sun was now shining brightly, with not a cloud in the blue sky. icebergs lay far astern; all around was a calm blue sea, with one great whale half-asleep on its surface, wild birds more beautiful than any they had ever seen before sailing around, and, more wonderful than anything else, the _valhalla_ was safe at anchor in front of a pretty island, patched with the greens, reds, and browns of lovely flowers. "behold!" cried peterkin, as he lifted pansy up. "behold, my child, the land of gold and coals!" pansy's reply was to the point. "very pretty, very pretty," she said; "but, 'fessor pete, i wants to see the gold--not the nasty coals." this very forenoon peterkin started off in the biggest boat to "spy out the land", as he called it tom and the three little stowaways were allowed to come too. to them it was going to be a kind of picnic, and the steward sent with them a huge basket, filled with enough good things to last the whole crew for a week. as there was no wind, the men had to row all the way. "oh," cried pansy, "i hope dear flossy won't swim away!" yes, they had taken flossy with them as well as the dogs. the water was deep and dark quite close to the beautiful shore, and the girls could not help marvelling at the monsters of jelly-fish they saw far down in its depths. their bodies were as great as sunshades, and of the same shape, and the legs they jerked out from under were spangled with stars of blue and red. once a huge shark swam up to the boat, leered at them with his sly and evil eyes, then, turning on his back, showed a mouth that could have swallowed them all. poor pansy drew nearer to the professor with a cry of horror. they found a little bay at last, and landed for a meal. "i don't think there is anything that can hurt you here," said peterkin, "and, if you like, you can run about and gather flowers while i cruise round the coast for an hour. there, i will leave you all the rugs, the bear-skin, and the basket too." they were delighted. so off they set, veevee and briton bounding and barking in front, and flossy waddling behind. tom had his rifle and plenty of cartridges, but there was really nothing to shoot but the lovely gulls, and the boy was not so cruel as to touch one of these. so they wandered on and on and upwards, until they came to a level spot all one lovely carpet of small wild flowers. poppies of many colours grew here, mosses, yellow stone-crop, and grasses of every hue, but they agreed not to pick any until they should be returning. still higher they went up the mountain-side, when suddenly little pansy exclaimed: "look, tom! look, ara! the sea is all flied away!" [illustration] tom stared behind him and stood aghast. a huge wall of fog or white mist had quite covered the ocean and even the shore, shutting them out from view, and was now slowly advancing towards them. but that was not the worst, for a low, moaning wind came on before it, and flakes of snow began to fall. it was easy for tom to say: "let us get back at once to the beach, the boat must be there already." they had come miles from the bay. before they could walk half the distance back, the snow-fog had swallowed them, and it was no wonder that they lost their way, and became cold and faint and dizzy. both aralia and pansy began to cry now, and at last sank down among the dry snow, unable to move another yard. tom was a boy of great courage. he thought for a little, and then he said: "frank, if you can carry pansy i'm sure i can manage ara; and we will try to find shelter somewhere till the storm is blown over." so on again in this way they struggled, till, more dead than alive, they found, by good luck, the welcome shelter of a cave. the cave was by no means large, but they were surprised to find it so warm. the first thing, however, that tom did was to walk all round the inside, rifle in hand. tom had not been two years at sea for nothing. meanwhile, where was flossy, and where was briton? tom whistled again and again, till he said he had nearly whistled the whites of his eyes out, but never a dog replied. something else had begun to whistle also, and that was the wind, and although tom made several attempts to leave the cave, to have a look at the weather as he called it, he found it impossible to stand. hours and hours passed away like this, and the tempest seemed only to increase in force. they were all very hungry now, and so tom shared out some biscuits he had brought with him, and after they had swallowed a little snow they all sat down to talk. "i fear," said tom, "we'll have to stay here all night. it will be good fun, won't it, girls?" he knew it was anything but fun himself, but he spoke in that way to keep up the children's courage. when aralia said, "yes," so did pansy, but both looked very quiet. soon after this, to their great joy, in bounded briton himself, and close behind him waddled floss. it was clear to all that he had been helping flossy along, for flossy was still little more than a puppy; but, poor wee beauty, how glad she was to see them all again! she crawled up to pansy, and lay down on her back to be scratched, which was always flossy's way of showing she was pleased. well, after they had all talked till they were tired, tom said: "now, girls, just you lie down to sleep. frank, here is my ticker." he gave his cousin his watch as he spoke. "you have to do sentry for three hours. then wake me up and i'll let you lie down. see, i'll put my rifle and belt, with fifty cartridges in it, beside you. mind, that is only for show, because you're too little a boy to touch guns. anybody want a little more snow? no? very well." so the girls curled up with veevee and floss, and tom lay near. but briton seemed to say: "no, i won't sleep; i'll lie and watch with frank." frank was not sorry to have the dog beside him for it was terrible to feel all alone in such a dismal place. well, the night wore slowly on--one, two, three, four hours--and frank was just looking at the rifle, and pretending to aim at something in the falling snow, when, all at once, briton uttered a low warning growl and sprang to his feet. next moment a great shambling bear was right in the mouth of the cave. he gave a roar that seemed to shake the whole island. whether the boy took aim or not, i never could tell, but he certainly fired the rifle, and down dropped bruin dead, and lay in the snow with his great tongue hanging out, a marvellous sight to see. the noise in the cave was fearful, but as soon as the girls had stopped screaming, frank told what had happened. "i tell you what it is, girls," he said more than once, "there wasn't the least bit of bravery about it. i just held out the gun, and off it went." "oh, but you were brave!" said aralia; "and if you hadn't killed the awful monster, we should all be dead now. "no, no," cried tom, "it was only flossy that the bear wanted! he just wanted a bit of seal for supper." "wowff!" barked briton. "wiff!" barked veevee, as much as to say: "no bear shall touch flossy while we are alive." but nobody thought of sleeping any more, and as they were all very hungry, tom served out more snow. chapter v the tempest howled for many hours more. then at last it grew almost calm, and the sun shone out on the pure white snow. "i know what to do now," said tom. "let us find our way to the beach. the boat may be there, you know." but long before they reached the shore they beheld a wondrous sight, for as far as the eye could reach there was no water to be seen, only huge icebergs covered with dazzling snow, all gently moving up and down with the swelling waves beneath. the noise made by these great bergs as they ground their sides together was deafening. but there were no signs of the boat, and no ship was to be seen. the _valhalla_ had either been crushed to atoms or been driven out to sea. tom clung to the last hope, and even told his sisters that she was sure to return for them soon. he would not get downhearted. "this is a queer business, frank," he said with a light laugh, which had no sound of fun in it however; "but we must do the best we can till they come back. eh, frank?" "yes, of course." but pansy was clinging to aralia, quietly crying. "well, frank, we must live in the cave for a little, and so we had better get everything in, and be as jolly as we can." [illustration] when they had got everything up to the cave, which took a long time, everybody had a good breakfast. there was really enough food to last a week, and it was lucky there were several boxes of sardines, for floss would take nothing else. "it's going to be a big, big picnic," said frank, and the girls began to laugh. "we're going to have lots of fun." frank and tom could climb like monkeys, and in about an hour's time they had put all the food high up in a hole in the rock out of the reach of bears or foxes. by twelve o'clock, when the sun was as high as it could get, the snow had disappeared, and once more there was a soft, warm breeze blowing, and beauty everywhere. two days flew by and nothing happened, only at night they could hear foxes barking in the distance. they never attack people singly, as bears do, but they are dangerous in packs, as tom one day found out to his cost. the food was getting low, and tom thought it was time to do something. they had found strange fruits like strawberries growing, and also some sort of roots that tasted like nuts; but unless they could get some fish poor flossy would die. so tom started off all alone on a voyage of discovery. frank stayed in the cave with the girls, and they promised to be very good. the morning was very calm, and so still that tom could hear pansy calling to him "not to be long" when he was quite a mile up the mountain-side. why he took this course he could never tell, but, when he crossed the top, marvellous indeed was the view that lay before his eyes. uncle staysail used to tell him that the natives of the north say there is an open sea somewhere near the pole, with many islands in it, and trees, and flowers, and birds. and now, behold! such a sea lay right down in the round valley yonder at his feet. it was not really a sea, but a lovely round lake, and right in the middle was a large green island. tom rubbed his eyes and gazed and gazed, and then rubbed his eyes and gazed again. "was it all a dream?" he wondered. no, there was no dream about it. it took tom some hours to explore this lake. he walked round it and found that at the far side a ridge of rocks, very narrow, led right out to the island. he crossed this natural bridge and found himself in a perfect paradise. flowers and fruit everywhere, and beautiful wild birds the like of which he had never seen before. there were rabbits, too, and very tame they were, for they followed him about, and seemed to wonder what he was and where on earth he came from. tom knocked one on the head, though he was not cruel, and with this slung over his shoulder, and his pockets full of nuts, he started to walk back. but i suppose that walking round in a circle had confused him. anyhow he walked miles out of his way, and lost himself. he sat down on a big stone at last, and wondered what he should do. he was tired and hungry, so he ate a handful of nuts. and then he began to nod. "i'll just have five minutes of a nap," he said, "and then get on again." so down he lay. but his five minutes lasted for an hour, and still the lad lay fast asleep. a large gray fox stole up and smelt the rabbit. "that'll just suit me," said he to himself. "i'll go and call my brothers and sisters, and we'll kill this two-legged creature and steal his rabbit." "yap-yap-yap!" barked the fox, and soon he had a whole pack round him. but just as they were getting near to tom, he awoke and sat up. bang went his rifle at once, as he saw his danger. one fox fell dead, but the others came on with a rush, and there was soon a lively fight. tom laid about him with the butt end of his rifle, and, being a strong young fellow, dead and dying foxes were soon lying all round him. the rest of the pack drew back a little way, only to come on again, yelping and yelling more than ever. poor tom's wrists were dripping with blood, for he had been bitten in many places. he thought it was all over now, yet he meant to fight to the last. but help was at hand, for the next moment briton bounded into the centre of the spiteful pack, and the savage beasts fled in every direction. what a happy meeting that was! the mastiff led tom back over the hills, and in an hour's time he was safe and sound at the cave. pansy wept with delight, and aralia bound up tom's wrists. he made very light of the bites, however. there were many pieces of old black wood in the cave, so frank collected them and lit a fire; and when it was quite clear, the rabbit was roasted, and everybody made a splendid dinner. then tom told them all he had seen; and, after a night's rest, they all started off the next morning for the lake and the island, taking the skins and rugs with them. they reached the long ridge of rocks and crossed over. then, indeed, were the girls surprised and delighted. what a lot they would have to tell father and mother when they got home again! tom sighed. he feared in his own mind that they would never, never see their home any more. when flossie saw the lake she made a spring towards it and dived below the surface. they could see her darting about beneath, and soon up she came, looking as pleased as punch, with a fine, great fish in her mouth. she laid it gently at pansy's feet, and dived in again. "i'll be happy here," she seemed to say, as she brought another fish, "and we need never be hungry any more." after tom had well explored the island, he told frank they must build a fort. he had found the very spot for it, too, on a little hill. this was about a hundred feet high, and the top was hollow, like a cup, with only one opening into it. in fact, the top of the hill was part of the crater of an extinct volcano, and was shaped like the letter g, the doorway being only a gap in the rocks, through which no bear could squeeze. inside, the walls were twenty feet high all round, all bare rock; but the floor was covered with grass, and moss, and wild flowers. aralia and pansy were wild with delight, and pansy said she would now be able to sleep without ugly dreams. veevee would be her bed-fellow, and floss would curl up with sissie, and big briton could sleep at the entrance. so it was all arranged. but as there could be no telling how long they might have to remain here, and as rain would be sure to fall, even if snow did not, tom and frank began to build a hut inside fort fairyland, as they called their strange abode. [illustration] now each boy had--like all greenland sailors--not only a large, many-bladed knife, with a saw in it, but a huge broad dagger in a leathern belt round his waist. so they did not want for tools. they found the best wood for what they wanted growing close by the lake, in the shape of straight and strong willows. there were plenty of leaves, and grasses, and heath also. it would be rather a long job, but they set to work with a will, and in three days' time they had dragged everything they wanted up to fort fairyland. the building of the hut was fine fun. at first it was only meant to be a kind of shelter on poles, but, as they had so much time upon their hands, they agreed to build real walls, and leave space for a door and a window. in little more than a week they had the framework all up, and the roof all made. it was thatched first with broad leaves, and then with grass. and, mind you a short ladder had to be made first to permit them to do the thatching. when this was finished, all the sides were filled in with willow branches, except door and window. never a hole was left in it, for aralia and pansy collected heaps and heaps of dried moss, and the boys worked this in to fill up the gaps. and when all was finished, and wicker seats made, it did look a cosy little hut indeed. but all the cooking was done out-of-doors. there were no sauce-pans to clean, nor knives nor forks. the plates were broad leaves, and for knives and forks the castaways used pointed sticks. it really wasn't bad fun at all being crusoes in such a place as this. but--dear me! there is always a "but" about everything--how was it all to end? and where was the _valhalla_? except for these two questions, which would keep on running through tom's and frank's minds, they could have been quite contented--well, for a time at all events. chapter vi in their rambles through this little arctic fairy land, tom noticed that the squirrels were now busy every day running away to their holes with nuts and leaves. of course they might have young ones to feed, he thought; but surely it was something more than this which made them act thus. creeping all alone one morning through the bushes, as quietly as a mouse, tom came upon a sight which taught him a useful lesson. for high up in the trunk of an old tree was a big round hole with a squirrel's tail hanging out. presently up ran another squirrel, carrying a great mouthful of leaves and clay. the new-comer made a slight noise, when out came no. and took the bundle from no. , which then darted off for more. "ho! ho!" said tom to himself, "they seem to be storing up food for winter. heigho! i thought it would always be summer in this fairyland. but thank you, master squirrel, i shall go and do the same." so off went tom to tell frank and the girls what he had seen the squirrels doing. "as there is no sign of the ship coming back for us, children," he said somewhat seriously, "and we may have to spend the winter here, i think, you know, we ought to be making ready for it." "so do i," said pansy, looking very wise. "we want food, and we want wood and all, doesn't we, tom?" "it won't be very, very cold in this island," said her brother, "because we have the warm-water lake all round us. but perhaps the squirrels know best." so now began a very busy season indeed, for everybody went nut-gathering. tom opened up a squirrel's store, and a pretty noise the little creature made about it. but he did not rob it; he only wanted to learn a lesson. he noticed that the nuts it had collected were a little green on one side, so these must be the best. then he looked at the leaves and clay that were packed over them, and thought he would get some just the same. this going a-nutting in fairyland was real fine fun, and to have heard their merry voices, talking and laughing and singing, with every now and then briton's great bass "wowff!" and veevee's shrill "wiff!" no one would have taken them for castaways and crusoes. nutting made everyone so hungry too! rabbits were very plentiful on the island. the boys caught them by means of snares made of a kind of tough creeper. and bonny flossy caught as many fish as would have kept a large family alive. tom seldom used his rifle, though he always carried it. the cartridges were too precious to waste. another thing which these crusoes had to be very careful to do was never to let the fire go out. it was easily kept in by placing a kind of mossy peat among the hot ashes and covering it quite over. * * * * * so they collected an immense quantity of nuts, and these were placed in holes found in the rocks, and covered right up with the same sort of cement as the squirrels used. the roots that served them instead of bread every day, and which were cooked by placing them for a short time in the hot ashes, they also collected and stored. so when the harvest was all over, tom told frank and his sisters that they needn't be afraid to spend their christmas in this beautiful island. "oh, but, tom," said pansy, "we'll all be home long, long before christmas, won't we?" poor child! she was beginning to long for her mother's cosy cottage on the cliff, and for the fires that in the long winter evenings always burned so brightly in the parlour grate. "now, about light for the long arctic winter night, which will soon be here?" this was the question that tom put to frank just after sunset one beautiful evening as the snow on the tops of the highest mountains was changed to a rose tint in the sun's parting rays. "it is a very serious question, you know," he added. "very serious," said pansy, who heard him, shaking her wise, wee head. sitting by the camp fire there, with its lights and shadows chasing each other over her face and through her sunny hair, pansy looked a very beautiful child indeed. for some time they had all been sitting round the fire, watching the curling smoke and the dancing flames, everyone intent on his or her own thoughts. aralia had been wondering what they were all doing at home, and if her father and mother were anxious about her and pansy. it was such a long, long time--hundreds of years it seemed--since they had sailed away; so many strange things had happened since that day. pansy was a little maiden who took the world very easily, and enjoyed each day and hour as it passed. her thoughts were hardly worth a penny. frank was not unlike pansy, and took things as they came, and if they were not nice, just let them slide. the mastiff was asleep, so was veevee, and both seemed to be dreaming, and talking in their dreams. but flossy's eyes were very wide open now. she was really wondering if she could catch another fish to-night. flossy had lately taken to waddling away towards evening for a swim in the warm lake, and never came back without something in her mouth. so nobody was surprised when they missed her from the fire, only, as she stayed rather longer to-night than usual, and as the long twilight would soon end, tom took up his rifle and went off all by himself to look for her. "oh, dear!" cried pansy, as the sound of a shot startled everyone in the fort. "tom's gone and killed something!" "let's run and see," said frank. veevee and briton had already rushed off. they found tom at the lake-side, standing over a huge dead bear, with flossy near him. "that bear," said tom, laughing, "was keeping poor floss in the lake; but he won't do so again. isn't he a fine one?" "yes," cried frank; "he is indeed." "and now, children," said tom, when he was once more seated in front of the camp fire, "the question of lights is settled for good. frank and i are going to make candles out of that bear's tallow." "yes, pansy, we are. oh, we shouldn't be half crusoes if we couldn't make candles!" so the boys arranged to start work the very next morning at sunrise. "but first let us have a look through this beautiful isle of the sea, while the girls are asleep. there may be more bears. briton, you must stay and watch. veevee, you may come." though veevee searched every bush and grove, no bear was found. the one tom had so cleverly killed must have crossed to the island alone by the bridge of rocks. so, after breakfast, the boys built their fire. with big blocks of lava they made a sort of stove, and on top of this was placed a large cup-like stone, which they had chanced to find. into this they put the tallow to melt. in the meantime tom pulled a quantity of thick rushes, and set frank and the girls to peel them, while the dogs looked on as if wondering what it was all about. [illustration] "it's something to eat, i suppose," said briton, looking very wise. "a sort of soup of some kind from the smell of it, i should think," was veevee's remark. the long threads of white pith were about as thick as a penholder, and these were to form the wicks. when dried they were tied two and two by one end. then between two uprights tom placed a long willow rod, with three dozen strong thorns stuck in it about two inches apart, to serve as hooks. by this time the tallow was melted and all was ready. "now, ladies and gentlemen," said tom, "you shall see how candles were built in the royal navy when uncle was a boy." he rolled up his sleeves, and, picking up a double wick, dipped it in the pan, and then hung it on the first peg for the tallow to set. he did the same with all the rest, and by the time he had the thirty-sixth wick hung up, no. was ready to be taken down and dipped again. so on he went all along the row, till he had dipped them a dozen times at least, when, lo! and behold! they were thick and beautiful candles, each one strong enough to give the light of half a dozen ordinary ship's candles. he worked for two days, and made about a hundred in all, so there was no fear of their having to sit in the dark. next night, while the moon was shining low over the snow-clad hills, the whole camp was alarmed by the fierce barking of briton. the mastiff was "wowffing", veevee was "wiffing", and flossy was moaning and wagging her tail in the air. though it was long past midnight, briton wanted to be off out and kill something or somebody he had heard, and veevee would also go on the war-path for fear briton might get hurt. almost immediately after came the most tremendous yelling the crusoes had ever heard, and it was clear that a whole pack of foxes had invaded the island, and if briton and veevee had been allowed to go out, they would both have been torn to pieces. the awful din lasted for hours, with a sound now and then of fighting. then it stopped, and all was still. everybody went quietly off to sleep again, but next day, when they went to the lake-side, behold not a trace of the bear was to be seen. the beasts had eaten all the flesh, and carried away the bones and skin. "now, what if these wild dogs return some night," said tom to frank, "and attack the camp. although no bear could squeeze in here, these half-bred wolves might, and tear us all in pieces. "don't frighten a fellow, tom," said frank. "but i say, old man, we must puzzle our heads once again and make a gate." "well, that's good!" cried tom, laughing; "why, there is only one head between the two of us, and that belongs to me, master frank; and don't you forget it." "well, well, you may have it, only for goodness' sake make good use of it!" the cup-like top of the hill in which our crusoes were living had but one entrance, as i have before told you, and the path leading to it was very steep, and made up of large stones and lumps of lava. "it would be a good thing," tom said, "to get a lot of these inside. they would come in very handy to throw at an enemy, eh?" "that they would," said frank. well, it took them three whole days to make and fix up a gate, which they could raise or lower before the entrance by means of ropes made out of long trailing weeds, or creepers. then, after they had carried about a hundred big stones inside, they began to feel happier and safer. chapter vii one morning, a month or two after this, the crusoes awoke to find that the sun rose that day for the last time, and, until spring should return, they would see his golden beams no more. but there was a bright and beautiful twilight every mid-day for two weeks longer. then they knew that the long, dreary arctic night had come in earnest. for about a month the crusoes had been eating very heartily every day and were getting quite fat. it was the same with the animals. flossy had long ago lost her puppy coat, and was now a bonny whitish-yellow seal, not very large, and with a black saddle on her back. but flossy got drowsy too, and if the boys had not stirred her up every day, and sent her off to catch fish, i believe she would have slept nearly all the time. even the boys felt sleepy, though they could not tell why. said tom one day to frank as they sat playing draughts on a rough board, with nuts for men: "frank, old man, by this time all the bears will have gone into winter quarters. they won't come out much until the sun returns." "fancy," cried aralia, clapping her hands, "fancy all of us sleeping all night long--three months, didn't you say, tom? wouldn't it be nice? and if uncle staysail should come in to wake us in the morning! 'get up,' he would say, 'are you going to sleep all day?'" they all laughed at the idea, but it was not carried out. besides the candles, which they only burned at supper and after, they had torches made of wood which they could burn at any time. moreover, there was the light of the camp fire, which they kept always burning, for they had laid in a vast store of peat and wood. * * * * * tom was time-keeper. he had a little log-book in which he had been careful to note down day and date every morning, and, like a good lad, he never forgot to wind his watch. he made a really first-class crusoe. but they were all good. and what a grand guard briton was! if ever he heard the slightest sound of bird or rabbit down amongst the trees or bushes beneath them, he gave a low growl. one night he sprang to his feet and barked very loudly and angrily. the crusoes were awake at once. and no wonder, for terrible noises, like distant thunder, were heard just beneath their feet. they were startled still more when explosion after explosion took place, both in the air and in the earth, while the ground was shaken under them. it was a curious, giddy movement, and made them all feel rather sick. then the thunder-storm burst in earnest, with rain and hail in torrents, and the whole island seemed to be on fire with the lightning. tom had to take pansy in his arms to soothe her, for she shook and trembled like a little bird. but in two hours it was all over, and the stars were shining as bright and large and near as before. * * * * * sometimes the moon shone with a stronger light than it ever does in this country. it seemed so close to them, too, that pansy used to say it was only just resting on the snowy hill-top. on moonlit days the children were always abroad in the forest or by the lake-side watching flossy catching fish. she dived and swam far more quickly than an eel. it is terribly dreary to want the sun, but after a month one gets used to it. besides, one knows that bright and beautiful days are on ahead. older people might have felt very weary, but none of our crusoes lost heart. i have not told you yet of the aurora borealis, which was best seen on dark, starry nights. it was not in the north only, but all around them, great bright fringes of coloured lights--chiefly green, crimson, or pink. how they danced and flickered, to be sure! such dazzling beauty no pen could describe, and i will not attempt it. well, christmas-day came at last, and how glad they all were to be still spared alive and in comfort! tom meant to make the most of it. but, of course, there was no turkey or goose to roast. instead, they had a splendid great rabbit stuffed with nuts, and roasted roots to eat with it. they had no crackers either, but tom and frank got an immense pile of dry wood, and heaped it in the middle of the rocky bridge that led to the mainland, and early in the day or night--whichever you like to call it--they set it alight. [illustration] now, probably this pile saved some of their lives. it had been placed there about five days before christmas, and a huge bear, who had the nightmare i suppose, came yawning out of his cave and down the mountain-side. he had shambled along to about the centre of the bridge, then lain down among the wood and gone off to sleep. he slept so soundly that he did not hear the boys crossing over to set the bonfire ablaze. but when the smoke and crackling flames got towards him he started up and began to trot off, coughing and roaring till all the hills sent back the sound. so awful was the echo that the boys were for a time almost terror-stricken. they thought that about a score of bears had left their snow-caves and were swarming down the hill. tom fired his rifle, but missed. veevee wanted to follow up. "only just let me get at him," cried the little rascal, "and i'll tear him limb from limb!" anyhow that was a fine fire, and it lit up the lake and the woods all about, while the numerous sparks that rose and fell in the air were like golden rain. after the fire began to fade and to die they all returned to their christmas dinner in the hut. no fewer than four candles were lighted to-night, one in each corner of the room. oh, tom meant to do everything in first-class form, i can tell you! and i feel pretty certain that even at home in merrie england no one that evening ate more heartily or made a better dinner than our crusoes, all alone though they were in the far-off frozen north. after supper they all came round the fire, and the dogs went off to sleep, perchance to dream; but the children kept very wide awake indeed. and tom told lots of droll, funny stories, and everybody sang songs. after this, all the talk was about home and the delightful time they were sure to have in one year's time, when christmas came round again once more. then came sleep, and when tom looked at his watch--next morning let me call it--it was very nearly twelve o'clock! * * * * * although it now wanted but a fortnight, according to tom's reckoning, of the first sunrise, it was still as dark as ever, and but for the moon and stars and glorious aurora, life about this time would have been very tame and dreary indeed. yet, owing to the clearness of the air and the purity of everything around them, the children never once lost heart. in fact they were as merry as sky-larks, and often made the island resound with song and mirth and laughter. and the dogs, as well as flossy, were merrier still. they barked and laughed as only dogs can, and chased each other round and round in great circles, often disappearing for ten minutes at a time, and springing out and rolling flossy over and over when she least expected them. flossy was gay enough, although she couldn't run, and often leapt fully six feet high, turning over and over in the air before she came down again. and when she did manage to entice the dogs into the water, it was her turn to show them her skill; and indeed her feats in the water were marvellous. anyhow, she used quite to astonish the dogs. they were all very well in the woods, but couldn't match flossy in the water, and there was no use trying it. chapter viii the long mid-day twilights came first, uncertain and gray to begin with, but getting brighter and more lovely as time went on. it was as if nature were trying her hand in painting the sky to give the great king of day a glorious welcome. but one day the snow on the mountain peaks changed to a bright red, while above floated just one streak of crimson cloud; higher up, the stars shone in a strange, green light, and all the horizon was of the richest orange colour. "oh, surely," cried pansy, "the sun will rise to-day!" but the red faded from the mountain-top, the little cloud turned brown, then gray, then black, and it was night once more. "no, little sister," said tom kindly; "but the sun will rise to-morrow." all went to bed early that night, and were up very early in the morning. in fact, breakfast was finished before the stars had begun to pale in the west. then came twilight itself, and, long though it was, its intense beauty was the best reward for the waiting, watching little crusoes. every heart was beating quickly, and pansy was standing on brave tom's shoulder, just to be "nearer the sky", she said. all were silent. the sun came at last, and with such a silvery sheen, too, that the children were dazzled. this was best, for they could not thus see the tears that slowly trickled down each other's faces. "look! look! look!" was all pansy could say. "oh, isn't it splendid!" said tom, as soon as he could speak. "uncle is sure to come now," said aralia firmly. "i'll go and fish," flossy seemed to say as she sprang three times her length in the air, and turned head over heels like the clown in a circus. "come on, veevee," cried the mastiff, "come for a run in the sunshine." and off they set. but the day soon ended, for the sun quickly disappeared. yet the crusoes had seen it, and that was joy enough for once. and now the days began to lengthen out, but at the same time earthquakes and thunder-storms became more and more frequent. the lake felt hot again, and the water tossed about so much at times, that even flossy was afraid to venture in to catch the fish she could not live without. there was a most terrible earthquake-storm about two weeks after the first sunrise. even tom himself was frightened this time, for the thunderings and lightnings and explosions were awful, and lasted for three long days. it was pitch dark all the time, and the rain came down in sheets. to make matters worse, smoke of a strange red colour was seen on the hills. it looked as if it came from rents in the mountain-sides, and there was a smell like burning sulphur in the air. but this season of terror ended at last; the stars shone out, there was a fine display of northern lights, and, soon after, the sun rose. a stiff breeze sprang up, and all the clouds and vapours were blown away, the last thing seen being a rainbow in the east. the joy of the crusoes now knew no bounds. the dogs dashed about, veevee barked "wiff!" briton barked "wowff!" and flossy frisked her tail and went off to fish. the children now set out for a stroll, and saw many curious sights. close to the lake, in several places, the earth seemed to have been ripped open, and, looking down as they stood hand in hand on the edge, they seemed to be gazing right into the world's dark depths. next day tom took a long walk alone. he went to the top of one of the highest hills, having left his sisters in charge of frank and briton, but taking veevee and his rifle with him. pansy watched him go up and up the mountain, until he was lost to sight. "oh," she cried, as she clapped her hands, "i know where tom has gone! he has just gone away to bring uncle and 'fessor pete back again." well, anyhow, tom had a look at the sea. it spread out as far as the eye could reach, and was covered everywhere with great snow-clad bergs of ice, except just close to the island, where it was clear, but black as ink. it was nothing more than he expected, but somehow he wished it had been otherwise. he marched down the other side of the hill for quite a mile, keeping a good look-out, however, lest some huge ice-bear should catch him unawares. by and by he missed his little four-footed friend, and traced him by his footprints into a cave. he called aloud, but received no answer. the cave seemed to be a vast one, and he had to feel his way in the dark with his rifle, for fear of falling down some hole. as he could hear nothing, he thought poor veevee must be dead, and slowly and sadly turned back. his foot kicked against something hard when he was near to the entrance, and, stooping down, he picked up what seemed to be a piece of white stone, and put it into the pocket of his jacket. when he got back home at last, poor pansy cried very much indeed at the loss of her pet. but when, next morning, she found him curled up at her feet, she thought it must have been all a dream. how the dog got back was never known, but it is possible he had been wandering all night in that cavern, deep down in the earth, and come out at the lake side of the range of hills. * * * * * it was quite a month before tom crossed the hills again. by this time spring had already come back to fairy island. the buds were all out on the trees, and the green leaves on a thousand bushes. wild flowers were everywhere. the birds, too, had returned, and the sea-gulls had taken up their abode on a great patch of level ground just on the other side of the lake. when anyone went near to their nests, which were in thousands, and so close together that it was difficult to thread one's way through them, the noise and screaming they made was deafening. now i don't think that tom and frank were cruel, but they had to live, and those great green-speckled eggs made a splendid addition to the larder, so that, what with sunshine and better food, the girls soon got back all the colour they had lost during the long, long night of winter. but where was the _valhalla_ and her crew all this time? would they never, never come? the crusoes lived in hope. now in spring-time the foxes and bears of the north, that have slept or starved for months, become bold and dangerous through hunger. bears are always to be feared, but more so at this time of the year than any other. [illustration] one day the prisoners of fairy island had been gayer than usual, but at last, tired and happy, they had lain down to rest. it might have been about midnight when they were awakened by a warning growl from briton. then, with veevee, he sprang up and rushed to the gate barking furiously. tom sprang to his feet, and snatched up his rifle. he was not left long in doubt as to who the enemy was. the wild wolf-foxes were in force, and the yelping and howling outside was terrible to listen to. he fired his rifle several times right into the centre of the pack, killing many and wounding more. this only made matters worse. the fierce and hungry beasts dashed themselves at the gate and tried to tear it in pieces. stones were hurled at them, but all in vain. poor briton was as anxious to get out as they were to get in, and had to be kept back by force. "go, quick, frank," shouted tom, "and stir up the fire; heap more peats and wood on, and bring lighted torches as soon as you can. i will guard the gate till you come." so there tom stood opposed to the whole awful crowd, with their glaring eyes, red tongues, and white-flashing teeth, with only a slight gateway between him and death. when he thrust his rifle between the willow bars to take a shot, the beasts bit and tore at it, as if they would have dragged it from his grasp. aralia was busy helping frank, and presently both came running up with lighted fir-torches, which tom at once flung over the gate, together with pieces of burning peat and wood. these did splendid work, and after a time the terrible pack drew off. there was no more sleep that night, however, and towards morning the attack began again. the foxes had dragged off their dead and wounded and devoured them. in the gray light of morning they rushed to the gate once more, and the battle raged again in all its fury. poor little pansy was trembling and shaking with fear as she looked up and saw that high up on the walls of the fort those savage, wild animals had taken their stand. it was a terrible morning, and hope seemed at last to fade, for even brave tom had grown faint and weary, and could fight but little longer. chapter ix "come along, professor! come along, mate! the children are there somewhere, over in that strange island. ha! here is a bridge of rocks! thank goodness for that! and look! here, too, are tracks!" it was uncle staysail who spoke, and behind him was 'fessor pete himself, and at least a dozen well-armed sailors. "listen!" cried the captain. "what is that?" "wolves, i think," said the professor. "and hark! surely that was a rifle-shot. pray heaven we may be in time, staysail!" "hurry up, men! hurry up!" cried the captain; and the men dashed onwards. * * * * * tom had revived a little, and he and frank were fighting harder than ever to hold the gate, as bold "horatius kept the bridge in the brave days of old". but it was already giving way, and the beasts without seemed to know it. briton was on his legs ready, and all seemed to be lost, when suddenly a rattling volley of rifle fire was heard from beneath, with shouts of men. volley followed volley, and in less time than it takes me to tell it, the wild wolf-foxes were seeking safety in flight. * * * * * "tell us all your story again," said tom to his uncle, as the children sat round the stove that same evening in the cosy cabin of the _valhalla_. they were all washed and clean by this time, and the girls were beautifully dressed. [illustration] "ah! well, you see," said uncle as he relit his pipe, "the professor here made a dart for the vessel when the storm came on. he wanted a stronger crew. "he caught us just in time, for though the gale was a furious one we could steam up to it, and were doing so, when suddenly there was a loud explosion; one of the boilers had burst, and the engines were smashed and useless. "we were now at the mercy of the sea, the waves, and the icebergs too, and before another day we were blown far away to sea. "even then we had hope. but in a week's time we were frozen into the main pack, and there we have had to winter, and it is hardly a week since we got clear by cutting a canal with our great ice-saws. oh! it has been a dreary time for us, but must have been more so to you, poor darlings! and well and bravely you have borne it all! "i am sure," he added, "that even pansy has grown, and her mother will hardly know her again when we all get home." "we are going now, aren't we, 'fessor pete?" said pansy, who was sitting on his knee. "yes, my dear, yes. it is no use staying here when we have no steam, so the ship is now making for england's sunny shores. and we'll get there in the rosy month of june. won't it be nice?" pansy was jumping with joy. aralia clapped her hands and cried: "just too jolly for anything!" by and by aralia sat down to the piano, and pete brought out his fiddle, and a very happy evening indeed was spent in the _valhalla_. the men were keeping it up forward too, around the galley fire, singing songs and spinning yarns, for the ship was "homeward bound". * * * * * "oh, by the by," said tom one day to the professor, "i forgot to tell you that in the cave where poor veevee got lost i picked up this curious stone!" the professor put his spectacles on his nose and gazed at it for a moment. "why, my dear tom, this is solid gold, in the centre of a coating of quartz! you're in luck, lad; and it is just as i said; that is the island of gold. we shall return another year, and you will be one of the richest men in the kingdom." * * * * * my story is finished, or almost. 'fessor pete and tom, with uncle staysail, to say nothing of the mastiff briton, are out there in the frozen north this very summer, and i do hope they will have luck. but aralia and pansy, with sometimes frank and always veevee, may be seen any day playing on the sands not far from their mother's home, and flossy too. flossy is wondrously tame, and spends an hour or two almost every day in the sea, or on the beach, to the great delight of all who see her. but aralia has a whistle, and no matter how far away in the water this strange pet may be, whenever the call is sounded she comes ploughing back to the beach, and after she has shaken her bonny coat in the sunshine, goes waddling home with her little friend veevee and the crusoes of the frozen north. online distributed proofreaders europe at http://dp.rastko.net the hurricane guide: being an attempt to connect the rotatory gale or revolving storm with atmospheric waves. including instructions for observing the phÆnomena of the waves and storms; with practical directions for avoiding the centres of the latter. by william radcliff birt. london: john murray, albemarle street. _publisher to the admiralty._ . printed by w. clowes and sons, stamford street. preface. in introducing the following pages to the notice of the public, it is the author's wish to exhibit in as clear a light as our present researches on the subjects treated of will allow, the connexion between one of the most terrific phænomena with which our globe is visited, and a phænomenon which, although but little known, appears to be intimately connected with revolving storms. how far he has succeeded, either in this particular object or in endeavouring to render the essential phænomena of storms familiar to the seaman, is left for the public to determine. should any advantage be found to result from the study of the atmospheric waves, as explained and recommended in this little work, or the seaman be induced by its perusal to attend more closely to the observations of those instruments that are calculated to warn him of his danger, an object will be attained strikingly illustrative of the baconian aphorism, "knowledge is power." _bethnal green_, april , . contents. page chap. i.--phÆnomena of revolving storms " ii.--phÆnomena of atmospheric waves " iii.--observations sect. i.--instruments " ii.--times of observation " iii.--localities for additional observations " iv.--storms, hurricanes, and typhoons " v.--seasons for extra observations " iv.--practical directions for avoiding the centres of storms notice. in the pocket accompanying this work are two rings of stiff cardboard, on which will be found all the information contained in figures and . when they are laid flatly upon a chart, the continuity of the lines on the chart is not materially interfered with, while the idea of a body of air rotating in the direction indicated by the arrows is conspicuously presented to the mind. these rings are more particularly referred to on page . the hurricane guide. chapter i. phÆnomena of revolving storms. it is the object of the following pages to exhibit, so far as observation may enable us, and in as brief a manner as possible, the connexion, if any, that exists between those terrific meteorological phænomena known as "revolving storms," and those more extensive and occult but not less important phænomena, "atmospheric waves." to the great body of our seamen, whether in her majesty's or the mercantile service, the subject can present none other than the most interesting features. the laws that govern the transmission of large bodies of air from one part of the oceanic surface to another, either in a state of rapid rotation or presenting a more or less rectilineal direction, must at all times form an important matter of inquiry, and bear very materially on the successful prosecution of the occupation of the voyager. in order to place the subjects above alluded to in such a point of view that the connexion between them may be readily seen, it will be important to notice the principal phænomena presented by each. without going over the ground so well occupied by those able writers on the subject of storms--redfield, reid, piddington, and thom--it will be quite sufficient for our present purpose simply to notice the essential phænomena of revolving storms as manifested by the barometer and vane. the usual indications of a storm in connexion with these instruments are the _falling_ of the barometer and the _freshening_ of the wind, and it is generally considered that a _rapid_ fall of the mercury in the hurricane regions invariably precedes the setting in of a storm. there are three classes of phænomena that present themselves to an observer, according as he is situated _on_ the line or axis of translation, or _in_ either the right or left hand semicircle of the storm. these will be rendered very apparent by a little attention to the annexed engraving, fig. . [illustration: compass rose] in this figure the arrow-head is supposed to be directed true north, and the hurricane--as is the case in the american storms north of the th parallel--to be moving towards the n.e. on the line n.e.--s.w. if the ship take the hurricane with the wind s.e.,--the letters within the two larger circles indicating _the direction of the wind in the storm_ according to the rotation as shown by the circle of arrow-heads, and which it is to be particularly noted is in the northern hemisphere _contrary to the direction in which the hands of a watch move_: in the southern hemisphere the rotation is reversed--the only phænomena presented by the storm are as follows:--the wind continues to blow from the s.e., increasing considerably in force with the barometer falling to a very great extent until the centre of the storm reaches the ship, when the fury of the winds is hushed, and a lull or calm takes place, generally for about half an hour, after which the wind springs up mostly with increased violence, but from the opposite quarter n.w., the barometer begins to rise, and as the storm passes off, the force of the wind abates. the point to which we wish particularly to direct attention in connexion with this exposition of the phænomena attending the transmission of a storm is this:--if the observer so place himself at the commencement that the wind passes _from his left hand towards his right_, his face will be directed towards the centre of the storm; and the wind undergoing no change in direction, but only in force, will acquaint him with this important fact that the _centre_ is not only gradually but surely approaching him: in other words, in the case before us, when he finds the wind from the s.e., and he places himself with his face to the s.w. he is looking towards the centre, and the wind rushes past him _from his left to his right hand_. now the connexion of the barometer with this phase of the storm is _falling with the wind from left to right, the observer facing the centre while the first half is transiting_.[ ] during the latter half these conditions are reversed, the observer still keeping his position, his face directed to the s.w., the barometer _rises_ with a n.w. wind, which rushes past him _from his right to his left hand_ with a decreasing force. we have therefore _a rising barometer with the wind from right to left during the latter half of the storm, the observer having his back to the centre_. the above _general_ enunciations of the barometric and anemonal phænomena of a rotating storm hold good with regard to the _northern_ hemisphere, whatever may be the direction in which the hurricanes advance. this may be placed in a clearer light, as well as the remaining classes of phænomena shown, by consulting the following tables, constructed for the basin of the northern atlantic, and comparing them with fig. . in this basin, with lower latitudes than °, the usual paths of the hurricanes are towards the north-west, in higher latitudes than ° towards the north-east. the tables exhibit the veering of the wind with the movements of the barometer, according as the ship is situated in the right or left hand semicircle of the hurricane. it must here be understood that the right and left hand semicircles are determined by the observer so placing himself that his face is directed towards the quarter to which the hurricane is advancing. lower latitudes. northern hemisphere. axis line, wind n.e., barometer falling, first half of storm. axis line, wind s.w., barometer rising, last half of storm. right-hand semicircle. wind e.n.e., e., e.s.e., s.e., barometer falling, storm increasing. wind s.s.w., s., s.s.e., s.e., barometer rising, storm passing off. left-hand semicircle. wind n.n.e., n., n.n.w., n.w., barometer falling, storm increasing. wind w.s.w., w., w.n.w., n.w., barometer rising, storm passing off. higher latitudes. northern hemisphere.[ ] axis line, wind s.e., barometer falling, first half of storm. axis line, wind n.w., barometer rising, last half of storm. right-hand semicircle. wind s.s.e., s., s.s.w., s.w., barometer falling, storm increasing. wind w.n.w., w., w.s.w., s.w., barometer rising, storm passing off. left-hand semicircle. wind e.s.e., e., e.n.e., n.e., barometer falling, storm increasing. wind n.n.w., n., n.n.e., n.e., barometer rising, storm passing off. n.b. the directions of the hurricane winds are so arranged as to show the points of commencement and termination. thus in the lower latitudes a storm commencing at e.n.e. passes off at s.s.w. after the wind has veered e., e.s.e., s.e., s.s.e., and s., being in the order of the letters in the upper line and contrary to their order in the lower. one commencing at e.s.e. passes off at s.s.e. right-hand semicircle. in the higher latitudes a ship taking the storm at e.n.e. will be in the left-hand semicircle, and the hurricane will pass off at n.n.e. these changes are rendered very apparent by moving the hurricane circle in the direction in which the storm is expected to proceed. fig. represents the whirl and hurricane winds in the south. [illustration: fig. ] chapter ii. phÆnomena of atmospheric waves. professor dove of berlin has suggested that in the temperate zones the compensating currents of the atmosphere necessary to preserve its equilibrium may be arranged as parallel currents on the _surface_, and not superposed as in or near the torrid zone. his views may be thus enunciated:--that in the parallels of central europe the n.e. current flowing towards the equator to feed the ascending column of heated air is not compensated by a current in the upper regions of the atmosphere flowing from the s.w. as in the border of the torrid zone, but there are also s.w. currents on each side the n.e., which to the various countries over which they pass appear as surface-winds, the winds in fact being disposed in alternate beds or layers, s.w., n.e., as in fig. . [illustration: fig. .] the professor also suggests that these parallel and oppositely directed winds are shifting, _i. e._ they gradually change their position with a lateral motion in the direction of the large arrow cutting them transversely. in the course of the author's researches on atmospheric waves he had an opportunity of testing the correctness of professor dove's suggestion, and in addition ascertained that there existed another set of oppositely directed winds at right angles to those supposed to exist by the professor. these currents were n.w. and s.e. with a lateral motion towards the n.e. he also carefully discussed the barometric phænomena with relation to both these sets of currents, and arrived at the following conclusions. the details will be found in the author's third report, presented to the british association for the advancement of science (reports, , pp. to ). during the period under examination the author found the barometer generally to rise with n.e. and n.w. winds, and fall with s.w. and s.e. winds, and that the phænomena might be thus illustrated:--let the strata _a a a' a', b' b' b b_, fig. , represent two parallel aërial currents or winds, _a a a' a'_ from s.w. or s.e., and _b' b' b b_ from n.e. or n.w. and conceive them both to advance from the n.w. in the first instance and from the s.w. in the second, in the direction of the large arrow. now conceive the barometer to commence rising just as the edge _b b_ passes any line of country, and to continue rising until the edge _b' b'_ arrives at that line, when the maximum is attained. it will be remarked that this rise is coincident with a n.e. or n.w. wind. the wind now changes and the barometer begins to fall, and continues falling until the edge _a a_ coincides with the line of country on which _b b_ first impinged. during this process we have all the phænomena exhibited by an atmospheric wave: when the edge _b b_ passes a line of country the barometer is at a _minimum_, and this minimum has been termed the _anterior trough_. during the period the stratum _b' b' b b_ transits, the barometer rises, and this rise has been called the _anterior slope_. when the conterminous edges of the strata _a' a' b' b'_ pass, a barometric _maximum_ extends along the line of country formerly occupied by the anterior trough, and this maximum has been designated the _crest_. during the transit of the stratum _a' a' a a_ the barometer _falls_, and this fall has been characterised as the _posterior slope_; and when the edge _a a_ occupies the place of _b b_, the descent of the mercurial column is completed, another _minimum_ extends in the direction of the former, and this minimum has been termed the _posterior trough_. it will be readily seen that the lateral passage of the n.w. and s.e. currents towards the n.e. presents precisely the same barometric and anemonal phænomena as the rotatory storms when moving in the same direction. if the observer, when the barometer is at a _maximum_ with a n.w. wind, place himself in the same position with regard to the laterally advancing current as he did with regard to the advancing storm, _i. e._ with his face _towards_ the quarter from which it is advancing--s.w., he will find that with a _falling barometer and s.e. wind the current passes him from the left to the right hand_; but if at a barometric _minimum_ he place himself in the same position with his face directed to the quarter from which the n.w. current is advancing laterally, also s.w., he will find that with a rising barometer _and n.w. wind the current passes him from right to left_. now the two classes of phænomena are identical, and it would not be difficult to show that, had we an instance of a rotatory storm in the northern hemisphere moving from n.w. to s.e., it would present precisely the same phænomena as to the direction of currents passing from left to right and from right to left with falling and rising barometers, increase and decrease in the force of the wind, &c., as the oppositely directed aërial currents do which pass over western central europe. in the absence of direct evidence of the production of a revolving storm from the crossing of two large waves, as suggested by sir john herschel, although it is not difficult to obtain such evidence, especially from the surface of the ocean, the identity of the two classes of phænomena exhibited by the storms and waves as above explained amounts to a strong presumption that there is a close connexion between them, and that a more minute investigation of the phænomena of atmospheric waves is greatly calculated to throw considerable light on the laws that govern the storm paths in both hemispheres. the localities in which these atmospheric movements, the waves, have been hitherto studied, have been confined to the northern and central parts of europe--the west of ireland, alten in the north of europe, lougan near the sea of azov, and geneva, being the angular points of the included area. it will be remarked that the greatest portion of this area is _inland_, but there is one important feature which the study of the barometer has brought to light, and which is by no means devoid of significance, viz. that the oscillations are much greater in the neighbourhood of _water_, and this appears to indicate that the junction lines of land and water form by far the most important portions of the globe in which to study both the phænomena of storms and waves. it is also very desirable that our knowledge of these phænomena should, with immediate reference to the surface of the ocean, be increased, and in this respect captains and masters of vessels may render essential service by observing and recording the state of the barometer, and direction and force of the wind, several times in the course of the day and night;[ ] and when it is considered that the immediate object in view is one in which the mariner is personally interested, and one in which, it may be, his own safety is concerned, it is hoped that the keeping of a meteorological register having especial reference to the indications of the barometer, and force and direction of the wind, will not be felt as irksome, but rather will be found an interesting occupation, the instruments standing in the place of faithful monitors, directing when and where to avoid danger, and the record furnishing important data whereby the knowledge of general laws may be arrived at, having an essential bearing on the interests of the service at large. chapter iii. observations. in sketching out a system of observation having especial reference to atmospheric waves and rotatory storms, regard has been had--_first_, to the instruments that should be used, the observations to be made with them, the corrections to be applied to such observations, and the form of registry most suitable for recording the results: _second_, to the times of observation: _third_, to the more important localities that should be submitted to additional observation: _fourth_, to peculiar phænomena requiring extraordinary observations for their elucidation: and _fifth_, to particular seasons, when the instruments should be watched with more than ordinary care. the more important objects of observation having especial reference to atmospheric waves are those points which have been termed _crests_ and _troughs_. these are simply the _highest_ and _lowest_ readings of the barometer, usually designated _maxima_ and _minima_, and should for the object in view receive particular attention. whenever there is reason to believe that the barometer is approaching either a _maximum_ or _minimum_, additional observations should be resorted to, so as to secure as nearly as possible _the precise time_ as reckoned at the ship, with her position, of its occurrence, as well as the altitude of the mercurial column at that time and place. by means of such observations as these on board several ships scattered over the surfaces of our great oceans, much valuable information may be accumulated of a character capable of throwing considerable light on the _direction_ in which the lines of barometric maxima and minima stretch, and also a tolerably accurate notion may be formed of their progress, both as regards direction and rate. in immediate connexion with such observations particular attention should be paid to the direction of the wind according to the season. section i.--instruments. _description and position of instruments._--the principal instrument requisite in these observations is the barometer, which should be of the marine construction, and as nearly alike as possible to those furnished to the antarctic expedition which sailed under the command of sir james clark ross. these instruments were similar to the ordinary portable barometers, and differed from them only in the mode of their suspension and the necessary contraction of the tubes to prevent oscillation from the motion of the ship. the barometer on shipboard should be suspended on a gimbal frame, which ought not to swing too freely, but rather so as to deaden oscillations by some degree of friction. to the upper portion of the tube in this construction of instrument light is alike accessible either in front or behind, and the vernier is furnished with a back and front edge, both being in precisely the same plane, nearly embracing the tube, and sliding up and down it by the motion of rack-work; by the graduation of the scale and vernier the altitude of the mercury can be read off to · inch. when the barometer is placed in the ship, its position should be as near midships as possible, out of the reach of sunshine, but in a good light for reading, and in a situation in which it will be but little liable to sudden gusts of wind and changes of temperature. great care should be taken to ascertain the exact height of its cistern above the water-line, and in order to facilitate night observations every possible arrangement should be made for placing behind it a light screened by white paper. _observations._--the first thing to be done is the reading off and recording the temperature indicated by the thermometer that in this construction of instrument dips into the mercury in the cistern. sir john herschel has suggested that "the bulb of the thermometer should be so situated as to afford the best chance of its indicating the exact mean of the whole barometric column, that is to say, fifteen inches above the cistern enclosed within the case of the barometer, nearly in contact with its tube, and with a stem so long as to be read off at the upper level." previous to making an observation with the barometer the instrument should be slightly tapped to free the mercury from any adhesion to the glass; any violent oscillation should, however, be carefully avoided. the vernier should then be adjusted to the upper surface of the mercury in the tube; for this purpose its back and front edges should be made to coincide, that is, the eye should be placed in exactly the same plane which passes through the edges; they should then be brought carefully down until they form a tangent with the curve produced by the convex surface of the mercury and the light is _just_ excluded from between them and the point of contact. it is desirable in making this adjustment that the eye should be assisted by a magnifying-glass. the reading of the scale should then be taken and entered in the column appropriated to it in the proper form. if the instrument have no tubular or double-edged index, the eye should be placed carefully at the level of the upper surface of the mercury and the index of the vernier brought gently down to the same level so as apparently just to touch the surface, great care being taken that the eye index and surface of the mercury are all in the same plane. each observation of the barometer should be accompanied by an observation of the direction of the wind, which should be noted in the usual manner in which it is observed at sea. in connexion with the _direction_ the _force_ of the wind should be recorded in accordance with the following scale, contrived by admiral sir francis beaufort:-- . calm . light air or just sufficient to give steerage way. . light breeze { or that in which a well- } to knots. . gentle breeze { conditioned man of war, } to knots. . moderate breeze { with all sail set, and } to knots. { clean full, would go in } { smooth water, from } . fresh breeze } { royals, &c. . strong breeze } { single-reefed top-sails } { and top-gallant } or that in which such a { sails. . moderate gale } ship could just carry in { double-reefed } chase full and by { topsails, jib, &c. . fresh gale } { triple-reefed } { topsails, &c. . strong gale } { close-reefed top-sails } { and courses. . whole gale or that with which she could scarcely bear close-reefed main topsail and reefed foresail. . storm or that which reduces her to storm staysails. . hurricane or that which no canvas could withstand. _corrections._--as soon after the observations have been made as circumstances will permit, the reading of the barometer should be _corrected_ for the relation existing between the capacities of the tube and cistern (if its construction be such as to require that correction), and for the capillary action of the tube; and then _reduced_ to the standard temperature of ° fahr., and to the sea-level, if on shipboard. for the first correction the _neutral point_ should be marked upon each instrument. it is that particular height which, in its construction, has been actually measured from the surface of the mercury in the cistern, and indicated by the scale. in general the mercury will stand either above or below the neutral point; if _above_, a portion of the mercury must have left the cistern, and consequently must have _lowered_ the surface in the cistern: in this case the altitude as measured by the scale will be _too short--vice versâ_, if below. the relation of the capacities of the tube and cistern should be experimentally ascertained, and marked upon the instrument by the maker. suppose the capacity to be / , marked thus on the instrument, "_capacity / :_" this indicates that for every inch of variation of the mercury in the tube, that in the cistern will vary contrariwise / th of an inch. when the mercury in the tube is _above_ the neutral point, the difference between it and the neutral point is to be reduced in the proportion expressed by the "capacity" (in the case supposed, divided by ), and the quotient _added_ to the observed height; if _below, subtracted_ from it. in barometers furnished with a fiducial point for adjusting the lower level, this correction is superfluous, and must not be applied. the second correction required is for the capillary action of the tube, the effect of which is always to depress the mercury in the tube by a certain quantity inversely proportioned to the diameter of the tube. this quantity should be experimentally determined during the construction of the instrument, and its amount marked upon it by the maker, and is always to be _added_ to the height of the mercurial column, previously corrected as before. for the convenience of those who may have barometers, the capillary action of which has not been determined, a table of corrections for tubes of different diameters is placed in the appendix, table i. the next correction, and in some respects the most important of all, is that due to the temperature of the mercury in the barometer tube at the time of observation, and to the expansion of the scale. table ii. of the appendix gives for every degree of the thermometer and every half-inch of the barometer, the proper quantity to be added or subtracted for the reduction of the observed height to the standard temperature of the mercury at ° fahr. after these the index correction should be applied. this is the amount of difference between the particular instrument and the readings of the royal society's flint-glass barometer when properly corrected, and is generally known as the _zero_. it is impossible to pay too much attention to the determination of this point. for this purpose, when practicable, the instrument should be immediately compared with the royal society's standard, and the difference of the readings of both instruments, when corrected as above, carefully noted and preserved. where, however, this is impracticable, the comparison should be effected by means either of some other standard previously so compared, or of an intermediate portable barometer, the zero point of which has been _well determined_. suspend the portable barometer as near as convenient to the ship's barometer, and after at least an hour's quiet exposure, take as many readings of both instruments as may be necessary to reduce the probable error of the mean of the differences below . inch. under these circumstances the mean difference of all the readings will be the _relative_ zero or index error, whence, if that of the intermediate barometer be known, that of the other may be found. as such comparisons will always be made when the vessel is in port, sufficient time can be allowed for making the requisite number of observations: hourly readings would perhaps be best, and they would have the advantage of forming part of the system when in operation, and might be accordingly used as such. it is not only desirable that the zero point of the barometer should be well determined in the first instance; it should also be carefully verified on every opportunity which presents itself; and in every instance, previous to sailing, it should be re-compared with the standard on shore by the intervention of a portable barometer, and no opportunity should be lost of comparing it on the voyage by means of such an intermediate instrument with the standard barometers at st. helena, the cape of good hope, bombay, madras, paramatta, van diemen's island, and with any other instruments likely to be referred to as standards, or employed in research elsewhere. any vessel having a portable barometer on board, the zero of which has been well determined, would do well, on touching at any of the ports above named, to take comparative readings with the standards at those ports, and record the differences between the standard, the portable, and the ship barometers. by such means the zero of one standard may be transported over the whole world, and those of others compared with it ascertained. to do so, however, with perfect effect, will require that the utmost care should be taken of the portable barometer; it should be guarded as much as possible from all accident, and should be kept safely in the "portable" state when not immediately used for comparison. to transport a well-authenticated zero from place to place is by no means a point of trifling importance. neither should it be executed hurriedly nor negligently. some of the greatest questions in meteorology depend on its due execution, and the objects for which these instructions have been prepared will be greatly advanced by the zero points of all barometers being referred to one common standard. upon the arrival of the vessel in england, at the termination of the voyage, the ship's barometer should be again compared with the same standard with which it was compared previous to sailing; and should any difference be found, it should be most carefully recorded. the correction for the height of the cistern _above_ or _below_ the water-line is _additive_ in the former case, _subtractive_ in the latter. its amount may be taken, nearly enough, by allowing · in. of the barometer for each foot of difference of level. an example of the application of these several corrections is subjoined:-- | _attached therm_. °· . |_data for the correction of | | | the instrument_. | +---------------------------------------+-------------------------------+ |barometer reading. · |neutral point · | |corr. for capacity - · |capacity / | | |capillary action + · | +---------------------------------------| | | · |zero to royal society + · | |corr. for capillarity + · |corr. for altitude above | | | water-line + · | +---------------------------------------| | | · | | |corr. for temperature - · | | +---------------------------------------| | | · | | |corr. for zero and water-line + · | | +---------------------------------------| | |aggregate = pressure at | | | sea-level · | | +---------------------------------------+-------------------------------+ it would greatly facilitate the comparison of the barometric observations by projecting them in curves when all the proper corrections have been applied. this may be accomplished by a much smaller expenditure of time than may at first be supposed. a paper of engraved squares on which the observations of twelve days may be laid down on double the natural scale, would be very suitable for the purpose.[ ] the projection of each day's observations would occupy but a short time; and should circumstances on any occasion prevent the execution of it, when the ship was becalmed or leisure otherwise afforded, it would form an interesting and useful occupation, and serve to beguile some of the tedium often experienced at such intervals. _registers._--for the particular object in view the register need not be very extensive. one kept in the annexed form will be amply sufficient. it should, however, be borne in mind that none but _uncorrected_ observations should find admission; in point of fact it should be strictly a register of phænomena as _observed_, and on no account whatever should any entry be made from recollection, or any attempt made to fill up a blank by the apparent course of the numbers before and after. the headings of the columns will, it is hoped, be sufficiently explicit. it is desirable in practice that the column for remarks should embrace an entire page opposite the other entries, in order that occasional observations, as well as several other circumstances continually coming under review in the course of keeping a journal, may find entry. meteorological register kept on board ______ during her voyage from ______ to ______ by ______. +---------+----+------+-------+------+------------------+--------+----------+ | | | | | | wind. | | | | | | | | att. |-----------+------| | | | date. |lat.| long.| barom.| ther.| direction.|force.| remarks| observer.| |---------|----|------|-------|------|-----------|------|--------|----------| | |h. m.| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +---+-----+----+------+-------+------+-----------+------+--------+----------+ the only difference between the above form and one for the reception of _corrected_ readings will be the dispensing with the column for the attached thermometer, and placing under the word barom. "corrected." ii.--times of observation. there can be no question that the greatest amount of information, the accuracy of the data supplied, and in fact every meteorological element necessary to increase our knowledge of atmospheric waves, may be best obtained by an uninterrupted series of _hourly_ observations made on board vessels from their leaving england until their safe arrival again at the close of their respective voyages; but from a variety of circumstances--the nature of the service in which the vessels may be employed, particular states of the weather, &c.--such a course of unremitting labour cannot be expected; it is therefore necessary to fix on some stated hours at which the instruments before particularized should be regularly observed throughout the voyage, and their indications faithfully recorded. the hours of a.m., a.m., p.m., and p.m., are now so generally known as _meteorological hours_, that nothing should justify a departure from them; and it is the more essential that these hours should be adopted in the present inquiry, because the series of observations made at intervals terminated by these hours can the more readily be used in connexion with those made contemporaneously on land, and will also serve to carry on investigations previously instituted, and which have received considerable illustration by means of observations at the regular meteorological hours; we therefore recommend their general adoption in all observations conducted at sea. it is intended in the sequel to call attention to particular parts of the earth's surface where it is desirable that additional observations should be made, in order to furnish data of a more accurate character, and to mark more distinctly barometric changes than the four daily readings are capable of effecting. the best means of accomplishing this for the object in view appears to be the division of the interval of six hours into two equal portions, and to make the necessary observations eight times in the course of twenty-four hours. in the particular localities to which allusion has been made we recommend the following as the hours of observation:-- a.m. , , , noon. p.m. , , , midnight. in other localities besides those hereafter to be mentioned, when opportunities serve, readings at these hours would greatly enhance the value of the four daily readings. there are, however, portions of the surface of our planet, and probably also phænomena that occur in its atmosphere, which require still closer attention than the eight daily readings. one such portion would appear to exist off the western coast of africa, and we recommend the adoption of _hourly_ readings while sailing to the westward of this junction of aqueous and terrestrial surface; more attention will be directed to this point as we proceed. there are also phænomena the localities of which may be undetermined, and the times of their occurrence unknown, but so important a relation do they bear to the subject of our inquiries, that they demand the closest attention. they will be more particularly described under the head of accumulations of pressure preceding and succeeding storms, and minute directions given for the hourly observations of the necessary instruments. in the mean time we may here remark that hourly observations under the circumstances above alluded to are the more important when we consider that the barometer, the instrument employed in observing these moving atmospheric masses, is itself in motion. the ship may meet the accumulation of pressure and sail through it transversely; or she may sail along it, the course of the vessel being parallel to the line marking the highest pressure, the ridge or crest of the wave; or the ship may make any angle with this line: but whatever the circumstances may be under which she passes through or along with such an accumulation of pressure, it should ever be borne in mind that her position on the earth's surface is scarcely ever the same at any one observation as it was at the preceding, the barometer in the interval has changed _its_ position as well as the line of maximum pressure, the rate of progress of which it is desirable to observe. it will, therefore, be at once apparent that in order to obtain the most accurate data on this head hourly observations are indispensable. to these readings should of course be appended the places of the ship from hour to hour, especially if she alter her course much. there is another point to which we wish to call attention in immediate connexion with hourly readings--it is the observation of the instruments on the days fixed for that purpose: they were originally suggested by sir john herschel, whose directions should be strictly attended to: they are as follows:-- the days fixed upon for these observations are the st of march, the st of june, the st of september, and the st of december, being those, or immediately adjoining to those of the equinoxes and solstices, in which the _solar influence_ is either stationary or in a state of most rapid variation. _but should any one of those st days fall on a sunday, then it will be understood that the observations are to be deferred till the next day, the nd._ the series of observations on board each vessel should commence at o'clock a.m. of the appointed days, and terminate at a.m. of the days following, according to the usual reckoning of time adopted in the daily observations. in addition to the twenty-five hourly readings at the solstices and equinoxes as above recommended, it would be desirable to continue the observations until a complete elevation and depression of the barometer had been observed at these seasons. this plan is adopted at the royal observatory, greenwich, and would be attended with this advantage were it generally so--the progress of the elevation and depression would be more readily traced and their velocities more accurately determined than from the four or eight daily readings. iii.--localities for additional observations. in sketching out a system of barometric observation having especial reference to the acquisition of data from which the _barometric character_ of certain large areas of the surface of the globe may be determined--inasmuch as such areas are distinguished from each other, on the one hand by consisting of extensive spaces of the oceanic surface unbroken, or scarcely broken, by land; on the other by the proximity of such oceanic surface to large masses of land, and these masses presenting two essentially different features, the one consisting of land particularly characterized as continental, the other as insular, regard has been accordingly had to such distribution of land and water. as these instructions have especial reference to observations at sea, observations on land have not been alluded to; but in order that the data accumulated may possess that value which is essential for carrying on the inquiry in reference to atmospheric waves with success, provision is made to mark out more distinctly the barometric effects of the junction of large masses of land and water. it is well known that the oceanic surface, and even the smaller surfaces of inland seas, produce decided inflexions of the isothermal lines. they exercise an important influence on temperature. it has also been shown that the neighbourhood of water has a very considerable influence in increasing the oscillations of the mercurial column in the barometer, and in the great systems of european undulations it is well known that these oscillations increase especially towards the north-west. the converse of this, however, has not yet been subjected to observation; there has been no systematic co-operation of observers for the purpose of determining the barometric affections of large masses of water, such as the central portion of the basin of the northern atlantic, the portion of oceanic surface between the cape of good hope and cape horn, the indian and southern oceans, and the vast basin of the pacific. nor are we yet acquainted with the character of the oscillations, whether increasing or decreasing, as we recede from the central portions of the oceanic surfaces we have mentioned towards the land which forms their eastern, western, or northern boundaries. this influence of the junction line of land and water, so far as it is yet known, has been kept in view in framing these instructions, and, as it appears so prominently in europe, it is hoped the additional observations between the four daily readings to which probably many observers may habitually restrict themselves, making on certain occasions and in particular localities a series of observations at intervals of three hours, will not be considered too frequent when the great importance of the problem to be solved is fully apprehended. it need scarcely be said that the value of these observations at three-hourly intervals will be greatly increased by the number of observers co-operating in them. upon such an extensive system of co-operation a large space on the earth's surface, possessing peculiarities which distinguish it from others extremely unlike it in their general character, or assimilate it to such as possess with it many features in common, is marked out below for particular observation, occupying more than two-thirds of a zone in the northern hemisphere, having a breadth of °, and including every possible variety of terrestrial and aqueous surface, from the burning sands of the great african desert, situated about the centre, to the narrow strip of land connecting the two americas on the one side, and the chain of islands connecting china and hindostan with australia on the other. on each side of the african continent we have spaces of open sea between ° and ° west longitude north of the equator, and between ° and ° east longitude, in or to the south of the equator, admirably suited for contrasting the barometric affections, as manifested in these spaces of open water, with those occurring in situations where the influence of the terrestrial surface comes into more active operation. the localities where three-hourly readings are chiefly desirable may be specified under the heads of _northern atlantic, southern atlantic, indian_ and _southern oceans,_ and _pacific ocean_. _northern atlantic. homeward-bound voyages._--the discussion of observations made in the united kingdom and the western border of central europe, has indicated that off the north-west of scotland a centre of great barometric disturbance exists. this centre of disturbance appears to be considerably removed from the usual tracks of vessels crossing the atlantic; nevertheless some light may be thrown on the barometric phænomena resulting from this disturbance by observations during homeward-bound voyages, especially after the vessels have passed the meridian of ° west longitude. voyagers to or from baffin and hudson bays would do well during the whole of the voyage to read off the barometer every three hours, as their tracks would approach nearest the centre of disturbance in question. before crossing the th meridian, the undulations arising from the distribution of land and water in the neighbourhood of these vast inland seas would receive considerable elucidation from the shorter intervals of observation, and after passing the th meridian the extent of undulation, as compared with that observed by the more southerly vessels, would be more distinctly marked by the three-hourly series. surveying vessels stationed on the north-western coasts of ireland and scotland may contribute most important information on this head by a regular and, as far as circumstances will allow, an uninterrupted series either of six-hourly or three-hourly observations. the intervals of observation on board vessels stationed at the western isles, the orkneys, and the shetland isles, ought not to be longer than _three_ hours, principally on account of the great extent of oscillation observed in those localities. vessels arriving from all parts of the world as they approach the united kingdom should observe at shorter intervals than six hours. as a general instruction on this head the series of three-hourly observations may be commenced on board vessels from america and the pacific by the way of cape horn on their passing the th meridian, such three-hourly observations to be continued until the arrival of the vessels in port. ships by the way of the cape of good hope should commence the three-hourly series either on leaving or passing the colony, in order that the phænomena of the tropical depression hereafter to be noticed may be well observed. _northern atlantic. outward-bound voyages_.--vessels sailing to the united states, mexico, and the west indies, should observe at three hours' interval upon passing the th meridian. observations at this interval, on board vessels navigating the gulf of mexico and the caribbean sea, will be particularly valuable in determining the extent of oscillation as influenced by the masses of land and water in this portion of the torrid zone, as compared with the oscillation noticed off the western coast of africa, hereafter to be referred to. _southern atlantic. outward and homeward bound_.--without doubt the most interesting phænomenon, and one that lies at the root of the great atmospheric movements, especially those proceeding northwards in the northern hemisphere and southwards in the southern, is the equatorial depression first noticed by von humboldt and confirmed by many observers since. we shall find the general expression of this most important meteorological fact in the report of the committee of physics and meteorology, appointed by the royal society in , as follows: "the barometer, at the level of the sea, does not indicate a mean atmospheric pressure of equal amount in all parts of the earth; but, on the contrary, the equatorial pressure is uniformly less in its mean amount than at and beyond the tropics." vessels that are outward bound should, upon passing ° north latitude, commence the series of three-hourly observations, with an especial reference to the equatorial depression. these three-hourly observations should be continued until the latitude of ° south has been passed: the whole series will then include the minimum of the depression and the two maxima or apices forming its boundaries. (see daniell's 'meteorological essays,' rd edition.) in passages across the equator, should the ships be delayed by calms, opportunities should be embraced for observing this depression with greater precision by means of _hourly_ readings; and these readings will not only be valuable as respects the depression here spoken of, but will go far to indicate the character of any disturbance that may arise, and point out, as nearly as such observations will allow, the precise time when such disturbance produced its effects in the neighbourhood of the ships. in point of fact they will clearly illustrate the diversion of the tendency to rise, spoken of in the report before alluded to, as resulting in ascending columns and sheets, between which wind flaws, capricious in their direction and intensity, and often amounting to sharp squalls, mark out the course of their feeders and the indraft of cooler air from a distance to supply their void. hourly observations, with especial reference to this and the following head of inquiry, should also be made off the western coast of africa during the homeward-bound voyage. immediately connected with this part of the outward-bound voyage, hourly observations, as often as circumstances will permit, while the ships are sailing from the madeiras to the equator, will be extremely valuable in elucidating the origin of the great system of south-westerly atmospheric waves that traverse europe, and in furnishing data for comparison with the amount of oscillation and other barometric phænomena in the gulf of mexico and the caribbean sea, a portion of the torrid zone essentially different in its configuration and in the relations of its area to land and water, as contra-distinguished to the northern portion of the african continent; and these hourly observations are the more desirable as the vessels may approach the land. they may be discontinued on passing the equator, and the three-hourly series resumed. there are two points in the southern hemisphere, between ° west longitude and ° east longitude, that claim particular attention in a barometric point of view, viz., cape horn and the cape of good hope; the latter is within the area marked out for the three-hourly observations, and too much attention cannot be paid to the indications of the barometer as vessels are approaching or leaving the cape. the northern part of the south atlantic ocean has been termed the _true pacific ocean of the world_; and at st. helena a gale was scarcely ever known; it is also said to be entirely free from actual storms (col. reid's 'law of storms,' st edition, p. ). it may therefore be expected that the barometer will present in this locality but a small oscillation, and ships in sailing from st. helena to the cape will do well to ascertain, by means of the three-hourly observations, the increase of oscillation as they approach the cape. the same thing will hold good with regard to cape horn: it appears from previous observation that a permanent barometric depression exists in this locality, most probably in some way connected with the immense depression noticed by captain sir james clark ross, towards the antarctic circle. the general character of the atmosphere off cape horn is also extremely different from its character at st. helena. it would therefore be well for vessels sailing into the pacific by cape horn, to continue the three-hourly observations until the th meridian is passed. before quitting the atlantic ocean it may be well to notice the marine stations mentioned in my third report on atmospheric waves,[ ] as being particularly suitable for testing the views advanced in that report and for tracing a wave of the south-westerly system from the most western point of africa to the extreme north of europe. a series of hourly observations off the western coast of africa has already been suggested. vessels staying at cape verd islands should not omit to make observations at three hours' interval _during the whole of their stay_, and when circumstances will allow, hourly readings. at the canaries, madeiras, and the azores, similar observations should be made. vessels touching at cape cantin, tangier, gibraltar, cadiz, lisbon, oporto, corunna, and brest, should also make these observations while they are in the localities of these ports. at the scilly isles we have six-hourly observations, made under the superintendence of the honourable the corporation of the trinity house. ships in nearing these islands and making the observations already pointed out, will greatly assist in determining the increase of oscillation proceeding westward from the nodal point of the two great european systems. we have already mentioned the service surveying vessels employed on the coasts of ireland and scotland may render, and the remaining portion of the area marked out in the report may be occupied by vessels navigating the north sea and the coast of norway, as far as hammerfest. in connexion with these observations, having especial reference to the european system of south-westerly atmospheric waves, the mediterranean presents a surface of considerable interest, both as regards these particular waves, and the influence its waters exert in modifying the two great systems of central europe. the late professor daniell has shown from the manheim observations, that small undulations, having their origin on the northern borders of the mediterranean, have propagated themselves northward, and in this manner, but in a smaller degree, the waters of the mediterranean have contributed to increase the oscillation as well as the larger surface of the northern atlantic. in most of the localities of this great inland sea six-hourly observations may suffice for this immediate purpose; but in sailing from lisbon through the straits of gibraltar, in the neighbourhood of sicily and italy, and in the grecian archipelago, we should recommend the three-hourly series, as marking more distinctly the effects resulting from the proximity of land; this remark has especial reference to the passage through the straits of gibraltar, where, if possible, hourly observations should be made. _the indian and southern oceans. outward and homeward bound._--on sailing from the cape of good hope to the east indies, china, or australia, observations at intervals of three hours should be made until the th meridian east is passed (homeward-bound vessels should commence the three-hourly readings on arriving at this meridian). upon leaving the th meridian the six-hourly observations may be resumed on board vessels bound for the indies and china until they arrive at the equator, when the readings should again be made at intervals of three hours, and continued until the arrival of the vessels in port. with regard to vessels bound for australia and new zealand, the six-hourly readings may be continued from the th to the th meridian, and upon the vessels passing the latter, the three-hourly readings should be commenced and continued until the vessels arrive in port. vessels navigating the archipelago between china and new zealand, should make observations every three hours, in order that the undulations arising from the configuration of the terrestrial and oceanic surfaces may be more distinctly marked and more advantageously compared with the gulf of mexico, the caribbean sea, and the northern portion of the african continent. _the pacific ocean._--as this ocean presents so vast an aqueous surface, generally speaking observations at intervals of six hours will be amply sufficient to ascertain its leading barometric phænomena. vessels, however, on approaching the continents of north and south america, or sailing across the equator, should resort to the three-hourly readings, in order to ascertain more distinctly the effect of the neighbourhood of land on the oscillations of the barometer, as generally observed, over so immense a surface of water in the one case, and the phænomena of the equatorial depression in the other: the same remarks relative to the latter subject, which we offered under the head of south atlantic, will equally apply in the present instance. the configuration of the western shores of north america renders it difficult to determine the precise boundary where the three-hourly series should commence; the th meridian is recommended for the boundary as regards south america, and from this a judgment may be formed as to where the three-hourly observations should commence in reference to north america. in the previous sketch of the localities for the more important observations, it will be seen that within the tropics there are three which demand the greatest regard. i. the archipelago between the two americas, more particularly comprised within the th and th meridians west longitude, and the equator and the th degree of north latitude. as a general principle we should say that vessels within this area should observe the barometer every three hours. its eastern portion includes the lower branches of the storm paths, and on this account is peculiarly interesting, especially in a barometric point of view. ii. _the northern portion of the african continent, including the sahara or great desert._--this vast radiating surface must exert considerable influence on the waters on each side northern africa. vessels sailing within the area comprised between ° west and ° east, and the equator and the th parallel, should also make observations at intervals of three hours. iii. _the great eastern archipelago._--this presents a somewhat similar character to the western; like that, it is the region of terrific hurricanes, and it becomes a most interesting object to determine its barometric phænomena; the three-hourly system of observation may therefore be resorted to within an area comprised between the th and th meridians, and the equator and the th degree of north latitude. the southern hemisphere also presents three important localities, the prolongations of the three tropical areas. it is unnecessary to enlarge upon these, as ample instructions have been already given. we may, however, remark, with regard to australia, that three-hourly observations should be made within the area comprised between the th and th meridians east, and the equator and the th parallel south, and hourly ones in the immediate neighbourhood of all its coasts. iv.--storms, hurricanes, and typhoons. the solution of the question--how far and in what manner are storms connected with atmospheric waves?--must be extremely interesting to every one engaged in either the naval or merchant service. as we have in the former chapters directed attention to their connexion, our great object here will be to endeavour to mark out such a line of observation as appears most capable of throwing light, not only on the most important desiderata as connected with storms, but also their connexion or non-connexion with atmospheric waves. we shall accordingly arrange this portion of the instructions under the following heads:--_desiderata_; _localities_; _margins_; _preceding and succeeding accumulations of pressure._ _desiderata._--the most important desiderata appertaining to the subject of storms, are certainly their origin and termination. of these initial and terminal points in the course of great storms we absolutely know nothing, unless _the white appearance of a round form_ observed by mr. seymour on board the judith and esther, in lat. ° ' north and long. ° ' west (see col. reid's 'law of storms,' st edit. p. ), may be regarded as the commencement of the antigua hurricane of august , . this vessel was the most eastern of those from which observations had been obtained; and it is the absence of contemporaneous observations to the eastward of the th meridian that leaves the question as to the origin of the west indian revolving storms unsolved. not one of mr. redfield's storm routes extends eastward of the th meridian; this at once marks out, so far as storms are concerned, the entire space included between the th and th meridians, the equator and the th parallel, as a most suitable area for observations, under particular circumstances hereafter to be noticed, with especial reference either to the commencement or termination of storms, or the prolongation of mr. redfield's storm paths. _localities._--the three principal localities of storms are as follows:--i. the western portion of the basin of the north atlantic; ii. the china sea and bay of bengal; and iii. the indian ocean, more particularly in the neighbourhood of mauritius. the first two have already been marked out as areas for the three-hourly observations; to the latter, the remark as to extra observations under the head of desiderata will apply. _margins._--mr. redfield has shown that on some occasions storms have been preceded by an unusual pressure of the atmosphere; the barometer has stood remarkably _high_, and it has hence been inferred that there has existed _around_ the gale an accumulation of air forming a margin; barometers placed under this margin indicating a much greater pressure than the mean of the respective localities. with regard to the west indian and american hurricanes--any considerable increase of pressure, especially within the space marked out to the eastward of the th meridian, will demand immediate attention. upon the barometer ranging _very high_ within this space, three-hourly observations should be immediately resorted to; and if possible, _hourly_ readings taken, and this is the more important the nearer the vessel may be to the th meridian. each observation of the barometer should be accompanied by an observation of the wind--its direction should be most carefully noted, and the force estimated according to the scale in page , or by the anemometer. it would be as well _at the time_ to project the barometric readings in a curve even of a rough character, that the extent of fall after the mercury had passed its maximum might be readily discernible by the eye. a paper ruled in squares, the vertical lines representing the commencement of hours, and the horizontal tenths of an inch, would be quite sufficient for this purpose. the _force_ of the wind should be noted at, or as near to the time of the passage of the maximum as possible. during the fall of the mercury particular attention should be paid to the manner in which the wind changes, should any change be observed; and should the wind continue blowing steadily in _one_ direction, but gradually _increasing_ in force, then such increments of force should be most carefully noted. during the fall of the barometer, should the changes of the wind and its increasing force indicate the neighbourhood of a revolving storm, (independent of the obvious reasons for avoiding the focus of the storm,) it would contribute as much to increase our knowledge of these dangerous vortices to keep as near as possible to their margins as to approach their centres. the recess from the centre towards the margin of the storm, will probably be rendered apparent by the _rising_ of the mercury; and so far as the observations may be considered valuable for elucidating the connexion of atmospheric waves with rotatory storms (other motives being balanced), it might be desirable to keep the ship near the margin--provided she is not carried beyond the influence of the winds which characterize the latter half of the storm--until the barometer has nearly attained its usual elevation. by this means some notion might be formed of the general direction of the line of barometric pressure preceding or succeeding a storm. should a gale be observed commencing without its having been preceded by an unusual elevation of the mercurial column, and consequently no additional observation have been made; when the force of the wind is noted in the usual observations at or above , then the three-hourly series should be resorted to, and the same care taken in noting the direction, changes, and force of the wind as pointed out in the preceding paragraph. the foregoing remarks relate especially to the central and western portions of the north atlantic; they will however equally apply to the remaining localities of storms. under any circumstances, and in any locality, a _high_ barometer not less than a low one should demand particular attention, and if possible, _hourly_ readings taken some time before and after the passage of the maximum: this will be referred to more particularly under the next head. _preceding and succeeding accumulations of pressure._--mr. redfield has shown in his memoir of the cuba hurricane of october, , that two associated storms were immediately preceded by a barometric wave, or accumulation of pressure, the barometer rising above the usual or annual mean. we have just referred to the importance of _hourly_ observations on occasions of the readings being _high_ as capable of illustrating the marginal phænomena of storms, and in connexion with these accumulations of pressure in advance of storms we would reiterate the suggestion. these strips of accumulated pressure are doubtless crests of atmospheric waves rolling forwards. in some cases a ship in its progress may cut them transversely in a direction at right angles to their _length_, in others very obliquely; but in all cases, whatever section may be given by the curve representing the observations, too much attention cannot be bestowed on the barometer, the wet and dry bulb thermometer, the direction and force of the wind, the state of the sky, and the appearance of the ocean during the ship's passage _through_ such an accumulation of pressure. when the barometer attains its mean altitude, and is rapidly rising above it in any locality, then _hourly_ observations of the instruments and phænomena above noticed should be commenced and continued until after the mercury had attained its highest point and had sunk again to its mean state. in such observations particular attention should be paid to the direction and force of the wind preceding the barometric maximum--and the same phænomena succeeding it, and particular notice should be taken of the time when, and amount of any change either in the direction or force of the wind. it is by such observations as these, carried on with great care and made at every accessible portion of the oceanic surface, that we may be able to ascertain the continuity of these atmospheric waves, to determine somewhat respecting their length, to show the character of their connexion with the rotatory storm, and to deduce the direction and rate of their progress. v.--seasons for extra observations. in reference to certain desiderata that have presented themselves in the course of my researches on this subject (see report of the british association for the advancement of science, , p. ), the _phases_ of the larger barometric undulations, and the _types_ of the various seasons of the year, demand particular attention and call for extra observations at certain seasons: of these, three only have yet been ascertained--the type for the middle of november--the annual depression on or about the th of november--and the annual elevation on or about the th of december. the enunciation of the first is as under: "that during fourteen days in november, more or less equally disposed about the middle of the month, the oscillations of the barometer exhibit a remarkably symmetrical character, that is to say, the fall succeeding the transit of the maximum or the highest reading is to a great extent similar to the preceding rise. this rise and fall is not continuous or unbroken; in some cases it consists of _five_, in others of _three_ distinct elevations. the complete rise and fall has been termed the great symmetrical barometric wave of november. at its setting in the barometer is generally low, sometimes below twenty-nine inches. this depression is generally succeeded by _two_ well-marked undulations, varying from one to two days in duration. the central undulation, which also forms the apex of the great wave, is of larger extent, occupying from three to five days; when this has passed, two smaller undulations corresponding to those at the commencement of the wave make their appearance, and at the close of the last the wave terminates." with but slight exceptions, the observations of eight successive years have confirmed the general correctness of this type. on two occasions the central apex has not been the highest, and these deviations, with some of a minor character, form the exceptions alluded to. this type only has reference to london and the south-eastern parts of england; proceeding westward, north-westward, and northward, the symmetrical character of this type is considerably departed from; each locality possessing its own type of the barometric movements during november. the desiderata in immediate connexion with the november movements, as observed in the southern and south-eastern parts of england, that present themselves, are--the determination of the types for november, especially its middle portion, as exhibited on the oceanic surface within an area comprised between the th and th parallels, and the st and th meridians west. vessels sailing within this area may contribute greatly to the determination of these types by making observations at intervals of three hours from the st of november to the th or th of december. the entire period of the great symmetrical wave of november will most probably be embraced by such a series of observations, as well as the annual depression of the th. for the elevation of the th of december the three-hourly observations should be commenced on the st, and continued until the rd or th of the succeeding january. with respect to the great wave of november, our knowledge of it would be much increased by such a series of observations as mentioned above, being made on board surveying and other vessels employed off scotland and ireland; vessels navigating the north sea; vessels stationed off the coasts of france, spain, portugal, and the northern parts of africa, and at all our stations in the mediterranean. in this way the area of examination would be greatly enlarged, and the _differences_ of the curves more fully elucidated; and this extended area of observation is the more desirable, as there is some reason to believe that the line of greatest symmetry _revolves_ around a fixed point, most probably the nodal point of the great european systems. it is highly probable that movements of a somewhat similar character, although presenting very different curves, exist in the southern hemisphere. the november wave is more or less associated with storms. it has been generally preceded by a high barometer and succeeded by a low one, and this low state of the barometer has been accompanied by stormy weather. we are therefore prepared to seek for similar phænomena in the southern hemisphere, in those localities which present similar states of weather, and at seasons when such weather predominates. we have already marked out the two capes in the southern hemisphere for three-hourly observations: they must doubtless possess very peculiar barometric characters, stretching as they do into the vast area of the southern ocean. it is highly probable that the oscillations, especially at some seasons, are very considerable, and vessels visiting them at such seasons would do well to record with especial care the indications of the instruments already alluded to. at present we know but little of the barometric movements in the southern hemisphere, and every addition to our knowledge in this respect will open the way to more important conclusions. it has been observed in the south-east of england that the barometer has generally passed a maximum on or about the rd of every month, and this has been so frequently the case as to form the rule rather than the exception. the same fact during a more limited period has been observed at toronto. with especial reference to this subject the three-hourly series of observations may be resorted to in all localities, but especially north of the th parallel in the northern hemisphere. they should be commenced at midnight immediately preceding the st and continued to midnight succeeding the th. chapter iv. practical directions for avoiding the centres of rotating storms. figures and , enlarged and printed on narrow rings of stiff cardboard, are employed for this purpose. the letters outside the thick circle are intended to distinguish the points of the compass, and in use should always coincide with those points on the chart. the letters within the thick circle indicate the direction of the wind in a hurricane, the whirl being shown by the arrows between the letters. in the northern hemisphere the direction of the whirl is always contrary to that in which the hands of a watch move, and in the southern coincident thereto. the graduation is intended to assist the mariner in ascertaining the bearing of the centre of a storm from his ship. _use._ at any time when a severe gale or hurricane is expected, the seaman should at once find the position of his ship on the chart, and place upon it the graduated point which answers to the direction of the wind at the time, taking care that the needle is directed to the north, so that the exterior letters may point on the chart to the respective points of the compass: this is very essential. this simple process will at once acquaint the seaman with two important facts relative to the coming hurricane--his position in the storm, and the direction in which it is moving. _examples._ a captain of a ship in latitude ° ' n., longitude ° ' w., bound to the united states, observes the barometer to stand unusually high, say · inches: shortly after the mercury begins to fall, at first slowly and steadily; as the glass falls the wind freshens, and is noticed to blow with increasing force from the s. so as to threaten a gale. the position of the ship on the chart is now to be found, and the graduated point under the letters e. s. is to be placed thereon, taking care to direct the needle to the north. from these two circumstances, the falling barometer and the wind blowing from the south with increasing force, the mariner is aware of this simple fact, that he is situated in the advancing portion of a body of air which is proceeding towards the n.e.; and if he turn his face to the n.e. he will find he is on the right of the axis line, or line cutting the advancing body transversely. the hurricane circle as it lies on the chart reveals to him another important fact, which is, that if he pursue his course he will sail _towards_ the axis line of the hurricane, and may stand a chance of foundering in its centre. to avoid this he has one of two courses to adopt; either to lay-to on the _starboard tack_, according to col. reid's rules (see his 'law of storms,' st edit., pp. to ), the ship being in the right-hand semicircle of the hurricane, or so to alter his course as to keep without the influence of the storm. in the present case the adoption of the latter alternative would involve a reversal of his former course; nevertheless it is clear the more he bears to the s.e. the less he will experience the violence of the hurricane: should he heave his ship to, upon moving the hurricane circle from the ship's place on the chart towards the n.e., he will be able to judge of the changes of the wind he is likely to experience: thus it will first veer to s.s.w., the barometer still falling; then to s.w., the barometer at a minimum--this marks the position of the most violent portion of the storm he may be in, and by keeping the barometer as high as he can by bearing towards the s.e., the farther he will be from the centre--the barometer now begins to rise, the wind veering to w.s.w., and the hurricane finally passes off with the wind at w. it is to be particularly remarked that in this example the ship is in the _most dangerous quadrant_, as by scudding she would be driven in advance of the track of the storm's centre, which of course would be approaching her. assuming that the hurricane sets in at the ship's place with the wind at s.e., the proceeding will be altogether different. at first the wind is fair for the prosecution of the voyage, and it is desirable to take advantage of this fair wind to avoid as much as possible the track of the centre, which passes over the ship's place in this instance, and is always the most dangerous part of the storm. as the ship is able to make good distance from this track by bearing towards the n.w., provided she has plenty of sea-room, she will experience less of the violence of the hurricane; but as most of the atlantic storms sweep over the shore, it will be desirable to lay-to at some point on the _larboard tack_, the ship being now in the left-hand semicircle. by moving the circle as before directed it will be seen that the veering of the wind is now e.s.e., e., e.n.e., n.e., the lowest barometer n.n.e., n., and n.n.w., the ship experiencing more or less of these changes as it is nearer to or farther from the axis line. in latitudes lower than ° n. the atlantic hurricanes usually move towards the n.w. taking the same positions of our ship with regard to the storms as in the two former examples, if the storm set in with the wind e. the proper proceeding is to bear away for the n.e., the most dangerous quadrant of the hurricane having overtaken the ship, the veering of the wind if she is lying-to will be e., e.s.e., s.e., with the lowest barometer s.s.e. and s. should the storm set in at n.e., her position at the time will be some indication of the distance of the centre's track from the nearest land, and will greatly assist in determining the point at which the captain ought to lay-to after taking advantage of the n.e. wind, should he be able so to do, to bear away from the centre line, so as to avoid as much as possible the violence of the storm. from the proximity of the west indian islands to this locality of the storm-paths, the danger is proportionally increased. the above examples have reference only to the lower and upper branches of the storm paths of the northern atlantic in the neighbourhood of the west indies and the united states. in latitudes from about ° to ° these paths usually _re-curve_, and at some point will move towards the north. the veering of the wind will consequently be more or less complicated according as the ship may be nearer to or farther from the centre. the tables on page , combined with the first of those immediately following the next paragraph, will, it is hoped, prove advantageous in assisting the mariner as to the course to be adopted. as a general principle we should say it would be best to bear to the eastward, so as not only to avoid the greater fury of the storm, but to get into the s. and s.w. winds, which give the principal chances of making a westerly course. we have in page called attention to the fact that the storm paths traced by mr. redfield do not extend eastward of the th meridian. this by no means precludes the existence of severe storms and those of a rotatory character in the great basin of the northern atlantic, especially between the th and th parallels. a remarkable instance has come under the author's attention of the wind hauling _apparently_ contrary to the usual theory: it may be that the storm route was in a direction not generally observed. we are at the present moment destitute of any information that at all indicates a _reversion_ of the rotation in either hemisphere. the following tables constructed for the northern hemisphere, and for storm routes _not yet ascertained_, may probably be consulted with advantage on anomalous occasions. hurricane moving from south to north. axis line, wind e., barometer falling, first half of storm. axis line, wind w., barometer rising, last half of storm. right-hand semicircle. wind e.s.e., s.e., s.s.e., s., barometer falling, first half of storm. wind w.s.w., s.w., s.s.w., s., barometer rising, last half of storm. left-hand semicircle. wind e.n.e., n.e., n.n.e., n., barometer falling, first half of storm. wind w.n.w., n.w., n.n.w., n., barometer rising, last half of storm. hurricane moving from north to south. axis line, wind w., barometer falling, first half of storm. axis line, wind e., barometer rising, last half of storm. right-hand semicircle. wind w.n.w., n.w., n.n.w., n., barometer falling, first half of storm. wind e.n.e., n.e., n.n.e., n., barometer rising, last half of storm. left-hand semicircle. wind w.s.w., s.w., s.s.w., s., barometer falling, first half of storm. wind e.s.e., s.e., s.s.e., s,, barometer rising, last half of storm. hurricane moving prom west to east. axis line, wind s., barometer falling, first half of storm. axis line, wind n., barometer rising, last half of storm. right-hand semicircle. wind s.s.w., s.w., w.s.w., w., barometer falling, first half of storm. wind n.n.w., n.w., w.n.w., w., barometer rising, last half of storm. left-hand semicircle. wind s.s.e., s.e., e.s.e., e., barometer falling, first half of storm. wind n.n.e., n.e., e.n.e., e., barometer rising, last half of storm. hurricane moving from north-west to south-east. axis line, wind s.w., barometer falling, first half of storm. axis line, wind n.e., barometer rising, last half of storm. right-hand semicircle. wind w.s.w., w., w.n.w., n.w., barometer falling, first half of storm. wind n.n.e., n., n.n.w., n.w., barometer rising, last half of storm. left-hand semicircle. wind s.s.w., s., s.s.e., s.e., barometer falling, first half of storm. wind e.n.e., e., e.s.e., s.e., barometer rising, last half of storm. appendix. table i.--correction to be added to barometers for capillary action. +--------------------+---------------------------------+ | | correction for | | diameter of tube. |-----------------+---------------| | | unboiled tubes. | boiled tubes. | |--------------------|-----------------|---------------| | inch. | inch. | inch. | | · | · | · | | · | · | · | | · | · | · | | · | · | · | | · | · | · | | · | · | · | | · | · | · | | · | · | · | | · | · | · | | · | · | · | +--------------------+-----------------+---------------+ +---------------------------------------------------------------------+ |transcibers note: the following line table has been split into | |two, both vertically and horizontally, so that it can be accommodated| |on these pages. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------+ table ii.--correction to be applied to barometers with _brass scales_, extending from the cistern to the top of the mercurial column, to reduce the observation to ° fahrenheit. ---+------------------------------------------------------------+---- | i n c h e s. | t | -----+-------+------+-------+------+-------+------+--------| t e | | | | | | | | | e m | | · | | · | | · | | · | m p | | | | | | | | | p ---+------+-------+------+-------+------+-------+------+--------+---- ° | + | + | + | + | + | + | + | + | ° | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | -- | -- | -- | -- | -- | -- | -- | -- | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | ---+------+-------+------+-------+------+-------+------+--------+---- ---+-----------------------------------------------------+---- | i n c h e s. | t |-------+------+-------+------+-------+------+--------| t e | | | | | | | | e m | | · | | · | | · | | m p | | | | | | | | p ---+-------+------+-------+------+-------+------+--------+---- ° | + | + | + | + | + | + | + | ° | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | -- | -- | -- | -- | -- | -- | -- | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | ---+-------+------+-------+------+-------+------+--------+---- table ii.--_continued_ ----+------------------------------------------------------------+----- | i n c h e s. | t |------+-------+------+-------+------+-------+------+--------| t e | | | | | | | | | e m | | · | | · | | · | | · | m p | | | | | | | | | p ----+------+-------+------+-------+------+-------+------+--------+----- ° | + | + | + | + | + | + | + | + | ° | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | ----+------+-------+------+-------+------+-------+------+--------+----- ----+-----------------------------------------------------+----- | i n c h e s. | t |-------+------+-------+------+-------+------+--------| t e | | | | | | | | e m | | · | | · | | · | | m p | | | | | | | | p ----+-------+------+-------+------+-------+------+--------+----- ° | + | + | + | + | + | + | + | ° | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | | | | | | | | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | | · | · | · | · | · | · | · | ----+-------+------+-------+------+-------+------+--------+----- printed by w. clowes and sons, stanford street. footnotes: [ ] the first half of the storm, _in the case before alluded to_, is that n.e. of the line n.w.--s.e., fig. , comprising the easterly and southerly winds; and the latter half, that s.w. of the same line, comprising the northerly and westerly winds. [ ] this table is also applicable to the hurricanes in the neighbourhood of mauritius in the southern hemisphere, where all the phænomena are reversed; the motion of the hurricanes being towards the s.w., and the rotation in the direction of the hands of a watch, the same barometric and anemonal phænomena are experienced as in a hurricane in the northern hemisphere moving towards the n.e. [ ] by the officer of the watch being charged with this duty, and its being executed under his immediate superintendence, it is apprehended that a register may be kept with great regularity. [ ] these papers may be obtained from messrs. w. h. allen and co., booksellers to the honourable east india company, no. , leadenhall street, london. [ ] reports of the british association for the advancement of science, , p. . afloat in the forest a voyage among the tree-tops by captain mayne reid published by ticknor and fields, boston. this edition dated . chapter one. the brothers at home. twenty years ago, not twenty miles from the land's end, there lived a cornish gentleman named trevannion. just twenty years ago he died, leaving to lament him a brace of noble boys, whose mother all three had mourned, with like profound sorrow, but a short while before. "squire" trevannion, as he was called, died in his own house, where his ancestors for hundreds of years before him had dispensed hospitality. none of them, however, had entertained so profusely as he; or rather improvidently, it might be said, since in less than three months after his death the old family mansion, with the broad acres appertaining to it, passed into the hands of an alien, leaving his two sons, ralph and richard, landless, houseless, and almost powerless. one thousand pounds apiece was all that remained to them out of the wreck of the patrimonial estates. it was whispered that even this much was not in reality theirs, but had been given to them by the _very respectable_ solicitor who had managed their father's affairs, and had furthermore _managed_ to succeed him in the ownership of a property worth a rental of three thousand a year. any one knowing the conditions under which the young trevannions received their two thousand pounds must have believed it to be a gift, since it was handed over to them by the family solicitor with the private understanding that they were to use it in pushing their fortunes elsewhere,--anywhere except in cornwall! the land-pirate who had plucked them--for in reality had they been plucked--did not wish them to stay at home, divested, as they were, of their valuable plumage. he had appropriated their fine feathers, and cared not for the naked bodies of the birds. there were those in cornwall who suspected foul play in the lawyer's dealings with the young trevannions, among others, the victims themselves. but what could they, do? they were utterly ignorant of their late father's affairs,--indeed, with any affairs that did not partake of the nature of "sports." a solicitor "most respectable,"--a phrase that has become almost synonymous with rascality,--a regular church-goer,--accounts kept with scrupulous exactness,--a man of honest face, distinguished for probity of speech and integrity of heart,--what could the trevannions do? what more than the smiths and the browns and the joneses, who, notwithstanding their presumed greater skill in the ways of a wicked lawyer world, are duped every day in a similar manner. it is an old and oft-repeated story,--a tale too often told, and too often true,--that of the family lawyer and his confiding client, standing in the relationship of robber and robbed. the two children of squire trevannion could do nothing to save or recover their paternal estate. caught in the net of legal chicanery, they were forced to yield, as other squires' children have had to do, and make the best, of a bad matter,--forced to depart from a home that had been held by trevannions perhaps since the phoenicians strayed thitherward in search of their shining tin. it sore grieved them to separate from the scenes of their youth; but the secret understanding with the solicitor required that sacrifice. by staying at home a still greater might be called for,--subsistence in penury, and, worse than all, in a humiliating position; for, notwithstanding the open house long kept by their father, his friends had disappeared with his guests. impelled by these thoughts, the brothers resolved to go forth into the wide world, and seek fortune wherever it seemed most likely they should find it. they were at this period something more than mere children. ralph had reached within twelve months of being twenty. richard was his junior by a couple of years. their book-education had been good; the practice of manly sports had imparted to both of them a physical strength that fitted them for toil, either of the mind or body. they were equal to a tough struggle, either in the intellectual or material world; and to this they determined to resign themselves. for a time they debated between themselves where they should go, and what do. the army and navy came under their consideration. with such patronage as their father's former friends could command, and might still exert in favour of their fallen fortunes, a commission in either army or navy was not above their ambition. but neither felt much inclined towards a naval or military life; the truth being, that a thought had taken shape in their minds leading them to a different determination. their deliberations ended by each of them proclaiming a resolve,--almost sealing it with a vow,--that they would enter into some more profitable, though perhaps less pretentious, employment than that of either soldiering or sailoring; that they would toil--with their hands, if need be--until they should accumulate a sufficient sum to return and recover the ancestral estate from the grasp of the avaricious usurper. they did not know how it was to be done; but, young, strong, and hopeful, they believed it might be done,--with time, patience, and industry to aid them in the execution. "where shall we go?" inquired richard, the younger of the two. "to america, where every poor man appears to prosper? with a thousand each to begin the world with, we might do well there. what say you, ralph?" "america is a country where men seem to thrive best who have _nothing_ to begin the world with. you mean north america,--the united states,--i suppose?" "i do." "i don't much like the united states as a home,--not because it is a republic, for i believe that is the only just form of government, whatever our aristocratic friends may say. i object to it simply because i wish to go south,--to some part of the tropical world, where one may equally be in the way of acquiring a fortune." "is there such a place?" "there is." "where, brother?" "peru. anywhere along the sierra of the andes from chili to the isthmus of panama. as cornish men we should adopt the specialty of our province, and become miners. the andes mountains will give us that opportunity, where, instead of grey tin, we may delve for yellow gold. what say you to south america?" "i like the thought of south america,--nothing would please me better than going there. but i must confess, brother, i have no inclination for the occupation you speak of. i had rather be a merchant than a miner." "don't let that _penchant_ prevent you from selecting peru as the scene of mercantile transactions. there are many englishmen who have made fortunes in the peruvian trade. you may hope to follow their example. we may choose different occupations and still be near each other. one thousand pounds each may give both of us a start,--you as a merchant of goods, i as a digger for gold. peru is the place for either business. decide, dick! shall we sail for the scenes rendered celebrated by pizarro?" "if you will it--i'm agreed." "thither then let us go." in a month from that time the two trevannions might have been seen upon a ship, steering westward from the land's end, and six months later both disembarked upon the beach of callao,--_en route_ first for lima, thence up the mountains, to the sterile snow-crested mountains, that tower above the treasures of cerro pasco,--vainly guarded within the bosom of adamantine rocks. chapter two. the brothers abroad. ralph and richard trevannion. if it were so, a gap of some fifteen years--after the date of their arrival at cerro pasco--would have to be filled up. i decline to speak of this interval of their lives, simply because the details might not have any remarkable interest for those before whom they would be laid. suffice it to say, that richard, the younger, soon became wearied of a miner's life; and, parting with his brother, he crossed the cordilleras, and descended into the great amazonian forest,--the "montana," as it is called by the spanish inhabitants of the andes. thence, in company with a party of portuguese traders, he kept on down the river amazon, trading along its banks, and upon some of its tributary streams; and finally established himself as a merchant at its mouth, in the thriving "city" of gran para. richard was not unsocial in his habits; and soon became the husband of a fair-haired wife,--the daughter of a countryman who, like himself, had established commercial relations at para. in a few years after, several sweet children called him "father,"--only two of whom survived to prattle in his ears this endearing appellation, alas! no longer to be pronounced in the presence of their mother. fifteen years after leaving the land's end, richard trevannion, still under thirty-five years of age, was a widower, with two children,-- respected wherever known, prosperous in pecuniary affairs,--rich enough to return home, and spend the remainder of his days in that state so much desired by the sybarite roman poet,--"otium cum dignitate." did he remember the vow mutually made between him and his brother, that, having enough money, they would one day go back to cornwall, and recover the ancestral estate? he did remember it. he longed to accomplish this design, he only awaited his brother's answer to a communication he had made to him on this very subject. he had no doubt that ralph's desire would be in unison with his own,-- that his brother would soon join him, and then both would return to their native land,--perhaps to dwell again under the same roof that had sheltered them as children. the history of the elder brother during this period of fifteen years, if less eventful, was not less distinguished by success. by steadily following the pursuit which had first attracted him to peru, he succeeded in becoming a man of considerable means,--independent, if not wealthy. like his brother, he got married at an early period,--in fact, within the first year after establishing himself in cerro pasco. unlike the latter, however, he chose for his wife one of the women of the country,--a beautiful peruvian lady. she too, but a short while before, had gone to a better world, leaving motherless two pretty children, of twelve and fourteen years of age,--the elder of the two being a daughter. such was the family of ralph trevannion, and such the condition of life in which his brother's epistle reached him,--that epistle containing the proposal that they should wind lip their respective businesses, dispose of both, and carry their gains to the land that had given them birth. the proposition was at once accepted, as richard knew it would be. it was far from the first time that the thing had been discussed, epistolary fashion, between them; for letters were exchanged as often as opportunity permitted,--sometimes twice or thrice in the year. in these letters, during the last few years of their sojourn in south america, the promise made on leaving home was mutually mentioned, and as often renewed on either side. richard knew that his brother was as eager as himself to keep that well-remembered vow. so long as the mother of ralph's children was alive, he had not urged his brother to its fulfilment; but now that she had been dead for more than a year, he had written to say that the time had come for their return to their country and their home. his proposal was, that ralph, having settled his affairs in peru,-- which, of course, included the selling out of his share in the mines,-- should join him, richard, at para, thence to take ship for england. that instead of going round by cape horn, or across the isthmus, by panama, ralph should make the descent of the great amazon river, which traverse would carry him latitudinally across the continent from west to east. richard had two reasons for recommending this route. first, because he wished his brother to see the great river of orellana, as he himself had done; and secondly, because he was still more desirous that his _own son_ should see it. how this last wish was to be gratified by his brother making the descent of the amazon, may require explanation; but it will suffice to say that the son of richard trevannion was at that time residing with his uncle at the mines of cerro pasco. the boy had gone to peru the year before, in one of his father's ships,--first, to see the great ocean, then the great andes,--afterwards to become acquainted with the country of the incas, and last, though not of least importance, to make the acquaintance of his own uncle and his two interesting cousins, the elder of whom was exactly his own age. he had gone to the pacific side by _sea_. it was his father's wish he should return to the atlantic side by land,--or, to speak more accurately, by _river_. the merchant's wish was to be gratified. the miner had no desire to refuse compliance with his proposal. on the contrary, it chimed in with his own inclinations. ralph trevannion possessed a spirit adventurous as his brother's, which fourteen years of mining industry, carried on in the cold mountains of cerro pasco, had neither deadened nor chilled. the thought of once more returning to the scenes of his youth quite rejuvenated him; and on the day of receiving his brother's challenge to go, he not only accepted it, but commenced proceedings towards carrying the design into execution. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ a month afterwards and he might have been seen descending the eastern slope of the cordilleras on mule-back, and accompanied by his family and followers; afterwards aboard a _balsa_,--one of those curious crafts used in the descent of the huallaga; and later still on the _montaria_, upon the bosom of the great river itself. with the details of his mountain travels, interesting as they may be, we have naught to do. no more with his descent of the huallaga, nor his long voyage on the amazon itself, in that up-river portion of the stream where it is called the "maranon." only where it becomes the stupendous "solimoes" do we join ralph trevannion on his journey, and remain with him as long as he is "afloat in the forest," _or making a voyage among the tree-tops_. chapter three. the galatea. on an evening in the early part of december, a craft of singular construction might have been seen descending the solimoes, and apparently making for the little portuguese port of coary, that lies on the southern side of the river. when we say of singular construction, we mean singular to one unaccustomed to the navigation of amazonian waters. there the craft in question was too common to excite curiosity, since it was nothing more than a _galatea_, or large canoe, furnished with mast and sail, with a palm-thatched cabin, or _toldo_, rising over the quarter, a low-decked locker running from bow to midships,--along each side of which were to be seen, half seated, half standing, some half-dozen dark-skinned men, each plying, instead of an oar, a paddle-blade. perhaps the most singular sight on board this embarkation was the group of animated beings who composed its crew and passengers. the former, as already stated, were dark-skinned men scantily clad,--in fact, almost naked, since a single pair of white cotton drawers constituted the complete costume of each. for passengers there were three men, and a like number of individuals of younger age. two of the men were white, apparently europeans; the other was as black as soot could have made him,--unquestionably an african negro. of the young people two were boys, not much differing in size, and apparently not much in age, while the third was a half-grown girl, of dark complexion, raven-coloured hair, and beautiful features. one of the white men appeared to be, and was, the proprietor of the montaria, and the employer of its swarthy crew. he was ralph trevannion. the young girl was his daughter, and bore her peruvian mother's name, rosa, more often pronounced by its diminutive of endearment, rosita. the younger of the two boys--also of dark complexion--was his son ralph; while the older, of true saxon physiognomy and hue, was the son of his brother, also bearing his father's christian name, richard. the second white man was unmistakably of european race,--so much so that any one possessing the slightest knowledge of the hibernian type would at once have pronounced him a "son of the sod." a pure pug nose, a shock of curled hair of the clearest carrot colour, an eternal twinkle in the eye, a volume of fun lying open at each angle of the mouth, were all characteristics by which "tipperary tom"--for such was his _sobriquet_--might be remembered. about the negro there was nothing special, more than that he was a pure negro, with enormously thick lips, flattened nose, long protruding heels, teeth white as hippopotamus ivory, and almost always set in a good-humoured grin. the darkey had been a sailor, or rather ship-steward, before landing in peru. thither had he strayed, and settled at cerro pasco after several years spent aboard ship. he was a native of mozambique, on the eastern coast of africa, to which circumstance was he indebted for the only name ever given him,--mozey. both he and the irishman were the servants of the miner, or rather his retainers, who served him in various ways, and had done so almost ever since his establishing himself among the rocks of cerro pasco. the other creatures of the animated kingdom that found lodgment upon the craft were of various shapes, sizes, and species. there were quadrupeds, quadrumana, and birds,--beasts of the field, monkeys of the forest, and birds of the air,--clustering upon the cabin top, squatted in the hold, perched upon the gangway, the toldo, the yard, and the mast,--forming an epitomised menagerie, such as may be seen on every kind of craft that navigates the mighty amazon. it is not our design to give any description of the galatea's crew. there were nine of them,--all indians,--four on each side acting as rowers, or more properly "paddlers," the ninth being the pilot or steersman, standing abaft the toldo. our reason for not describing them is that they were a changing crew, only attached to the craft for a particular stage of the long river voyage, and had succeeded several other similar sets since the embarkation of our voyagers on the waters of the upper amazon. they had joined the galatea at the port of ega, and would take leave of her at coary, where a fresh crew of civilised indians--"tapuyos"--would be required. and they _were_ required, but not obtained. on the galatea putting into the port of coary, it was found that nearly every man in the place was off upon a hunting excursion,--turtle and cow-fish being the game that had called them out. not a canoe-man could be had for love or money. the owner of the galatea endeavoured to tempt the ega crew to continue another stage. it was contrary to their habit, and they refused to go. persuasion and threats were tried in vain. coaxing and scolding proved equally unavailable; all except one remained firm in their refusal, the exception being an old indian who did not belong to the ega tribe, and who could not resist the large bribe offered by trevannion. the voyagers must either suspend their journey till the coary turtle-hunters should return, or proceed without paddlers. the hunters were not expected for a month. to stay a month at coary was out of the question. the galatea must go on manned by her own people, and the old indian who was to act as pilot. such was the determination of ralph trevannion. but for that resolve,--rash as it was, and ending unfortunately for him who made it,--we should have no story to tell. chapter four. drifting with the current. the craft that carried the ex-miner, his family and following, once more floated on the broad bosom of the solimoes. not so swift as before, since, instead of eight paddlers, it was now impelled by only half the number,--these, too, with less than half the experience of the crew who had preceded them. the owner himself acted as steersman, while the paddles were plied by "tipperary tom," mozey, the old indian,--who, being of the mundurucu tribe, passed by the name of "munday,"--and richard trevannion. the last, though by far the youngest, was perhaps the best paddler in the party. brought up in his native place of gran para, he had been accustomed to spend half his time either in or upon the water; and an oar or paddle was to him no novelty. young ralph, on the contrary, a true mountaineer, knew nothing of either, and therefore counted for nothing among the crew of the galatea. to him and the little rosa was assigned the keeping of the pets, with such other light duties as they were capable of performing. for the first day the voyage was uninterrupted by any incident,--at least any that might be called unpleasant. their slow progress, it is true, was a cause of dissatisfaction; but so long as they were going at all, and going in the right direction, this might be borne with equanimity. three miles an hour was about their average rate of speed; for half of which they were indebted to the current of the river, and for the other half to the impulsion of their paddles. considering that they had still a thousand miles to go before reaching gran para, the prospect of a protracted voyage was very plainly outlined before them. could they have calculated on making three miles an hour for every hour of the twenty-four, things would not have been bad. this rate of speed would have carried them to their destination in a dozen days,--a mere bagatelle. but they knew enough of river-navigation to disregard such data. they knew the current of the solimoes to be extremely slow; they had heard of the strange phenomenon, that, run which way the river might, north, south, east, or west,--and it _does_ keep bending and curving in all these directions,--the wind is almost always met with blowing _up stream_! for this reason they could put no dependence in their sail, and would have to trust altogether to the paddles. these could not be always in the water. human strength could not stand a perpetual spell, even at paddles; and less so in the hands of a crew of men so little used to them. nor could they continue the voyage at night. by doing so, they would be in danger of losing their course, their craft, and themselves! you may smile at the idea. you will ask--a little scornfully, perhaps-- how a canoe, or any other craft, drifting down a deep river to its destination, could possibly go astray. does not the current point out the path,--the broad waterway not to be mistaken? so it might appear to one seated in a skiff, and floating down the tranquil thames, with its well-defined banks. but far different is the aspect of the stupendous solimoes to the voyager gliding through its _capo_. i have made use of a word of strange sound, and still stranger signification. perhaps it is new to your eye, as your oar. you will become better acquainted with it before the end of our voyage; for into the "gapo" it is my intention to take you, where ill-luck carried the galatea and her crew. on leaving coary, it was not the design of her owner to attempt taking his craft, so indifferently manned, all the way to para. he knew there were several civilised settlements between,--as barra at the mouth of the rio negro, obidos below it, santarem, and others. at one or other of these places he expected to obtain a supply of _tapuyos_, to replace the crew who had so provokingly forsaken him. the voyage to the nearest of them, however, would take several days, at the rate of speed the galatea was now making; and the thought of being delayed on their route became each hour more irksome. the ex-miner, who had not seen his beloved brother during half a score of years, was impatient once more to embrace him. he had been, already, several months travelling towards him by land and water; and just as he was beginning to believe that the most difficult half of the journey had been accomplished, he found himself delayed by an obstruction vexatious as unexpected. the first night after his departure from coary, he consented that the galatea should lie to,--moored to some bushes that grew upon the banks of the river. on the second night, however, he acted with less prudence. his impatience to make way prompted him to the resolution to keep on. the night was clear,--a full moon shining conspicuously above, which is not always the case in the skies of the solimoes. there was to be no sail set, no use made of the paddles. the crew were fatigued, and wanted rest and repose. the current alone was to favour their progress; and as it appeared to be running nearly two miles an hour, it should advance them between twenty and thirty miles before the morning. the mundurucu made an attempt to dissuade his "patron" from the course he designed pursuing; but his advice was disregarded,--perhaps because ill-understood,--and the galatea glided on. who could mistake that broad expanse of water--upon which the moon shone so clearly--for aught else than the true channel of the solimoes? not tipperary tom, who, in the second watch of the night,--the owner himself having kept the first,--acted as steersman of the galatea. the others had gone to sleep. trevannion and the three young people under the toldo; mozey and the mundurucu along the staging known as the "hold." the birds and monkeys were at rest on their respective perches, and in their respective cages,--all was silent in the galatea, and around,--all save the rippling of the water, as it parted to the cleaving of her keel. chapter five. the galatea aground. little experienced as he was in the art of navigation, the steersman was not inattentive to his duty. previously to his taking the rudder, he had been admonished about the importance of keeping the craft in the channel of the stream, and to this had he been giving his attention. it so chanced, however, that he had arrived at a place where there were two channels,--as if an island was interposed in the middle of the river, causing it to branch at an acute angle. which of these was the right one? which should be taken? these were the questions that occurred to tipperary tom. at first he thought of awakening his master, and consulting him, but on once more glancing at the two channels, he became half convinced that the broader one must be the proper route to be followed. "bay japers!" muttered he to himself. "shure i can't be mistaken. the biggest av the two ought to be the mane sthrame. anyway, i won't wake the masther. i'll lave it to the ship to choose for hersilf." saying this he relaxed his hold upon the steering oar, and permitted the galatea to drift with the current. sure enough, the little craft inclined towards the branch that appeared the broader one; and in ten minutes' time had made such way that the other opening was no longer visible from her decks. the steersman, confident of being on the right course, gave himself no further uneasiness; but, once more renewing his hold upon the steering oar, guided the galatea in the middle of the channel. notwithstanding all absence of suspicion as to having gone astray, he could not help noticing that the banks on each side appeared to be singularly irregular, as if here and there indented by deep bays, or reaches of water. some of these opened out vistas of shining surface, apparently illimitable, while the dark patches that separated them looked more like clumps of trees half-submerged under water than stretches of solid earth. as the galatea continued her course, this puzzling phenomenon ceased to be a conjecture; tipperary tom saw that he was no longer steering down a river between two boundary banks, but on a broad expanse of water, stretching as far as eye could reach, with no other boundary than that afforded by a _flooded forest_. there was nothing in all this to excite alarm,--at least in the mind of tipperary tom. the mundurucu, had he been awake, might have shown some uneasiness at the situation. but the indian was asleep,--perhaps dreaming of some mura enemy,--whose head he would have been happy to embalm. tom simply supposed himself to be in some part of the solimoes flooded beyond its banks, as he had seen it in more places than one. with this confidence, he stuck faithfully to his steering oar, and allowed the galatea to glide on. it was only when the reach of water--upon which the craft was drifting--began to narrow, or rather after it had narrowed to a surprising degree, that the steersman began to suspect himself of having taken the wrong course. his suspicions became stronger, at length terminating in a conviction that such was the truth, when the galatea arrived at a part where less than a cable's length lay between her beam-ends and the bushes that stood out of the water on both sides of her. too surely had he strayed from the "mane sthrame." the craft that carried him could no longer be in the channel of the mighty solimoes! the steersman was alarmed, and this very alarm hindered him from following the only prudent course he could have taken under the circumstances. he should have aroused his fellow-voyagers, and proclaimed the error into which he had fallen. he did not do so. a sense of shame at having neglected his duty, or rather at having performed it in an indifferent manner,--a species of regret not uncommon among his countrymen,--hindered him from disclosing the truth, and taking steps to avert any evil consequences that might spring from it. he knew nothing of the great river on which they were voyaging. there _might_ be such a strait as that through which the galatea was gliding. the channel might widen below; and, after all, he might have steered in the proper direction. with such conjectures, strengthened by such hopes, he permitted the vessel to float on. the channel _did_ widen again; and the galatea once more rode upon open water. the steersman was restored to confidence and contentment. only for a short while did this state of mind continue. again the clear water became contracted, this time to a very strip, while on either side extended reaches and estuaries, bordered by half-submerged bushes,--some of them opening apparently to the sky horizon, wider and freer from obstruction than that upon which the galatea was holding her course. the steersman no longer thought of continuing his course, which he was now convinced must be the wrong one. bearing with all his strength upon the steering oar, he endeavoured to direct the galatea back into the channel through which he had come; but partly from the drifting of the current, and partly owing to the deceptive light of the moon, he could no longer recognise the latter, and, dropping the rudder in despair, he permitted the vessel to drift whichever way the current might carry her! before tipperary tom could summon courage to make known to his companions the dilemma into which he had conducted them, the galatea had drifted among the tree-tops of the flooded forest, where she was instantly "brought to anchor." the crashing of broken boughs roused her crew from their slumbers. the ex-miner, followed by his children, rushed forth from the toldo. he was not only alarmed, but perplexed, by the unaccountable occurrence. mozey was equally in a muddle. the only one who appeared to comprehend the situation was the old indian, who showed sufficient uneasiness as to its consequences by the terrified manner in which he called out: "the gapo! the gapo!" chapter six. the monkey-pots. "the gapo?" exclaimed the master of the craft. "what is it, munday?" "the gapo?" repeated tipperary tom, fancying by the troubled expression on the face of the indian that he had conducted his companions toward some terrible disaster. "phwat is it, manday?" "da gapoo?" simultaneously interrogated the negro, the whites of his eyeballs shining in the moonlight. "what be dat?" the mundurucu made reply only by a wave of his hand, and a glance around him, as if to say, "yes, the gapo; you see we're in it." the three interrogators were as much in the dark as ever. whether the gapo was fish, flesh, or fowl, air, fire, or water, they could not even guess. there was but one upon the galatea besides the indian himself who knew the signification of the word which had created such a sensation among the crew, and this was young richard trevannion. "it's nothing, uncle," said he, hastening to allay the alarm around him; "old munday means that we've strayed from the true channel of the solimoes, and got into the flooded forest,--that's all." "the flooded forest?" "yes. what you see around us, looking like low bushes, are the tops of tall trees. we're now aground on the branches of a _sapucaya_,--a species of the brazil-nut, and among the tallest of amazonian trees. i'm right,--see! there are the nuts themselves!" as the young paraense spoke, he pointed to some pericarps, large as cocoa-nuts, that were seen depending from the branches among which the galatea had caught. grasping one of them in his hand, he wrenched it from the branch; but as he did so, the husk dropped off, and the prism-shaped nuts fell like a shower of huge hailstones on the roof of the _toldo_. "monkey-pots they're called," continued he, referring to the empty pericarp still in his hand. "that's the name by which the indians know them; because the monkeys are very fond of these nuts." "but the gapo?" interrupted the ex-miner, observing that the expressive look of uneasiness still clouded the brow of the mundurucu. "it's the indian name for the great inundation," replied richard, in the same tranquil tone. "or rather i should say, the name for it in the _lingoa-geral_." "and what is there to fear? munday has frightened us all, and seems frightened himself. what is the cause?" "that i can't tell you, uncle. i know there are queer stories about the gapo,--tales of strange monsters that inhabit it,--huge serpents, enormous apes, and all that sort of thing. i never believed them, though the _tapuyos_ do; and from old munday's actions i suppose he puts full faith in them." "the young patron is mistaken," interposed the indian, speaking a patois of the _lingoa-geral_. "the mundurucu does not believe in monsters. he believes in big serpents and monkeys,--he has seen them." "but shure yez are not afeerd o' them, manday?" asked the irishman. the indian only replied by turning on tipperary tom a most scornful look. "what is the use of this alarm?" inquired trevannion. "the galatea does not appear to have sustained any injury. we can easily get her out of her present predicament, by lopping off the branches that are holding her." "patron," said the indian, still speaking in a serious tone, "it may not be so easy as you think. we may get clear of the tree-top in ten minutes. in as many hours--perhaps days--we may not get clear of the gapo. that is why the mundurucu shows signs of apprehension." "ho! you think we may have a difficulty in finding our way back to the channel of the river?" "think it, patron! i am too sure of it. if not, we shall be in the best of good luck." "it's of no use trying to-night, at all events," pursued trevannion, as he glanced uncertainly around him. "the moon is sinking over the tree-tops. before we could well get adrift, she'll be gone out of sight. we might only drift deeper into the maze. is that your opinion, munday?" "it is, patron. we can do no good by leaving the place to-night. wiser for us to wait for the light of the sun." "let all go to rest, then," commanded the patron, "and be ready for work in the morning. we need keep no lookout, i should think. the galatea is as safe here as if moored in a dry dock. she is _aground_, i take it, upon the limb of a tree! ha! ha! ha!" the thought of such a situation for a sailing craft--moored amid the tops of a tall tree--was of so ludicrous a nature as to elicit a peal of laughter from the patron, which was echoed by the rest of the crew, the mundurucu alone excepted. his countenance still preserved its expression of uneasiness; and long after the others had sunk into unconscious sleep, he sat upon the stem of the galatea, gazing out into the gloom, with glances that betokened serious apprehension. chapter seven. the gapo. the young paraense had given a correct, although not sufficiently explicit, account of the sort of place in which the galatea had gone "aground." that singular phenomenon known as the _gapo_ (or _ygapo_), and which is one of the most remarkable characteristics of the great amazonian region, demands a more detailed description. it is worthy of this, as a mere study of physical geography,--perhaps as pleasant a science as any; and furthermore, it is here absolutely necessary to the understanding of our tale. without some comprehension of the circumstances that surrounded them, the hardships and sufferings endured, the adventures accomplished, and the perils passed by the crew of the strayed galatea, would appear as so many fabulous inventions, set forth to stimulate and gratify a taste for the merely marvellous. young reader, this is not the aim of your author, nor does he desire it to be the end. on the contrary, he claims to draw nature with a verisimilitude that will challenge the criticism of the naturalist; though he acknowledges a predilection for nature in her wildest aspects,--for scenes least exposed to the eye of civilisation, and yet most exposed to its doubting incredulity. there are few country people who have not witnessed the spectacle of a piece of woodland inundated by the overflow of a neighbouring stream. this flood is temporary; the waters soon subside into their ordinary channel, and the trees once more appear growing out of _terra firma_, with the green mead spreading on all sides around them. but a flooded forest is a very different affair; somewhat similar in character indeed, but far grander. not a mere spinney of trees along the bank of a small stream; but a region extending beyond the reach of vision,--a vast tract of primeval woods,--the tall trees submerged to their very tops, not for days, nor weeks, but for months,--ay, some of them forever! picture to your mind an inundation of this kind, and you will have some idea of the gapo. extending for seventeen hundred miles along the banks of the solimoes, now wider on the northern, now stretching farther back from the southern side, this semi-submerged forest is found, its interior almost as unknown as the crater-like caverns of the moon, or the icy oceans that storm or slumber round the poles,--unknown to civilised man, but not altogether to the savage. the aboriginal of amazonia, crouching in his canoe, has pierced this water-land of wonders. he could tell you much about it that is real, and much that is marvellous,--the latter too often pronounced fanciful by lettered _savans_. he could tell you of strange trees that grow there, bearing strange fruits, not to be found elsewhere,--of wonderful quadrupeds, and _quadrumana_, that exist only in the gapo,--of birds brilliantly beautiful, and reptiles hideously ugly; among the last the dreaded dragon serpent, "sucuruju." he could tell you, moreover, of creatures of his own kind,--if they deserve the name of man,--who dwell continuously in the flooded forest, making their home on scaffolds among the tree-tops, passing from place to place in floating rafts or canoes, finding their subsistence on fish, on the flesh of the _manatee_, on birds, beasts, reptiles, and insects, on the stalks of huge water-plants and the fruits of undescribed trees, on monkeys, and sometimes upon _man_! such indians as have penetrated the vast water-land have brought strange tales out of it. we may give credence to them or refuse it; but they, at least, are firm believers in most of the accounts which they have collected. it is not to be supposed that the gapo is impenetrable. on the contrary, there are several well-known waterways leading through it,-- well-known, i mean, to the indians dwelling upon its borders, to the _tapuyos_, whose business it is to supply crews for the galateas of the portuguese traders, and to many of these traders themselves. these waterways are often indicated by "blazings" on the trees, or broken branches, just as the roads are laid out by pioneer settlers in a north american forest; and but for these marks, they could not be followed. sometimes, however, large spaces occur in which no trees are to be seen, where, indeed, none grow. there are extensive lakes, always under water, even at the lowest ebb of the inundation. they are of all sizes and every possible configuration, from the complete circle through all the degrees of the ellipse, and not unfrequently in the form of a belt, like the channel of a river running for scores of miles between what might readily be mistaken for banks covered with a continuous thicket of low bushes, which are nothing more than the "spray" of evergreen trees, whose roots lie forty feet under water! more frequently these openings are of irregular shape, and of such extent as to merit the title of "inland seas." when such are to be crossed, the sun has to be consulted by the canoe or galatea gliding near their centre; and when he is not visible,--by no means a rare phenomenon in the gapo,--then is there great danger of the craft straying from her course. when within sight of the so-called "shore," a clump of peculiar form, or a tree topping over its fellows, is used as a landmark, and often guides the navigator of the gapo to the _igarita_ of which he is in search. it is not all tranquillity on this tree-studded ocean. it has its fogs, its gales, and its storms,--of frequent occurrence. the canoe is oft shattered against the stems of gigantic trees; and the galatea goes down, leaving her crew to perish miserably in the midst of a gloomy wilderness of wood and water. many strange tales are told of such mishaps; but up to the present hour none have received the permanent record of print and paper. be it _our_ task to supply this deficiency. chapter eight. the echente. it would not be true to say that the crew of the galatea were up with the sun. there was no sun to shine upon the gloomy scene that revealed itself next morning. instead, there was a fog almost thick enough to be grasped with the hand. they were astir, however, by the earliest appearance of day; for the captain of the galatea was too anxious about his "stranded" craft to lie late abed. they had no difficulty in getting the vessel afloat. a strong pull at the branches of the sapucaya, and then an adroit use of the paddles, carried the craft clear. but what was the profit of this? once out in the open water, they were as badly off as ever. not one of them had the slightest idea of the direction they would take, even supposing they could find a clear course in any direction! a consultation was the result, in which all hands took part, though it was evident that, after the patron, most deference was paid to the mundurucu. the young paraense stood next in the scale of respect; while tipperary tom, beyond the account which he was called upon to give of his steersmanship, was not permitted to mingle his hibernian brogue in the discussion. where was the river? that was the first problem to be solved, and of this there appeared to be no possible solution. there was no sun to guide them, no visible sky. even had there been both, it would scarce have mended the matter. the steersman could not tell whether, on straying from the channel, he had drifted to the south or the north, the east or the west; and, indeed, an intellect less obtuse than that of tipperary tom might have been puzzled upon the point. it has been already mentioned, that the solimoes is so tortuous as to turn to every point of the compass in its slow course. the mere fact that the moon was shining at the time could be of little use to tipperary tom, whose astronomy had never extended beyond the knowledge that there was a moon. where lay the river? the interrogatory was repeated a score of times, without receiving a satisfactory answer; though every one on board--the little rosita excepted--ventured some sort of reply, most, however, offering their opinion with a doubting diffidence. the mundurucu, although repeatedly appealed to, had taken small part in the discussion, remaining silent, his eyes moodily wandering over the water, seeking through the fog for some clue to their escape from the spot. no one plied the paddles; they had impelled her out of sight of the sapucaya, now shrouded in the thick fog; but, as it was useless paddling any farther, all hands had desisted, and were now resting upon their oars. at this moment it was perceived that the galatea was in motion. the mundurucu was the first to notice it; for his attention had for some time been directed to such discovery. for this reason had he cast his searching glances, now down into the turbid waters, and now out through the murky atmosphere. a thicket was discernible through the fog, but every moment becoming less distinct. of course it was only a collection of tree-tops; but whatever it was, it soon became evident that the galatea was very slowly receding from it. on discovering this, the mundurucu displayed signs of fresh animation. he had been for some minutes lying upon his face, craning out over the gangway, and his long withered arms submerged in the water. the others occupied themselves in guessing what he was about; but their guesses had been to no purpose. equally purposeless had appeared the actions of the indian; for, after keeping his arm under water for a period of several minutes, he drew it in with a dissatisfied air, and once more arose to his feet. it was just then that he perceived the tree-tops, upon which he kept his eyes sharply fixed, until assured that the galatea was going away from them. "_hoola_!" he exclaimed, attempting to imitate the cry he had more than once heard issuing from the lips of tipperary tom. "_hoola_! the river is out there!" as he spoke, he pointed towards the tree-tops. it was the first confident answer to the all-important question. "how can you tell that, munday?" inquired the captain of the craft. "how tell, patron? how tell day from night, the moon from the sun, fire from water? the solimoes is there." the indian spoke with his arm still extended in the direction of the trees. "we are willing to believe you," rejoined trevannion, "and will trust to your guidance; but pray explain yourself." "it's all guess-work," interpolated tipperary tom. "ould munday knows no more av fwat he's talkin' about than judy fitzcummons's mother. i'll warrant ye we come in from the t'other side." "silence, tom!" commanded his master. "let us hear what munday has to say. _you_ have no right to contradict him." "och, awance! an indyen's opinion prefarred before that ov a freeborn oirishman! i wondher what nixt." and as tipperary completed his chapter of reproaches, he slank crouchingly under the shadow of the _toldo_. "so you think the river is there?" said trevannion, once more addressing himself to the mundurucu. "the mundurucu is sure of it, patron. sure as that the sky is above us." "remember, old man! it won't do for us to make any mistake. no doubt we've already strayed a considerable distance from the channel of the solimoes. to go again from it will be to endanger our lives." "the mundurucu knows that," was the laconic reply. "well, then, we must be satisfied of the fact, before we can venture to make a move. what proof can you give us that the river lies in that direction?" "patron! you know the month? it is the month of march." "certainly it is. what of that?" "the _echente_." "the _echente_? what is that?" "the flood getting bigger. the water on the rise,--the gapo still growing,--that is the _echente_." "but how should that enable you to determine the direction of the river?" "it has done so," replied the indian. "not before three months--in june--will come the _vasante_." "the _vasante_?" "the _vasante_, patron: the fall. then the gapo will begin to grow less; and the current will be _towards_ the river, as now it is _from_ it." "your story appears reasonable enough. i suppose we may trust to it. if so," added trevannion, "we had better direct our course towards yonder tree-tops, and lose no time in getting beyond them. all of you to your paddles, and pull cheerily. let us make up for the time we have lost through the negligence of tipperary tom. pull, my lads, pull!" at this cheering command the four paddlers rushed to their places; and the galatea, impelled by their vigorous strokes, once more glided gayly over the bosom of the waters. chapter nine. an impassable barrier. in a few moments the boat's bow was brought within half a cable's length of the boughs of the submerged trees. her crew could see that to proceed farther, on a direct course, was simply impossible. with equal reason might they have attempted to hoist her into the air, and leap over the obstruction that had presented itself before them. not only were the branches of the adjoining trees interlocked, but from one to the other straggled a luxurious growth of creepers, forming a network so strong and compact that a steamer of a hundred horse-power would have been safely brought to a stand among its meshes. of course no attempt was made to penetrate this impenetrable _chevaux de frise_; and after a while had been spent in reconnoitring it, trevannion, guided by the counsel of the mundurucu, ordered the galatea to go about, and proceed along the selvage of the submerged forest. an hour was spent in paddling. no opening. another hour similarly employed, and with similar results! the river might be in the direction pointed out by the indian. no doubt it was; but how were they to reach it? not a break appeared in all that long traverse wide enough to admit the passage of a canoe. even an arrow could scarce have penetrated among the trees, that extended their parasite-laden branches beyond the border of the forest! by tacit consent of the patron, the paddlers rested upon their oars; then plied them once more; and once more came to a pause. no opening among the tree-tops; no chance to reach the channel of the solimoes. the gloomy day became gloomier, for night was descending over the gapo. the crew of the galatea, wearied with many hours of exertion, ceased paddling. the patron did not oppose them; for his spirit, as well as theirs, had become subdued by hope long deferred. as upon the previous night, the craft was moored among the tree-tops, where her rigging, caught among the creepers, seemed enough to keep her from drifting away. but very different from that of the preceding night was the slumber enjoyed by her crew. amidst the boughs of the sapucaya, there had been nothing to disturb their tranquillity, save the occasional shower of nuts, caused by the cracking of the dry shells, and the monkey-pots discharging their contents. then was the galatea "grounded" upon a solitary tree, which carried only its own fruit. to-night she was moored in the middle of a forest,--at all events upon its edge,--a forest, not of the earth, nor the air, nor the water, but of all three,--a forest whose inhabitants might be expected to partake of a character altogether strange and abnormal. and of such character were they; for scarce had the galatea become settled among the tree-tops, when the ears of her crew were assailed by a chorus of sounds, that with safety might have challenged the choir of pandemonium. two alone remained undismayed,--richard trevannion and the mundurucu. "bah!" exclaimed the paraense, "what are you all frightened at? don't you know what it is, uncle?" "i know what it resembles, boy,--the devil and his legions let loose from below. what is it, dick?" "only the howlers. don't be alarmed, little rosita!" the little peruvian, gaining courage from his words, looked admiringly on the youth who had called her "little rosita." any one could have told that, from that time forward, richard trevannion might have the power to control the destinies of his cousin. "the howlers! what are they?" inquired the old miner. "monkeys, uncle; nothing more. from the noise they make, one might suppose they were as big as buffaloes. nothing of the kind. the largest i ever saw was hardly as stout as a deerhound, though he could make as much noise as a whole kennel. they have a sort of a drum in the throat, that acts as a sound-board. that's what enables them to get up such a row. i've often heard their concert more than two miles across country, especially in prospect of an approaching storm. i don't know if they follow this fashion in the gapo; but if they do, from the way they're going it now, we may look out for a trifling tornado." notwithstanding the apparent unconcern with which young trevannion declared himself, there was something in his manner that arrested the attention of his uncle. while pronouncing his hypothetical forecast of a storm, he had turned his glance towards the sky, and kept it fixed there, as if making something more than a transient observation. the fog had evaporated, and the moon was now coursing across the heavens, not against a field of cloudy blue, but in the midst of black, cumulus clouds, that every now and then shrouded her effulgence. a dweller in the tropics of the western hemisphere would have pronounced this sign the certain forerunner of a storm; and so predicted the young paraense. "we'll have the sky upon us within an hour," said he, addressing himself more especially to his uncle. "we'd better tie the galatea to the trees. if this be a _hurricane_, and she goes adrift, there's no knowing where we may bring up. the likeliest place will be in the bottom of the gapo." "the young patron speaks truth," interposed munday, his eyes all the while reading the signs of the heavens; "the mundurucu knows by yonder yellow sky." as he spoke, the indian pointed to a patch of brimstone-coloured clouds, conspicuous over the tops of the trees. there was no reason why ralph trevannion should not give credit to the two weather-prophets, who could have no personal motive in thus warning him. he yielded, therefore, to their solicitation; and in ten minutes more the galatea was secured among the tree-tops, as fast as cords could make her. chapter ten. a tropical tornado. notwithstanding the apparently complete security thus obtained for the craft, the mundurucu did not seem to be easy in his mind. he had climbed up the mast to the yard, and, having there poised himself, sat gazing over the tops of the trees upon the patch of brimstone sky which was visible in that direction. the others all talked of going to sleep, except the young paraense, who counselled them to keep awake. he, too, like the mundurucu, was troubled with forebodings. he understood the weather-signs of the solimoes, and saw that a storm was portending. though the sun had not been visible during the whole day, it was now about the hour of his setting; and as if the storm had been waiting for this as a signal, it now boldly broke forth. a few quick puffs, with short intervals between them, were its precursors. these were soon followed by gusts, stronger, as well as noisier, in their advent; and then the wind kept up a continuous roaring among the tops of the trees; while above the thunder rolled incessantly, filling the firmament with its terrible voice. deep darkness and the vivid glare of the lightning-flashes followed each other in quick succession. at one moment all was obscure around the crew of the galatea,--the sky, the trees, the water, even the vessel herself; in the next, everything was made manifest, to the distance of miles, under a brilliance garish and unearthly. to add to the unnatural appearance of things, there were other sounds than those of the thunder or the storm,--the cries of living creatures, strange and unknown. birds they might be, or beasts, or reptiles, or all these, commingling their screams, and other accents of affright, with the sharp whistling of the wind, the hoarse rumbling of the thunder, and the continuous crashing of the branches. the crew of the galatea were on the alert, with awe depicted on every face. their fear was lest the craft should be blown away from her moorings, and carried out into the open water, which was now agitated by the fury of the storm. almost under the first lashing of the wind, huge waves had sprung up, with white crests, that under the electric light gleamed fiercely along the yellow swell of the turbid water. their anxiety was of short continuance; for almost on the instant of its rising, it became reality. unfortunately, the tree to which the craft had been tied was one whose wood was of a soft and succulent nature,--a species of _melastoma_. its branches were too brittle to bear the strain thus unexpectedly put upon them; and almost at the first onset of the tornado they began to give way, snapping off one after the other in quick succession. so rapid was the process of detachment, that, before fresh moorings could be made, the last cord had come away; and the galatea, like a greyhound loosed from the leash, shot out from among the tree-tops, and went off in wild career over the waves of the gapo. before any control could be gained over her by her terrified crew, she had made several cables' length into the open water, and was still sweeping onward over its seething surface. to turn her head towards the trees was clearly out of the question. the attempt would have been idle. both wind and waves carried her in the opposite direction, to say nothing of the current, against which she had been already contending. the crew no longer thought of returning to the tree-tops, out of which they had been so unceremoniously swept: their only chance of safety appeared to be to keep the craft, as well balanced as circumstances would permit, and run before the wind. even this for a time seemed but a doubtful chance. the wind blew, not in regular, uniform direction, but in short, fitful gusts, as if coming from every point of the compass; and the waves rolled around them as high as houses. in the midst of a chopping, purging sea, the galatea tumbled and pitched, now head, now stern foremost, at times going onward in mad career, and with headlong speed. the parrots and macaws upon the yard had as much as their strong claws could do to keep their perch; and the monkeys, cowering under the shelter of the _toldo_, clung close to its timbers. both birds and beasts mingled their terrified cries with the creaking of the galatea's timbers and the shouts of her crew. the gapo threatened to ingulf them. every moment might be their last! and with this dread belief, scarce for a moment out of their minds, did our adventurers pass the remainder of that remarkable night, the galatea galloping onward, they could not tell whither. all they knew or could remember of that nocturnal voyage was, that the vessel kept upon her course, piloted only by the winds and waves,--at times tossing within deep troughs of turbulent water, at times poised upon the summits of ridge-like swells, but ever going onward at high speed, seemingly ten knots an hour! for a long while they saw around them only open water, as of some great lake or inland sea. at a later hour, the lightning revealed the tops of submerged trees, such as those they had left behind; but standing out of the water in clumps or coppices, that appeared like so many islands. amidst these they were carried, sometimes so close to the trees as to give them hopes of being able to grasp their boughs. once or twice the rigging of the galatea brushed among the branches; and they used every effort to stay their runaway craft, and bring her to an anchorage. but in vain. the storm was stronger than the united strength of the crew. the twigs clutched with eager hands parted in twain, and the storm-driven vessel swept on amid the surging waters. daylight arrived at length, breaking through a red aurora, soon followed by a brilliant sunrise. this somewhat cheered our despairing adventurers. but the tempest was still raging with undiminished fury, the wind as loud and the waves as high as at any period throughout the night. once more they were in the middle of a waste of waters, neither trees nor land in sight. another great lake or inland sea? it could not be that over which they had been already carried? no. the wind was now blowing more steadily; and could it not have shifted? even if it had, they had not returned through the archipelago of tree-top islands. they were in another opening of the gapo. munday was of this opinion, and that was proof sufficient to satisfy his companions. as we have said, the returning day did little to restore the confidence of the galatea's crew. the tornado still continued. despite the sunlit sky, the storm showed no signs of abating; and the crazy craft gave tongue in every timber of her frail frame. the sounds were ominous to the ears of those who listened to them. it was too evident, that, unless there should soon come a lull, the galatea would go to the bottom. she had not been constructed to stand a strain like that to which she had been thus unexpectedly exposed, and an anchorage either to _terra firma_ or the tree-tops would soon become necessary to her salvation. her crew, convinced of this, were one and all upon the lookout, scanning the horizon as closely as the crested billows would admit. the mundurucu had mounted to the top of the mast, where, with one of the monkeys that had perched itself on his shoulders, he clung with the tenacity of despair. all at once he was heard to cry out, the monkey mocking him in mimic tone. "what is it, munday? what do you see?" were the inquiries that reached him from below. "land," was the laconic reply. "land!" went up the echo from half a score of joyous voices. "maybe not land,--i mean the _terra firma_," pursued the observer, in a less confident tone. "it may be only the top of a thick forest like what we tried to penetrate yesterday. whatever it is, patron, it seems along the whole edge of the sky. we are drifting towards it, straight as the wind can carry us." "thank god!" exclaimed trevannion, "anything is better than this. if we can get once more among the tree-tops, we shall at least be saved from drowning. thank god, children. we shall be preserved!" the indian descended from the mast, close followed by the monkey, whose serio-comic countenance seemed to say that he too was satisfied by the observation just made. still careering madly onward before the tempest, the boat soon brought the tree-tops within view, and, after a brief debate, the conclusion was reached that it was only a submerged forest. but even this was better than buffeting about on the open billows,-- every moment in danger of being swamped; and with a universal feeling of joy our adventurers perceived that their craft was drifting toward that dark line. they were powerless to control her course. her rudder had been unshipped during the night, and they could trust only to the tempest still raging to carry them to the confines of the forest. in full hope that this would be the result, they took no measures either to promote or frustrate the steering of the storm. chapter eleven. the galatea treed. tossed by the tempest, the galatea preserved her course towards the tree-tops, thus keeping up the spirits and confidence of her crew. despite some divergences caused by an occasional contrary gust of wind, she kept an onward course, in due time arriving within such distance of the forest, that it was no longer doubtful about her drifting among the trees. in this there was a prospect of temporary safety at the least, and our adventurers had begun to congratulate themselves on the proximity of the event. just then, a gigantic tree--it must have been gigantic to stand so high over its fellows, though it could scarce be fifty feet above the surface of the water--presented itself to their eyes. it stood solitary and alone, about a quarter of a mile from the edge of the forest, and as much nearer to the craft, still struggling through the wind-lashed water. like that in the top of which they had first gone aground, it was a sapucaya,--as testified by the huge pericarps conspicuously suspended from its branches. high as may have been the inundation, its stem rose still higher, by at least ten feet; but half-way between the water's surface and the branches, the colossal trunk forked in twain,--each of the twin scions appearing a trunk of itself. through the fork was the water washing at each heave of the agitated gapo,--the waves with foaming crests mounting far up towards the top of the tree, as if aspiring to pluck the ripe fruit depending from its branches. towards this tree the galatea was now going as straight as if she had been steered by the finger of destiny itself. there was no other power to control her,--at least none that was human. the wind, or destiny,-- one of the two,--must determine her fate. the waves perhaps had something to do with it; since the next that followed lifted the galatea upon its curling crest, and lodged her in the sapucaya in such a fashion that her keel, just amidships, rested within the forking of the twin stems. "thank god!" exclaimed her owner, "we are safe now. moored between two stanchions like these, neither the winds of heaven nor the waves of the great ocean itself could prevail against us. make fast there! make fast to the limbs of the tree! tie her on both sides. these are no twigs to be snapped asunder. hurrah! we are anchored at last!" the gigantic stems of the sapucaya, rising on both sides above the beam-ends of the galatea, looked like the supporters of a graving-dock. it is true the craft still floated upon the bosom of a troubled water; but what of that? once made fast to the tree, she could not be carried farther; therefore was she secure against wind and wave. the tornado might continue, but no longer to be a terror to the crew. these, partly relieved from their fears, hastened to obey the master's commands. ropes were grasped, and, with hands still trembling, were looped around the stems of the sapucaya. all at once action was suspended by a loud crash, which was followed by a cry that issued simultaneously from the lips of all the crew; who, before its echoes could die away among the branches of the sapucaya, had become separated into two distinct groups! the crash had been caused by the parting of the galatea's keel, which, resting in the fork of the tree, had broken amidships, on the subsidence of the wave that had heaved her into this peculiar position. for a few seconds the two sections of the partly dissevered craft hung balanced between the air and the water, the fore-deck with its stores balancing the quarter with its _toldo_. but long before the beam was kicked, the occupants of both had forsaken them, and were to be seen, some of them clinging to the branches of the sapucaya, some struggling beneath against the storm and the current of the gapo. by noble devotion on the part of those who could swim, the whole crew were placed beyond the reach of the waves upon the branches of the sapucaya, where, from their elevated position, they beheld the craft that had so long safely carried them parting in two and sinking out of sight. chapter twelve. a dangerous ducking. before the dismembered vessel quite disappeared under the storm-lashed waves, every individual of her crew had found a foothold upon the branches of the sapucaya. the tree, while causing the wreck of their vessel, had saved them from going with her to the bottom of the gapo. for some time, however, they were far from feeling secure. they were in different parts of the tree, scattered all over it, just as they had been able to lay hold of the limbs and lift themselves above the reach of the swelling waves. scarce two of them were in the same attitude. one stood erect upon a branch with arms around an upright stem; another sat astride; a third lay along a limb, with one leg dangling downwards. the young paraense had taken post upon a stout _lliana_, that threaded through the branches of the trees, and, with one arm around this and the other encircling the waist of his cousin, rosita, he kept both the girl and himself in a position of perfect security. young ralph found footing on a large limb, while his father stood upon a still larger one immediately below. the pets, both birds and beasts, had distributed themselves in their affright, and were seen perched on all parts of the tree. for a time there was no attempt made by any one to change his position. the tornado still continued, and it was just as much as any of them could do to keep the place already gained. there was one who did not even succeed in keeping his place, and this was tipperary tom. the irishman had selected one of the lowest limbs, that stretched horizontally outward, only a few feet above the surface of the water. he had not exactly made choice of his perch, but had been flung upon it by the swelling wave, and, clutching instinctively, had held fast. the weight of his body, however, had bent the branch downward, and, after making several fruitless efforts to ascend to the stem, he had discovered that the feat was too much for him. there was no choice but to hold on to the bent branch or drop back into the boiling gapo, that threatened from below to ingulf him; terrified by the latter alternative, tom exerted all his strength, and held on with mouth agape and eyes astare. soon the tension would have proved too much for him, and he must have dropped down into the water. but he was not permitted to reach this point of exhaustion. a wave similar to that which had landed him on the limb lifted him off again, launching him out into the open water. a cry of consternation came from the tree. all knew that tipperary tom was no swimmer; and with this knowledge they expected to see him sink like a stone. he did go down, and was for some moments lost to view; but his carrot-coloured head once more made its appearance above the surface, and, guided by his loud cries, his situation was easily discovered. he could only sink a second time to rise no more. sad were the anticipations of his companions,--all except one, who had made up his mind that tipperary tom was not yet to die. this was the mundurucu, who at the moment was seen precipitating himself from the tree, and then swimming out in the direction of the drowning man. in less than a score of seconds he was in the clutch of the indian, who grasping him with one hand, with the other struck out for the tree. by good fortune the swell that had swept tipperary from his perch, or one wonderfully like it, came balancing back towards the sapucaya, bearing both indian and irishman upon its crest, landing them in the great fork where the galatea had gone to pieces, and then retiring without them! it seemed a piece of sheer good fortune, though no doubt it was a destiny more than half directed by the arm of the indian, whose broad palm appeared to propel them through the water with the power of a paddle. to whatever indebted, chance or the prowess of the mundurucu, certain it is that tipperary tom was rescued from a watery grave in the gapo; and on seeing him along with his preserver safe in the fork of the tree, a general shout of congratulation, in which even the animals took part, pealed up through the branches, loud enough to be heard above the swishing of the leaves, the whistling of the wind, and the surging of the angry waters, that seemed to hiss spitefully at being disappointed of their prey. tom's senses had become somewhat confused by the ducking. not so much, however, as to hinder him from perceiving that in the fork, where the wave had deposited him and his preserver, he was still within reach of the swelling waters; seeing this, he was not slow to follow the example of the mundurucu, who, "swarming" up the stem of the tree, placed himself in a safe and more elevated position. chapter thirteen. a consultation in the tree-top. it would scarce be possible to conceive a situation more forlorn than that of the castaway crew of the galatea. seated, standing, or astride upon the limbs of the sapucaya, their position was painful, and far from secure. the tempest continued, and it was with difficulty they could keep their places, every gust threatening to blow them out of the tree-top. each clung to some convenient bough; and thus only were they enabled to maintain their balance. the branches, swept by the furious storm, creaked and crackled around them,--bending as if about to break under their feet, or in the hands that apprehensively grasped them. sometimes a huge pericarp, big as a cannon-ball, filled with heavy fruits, was detached from the pendulous peduncles, and went _swizzing_ diagonally through the air before the wind, threatening a cracked crown to any who should be struck by it. one of the castaways met with this bit of ill-luck,--mozey the mozambique. it was well, however, that he was thus distinguished, since no other skull but his could have withstood the shock. as it was, the ball rebounded from the close woolly fleece that covered the negro's crown, as from a cushion, causing him no further trouble than a considerable fright. mozey's looks and exclamations were ludicrous enough, had his companions been inclined for laughter. but they were not; their situation was too serious, and all remained silent, fully occupied in clinging to the tree, and moodily contemplating the scene of cheerless desolation that surrounded them. till now, no one had speculated on anything beyond immediate safety. to escape drowning had been sufficient for their thoughts, and engrossed them for more than an hour after the galatea had gone down. then a change began to creep over their spirits,--brought about by one observable in the spirit of the storm. it was, you remember, one of those tropical tempests, that spring up with unexpected celerity, and fall with equal abruptness. now the tempest began to show signs of having spent itself. the tornado--a species of _cyclone_, usually of limited extent--had passed on, carrying destruction to some other part of the great amazonian plain. the wind lulled into short, powerless puffs, and the comparatively shallow waters of the gapo soon ceased to swell. by this time noon had come, and the sun looked down from a zenith of cloudless blue, upon an expanse of water no more disturbed, and on branches no longer agitated by the stormy wind. this transformation, sudden and benign, exerted an influence on the minds of our adventurers perched upon the sapucaya. no longer in immediate danger, their thoughts naturally turned to the future; and they began to speculate upon a plan for extricating themselves from their unfortunate dilemma. on all sides save one, as far as the eye could scan, nothing could be seen but open water,--the horizon not even broken by the branch of a tree. on the excepted side trees were visible, not in clumps, or standing solitary, but in a continuous grove, with here and there some taller ones rising many feet above their fellows. there could be no doubt that it was a forest. it would have gratified them to have believed it a thicket, for then would they have been within sight and reach of land. but they could not think so consistently with their experience. it resembled too exactly that to which they had tied the galatea on the eve of the tempest, and they conjectured that what they saw was but the "spray" of a forest submerged. for all that, the design of reaching it as soon as the waters were calm was first in their minds. this was not so easy as might be supposed. although the border of the verdant peninsula was scarce a quarter of a mile distant, there were but two in the party who could swim across to it. had there existed the materials for making a raft, their anxiety need not have lasted long. but nothing of the kind was within reach. the branches of the sapucaya, even if they could be broken off, were too heavy, in their green growing state, to do more than to buoy up their own ponderous weight. so a sapucaya raft was not to be thought of, although it was possible that, among the tree-tops which they were planning to reach, dead timber might be found sufficient to construct one. but this could be determined only after a reconnoissance of the submerged forest by richard trevannion and the mundurucu, who alone could make it. to this the patron hardly consented,--indeed, he was not asked. there seemed to be a tacit understanding that it was the only course that could be adopted; and without further ado, the young paraense, throwing off such of his garments as might impede him, sprang from the tree, and struck boldly out for the flooded forest. the mundurucu, not being delayed by the necessity of stripping, had already taken to the water, and was fast cleaving his way across the open expanse that separated the solitary sapucaya from its more social companions. chapter fourteen. a fracas heard from afar. the castaways watched the explorers until they disappeared within the shadowy selvage. then, having nothing else to do, they proceeded to make themselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit, by selecting for their seats the softest branches of the sapucaya. to be sure there was not much choice between the limbs, but the great fork, across which the galatea had broken, appeared to offer a position rather better than any other. as the swell was no longer to be dreaded, trevannion descended into the fork, taking little rosa along with him, while the others sat on higher limbs, holding by the branches or stout llianas growing above them. at best their situation was irksome, but physical inconvenience was hardly felt in their mental sufferings. their reflections could not be other than painful as they contemplated the future. their shelter in the sapucaya could be only temporary, and yet it might continue to the end of their lives. they had no assurance that they might be able to get out of it at all; and even if they should succeed in reaching the other trees, it might be only to find them forty feet deep in water. the prospect was deplorable and their forebodings gloomy. for nearly an hour they exchanged no word. the only sound heard was an occasional scream from one of the pet birds, or the jabbering of the monkeys, of which there had been five or six, of different kinds, on the galatea. two only had found refuge on the tree,--a beautiful little _ouistiti_, and a larger one, of the genus _ateles_, the black coaita. the others, chained or otherwise confined, had gone down with the galatea. so, too, with the feathered favourites, of many rare and beautiful kinds, collected during the long voyage on the upper amazon, some of which had been bought at large prices from their indian owners, to carry across the atlantic. the caged had perished with the wreck, others by the tornado, and, like the _quadrumana_, only two of the birds had found an asylum on the tree. one was a splendid hyacinthine macaw, the _araruna_ of the indians (_macrocercus hyacinthinus_); the other a small paroquet, the very tiniest of its tribe, which had long divided with the little ouistiti the affections of rosa. about an hour had elapsed since the departure of the swimming scouts, with no signs of their return. the party cast anxious glances towards the place where they had last been seen, listening for any sounds from the thicket that concealed them. once or twice they fancied they heard their voices, and then they were all sure they heard shouts, but mingling with some mysterious sounds in a loud, confused chorus. the coaita heard, and chattered in reply; so, too, did the ouistiti and paroquet; but the macaw seemed most disturbed, and once or twice, spreading its hyacinthine wings, rose into the air, and appeared determined to part from its _ci-devant_ protectors. the call of ralph, whose especial pet it was, allured it back to its perch, where, however, it only stayed in a state of screaming uncertainty. there was something strange in this behaviour, though in the anxiety of the hour but little heed was paid to it; and as the voices soon after ceased, the araruna became tranquillised, and sat quietly on the roost it had selected. once more, however, the shouting and strange cries came pealing across the water, and again the araruna gave evidence of excitement. this time the noise was of shorter duration, and soon terminated in complete tranquillity. nearly two hours had now expired, and the countenances of all began to wear an expression of the most sombre character. certainly they had heard the voices of richard and the mundurucu mingling with those unearthly sounds. there was time enough for them to have gone far into the unknown forest, and return. what could detain them? their voices had been heard only in shouts and sharp exclamations, that proclaimed them to be in some critical, perhaps perilous situation. and now they were silent! had they succumbed to some sad fate? were they dead? chapter fifteen. the jararaca. there are bodily sensations stronger than many mental emotions. such are hunger and thirst. the castaways in the tree-top began to experience both in an extreme degree. by good fortune, the means of satisfying them were within reach. with a "monkey-cup" emptied of its triangular kernels they could draw up water at will, and with its contents conquer the cravings of hunger. at his father's request, and stimulated by his own sensations, ralph began climbing higher, to procure some of the huge fruit-capsules suspended--as is the case with most south american forest-trees--from the extremities of the branches. the boy was a bold and skilful climber among the crags and cliffs of his native cordilleras. still a tree did not come amiss to him, and in a twinkling he had ascended to the top branches of the sapucaya, the macaw making the ascent with him, perched upon his crown. all at once the bird began to scream, as if startled by some terrible apparition; and without losing an instant, it forsook its familiar place, and commenced fluttering around the top of the tree, still continuing its cries. what could be the cause? the boy looked above and about him, but could discover nothing. the screams of the araruna were instantly answered by the little paroquet in a tiny treble, but equally in accents of terror, while both the coaita and ouistiti, chattering in alarm, came bounding up the tree. the paroquet had already joined the macaw, and, as if in imitation of its great congener, flew fluttering among the top branches, in a state of the wildest excitement! guided by the birds, that kept circling around one particular spot, the boy at length discovered the cause of the alarm; and the sight was one calculated to stir terror. it was a serpent coiled around a lliana that stretched diagonally between two branches. it was of a yellowish-brown colour, near to that of the lliana itself; and but for its smooth, shining skin, and the elegant convolutions of its body, might have been mistaken for one parasite entwining another. its head, however, was in motion, its long neck stretched out, apparently in readiness to seize upon one of the birds as soon as it should come within striking distance. ralph was not so much alarmed. a snake was no uncommon sight, and the one in question was not so monstrous as to appear very formidable. the first thought was to call off the birds, or in some way get them out of reach of the snake; for the imprudent creatures, instead of retreating from such a dangerous enemy, seemed determined to fling themselves upon its fangs, which ralph could see erect and glistening, as at intervals it extended its jaws. the little paroquet was especially imprudent, recklessly approaching within a few inches of the serpent, and even alighting on the lliana around which it had warped itself. ralph was ascending still higher, to take the bird in his hand, and carry it clear of the danger, when his climbing was suddenly arrested by a shout from mozey, the mozambique, that proclaimed both caution and terror. "fo' you life doant, mass'r raff!" cried the negro, following up his exclamation of warning. "fo' you life doant go near um! you no know what am dat ar snake? it am de _jararaca_!" "jararaca!" mechanically rejoined ralph. "ya--ya--de moas pisenous sarpin in all de valley ob de amazon. i'se hear de injine say so a score ob times. come down, mass'r! come down!" attracted by the screaming of the birds and the chattering of the monkeys, the others listened attentively below. but upon the negro's quick cry of warning, and the dialogue that ensued, trevannion ascended higher, followed by tipperary tom,--rosa remained alone below, in the fork where her father had left her. trevannion, on coming in sight of the snake, at once recognised it as all that mozey had alleged,--the most poisonous of the amazon valley,--a species of _craspedocephalus_. he knew it from having seen one before, which the mundurucu had killed near coary, and had described in similar terms,--adding that its bite was almost instantly fatal, that it will attack man or beast without any provocation, that it can spring upon its enemy from a distance, and, finally, that it was more feared than any other creature in the country, not excepting the jaguar and jacare! the appearance of the reptile itself was sufficient to confirm this account. its flat triangular head, connected with the body by a long thin neck, its glittering eyes and red forking tongue, projected at intervals more than an inch beyond its snout, gave the creature a monstrous and hideous aspect. it looked as if specially designed to cause death and destruction. it was not of great size,--scarcely six feet long, and not thicker than a girl's wrist; but it needed not bulk to make it dangerous. no one knew exactly what to do. all were without arms, or weapons of any kind. these had long since gone to the bottom of the gapo; and for some minutes no movement was made except by young ralph, who on being warned of his danger, had hastened to descend the tree. the birds were left to themselves, and still continued screaming and fluttering above. up to this time the snake had remained motionless, except his oscillating head and neck. its body now began to move, and the glittering folds slowly to relax their hold upon the lliana. "great god! he is coming down the tree!" the words had hardly left trevannion's lips before the snake was seen crawling along the lliana, and the next moment transferring its body to a branch which grew slantingly from the main trunk. this was soon reached; and then, by means of another lliana lying parallel to it, the reptile continued its descent. all those who stood by the trunk hastily forsook the perilous place, and retreated outward along the branches. the jararaca seemed to take no note either of their presence or flight, but continued down the limb towards the fork of the main stem, where stood little rosa. "o heavens!" cried trevannion, in a voice of anguish, "my child is lost!" the girl had risen to her feet, being already fearful of the danger threatening her friends above; but on looking up, she beheld the hideous reptile coming straight towards her. her situation was most perilous. the lliana by which the snake was descending rose right up from the fork of the sapucaya. the child was even clasping it in her hand, to keep herself erect. the reptile could not pass without touching her. in fact, it must pass over her person to get down from the tree. there was no likelihood of its gliding on without striking her. its well-known character--as the most malicious of venomous serpents--forbade the supposition. the snake was scarce ten feet above her head, still gliding onward and downward! it was at this crisis that her father had given voice to that despairing exclamation. he was about to scramble down to the trunk, with the design of launching himself upon the serpent, and grappling it with his naked hands, reckless of consequences, when a sign from mozey, accompanied by some words quickly spoken, caused him to hesitate. "no use, mass'r!" cried the negro, "no use,--you be too late. jump, lilly rosy!" he continued, calling to the child in a loud, commanding voice. "it's you only chance. jump into de water, an ole mozey he come down sabe you. jump!" to stimulate the child by his example, the negro, with his last word, sprang out from his branch and plunged into the water. in an instant he was upon the surface again, continuing his cries of encouragement. rosa trevannion was a girl of spirit; and, in this fearful alternative, hesitated not a moment to obey. short as was the time, however, it would have proved too long had the snake continued its descent without interruption. fortunately it did not. when its hideous head was close to the child's hand, where the latter grasped the lliana, it suddenly stopped,--not to prepare itself for the fatal dart, but because the negro's heavy fall had splashed much water against the tree, sprinkling child and jararaca too. it was the momentary surprise of this unexpected shower-bath that had checked the serpent, while rosa dropped down into the gapo, and was caught by her sable preserver. chapter sixteen. hold on! mozey's noble conduct elicited a cry of admiration. it was the more noble as the negro was a poor swimmer, and therefore risked his own life. but this produced another effect, and in the shout there was no tone of triumph. the child was perhaps only rescued from the reptile to be swallowed with her preserver by a monster far more; voracious, the ingulfing gapo. nor was it yet certain that she had been saved from the serpent. the jararaca is a snake eminently amphibious, alike at home on land or at sea. it might follow, and attack them in the water. then, too, it would have a double advantage; for while it could swim like a fish, mozey could just keep himself afloat, weighted as he was with his powerless burden. in view of this, trevannion's heart was filled with most painful anxiety, and for some time neither he nor any beside him could think what course to pursue. it was some slight relief to them to perceive that the snake did not continue the pursuit into the water; for on reaching the fork of the tree it had thrown itself into a coil, as if determined to remain there. at first there appeared no great advantage in this. in its position, the monster could prevent the swimmers from returning to the tree; and as it craned its long neck outward, and looked maliciously at the two forms struggling below, one could have fancied that it had set itself to carry out this exact design. for a short time only trevannion was speechless, and then thought, speech, and action came together. "swim round to the other side!" he shouted to the negro. "get under the great branch. ho, tom! you and ralph climb aloft to the one above. tear off the lliana you see there, and let it down to me. quick, quick!" as he delivered these instructions, he moved out along the limb with as much rapidity as was consistent with safety, while tipperary and ralph climbed up to carry out his commands. the branch taken by trevannion himself was that to which he had directed the negro to swim, and was the same by which tipperary tom had made his first ascent into the tree, and from which he had been washed off again. it extended horizontally outward, at its extremity dipping slightly towards the water. though in the swell caused by the tornado it had been at intervals submerged, it was now too far above the surface to have been grasped by any one from below. the weight of trevannion's body, as he crept outward upon it, brought it nearer to the water, but not near enough for a swimmer to lay hold. he saw that, by going too far out, the branch would not bear his own weight, and might snap short off, thus leaving the swimmers in a worse position than ever. it was for this reason he had ordered the untwining of the creeper that was clinging above. his orders were obeyed with the utmost alacrity by tom and ralph, as if their own lives depended on the speed. almost before he was ready to receive it, the long lliana was wrenched from its tendril fastenings, and came straggling down over the branch on which he sat, like the stay of a ship loosened from her mast-head. meanwhile mozey,--making as much noise as a young whale, blowing like a porpoise, spurting and spitting like an angry cat,--still carrying the child safe on his shoulders, had arrived under the limb, and, with strokes somewhat irregularly given and quickly repeated, was doing his very best to keep himself and her above water. it was evident to all, that the over-weighted swimmer was wellnigh exhausted; and had not the end of the long lliana plumped down in the nick of time, the mozambique must indubitably have gone to the bottom, taking his charge with him. just in time, however, the tree-cable came within his clutch, and, seizing it with all his remaining strength, rosa relieved him of her weight by laying hold herself, and the two were drawn up into the tree amidst cries of "hold on! hold on!" ending in general congratulation. chapter seventeen. the paroquet. alas! there was one circumstance that hindered their triumph from being complete. the jararaca was still in the tree. so long as this terrible tenant shared their abode, there could be neither confidence nor comfort. there it lay coiled upon its scaly self, snugly ensconced in the fork below, with skin glittering brightly, and eyes gleaming fiercely in the golden sunlight that now fell slantingly against the tree. how long would the monster remain in this tranquil attitude, was the question that presented itself to the minds of all, as soon as the first transport of their joy had subsided. it was evident it had no intention of taking to the water, though it could have done so without fear. no doubt the sapucaya was its habitual haunt; and it was not likely to forsake it just to accommodate some half-score of strange creatures who had chosen to intrude. surely some time or other it would re-ascend the tree, and then--? but all speculations on this point were soon interrupted. the little paroquet, which had shown such excitement on first discovering the snake, had been quiet while all were engaged in the salvage of mozey and the child. now that a certain quietness had been restored, the bird was seen returning to the jararaca for the supposed purpose of renewing its impotent attack. for some minutes it kept fluttering over the serpent, now alighting upon a branch, anon springing off again, and descending to one lower and nearer to the jararaca, until it had almost reached its head. strange to say, there appeared no hostility in the bird's movements; its actions betrayed rather the semblance of fear, confirmed by the tremulous quivering of its frame whenever it came to rest upon a perch. the spectators' suspicion was further strengthened by the little creature's continued cries. it was not the angry chattering by which these birds usually convey their hostility, but a sort of plaintive screaming that betokened terror. at each flight it approached closer to the serpent's forked tongue, and then retreated, as if vacillating and irresolute. the reptile meanwhile exhibited itself in a hideous attitude; yet a deep interest enchained the spectators. its head had broadened, or flattened out to twice the natural dimensions; the eyes seemed to shoot forth twin jets of fire, while the extensile tongue, projected from a double row of white, angular teeth, appeared to shine with phosphorescent flame. the bird was being _charmed_, and was already under the serpent's fascination. how could the pretty pet be saved? young ralph, noticing the despair upon his sister's face, was half inclined to rush down the tree, and give battle to the jararaca; and tipperary tom--whose general hostility to snakes and reptiles had a national and hereditary origin--purposed doing something to avert the paroquet's fast-approaching fate. trevannion, however, was too prudent to permit any interference, while the negro appeared only anxious that the magic spectacle should reach its termination. it was not cruelty on his part. mozey had his motives, which were soon after revealed, proving that the brain of the african is at times capable of conception equal, if not superior, to his boasted caucasian brother. there was no interruption. the end was not far off. by slow degrees, the bird appeared to grow exhausted, until its wings could no longer sustain it. then, as if paralysed by a final despair, it pitched itself right into the mouth of the reptile, whose jaws had been suddenly extended to receive it! there was a slight flutter of the wings, a tremulous motion of the body, and the self-immolated creature appeared to be dead. the serpent, half uncoiling itself, turned its head towards the tree, and, once more opening its jaws, permitted the now lifeless paroquet to escape from their clasp, and drop quietly into the crotch formed by the forking of the stem. chapter eighteen. the lliana unloosed. the spectators of this little tragedy of animal life had hitherto prudently refrained from taking part in it. curiosity now exerted an equal effect in preventing their interference; and without speech or motion they sat on their respective perches to observe the _finale_ of the drama, which evidently had not ended with the death of the paroquet. that was but the beginning of the end, for the prey was yet to be devoured. though provided with a double row of teeth, it is well-known that animals of the reptile kind do not masticate their food. these teeth, set trenchantly, as is commonly the case, are intended only to capture the living prey, which enters the stomach afterwards by a process termed deglutition. at the spectacle of just such a process, with all its preliminary preparations, were the group in the sapucaya now to be present,--the principal performer being apparently unconscious of, or at all events unconcerned at, their presence. having deposited the dead bird in the fork of the tree, the serpent changed its coiled attitude into one that would give it a chance of filling its belly with less inconvenience. there was not room for it to extend itself fully; and, in default of this, the tail was allowed to drop down along the stem of the tree, at least two thirds of the body remaining in a horizontal position. having arranged itself apparently to its satisfaction, it now directed its attention to the paroquet. once more taking the dead bird between its teeth, it turned it over and over until the head lay opposite to its own, the body aligned in a longitudinal direction. the jaws of the snake were now widely extended, while the tongue, loaded with saliva, was protruded and retracted with great rapidity. the serpent continued this licking process until the short feathers covering the head of the bird, as also its neck and shoulders, seemed to be saturated with a substance resembling soap or starch. when a sufficient coating had been laid on to satisfy the instincts of the serpent, the creature once more opened its jaws, and, making a sudden gulp, took in the head of the paroquet, with the neck and shoulders. for a time no further action was perceptible. yet a movement was going on: and it was to assure himself of this that the mozambique was so attentive. we have said that he had a motive for permitting the pet to be sacrificed, which was now on the eve of being revealed to his companions. they all saw that there was something upon his mind, and eagerly anticipated the revelation. just as the jararaca had succeeded in bolting the anterior portion of the paroquet,--that is, the head, neck, and shoulders,--mozey rose from his seat, stole towards the stem of the tree, and let himself down toward the fork, without saying a word. his purpose, however, was manifest the moment after, for he stretched out his right hand, clutched the jararaca around the small of the neck, and flung the serpent--no longer capable of defending itself-- far out into the waters of the gapo! the monster, with its feathered morsel still in its mouth, sank instantly, to be seen no more; so thought mozey and his associates in the sapucaya. but, as the event proved, they had hastened to an erroneous conclusion. scarce had their triumphant cheer echoed across the silent bosom of the gapo, when the paroquet was observed floating upon the water; and the snake, having ejected the half-swallowed pill, was once more upon the surface, swimming with sinuous but brisk rendings of its body in rapid return to the tree. the situation seemed more alarming than ever. the fiend himself could hardly have shown a more implacable determination. to all appearance the jararaca was now returning to take revenge for the insult and disappointment to which it had been subjected. mozey, losing confidence in his own cunning, retreated up the tree. he perceived, now that it was too late, the imprudence of which he had been guilty. he should have permitted the snake to proceed a step further in the process of deglutition, until the disgorging of the paroquet, against the grain of its feathers, should have become impossible. he had been too hasty, and must now answer the consequences. sure enough, the serpent returned to the sapucaya and commenced reascending, availing itself of the lliana, by which all of its enemies had effected their ascent. in a few seconds it had mounted into the fork, and, still adhering to the parasite, was continuing its upward way. "o heavens!" ejaculated trevannion, "one of us must become the prey of this pitiless monster! what can be done to destroy it?" "dar's a chance yet, mass'r," cried mozey, who had suddenly conceived a splendid thought. "dar's a chance yet. all ob you lay hold on de creepin' vine, an' pull um out from de tree. we chuck de varmint back into the water. now den,--all togedder! pull like good uns!" as the negro spoke, he seized the lliana, by which the serpent was making its spiral ascent, and put out all his strength to detach it from the trunk of the sapucaya. the others instantly understood his design, and grasping the parasite, with a simultaneous effort tried to tear it off. a quick jerk broke the lliana loose; and the jararaca, shaken from its hold, was sent whirling and writhing through the air, till it fell with a plunging noise upon the water below. once more a triumphant cheer went up through the sapucaya branches, once more to be stifled ere it had received the answer of its own echoes; for the jararaca was again seen upon the surface, as before, determinedly approaching the tree. it was a sight for despair. there was something supernatural in the behaviour of the snake. it was a monster not to be conquered by human strength, nor circumvented by human cunning. was there any use in continuing the attempt to subdue it? mozey, a fatalist, felt half disposed to submit to a destiny that could not be averted; and even tipperary tom began to despair of the power of his prayers to saint patrick. the ex-miner, however, as well acquainted with the subterraneous regions as with upper earth, had no superstition to hinder him from action, and, instead of desponding he at once adopted the proper course. catching hold of the creeper, that had already been loosened from the trunk, and calling upon the others to assist him, he tore the creeper entirely from the tree, flinging its severed stem far out upon the water. in a moment after, the snake came up, intending to climb into the sapucaya, as no doubt it had often done before. we wonder what were its feelings on finding that the ladder had been removed, and that an ascent of the smooth trunk of the sapucaya was no longer possible, even to a tree snake! after swimming round and round, and trying a variety of places, the discomfited jararaca turned away in apparent disgust; and, launching out on the bosom of the gapo, swam off in the direction of the thicket,--on the identical track that had been taken by richard and the mundurucu. chapter nineteen. serpent fascination. it was some time before trevannion and his companions in misfortune could recover from the excitement and awe of their adventure. they began to believe that the strange tales told them of the gapo and its denizens had more than a substratum of truth; for the protracted and implacable hostility shown by the snake, and its mysterious power over the bird, seemed surely supernatural. trevannion reflected on the singular behaviour of the jararaca. that a reptile of such contemptible dimensions should exhibit so much cunning and courage as to return to the attack after being repeatedly foiled, and by an enemy so far its superior in strength and numbers, together with its hideous aspect, could not fail to impress him with a feeling akin to horror, in which all those around him shared. the very monkeys and birds must have felt it; for when in the presence of snakes, they had never before exhibited such trepidation and excitement. long after the serpent had been pitched for the second time into the water, the coaita kept up its terrified gibbering, the macaw screamed, and the tiny ouistiti, returning to rosa's protection,--no longer to be shared with its late rival,--sat trembling in her lap, as if the dreaded reptile were still within dangerous proximity. this feeling was but temporary, however. trevannion was a man of strong intellect, trained and cultivated by experience and education; and after a rational review of the circumstances, he became convinced that there was nothing very extraordinary, certainly nothing supernatural, in what transpired. the jararaca--as he had heard, and as everybody living on the amazon knew--was one of the most venomous of serpents, if not the most venomous of all. even the birds and beasts were acquainted with this common fact, and dreaded the reptile accordingly, not from mere _instinct_, but from actual knowledge possessed and communicated in some mysterious way to one another. this would account for the wild terror just exhibited, which in the case of the paroquet had come to a fatal end. there was a mystery about this for which trevannion could not account. the power which the serpent appeared to have obtained over the bird, controlling its movements without any apparent action of its own, was beyond comprehension. whether or not it be entitled to the name given it,--_fascination_, certainly it is a fact,--one that has been repeatedly observed, and to which not only birds, but quadrupeds, have been the victims; and not only by ordinary observers, but by men skilled in the knowledge of nature, who have been equally at a loss to account for it by natural causes. but this link in the chain of incidents, though mysterious, was not new nor peculiar to this situation. it had been known to occur in all countries and climes, and so soon ceased to excite any weird influence on the mind of trevannion. for the other circumstances that had occurred there was an explanation still more natural. the jararaca, peculiarly an inhabitant of the gapo lands, had simply been sunning itself upon the sapucaya. it may have been prowling about in the water when overtaken by the tornado; and, not wishing to be carried away from its haunt, had sought a temporary shelter in the tree, to which an unlucky chance had guided the galatea. its descent was due to the behaviour of the birds, which, after having for a time tantalised it,--provoking its spite, and in all likelihood its hungry appetite,--had temporarily suspended their attack, returning down the tree with ralph and the negro. it was in pursuit of them, therefore, it had forsaken its original perch. the commotion caused by its descent, but more especially the ducking it had received, and the presence of the two human forms in the water below, had induced it to halt in the forking of the tree, where shortly after its natural prey again presented itself,--ending in an episode that was to it an ordinary occurrence. the choking it had received in the hands of the negro, and its unexpected immersion, had caused the involuntary rejection of the half-swallowed morsel. in the opaque water it had lost sight of the bird, and was returning to the sapucaya either in search of its food, or to reoccupy its resting-place. it is well-known that the jararaca has no fear of man, but will attack him whenever he intrudes upon its domain. the indians assert that it will even go out of its way for this purpose, unlike the rattlesnake and other venomous reptiles, which rarely exert their dangerous power except in self-defence. so this jararaca reascended the sapucaya undismayed by the human enemies it saw there, one or more of whom might have become its victims but for the timely removal of the lliana ladder. on this review of facts and fancies, the equanimity of our adventurers was nearly restored. at all events, they were relieved from the horrible thoughts of the supernatural, that for a time held ascendancy over them. their hunger and thirst again manifested themselves, though little rosa and her preserver no longer suffered from the last. in their short excursion both had been repeatedly under water, and had swallowed enough to last them for that day at least. yet they were in want of food, and ralph once more climbed the tree to obtain it. he soon possessed himself of half a dozen of the huge nut capsules, which were tossed into the hands of those below, and, water being drawn up in one of the emptied shells, a meal was made, which if not hearty, was satisfactory. the group could do no more than await the return of their absent companions; and with eyes fixed intently and anxiously upon the dark water, and beneath the close-growing trees, they watched for the first ripple that might betoken their coming. chapter twenty. the water arcade. we must leave for a time the castaways in the tree-top, and follow the fortunes of the two swimmers on their exploring expedition. on reaching the edge of the submerged forest, their first thought was to clutch the nearest branch, and rest themselves by clinging to it. they were no longer in doubt as to the character of the scene that surrounded them, for their experience enabled them to comprehend it. "the gapo!" muttered munday, as they glided in under the shadows. "no dry land here, young master," he added, clutching hold of a lliana. "we may as well look out for a roost, and rest ourselves. it's full ten fathoms deep. the mundurucu can tell that by the sort of trees rising over it." "i didn't expect anything else," rejoined young trevannion, imitating his companion by taking hold of a branch and climbing up. "my only hope is that we may find some float timber to ferry the others across. not that there's much in it if we do. how we're to find our way out of this mess is more than either you or i can tell." "the mundurucu never despairs,--not even in the middle of the gapo," was the indian's proud reply. "you have hope, then? you think we shall find timber enough for a raft to carry us clear of the inundation." "no!" answered the indian. "we have got too far from the channel of the big river. we shall see no floating trees here,--nothing to make a raft that would carry us." "why then did we come here, if not for the purpose of finding dead timber for that object?" "dead timber? no! if that was our errand, we might go back as we've come,--empty-handed. we shall float all the people over here without that. follow me, young master. we must go farther into the gapo. let old munday show you how to construct a raft without trees, only making use of their fruit." "lead on!" cried the paraense. "i'm ready to assist you; though i haven't the slightest conception of what you mean to do." "you shall see presently, young master," rejoined munday, once more spreading himself to swim. "come on! follow me! if i'm not mistaken, we'll soon find the materials for a raft,--or something that will answer as well for the present. come along, there! come!"--and he launched himself into the water. trevannion followed his example, and, once more consigning himself to the flood, he swam on in the indian's wake. through aisles dimmed with a twilight like that of approaching night, along arcades covered with foliage so luxuriant as to be scarce penetrable by the rays of a tropic sun, the two swimmers, the indian ever in advance, held their way. to richard trevannion the mundurucu was comparatively a stranger, known only as a _tapuyo_ employed by his uncle in the management of the galatea. he knew the tribe by rumours even more than sinister. they were reputed in para to be the most bloodthirsty of savages, who took delight not only in the destruction of their enemies, but in keeping up a ghastly souvenir of hostility by preserving their heads. in the company of a mundurucu, especially in such a place,--swimming under the sombre shadows of a submerged forest,--it can scarce be wondered at that the youth felt suspicion, if not actual fear. but richard trevannion was a boy of bold heart, and bravely awaited the _denouement_ of the dismal journey. their swim terminated at length, and the indian, pointing to a tree, cried out: "yonder--yonder is the very thing of which i was in search. hoo-hoo! covered with sipos too,--another thing we stand in need of,-- cord and pitch both growing together. the great spirit is kind to us, young master." "what is it?" demanded richard. "i see a great tree, loaded with climbers as you say. but what of that? it is green, and growing. the wood is full of sap, and would scarce float itself; you can't construct a raft out of that. the sipos might serve well enough for rope; but the timber won't do, even if we had an axe to cut it down." "the mundurucu needs no axe, nor yet timber to construct his raft. all he wants here is the sap of that tree, and some of the sipos clinging to its branches. the timber we shall find on the sapucaya, after we go back. look at the tree, young master! do you not know it?" the paraense, thus appealed to, turned his eyes toward the tree, and scanned it more carefully. festooned by many kinds of climbing plants, it was not so easy to distinguish its foliage from that of the parasites it upheld; enough of the leaves, however, appeared conspicuous to enable him to recognise the tree as one of the best known and most valuable to the inhabitants, not only of his native para, but of all the amazonian region, "certainly," he replied, "i see what sort of tree it is. it's the _seringa_,--the tree from which they obtain caoutchouc. but what do you want with that? you can't make a raft out of india-rubber, can you?" "you shall see, young master; you shall see!" during this conversation the mundurucu had mounted among the branches of the seringa, calling upon his companion to come after him, who hastily responded to the call. chapter twenty one. the syringe-tree. the tree into whose top the swimmers had ascended was, as richard had rightly stated, that from which the caoutchouc, or india-rubber, is obtained. it was the _siphonia elastica_, of the order _euphorbiaceae_, of the amazonian valley. not that the _siphonia_ is the only tree which produces the world-renowned substance, which has of late years effected almost a revolution in many arts, manufactures, and domestic economies of civilised life. there are numerous other trees, both in the old and new world, most of them belonging to the famed family of the figs, which in some degree afford the caoutchouc of commerce. of all, however, that yielded by the _siphonia elastica_ is the best, and commands the highest price among dealers. the young paraense called it _seringa_, and this is the name he had been accustomed to hear given to it. _seringa_ is simply the portuguese for syringe, and the name has attached itself to the tree, because the use which the aborigines were first observed to make of the elastic tubes of the caoutchouc was that of squirts or syringes, the idea being suggested by their noticing the natural tubes formed by the sap around twigs, when flowing spontaneously from the tree. for syringes it is employed extensively to this day by brazilians of all classes, who construct them by moulding the sap, while in its fluid state, into pear-shaped bottles, and inserting a piece of cane in the long neck. the caoutchouc is collected in the simplest way, which affords a regular business to many amazonians, chiefly native indians, who dispose of it to the portuguese or brazilian traders. the time is in august, when the subsidence of the annual inundation permits approach to the trees; for the _seringa_ is one of those species that prefer the low flooded lands, though it is not altogether peculiar to the gapo. it grows throughout the whole region of the amazon, wherever the soil is alluvial and marshy. the india-rubber harvest, if we may use the term, continues throughout the dry months, during which time very large quantities of the sap are collected, and carried over to the export market of para. a number of trees growing within a prescribed circle are allotted to each individual, whose business it is--man, woman, or boy--to attend to the assigned set of trees; and this is the routine of their day's duty. in the evening the trees are tapped; that is, a gash or incision is made in the bark,--each evening in a fresh place,--and under each is carefully placed a little clay cup, or else the shell of an _ampullasia_, to catch the milky sap that oozes from the wound. after sunrise in the morning, the "milkers" again revisit the scene of operations, and empty all the cups into a large vessel, which is carried to one common receptacle. by this time the sap, which is still of a white colour, is of the consistency of cream, and ready for moulding. the collectors have already provided themselves with moulds of many kinds, according to the shape they wish the caoutchouc to assume, such as shoes, round balls, bottles with long necks, and the like. these are dipped into the liquid, a thin stratum of which adheres to them, to be made thicker by repeated immersions, until the proper dimensions are obtained. after the last coat has been laid on, lines and ornamental tracings are made upon the surface, while still in a soft state; and a rich brown colour is obtained by passing the articles repeatedly through a thick black smoke, given out by a fire of palm-wood,--several species of these trees being specially employed for this purpose. as the moulds are usually solid substances, and the shoes, balls, and bottles are cast _on_, and not _in_ them, it may be wondered how the latter can be taken off, or the former got out. king george would have been as badly puzzled about this, as he was in regard to the apples in the pudding. the idea of the amazonian aboriginal, though far more ingenious, is equally easy of explanation. his bottle-moulds are no better than balls of dried mud, or clay; and so too, the lasts upon which he fashions the india-rubber shoes. half an hour's immersion in water is sufficient to restore them to their original condition of soft mud; when a little scraping and washing completes the manufacture, and leaves the commodity in readiness for the merchant and the market. the _seringa_ is not a tree of very distinguished appearance, and but for its valuable sap might be passed in a forest of amazonia, where so many magnificent trees meet the eye, without eliciting a remark. both in the colour of its bark and the outline of its leaves it bears a considerable resemblance to the european ash,--only that it grows to a far greater size, and with a stem that is branchless, often to the height of thirty or forty feet above the ground. the trunk of that on which the mundurucu and his companion had climbed was under water to that depth, else they could not so easily have ascended. it was growing in its favourite situation,--the gapo,--its top festooned, as we have said, with scores of parasitical plants, of many different species, forming a complete labyrinth of limbs, leaves, fruits, and flowers. chapter twenty two. a battle with birds. scarce had the paraense succeeded in establishing himself on the tree, when an exclamation from his companion, higher up among the branches, caused him to look aloft. "hoo-hoo!" was the cry that came from the lips of the mundurucu, in a tone of gratification. "what is it, munday?" "something good to eat, master?" "i'm glad to hear it. i feel hungry enough in all conscience; and these sapucaya nuts don't quite satisfy me. i'd like a little fish or flesh meat along with them." "it's neither," rejoined the indian. "something as good, though. it's fowl! i've found an arara's nest." "o, a macaw! but where is the bird? you haven't caught it yet?" "haven't i?" responded the mundurucu, plunging his arm elbow-deep into a cavity in the tree-trunk; and dragging forth a half-fledged bird, nearly as big as a chicken. "ah, a nest! young ones! fat as butter too!" "all right. we must take them back with us. our friends in the sapucaya are hungry as we, and will be right glad to see such an addition to the larder." but richard's reply was unheard; for, from the moment that the mundurucu had pulled the young macaw out of its nest, the creature set up such a screaming and flopping of its half-fledged wings, as to fill all the woods around. the discordant ululation was taken up and repeated by a companion within the cavity; and then, to the astonishment of the twain, half a score of similar screaming voices were heard issuing from different places higher up in the tree, where it was evident there were several other cavities, each containing a nest full of young araras. "a regular breeding-place, a macaw-cot," cried richard, laughing as he spoke. "we'll get squabs enough to keep us all for a week!" the words had scarce passed his lips, when a loud clangour reverberated upon the air. it was a confused mixture of noises,--a screaming and chattering,--that bore some resemblance to the human voice; as if half a score of punches were quarrelling with as many judys at the same time. the sounds, when first heard, were at some distance; but before twenty could have been counted, they were uttered close to the ears of the mundurucu, who was highest up, while the sun became partially obscured by the outspread wings of a score of great birds, hovering in hurried flight around the top of the seringa. there was no mystery about the matter. the new-comers were the parents of the young macaws--the owners of the nests--returning from a search for provender for their pets, whose piercing cries had summoned them in all haste to their home. as yet, neither the indian nor his young companion conceived any cause for alarm. foolish indeed to be frightened by a flock of birds! they were not allowed to indulge long in this comfortable equanimity; for, almost on the moment of their arrival above the tree, the united parentage of araras plunged down among the branches, and, with wing, beak, and talons, began an instant and simultaneous attack upon the intruders. the indian was the first to receive their onset. made in such a united and irresistible manner, it had the effect of causing him to let go the chick, which fell with a plunge into the water below. in its descent it was accompanied by half a dozen of the other birds,--its own parents, perhaps, and their more immediate friends,--and these, for the first time espying a second enemy farther down, directed their attack upon him. the force of the assailants was thus divided; the larger number continued their onslaught upon the indian, though the young paraense at the same time found his hands quite full enough in defending himself, considering that he carried nothing in the shape of a weapon, and that his body, like that of his comrade, was altogether unprotected by vestments. to be sure, the mundurucu was armed with a sharp knife, which he had brought along with him in his girdle; but this was of very little use against his winged enemies; and although he succeeded in striking down one or two of them, it was done rather by a blow of the fist than by the blade. in a dozen seconds both had received almost as many scratches from the beaks and talons of the birds, which still continued the combat with a fury that showed no signs of relaxation or abatement. the paraense did not stay either to take counsel or imitate the example of his more sage companion, but, hastily bending down upon the limb whereon he had been maintaining the unequal contest, he plunged headforemost into the water. of course a "header" from such a height carried him under the surface; and his assailants, for the moment missing him, flew back into the tree-top, and joined in the assault on munday. the latter, who had by this become rather sick of the contest, thinking of no better plan, followed his comrade's example. hastily he flung himself into the flood, and, first diving below the surface, came up beside the paraense, and the two swam away side by side in silence, each leaving behind him a tiny string of red; for the blood was flowing freely from the scratches received in their strange encounter. chapter twenty three. a contest with cudgels. our discomfited adventurers did not swim far from the seringa, for the birds did not follow them. satisfied with seeing the burglars fairly beyond the boundaries of their domicile, the tenants of the tree returned to their nests, as if to ascertain what amount of damage had been done. in a short time the commotion had almost subsided, though there was heard an occasional scream,--the wail of the bereaved parents; for the helpless squab, after struggling a while on the surface of the water, had gone suddenly out of sight. there was no danger, therefore, of further molestation from their late assailants, so long as they should be left in quiet possession of the seringa, and therefore there was no further necessity for the two swimmers to retreat. a new intention had shaped itself in munday's mind by this time, and he expressed his determination to return, to the surprise of the youth, who asked his purpose. "partly the purpose for which we first climbed it, and partly," added he, with an angry roll of his almond-shaped eyes, "to obtain revenge. a mundurucu is not to be bled in this fashion, even by birds, without drawing blood in return. i don't go out from this _igarape_ till i've killed every arara, old as well as young, in that accursed tree, or chased the last of them out of it. follow, and i'll show you how." the indian turned his face towards the thicket of tree-tops forming one side of the water arcade, and with a stroke or two brought himself within reach of some hanging parasites, and climbed up, bidding richard follow. once more they were shut in among the tops of what appeared to be a gigantic mimosa. "it will do," muttered the mundurucu drawing his knife and cutting a stout branch, which he soon converted into a cudgel of about two feet in length. this he handed to his companion, and then, selecting a second branch of still stouter proportions, fashioned a similar club for himself. "now," said he, after having pruned the sticks to his satisfaction, "we're both armed, and ready to give battle to the araras, with a better chance of coming off victorious. let us lose no time. we have other work to occupy us, and your friends will be impatient for our return." saying this, he let himself down into the water, and turned towards the seringa. his _protege_ made no protest, but followed instantly after. tightly clutching their cudgels, both reascended the seringa, and renewed the battle with the birds. the numbers were even more unequal than before; but this time the advantage was on the side of the intruders. striking with their clubs of heavy acacia-wood, the birds fell at every blow, until not one arara fluttered among the foliage. most of these had fallen wounded upon the water; a few only, seeing certain destruction before them, took flight into the far recesses of the flooded forest. the mundurucu, true to his promise, did not leave a living bird upon the tree. one after another, he hauled the half-fledged chicks from their nests; one after another, twisted their necks; and then, tying their legs together with a sipo, he separated the bunch into two equally-balanced parts, hanging it over a limb of the tree. "they can stay there till ee come back, which will be soon. and now let us accomplish the purpose for which we came here!" laying aside the club that had made such havoc among the macaws, he drew the knife from his girdle. selecting a spot on one of the larger limbs of the seringa, he made an incision in the bark, from which the milky juice immediately flowed. he had made provision against any loss of the precious fluid in the shape of a pair of huge monkey-pots, taken from a sapucaya while on the way, and which had been all the while lying in their place of deposit in a network of parasites. one of these he gave richard, to hold under the tap while he made a second incision upon a longer limb of the seringa. both nutshells were quickly filled with the glutinous juice, which soon began to thicken and coagulate like rich cream. the lids were restored to their places, and tied on with sipos, and then a large quantity of this natural cordage was collected and made up into a portable shape. this accomplished, the mundurucu signified his intention of returning to the castaways; and, after apportioning part of the spoil to his companion, set out on the way they had come. the young paraense swam close in his wake, and in ten minutes they had re-traversed the igarape, and saw before them the bright sun gilding the gapo at its embouchure, that appeared like the mouth of some subterraneous cavern. chapter twenty four. chased by a jacare. a few more strokes would have carried the swimmers clear of the water arcade. richard was already congratulating himself on the prospect of escaping from the gloomy shadow, when all at once his companion started, raised his head high above the surface, and gazed backward along the dark arcade. as he did so, an exclamation escaped him, which only could be one of alarm. "a monster!" cried the mundurucu. "a monster! what sort? where?" "yonder,--just by the edge of the igarape,--close in to the trees,--his body half hid under the hanging branches." "i see something like the trunk of a dead tree, afloat upon the water. a monster you say, munday? what do you make it out to be?" "the body of a big reptile,--big enough to swallow us both. it's the _jacare-uassu_. i heard its plunge. did not you?" "i heard nothing like a plunge, except that made by ourselves in swimming." "no matter. there was such a noise but a moment ago. see! the monster is again in motion. he is after us!" the dark body richard had taken for the drifting trunk of a tree was now in motion, and evidently making direct for himself and his companion. the waves, undulating horizontally behind it, proclaimed the strokes of its strong, vertically flattened tail, by which it was propelled through the water. "the jacare-uassu!" once more exclaimed the mundurucu, signifying that the reptile was the great alligator of the amazon. it was one of the largest size, its body showing full seven yards above the water, while its projecting jaws, occasionally opened in menace or for breath, appeared of sufficient extent to swallow either of the swimmers. it was idle for them to think of escaping through the water. at ease as they both were in this element, they would have proved but clumsy competitors with a cayman, especially one of such strength and natatory skill as belong to the huge reptile in pursuit of them. such a swimming-match was not to be thought of, and neither entertained the idea of it. "we must take to the trees!" cried the indian, convinced that the alligator was after them. "the great spirit is good to make them grow so near. it's the only chance we have for saving our lives. to the trees, young master,--to the trees!" as he spoke, the mundurucu faced towards the forest; and, with quick, energetic strokes, they glided under the hanging branches. most nimbly they climbed the nearest, and, once lodged upon a limb, were safe; and on one of the lowest they "squatted," to await the approach of the jacare. in about three seconds the huge saurian came up, pausing as it approached the spot where the two intended victims had ascended out of its reach. it seemed more than surprised,--in fact, supremely astonished; and for some moments lay tranquil, as if paralysed by its disappointment. this quietude, however, was of short duration; for soon after, as if conscious of having been tricked, it commenced quartering the water in short diagonal lines, which every instant was lashed into foam by a stroke of its powerful tail. "let us be grateful to the great spirit!" said the indian, looking down from his perch upon the tree. "we may well thank him for affording us a safe refuge here. it's the jacare-uassu, as i said. the monster is hungry, because it's the time of flood, and he can't get food so easily. the fish upon which he feeds are scattered through the gapo, and he can only catch them by a rare chance. besides, he has tasted our blood. did you not see him sup at it as he came up the igarape? he's mad now, and won't be satisfied till he obtains a victim,--a man if he can, for i can tell by his looks he's a man-eater." "a man-eater! what mean you by that?" "only that this jacare has eaten men, or women as likely." "but how can you tell that?" "thus, young master. his bigness tells me of his great age. he has lived long, and in his time visited many places. but what makes me suspect him to be a man-eater is the eagerness with which he pursued us, and the disappointment he shows at not getting hold of us. look at him now!" certainly there was something peculiar both in the appearance and movements of the jacare. young trevannion had never seen such a monster before, though alligators were plenteous around para, and were no rare sight to him. this one, however, was larger than any he had ever seen, more gaunt or skeleton-like in frame, with a more disgusting leer in its deep-sunken eyes, and altogether more unearthly in its aspect. the sight of the hidden saurian went far to convince him that there was some truth in the stories of which he had hitherto been sceptical. after all, the gapo might contain creatures fairly entitled to the appellation of "monsters." chapter twenty five. a saurian digression. it would be difficult to conceive a more hideous monster than this upon which richard trevannion and his comrade gazed. in fact, there is no form in nature--scarce even in the imagination--more unpleasing to the eye than that of the lizard, the serpent's shape not excepted. the sight of the latter may produce a sensation disagreeable and akin to fear; but the curving and graceful configuration, either at rest or in motion, and the smooth, shining skin, often brilliantly coloured in beautiful patterns, tend to prevent it from approaching the bounds of horror. with the saurian shape it is different. in it we behold the type of the horrible, without anything to relieve the unpleasant impression. the positive, though distant, resemblance to the human form itself, instead of making the creature more seemly, only intensities the feeling of dread with which we behold it. the most beautiful colouring of the skin, and the gentlest habits, are alike inefficacious to remove that feeling. you may look upon the tree-lizard, clothed in a livery of the most vivid green; the _anolidae_, in the bright blue of turquoise, in lemon and orange; you may gaze on the chameleon when it assumes its most brilliant hues,--but not without an instinctive sense of repugnance. true, there are those who deny this, who profess not to feel it, and who can fondle such pets in their hands, or permit them to play around their necks and over their bosoms. this, however, is due to habit, and long, familiar acquaintance. since this is so with the smaller species of the lizard tribe, even with those of gay hues and harmless habits, what must it be with those huge saurians that constitute the family of the _crocodilidae_, all of which, in form, colour, habits, and character, approach the very extreme of hideousness. of these gigantic reptiles there is a far greater variety of species than is generally believed,--greater than is known even to naturalists. until lately, some three or four distinct kinds, inhabiting asia, africa, and america, were all that were supposed to exist. recent exploration reveals a very different condition, and has added many new members to the family of the _crocodilidae_. it would be safe to hazard a conjecture, that, when the world of nature becomes better known, the number of species of these ugly amphibia, under the various names of gavials, crocodiles, caymans, and alligators, all brothers or first-cousins, will amount to two score. it is the very close resemblance in appearance and general habits that has hitherto hindered these different kinds from being distinguished. their species are many; and, if you follow the naturalists of the anatomic school, so too are the genera; for it pleases these sapient theorists to found a genus on almost any species,--thus confounding and rendering more difficult the study it is their design to simplify. in the case of the _crocodilidae_ such subdivision is absolutely absurd; and a single genus--certainly two at the most--would suffice for all purposes, practical or theoretical. the habits of the whole family--gavials and alligators, crocodiles, caymans, and jacares--are so much alike, that it seems a cruelty to separate them. it is true the different species attain to very different sizes; some, as the _curua_, are scarce two feet in length, while the big brothers of the family, among the gavials, crocodiles, and alligators, are often ten times as long. it is impossible to say how many species of _crocodilidae_ inhabit the waters of the south american continent. there are three in the amazon alone; but it is quite probable that in some of its more remote tributaries there exist other distinct species, since the three above mentioned do not all dwell in the same portion of this mighty stream. the amazonian indians speak of many more species, and believe in their existence. no doubt the indians are right. in the other systems of south american waters, as those of the la plata, the orinoco, and the magdalena, species exist that are not known to the amazon. even in the isolated water deposits of lake valencia humboldt discovered the bava, a curious little crocodile not noted elsewhere. the three amazonian reptiles, though having a strong resemblance in general aspect, are quite distinct as regards the species. in the curious and useful dialect of that region, understood alike by indians and portuguese, they are all called "jacares," though they are specifically distinguished as the _jacare-uassu_ the _jacare-tinga_, and the _jacare-curua_. of the first kind was that which had pursued the two swimmers, and it was one of the largest of its species, full twenty-five feet from the point of its bony snout to the tip of its serrated tail. no wonder they got out of its way! chapter twenty six. treed by an alligator. for a time the two refugees were without fear or care. they knew they were out of reach, and, so long as they kept to their perch, were in no danger. had it been a jaguar instead of a jacare, it would have been another thing; but the amphibious animal could not crawl up the trunk of a tree, nor yet ascend by the hanging limbs or llianas. their only feeling was that of chagrin at being stopped on their way back to their companions in the sapucaya, knowing that their return would be impatiently expected. they could by shouting have made themselves heard, but not with sufficient distinctness to be understood. the matted tree-tops intervening would have prevented this. they thought it better to be silent, lest their shouts might cause alarm. richard hoped that the alligator would soon glide back to the haunt whence it had sallied, and leave them at liberty to continue their journey, but the mundurucu was not so sanguine. there was something in the behaviour of the jacare he did not like, especially when he saw it quartering the water as if in search of the creatures that had disappeared so mysteriously. "surely it won't lie in wait for us?" was the first question put by his companion. "you don't think it will?" "i do, young master, i do. that is just what troubles the mundurucu. he may keep us here for hours,--perhaps till the sun goes down." "that would be anything but pleasant,--perhaps more so to those who are waiting for us than to ourselves. what can we do?" "nothing at present. we must have patience, master." "for my part, i shall try," replied the paraense; "but it's very provoking to be besieged in this fashion,--separated by only a few hundred yards from one's friends, and yet unable to rejoin or communicate with them." "ah! i wish the _curupira_ had him. i fear the brute is going to prove troublesome. the mundurucu can read evil in his eye. look! he has come to a stand. he sees us! no knowing now when he will grow tired of our company." "but has it sense enough for that?" "sense! ah! cunning, master may call it, when he talks of the jacare. surely, young master, you know that,--you who are a paraense born and bred? you must know that these reptiles will lie in wait for a whole week by a bathing-place, watching for a victim,--some helpless child, or even a grown man, who has been drinking too much _cashaca_. ah yes! many's the man the jacare has closed his deadly jaws upon." "well, i hope this one won't have that opportunity with us. we mustn't give it." "not if we can help it," rejoined the indian. "but we must be quiet, young master, if we expect to get out of this fix in any reasonable time. the jacare has sharp ears, small though they look. he can hear every word we are saying; ay, and if one were to judge by the leer in his ugly eye, he understands us." "at all events, it appears to be listening." so the conversation sank to silence, broken only by an occasional whisper, and no gesture even made communication, for they saw the leering look of the reptile fixed steadily upon them. almost two hours passed in this tantalising and irksome fashion. the sun had now crossed the meridian line, and was declining westward. the jacare had not stirred from the spot. it lay like a log upon the water, its lurid eyes alone proclaiming its animation. for more than an hour it had made no visible movement, and their situation was becoming insupportable. "but what can we do?" asked richard, despairingly. "we must try to travel through the tree-tops, and get to the other side. if we can steal out of his sight and hearing, all will be well. the mundurucu is angry with himself; he didn't think of this before. he was fool enough to hope the jacare would get tired first. he might have known better, since the beast has tasted blood. that or hunger makes him such a stanch sentinel. come, young master!" added the indian, rising from his seat, and laying hold of a branch. "we must make a journey through the tree-tops. not a word,--not a broken bough if you can help it. keep close after me; watch what i do, and do you exactly the same." "all right, munday," muttered the paraense. "lead on, old boy! i'll do my best to follow you." chapter twenty seven. an aqua-arboreal journey. it may appear strange, incredible, absurd, that such a journey, for however short a distance, should have been attempted by human beings. no doubt to many it _will_ appear so, and be set down as ludicrously improbable. twenty minutes passed in the shadowy gloom of a south american forest would strip the idea of travelling among the tree-tops of much of its improbability. in many places such a feat is quite possible, and comparatively easy,--perhaps not so "easy as rolling off a log," but almost as much so as climbing to the top of one. in the great _montana_ of the amazon there are stretches of forest, miles in extent, where the trees are so matted and interlaced as to form one continuous "arbour," each united to its immediate neighbours by natural stays and cables, to which the meshes formed by the rigging of a ship are as an open network in comparison. in the midst of this magnificent luxuriance of vegetable life, there are birds, beasts, and insects that never set foot upon the ground;--birds in a vast variety of genera and species; beasts--i mean quadrupeds--of many different kinds; insects of countless orders; quadrumana that never touched _terra firma_ with any of their four hands; and, i had almost added, _man_. he, too, if not exclusively confining himself to the tops of these forest-trees, may make them habitually his home, as shall be seen in the sequel. it was no great feat, then, for the mundurucu and his acolyte to make a short excursion across the "spray" of the forest, since this is the very timber that is so tied together. there was even less of danger than in a tract of woods growing upon the highlands or "campos." a fall into the gapo could only entail a ducking, with a brief interruption of the journey. it does not follow that their progress must be either swift or direct. that would depend upon the character of the trees and their parasites,-- whether the former grew close together, and whether the latter were numerous and luxuriant, or of scanty growth. to all appearance, nature in that spot had been beneficent, and poured forth her vegetable treasures profusely. the indian, glancing through the branches, believed there would be no more difficulty in getting to the other side of the belt of timber that separated them from the open water, than in traversing a thicket of similar extent. with this confidence he set forth, followed by his less experienced companion. both began and continued their monkey-like march in the most profound silence. they knew that it was possible and easy for the alligator to bear them company; for although they were forced to pass through an almost impervious thicket, down on the water it was altogether different. there was nothing to impede the progress of the saurian, huge as it was, except the trunks of the trees. to tell the truth, it was a toilsome trip, and both the travellers were weary of it long before coming within sight of the open water on the opposite side. often were they compelled to carry their own weight on the strength of their arms, by hoisting themselves from tree to tree. many a _detour_ had they to make, sometimes on account of the impenetrable network of creepers, and sometimes because of open water, that, in pools, interrupted their route. the distance to be traversed was not over two hundred yards. at starting they knew not how far, but it proved about this measure. if they had made their calculation according to time, they might have estimated it at half a score of miles. they were a good hour and a half on the journey; but the delay, with all its kindred regrets, was forgotten, when they saw the open water before them, and soon after found themselves on the selvage of the submerged forest. chapter twenty eight. a timely warning. on arriving among the outside frees, our explorers, homeward bound, saw something to cheer them,--something besides the bright sun and the shining waters of the gapo. it was the sapucaya, still bearing its stupendous fruit, the friends they had left behind them. the paraense appeared to be counting them, as if to make sure that all were still safe upon the tree. perhaps he was only intent on the discovery of one, or, having discovered, was feeding his eyes upon her form, slender and graceful in the distance. he would have shouted to apprise them of the safety of himself and companion, had not a sign from the latter, accompanied by a few muttered words, counselled him to hold his peace. "why not, munday?" "not a word, young master. we are not yet out of the woods; the jacare may hear us." "we left it far behind in the igarape." "ah, true! who knows where he may be now? not the mundurucu. the monster may have followed us. who knows? he may be at this moment within twenty yards, waiting for us to come back into the water." as he spoke, the indian looked anxiously behind him. he could discover no cause of alarm. all was still under the shadow of the trees. not even a ripple could be seen upon the sombre surface of the water. "i think we've given it the slip," remarked richard. "it looks so," responded the indian. "the mundurucu hears no sound, sees no sign. the jacare should still be in the igarape." "why should we delay any longer? several hours have elapsed since we left the sapucaya. my uncle and everybody else will be out of all patience. they will be distracted with sheer anxiety. they look as if they were. though we have a good view of them, i don't suppose they see us. if they did, they would be hailing us, that's certain. let us take to the water, and rejoin them." the mundurucu, after looking once more to the rear, and listening for a few moments, replied, "i think we may venture." this was the cue for young trevannion, and, lowering himself from the limb on which he was supported, the two almost at the same instant committed themselves to the flood. scarce had they touched the water when their ears were assailed by a shout that came pealing across the gapo. it neither startled nor surprised them, for they could not fail to comprehend its meaning. it was a cheer sent forth from the sapucaya, announcing their reappearance to the eyes of their anxious companions. stimulated by the joyous tones, the two swimmers struck boldly out into the open water. richard no longer thought of looking behind him. in a hasty glance directed towards the sapucaya, as he rose after his first plunge upon the water, he had seen something to lure him on, at the same time absorbing all his reflections. he had seen a young girl, standing erect within the fork of the tree, throw up her arms as if actuated by some sudden transport of joy. what could have caused it but the sight of him? the mind of the mundurucu was far differently employed. his thoughts were retrospective, not prospective. so, too, were his glances. instead of looking forward to inquire what was going on among the branches of the sapucaya, he carried his beardless chin upon his shoulder, keeping his eyes and ears keenly intent to any sight or sound that might appear suspicious behind him. his caution, as was soon proved, was neither unnatural nor superfluous, nor yet the counsel given to his companion to swim as if some swift and terrible pursuer were after him; for although the indian spoke from mere conjecture, his words were but too true. the swimmers had traversed about half the space of open water that lay between the sapucaya and the submerged forest. the indian had purposely permitted himself to fall into the wake of his companion, in order that his backward view might be unobstructed. so far, no alligator showed itself behind them, no enemy of any kind; and in proportion as his confidence increased, he relaxed his vigilance. it seemed certain the jacare had given up the chase. it could not have marked their movements among the tree-tops, and in all likelihood the monster was still keeping guard near the opening of the igarape. too happy to arrive at this conclusion, the indian ceased to think of a pursuit, and, after making an effort, overtook the young paraense, the two continuing to swim abreast. as there no longer appeared any reason for extraordinary speed, the swimmers simultaneously suspended the violent exertions they had been hitherto making, and with relaxed stroke kept on towards the sapucaya. it was fortunate for both that other eyes than their own were turned upon that stretch of open water. had it not been so, the silent swimmer, far swifter than they, coming rapidly up in their rear, might have overtaken them long before reaching the tree. the shout sent forth from the sapucaya, in which every voice bore a part, warned them of some dread danger threatening near. but for late experience, they might not have known on which side to look for it; but, guided by this, they instinctively looked back. the jacare, close behind, was coming on as fast as his powerful tail, rapidly oscillating from side to side, could propel him. it was fortunate for the two swimmers they had heard that warning cry in time. a score of seconds made all the difference in their favour, all the difference between life and death. it was their destiny to live, and not die then in the jaws of the jacare. before the ugly reptile, making all the speed in its power, could come up with either of them, both, assisted by willing hands, had climbed beyond its reach, and could look upon it without fear from among the branches of the sapucaya. chapter twenty nine. improvised swimming-belts. the huge saurian swam on to the tree,--to the very spot where richard and the mundurucu had climbed up, at the forking of the stem. on perceiving that its prey had for a second time got clear, its fury seemed to break all bounds. it lashed the water with its tail, closed its jaws, with a loud clattering, and gave utterance to a series of sounds, that could only be compared to a cross between the bellowing of a bull and the grunting of a hog. out in the open light of the sun, and swimming conspicuously upon the surface of the water, a good view of the reptile could now be obtained; but this did not improve the opinion of it already formed by richard. it looked, if possible, uglier than when seen in shadow; for in the light the fixed leer of its lurid eye, and the ghastly blood-coloured inside of the jaws, at intervals opened, and showing a triple row of terrible teeth, were more conspicuous and disgusting. its immense bulk made it still more formidable to look upon. its body was full eight yards in length, and of proportionate thickness,--measuring around the middle not less than a fathom and a half; while the lozenge-like protuberances along its spine rose in pointed pyramids to the height of several inches. no wonder that little rosa uttered a shriek of terror on first beholding it; no wonder that brave young ralph trembled at the sight. even trevannion himself, with the negro and tipperary tom, regarded the reptile with fear. it was some time before they felt sure that it could not crawl up to them. it seemed for a time as if it meant to do so, rubbing its bony snout against the bark, and endeavouring to clasp the trunk with its short human-like arms. after several efforts to ascend, it apparently became satisfied that this feat was not to be performed, and reluctantly gave up the attempt; then, retreating a short distance, began swimming in irregular circles around the tree, all the while keeping its eye fixed upon the branches. after a time, the castaways only bent their gaze upon the monster at intervals, when some new manoeuvre attracted their notice. there was no immediate danger to be dreaded from it; and although its proximity was anything but pleasant, there were other thoughts equally disagreeable, and more important, to occupy their time and attention. they could not remain all their lives in the sapucaya; and although they knew not what fortune awaited them in the forest, beyond, they were all anxious to get there. whether it was altogether a flooded forest, or whether there might not be some dry land in it, no one could tell. in the mundurucu's opinion it was the former: and in the face of this belief, there was not much hope of their finding a foot of dry land. in any case, the forest must be reached, and all were anxious to quit their quarters on the sapucaya, under the belief that they would find others more comfortable. at all events, a change could not well be for the worse. munday had promised them the means of transport, but how this was to be provided none of them as yet knew. the time, however, had arrived for him to declare his intentions, and this he proceeded to do; not in words, but by deeds that soon made manifest his design. it will be remembered that, after killing the macaws, he had tapped the seringa, and "drawn" two cups full of the sap,--that he had bottled it up in the pots, carefully closing the lids against leakage. it will also be remembered, that he had provided himself with a quantity of creepers, which he had folded into a portable bundle. these were of a peculiar sort,--the true sipos of the south american forest, which serve for all purposes of cordage, ropes ready made by the hand of nature. on parting from the seringa, he had brought these articles along with him, his companion carrying a share of the load. though chased by the jacare, and close run too, neither had abandoned his bundle,--tied by sipos around the neck,--and both the bottled caoutchouc and the cordage were now in the sapucaya. what they were intended for no one could guess, until it pleased the indian to reveal his secret; and this he at length did, by collecting a large number of nuts from the sapucaya,-- ralph and richard acting as his aides,--emptying them of their three-cornered kernels, restoring the lids, and then making them "water-proof" by a coating of the caoutchouc. soon all became acquainted with his plans, when they saw him bind the hollow shells into bunches, three or four in each, held together by sipos, and then with a stronger piece of the same parasite attach the bunches two and two together, leaving about three feet of the twisted sipos between. "swimming-belts!" cried ralph, now for the first time comprehending the scheme. ralph was right. that was just what the mundurucu had manufactured,--a set of _swimming-belts_. chapter thirty. alligator lore. for an hour the castaways remained in the tree, chafing with impatience and chagrin that their awful enemy still kept his savage watch for them in the gapo below, gliding lazily to and fro, but ever watching them with eager, evil eye. but there was no help for it; and by way of possessing their souls in more patience, and making time pass quicker, they fell to conversing on a subject appropriate to the occasion, for it was the jacare itself, or rather alligators in general. most of the questions were put by trevannion, while the answers were given by the mundurucu, whose memory, age, and experience made him a comprehensive cyclopaedia of alligator lore. the indian, according to his own account, was acquainted with live or six different kinds of jacare. they were not all found in one place, though he knew parts of the country where two or three kinds might be found dwelling in the same waters; as, for instance, the jacare-uassu (great alligator), the same as was then besieging them, and which is sometimes called the black jacare, might often be seen in the same pool with the jacare-tinga, or little alligator. little jacare was not an appropriate name for this last species. it was four feet long when full grown, and he knew of others, as the jacare-curua, that never grew above two. these kinds frequented small creeks, and were less known than the others, as it was only in certain places they were found. the jacares were most abundant in the dry season. he did not suppose they were really more numerous, only that they were then collected together in the permanent lakes and pools. besides, the rivers were then lower, and as there was less surface for them to spread over, they were more likely to be seen. as soon as the _echente_ commenced, they forsook the channels of the rivers, as also the standing lakes, and wandered all over the gapo. as there was then a thousand times the quantity of water, of course the creatures were more scattered, and less likely to be encountered. in the _vasante_ he had seen half-dried lakes swarming with jacares, as many as there would be tadpoles in a frog-pond. at such times he had seen them crowded together, and had heard their scales rattling, as they jostled one another, at the distance of half a mile or more. in the countries on the lower part of the solimoes, where many of the inland lakes become dry during the _vasante_, many jacares at that season buried themselves in the mud, and went to sleep. they remained asleep, encased in dry, solid earth, till the flood once more softened the mud around them, when they came out again as ugly as ever. he didn't think that they followed this fashion everywhere; only where the lakes in which they chanced to be became dry, and they found their retreat to the river cut off. they made their nests on dry land, covering the eggs over with a great conical pile of rotten leaves and mud. the eggs of the jacare-uassu were as large as cocoa-nuts, and of an oval shape. they had a thick, rough shell, which made a loud noise when rubbed against any hard substance. if the female were near the nest, and you wished to find her, you had only to rub two of the eggs together, and she would come waddling towards you the moment she heard the noise. they fed mostly on fish, but that was because fish was plentiest, and most readily obtained. they would eat flesh or fowl,-- anything that chanced in their way. fling them a bone, and they would swallow it at a gulp, seizing it in their great jaws before it could reach the water, just as a dog would do. if a morsel got into their mouth that wouldn't readily go down, they would pitch it out, and catch it while in the air, so as to get it between their jaws in a more convenient manner. sometimes they had terrific combats with the jaguars; but these animals were wary about attacking the larger ones, and only preyed upon the young of these, or the jacare-tingas. they themselves made war on every creature they could catch, and above all on the young turtles, thousands of which were every year devoured by them. they even devoured their own children,--that is, the old males did, whenever the _mai_ (mother) was not in the way to protect them. they had an especial preference for dogs,--that is, as food,--and if they should hear a dog barking in the forest, they would go a long way over land to get hold of him. they lie in wait for fish, sometimes hiding themselves in the weeds and grass till the latter come near. they seized them, if convenient, between their jaws, or killed them with a stroke of the tail, making a great commotion in the water. the fish got confused with fright, and didn't know which way to swim out of the reptile's reach. along with their other food they ate stones, for he had often found stones in their stomach. the indian said it was done that the weight might enable them to go under the water more easily. the _capilearas_ were large animals that furnished many a meal to the jacares; although the quadrupeds could swim very fast, they were no match for the alligator, who can make head with rapidity against the strongest current. if they could only turn short, they would be far more dangerous than they are; but their neck was stiff, and it took them a long while to get round, which was to their enemies' advantage. sometimes they made journeys upon land. generally they travelled very slowly, but they could go much faster when attacked, or pursuing their prey. their tail was to be especially dreaded. with a blow of that they could knock the breath out of a man's body, or break his leg bone. they liked to bask in the sun, lying along the sand-banks by the edge of the river, several of them together, with their tails laid one on the other. they would remain motionless for hours, as if asleep, but all the while with their mouths wide open. some said that they did this to entrap the flies and insects that alighted upon their tongue and teeth, but he (the mundurucu) didn't believe it, because no quantity of flies would fill the stomach of the great jacare. while lying thus, or even at rest upon the water, birds often perched upon their backs and heads,--cranes, ibises, and other kinds. they even walked about over their bodies without seeming to disturb them. in that way the jacares could not get at them, if they wished it ever so much. there were some jacares more to be dreaded than others. these were the man-eaters, such as had once tasted human flesh. there were many of them,--too many,--since not a year passed without several people falling victims to the voracity of these reptiles. people were used to seeing them every day, and grew careless. the jacares lay in wait in the bathing-places close to villages and houses, and stole upon the bathers that had ventured into deep water. women, going to fetch water, and children, were especially subject to their attack. he had known men, who had gone into the water in a state of intoxication, killed and devoured by the jacare, with scores of people looking helplessly on from the bank, not twenty yards away. when an event of this kind happened, the people armed themselves _en masse_, got into their _montarias_ (canoes), gave chase, and usually killed the reptile. at other times it was left unmolested for months, and allowed to lie in wait for a victim. the brute was _muy ladim_ (very cunning). that was evident enough to his listeners. they had only to look down into the water, and watch the movements of the monster there. notwithstanding its ferocity, it was at bottom a great coward, but it knew well when it was master of the situation. the one under the sapucaya believed itself to be in that position. it might be mistaken. if it did not very soon take its departure, he, the mundurucu, should make trial of its courage, and then would be seen who was master. big as it was, it would not be so difficult to subdue for one who knew how. the jacare was not easily killed, for it would not die outright till it was cut to pieces. but it could be rendered harmless. neither bullet nor arrow would penetrate its body, but there were places where its life could be reached,--the throat, the eyes, and the hollow places just behind the eyes, in front of the shoulders. if stabbed in any of these tender places, it must go under. he knew a plan better than that; and if the brute did not soon raise the siege, he would put it in practice. he was getting to be an old man. twenty summers ago he would not have put up with such insolence from an alligator. he was not decrepit yet. if the jacare consulted its own safety, it would do well to look out. chapter thirty one. a hide upon a reptile. after thus concluding his long lecture upon alligators, the indian grew restless, and fidgeted from side to side. it was plain to all, that the presence of the jacare was provoking him to fast-culminating excitement. as another hour passed, and the monster showed no signs of retiring, his excitement grew to auger so intense, as to be no longer withheld from seeking relief in action. so the mundurucu hastily uprose, flinging aside the swimming-belts hitherto held in his hands. everything was put by except his knife, and this, drawn from his _tanga_, was now held tightly in his grasp. "what mean you, munday?" inquired trevannion, observing with some anxiety the actions of the indian. "surely you are not going to attack the monster? with such a poor weapon you would have no chance, even supposing you could get within striking distance before being swallowed up. don't think of such a thing!" "not with this weapon, patron," replied the indian, holding up the knife; "though even with it the mundurucu would not fear to fight the jacare, and kill him, too. then the brute would go to the bottom of the gapo, taking me along. i don't want a ducking like that, to say nothing of the chances of being drowned. i must settle the account on the surface." "my brave fellow, don't be imprudent! it is too great a risk. let us stay here till morning. night will bring a change, and the reptile will go off." "patron! the mundurucu thinks differently. that jacare is a man-eater, strayed from some of the villages, perhaps coary, that we have lately left. it has tasted man's blood,--even ours, that of your son, your own. it sees men in the tree. it will not retire till it has gratified its ravenous desires. we may stay in this tree till we starve, and from feebleness drop, one by one, from the branches." "let us try it for one night?" "no, patron," responded the indian, his eyes kindling with a revengeful fire, "not for one hour. the mundurucu was willing to obey you in what related to the duty for which you hired him. he is no longer a _tapuyo_. the galatea is lost, the contract is at an end, and now he is free to do what he may please with his life. patron!" continued the old man, with an energy that resembled returning youth, "my tribe would spurn me from the _malocca_ if i bore it any longer. either i or the jacare must die!" silenced by the singularity of the indian's sentiment and speech, trevannion forbore further opposition. no one knew exactly what his purpose was, though his attitude and actions led all to believe that he meant to attack the jacare. with his knife? no. he had negatived this question himself. how then? there appeared to be no other weapon within reach. but there was, and his companions soon saw there was, as they sat silently watching his movements. the knife was only used as the means of procuring that weapon, which soon made its appearance in the form of a _macana_, or club, cut from one of the llianas,--a _bauhinia_ of heaviest wood, shaped something after the fashion of a "life-preserver," with a heavy knob of the creeper forming its head, and a shank about two feet long, tapering towards the handle. armed with this weapon, and restoring the knife to his _tango_, the indian came down and glided out along the horizontal limb already known to our story. to attract the reptile thither was not difficult. his presence would have been a sufficient lure, but some broken twigs cast upon the water served to hasten its approach to the spot. in confidence the jacare came on, believing that by some imprudence, or misadventure, at least one of those it had marked for its victims was about to drop into its hungry maw. one did drop,--not into its maw, or its jaws, but upon its back, close up to the swell of its shoulders. looking down from the tree, his companions saw the mundurucu astride upon the alligator, with one hand, the left, apparently inserted into the hollow socket of the reptile's eye, the other raised aloft, grasping the _macana_, that threatened to descend upon the skull of the jacare. it _did_ descend,-- crack!--crash!--crackle! after that there was not much to record. the mundurucu was compelled to slide off his seat. the huge saurian, with its fractured skull, yielded to a simple physical law, turned over, showing its belly of yellowish white,--an aspect not a whit more lovely than that presented in its dark dorsal posterior. if not dead, there could be no doubt that the jacare was no longer dangerous; and as its conqueror returned to the tree, he was received with a storm of "_vivas_" to which tipperary tom added his enthusiastic irish "hoor-raa!" chapter thirty two. taking to the water. the mundurucu merited congratulation, and his companions could not restrain their admiration and wonder. they knew that the alligator was only assailable by ordinary weapons--as gun, spear, or harpoon--in three places; in the throat, unprotected, except by a thin, soft integument; in the hollow in front of the shoulders, and immediately behind the bony socket of the eyes; and in the eyes themselves,--the latter being the most vulnerable of all. why had the indian, armed with a knife, not chosen one of these three places to inflict a mortal cut or stab? "patron," said the indian, as soon as he had recovered his breath, "you wonder why the mundurucu took all that trouble for a _macana_, while he might have killed the jacare without it. true, the knife was weapon enough. _pa terra_! yes. but it would not cause instant death. the rascal could dive with both eyes scooped out of their sockets, and live for hours afterwards. ay, it could have carried me twenty miles through the gapo, half the distance under water. where would old munday have been then? drowned and dead, long before the jacare itself. ah, patron, a good knock on the hollow of its head is the best way to settle scores with a jacare." and as if all scores had been now settled with this fellow, the huge saurian, to all appearance dead, passed unheeded out of sight, the current of the gapo drifting it slowly away. they did not wait for its total disappearance, and while its hideous body, turned belly upward, with its human-like hands stiffly thrust above the surface, was yet in sight, they resumed their preparations for vacating a tenement of which all were heartily tired, with that hopeful expectancy which springs from a knowledge that the future cannot be worse than the present. richard had reported many curious trees, some bearing fruits that appeared to be eatable, strung with llianas, here and there forming a network that made it easy to find comfort among their branches. if there had been nothing else to cheer them, the prospect of escaping from their irksome attitudes was of itself sufficient; and influenced by this, they eagerly prepared for departure. as almost everything had been already arranged for ferrying the party, very little remained to be done. from the hermetically closed monkey-cups the mundurucu had manufactured five swimming-belts,--this number being all that was necessary, for he and the young paraense could swim ten times the distance without any adventitious aid. the others had their share of empty shells meted out according to their weight and need of help. rosa's transport required particular attention. the others could make way themselves, but rosa was to be carried across under the safe conduct of the indian. so when every contingency had been provided for, one after another slipped down from the fork, and quietly departed from a tree that, however uncomfortable as a residence, had yet provided them with a refuge in the hour of danger. chapter thirty three. a half-choked swimmer. munday led off, towing little rosa after him by a sipo, one end fastened to his girdle, and the other around her waist. trevannion followed close behind, ralph a little farther off, with richard keeping abreast of his cousin and helping him along. mozey swam next; tipperary tom, who was last to leave the tree, brought up the rear. the ouistiti had found a berth on the shoulders of young ralph, who, buoyed up by a good supply of air-vessels, swam with his back above water. as for the macaw and coaita, the desperate circumstances in which our adventurers were placed rendered it not only inconvenient, but out of the question, to trouble themselves with such pets; and it had been agreed that they must be abandoned. both, therefore, were left upon the tree. with the macaw it was a matter of choice whether it should stay there. by simply spreading out its great hyacinthine wings it could keep pace with its _ci-devant_ protectors; and they had hardly left the tree, when the bird, giving a loud scream, sprang from its perch, hovered a moment in the air, and then, flying down, alighted on mozey's wool-covered cranium, making him hide his astonished head quickly under water. the arara, affrighted at having wetted its feet, instantly essayed to soar up again; but its curving talons, that had clutched too eagerly in the descent, had become fixed, and all its attempts to detach them were in vain. the more it struggled, the tighter became the tangle; while its screams, united with the cries of the negro, pealed over the water, awaking far echoes in the forest. it was sometime before mozey succeeded in untwisting the snarl that the arara had spun around its legs, and not until he had sacrificed several of his curls was the bird free to trust once more to its wings. we have said, that by some mystic influence the big monkey had become attached to tipperary tom, and the attachment was mutual. tom had not taken his departure from the tree without casting more than one look of regret back among the branches, and under any other circumstances he would not have left the coaita behind him. it was only in obedience to the inexorable law of self-preservation that he had consented to the sacrifice. the monkey had shown equal reluctance at parting, in looks, cries, and gestures. it had followed its friend down to the fork, and after he had slipped into the water it appeared as if it would follow him, regardless of both instinct and experience, for it could not swim. these, however, proved strong enough to restrain its imprudence, and after its protector had gone it stood trembling and chattering in accents that proclaimed the agony of that unexpected separation. any one listening attentively to its cries might have detected in the piteous tones the slightest commingling of reproach. how could it be otherwise to be thus deserted? left to perish, in fact; for although the coaita was perfectly at home upon the sapucaya, and could live there as long as the nuts lasted, there was not the slightest chance of its getting away from the tree. it must stay there till the _vasante_, till the flood fell, and that would not be for months. long before that it must undoubtedly perish, either by drowning or starvation. whether or not these unpleasant forebodings passed through the monkey's wits, and whether they nerved it, may never be known. certainly something seemed to stimulate the creature to determination; for instead of standing any longer shivering in the fork of the tree, it turned suddenly, and, darting up the trunk, ran out upon one of the horizontal branches. to go directly from the sapucaya to the forest, it was necessary to pass under this limb; and tipperary tom, following in the wake of the others, had taken this track. he was already far out from the stem of the tree, almost clear of the overhanging branches, and half oblivions of the painful parting, when a heavy body, pouncing upon his shoulders, caused both him and his empty shells to sink some feet under the water; for just like old munday on the alligator had the monkey come down upon tipperary tom. the affrighted irishman, on rising to the surface, sputtered forth a series of cries, at the same time endeavouring to rid himself of the unexpected rider on his back. it was just at this crisis, too, that the macaw had managed to make good its footing in the fleece of the negro. mozey, however, was the first to get clear of his incubus; and then all eyes were directed towards tipperary tom and the clinging coaita, while peals of laughter resounded from every lip. mozey had enfranchised himself by sacrificing a few tufts of his woolly hair, but the task was not so easy for tom. in fact, it proved altogether impracticable; for the coaita had curled its prehensile tail around his neck in a knot that would have made a hangman envious. the more he tugged at it, the more it tightened; and had the irishman been left to himself, it would have no doubt ended in his being strangled outright, a fate he began to dread. at this crisis he heard the mundurucu shout to him across the water to leave the coaita alone, as then it would relax its hold. fortunately for himself, tom had the prudence to obey this well-timed counsel; and although still half suffocated by the too cordial embrace of his pet, he permitted it to have its own way, until, having approached the forest, the monkey relaxed its hold, and sprang up among the branches. chapter thirty four. a supper of broiled squab. guided by the mundurucu, the swimmers entered the water arcade before described, and proceeded on to the tree that had furnished the caoutchouc for their swimming-belts. the siphonia, so late the scene of strife and querulous complainings, was now silent as the tomb; not a living arara was in sight or within hearing. the few old birds that had survived the club conflict had forsaken the spot, betaking themselves to some distant part of the forest, perhaps out of the gapo altogether, to mourn over nests laid desolate, over chicks seized and instantly destroyed by ruthless hands. only the young were there, suspended in a bunch from the branches. the mundurucu mounted first, taking his charge along with him; and then all the others climbed up into the tree, where the macaw and the monkey--one upon wing, the other by a passage through the tree-tops in speed almost equalling the flight of a bird--had already arrived. farther progress for that night was no part of their purpose. it would have been as idle as imprudent. the sun was already level with their gaze, and to have forsaken their perch at that hour would have been like leaving a good inn for the doubtful chances of the road. the seringa, with its thickly trellised limbs, offered snug quarters. upon its network of parasites it was possible to repose; there were hammocks woven by the hand of nature, and, rude as they might be, they were a pleasant improvement on their couches of the preceding night. the tree contained other proofs of its hospitality. the fat fledglings suspended upon it promised a supper not to be despised; for none of the party was a stranger to macaw flesh, and, as those were young and tender, eyes sparkled and mouths watered on beholding them. no one expected that they were to be eaten raw, though there was more than one in the party whose appetite had become sharp enough for this. the mundurucu would have shown but slight squeamishness at swallowing one of the squabs as it was, while to mozey it would have signified less. even tipperary tom declared his readiness to set about supping without further preparation. the semi-cannibal appetites of his companions were controlled by trevannion, who commenced talking of a fire. how was it to be made? how could the chicks be cooked? his questions did not remain long unanswered. the indian, eager to meet the wishes of his employer, promised that they should be gratified. "wait a bit, patron," said he. "in ten minutes' time you shall have what you want, a fire; in twenty, roast arara." "but how?" asked the patron. "we have no flint nor steel, any of us; and if we had, where find the tinder?" "yonder!" rejoined the mundurucu. "you see yonder tree on the other side of the igarape?" "that standing out by itself, with smooth, shining bark, and hoary, handlike leaves? yes, i see it. what of it?" "it is the _embauba_, patron; the tree that feeds the lazy sloth, the _ai_." "o, then it is that known as the _cecropia peltata_. true, its crown of peltate leaves declares the species. but we were talking of fire, munday. can you obtain it from the cecropia?" "in ten minutes, patron, the mundurucu will draw sparks from that tree, and make a fire too, if he can only obtain from it a dry branch, one without sap, decayed, dead. you shall see." so saying, he swam out towards the cecropia. on reaching this, he scaled it like a squirrel, and was soon among its silvery fronds, that spread palm-like over the water. soon the snapping of a breaking branch was heard, and shortly after the indian came gliding down the tree, and, holding the piece of cecropia above his head, swam with one hand towards the caoutchouc, which he once more ascended. on rejoining his companions, they saw that the stick he had secured was a bit of dry, dead wood, light, and of porous texture, just such as might be easily ignited. not caring to make any secret of his design, he confirmed his companions in their conjecture by informing them that the embauba was the wood always employed by his people, as well as the other tribes in amazonia, when they wished to make a fire; and saying this, he proceeded without further delay to make them acquainted with the proper way. strange to say, it proved to be the friction process, often described as practised in remote corners of the world, and by savage tribes who could never have held the slightest communication with one another. who taught them this curious mode of creating fire? who inducted the indian of the amazon, and the aboriginal of borneo, into the identical ideas of the _sumpitan_ and _gradatana_,--both blow-guns alike? who first instructed mankind in the use of the bow? was it instinct? was it wisdom from on high? while trevannion was reflecting on this strange theme, the mundurucu had shaped a long spindle from a slender branch which he had cut from some hard wood growing near; and, whirling it between the palms of his hands, in less than ten minutes, as he had promised, sparks appeared in the hollowed stick of the cecropia. dry leaves, twigs, and bark had been already collected, and with these a flame was produced, ending in a fire, that soon burned brightly in one of the forks of the seringa. over this the young macaws, supported on spits, were soon done brown; and a supper of roast arara, with parched sapucaya nuts, proved anything but a despicable meal to the party who partook of it. chapter thirty five. once more in the water. our adventurers passed a tolerable night among the sipos of the seringa. they might have slept more soundly but for apprehensions about the future that intruded even into their dreams. morning brought no relief, for then reality itself appeared ruder than the visions of fancy in their slumbers. they had cold macaw for breakfast,--remains of the preceding night's roast, which had been kept up as long as the fire was alight, and carefully preserved, to serve for a future occasion. it was just sunrise, and as soon as the meal was over, they consulted seriously how to extricate themselves from their unpleasant and perilous position,--how to work a deliverance from the jaws of the gapo. whereabouts in this strange region were they? how far had they entered it? they could not even frame a guess of the distance traversed by the galatea before she had come to grief in the fork of the sapucaya. it might be twenty miles, it might be fifty; who could tell? they only knew that the ill-fated vessel had been drifting away from the solimoes, and deep into the solitudes of the gapo. they knew they must be many miles from the banks of the solimoes, and, from his hydrographic knowledge, already tested, the old tapuyo could tell its direction. but it was no longer a question of getting back to the channel of the great river. on the contrary, the object now was to reach solid land. it would be worse than idle to seek the solimoes without the means of navigating it; for, even should the stream be reached, it would be one chance in a thousand to get within hail of a passing vessel. almost as well might such be looked for in the middle of the atlantic ocean. they were now bent on discovering the shortest route to the mainland that bordered this inundated region. this should be found in the direction opposite to that in which the river lay. it might not, but the probabilities were in favour of that hypothesis. they had but little difficulty in determining the way to take. the index already pointed out by the indian was still to be depended upon. the _echente_ was still going on. the current was from the river, if not with absolute directness, yet with enough to point out the bearing of the solimoes. the land might be many miles distant,--farther than the river itself,--but there was no alternative but to reach it or die. but how reach it? that was the question. they could hardly hope to swim the whole distance, for it must be great. a raft? this too was talked of. but how was a raft to be constructed? among the tops of those water-loving trees there could scarce be found a stick light enough to have floated itself, let alone the carrying of a ponderous cargo. out of such heavy timber there would be but little chance of their constructing a raft, and the idea was abandoned almost as soon as broached. but munday's proposal met the approbation of all. the water arcade chanced to continue in the direction they should take. why not once more make use of the swimming-belts, that had already done such good service, and effect a further exploration of the flooded forest? the proposition was too reasonable to be rejected. it was unanimously accepted; and, without more ado, our adventurers descended from the siphonia, and began to traverse the strait. the macaw and monkey kept their company as before, but no longer needed to make themselves a burden to their protectors, since both could travel through the tree-tops as the swimmers passed below. chapter thirty six. the igarape. they needed no pilot to point out their course. there could be no danger of straying from it. the strait they were following was of that kind known as an igarape, which, in the language of the amazonian indian, means literally "the path of the canoe,"--_igarite_ being the name of the craft most used in the navigation of the gapo. the strait itself might have been likened to a canal, running through a thicket, which formed on both sides a colossal hedge, laced together by an impenetrable network of parasitical plants. unlike a canal, however, it was not of uniform breadth, here and there widening into little openings that resembled lakes, and again narrowing until the tree-tops stretching from each side touched one another, forming underneath a cool, shadowy arcade. up this singular waterway our adventurers advanced, under the guidance of the bordering line of verdure. their progress was necessarily slow, as the two who could swim well were compelled to assist the others; but all were aided by a circumstance that chanced to be in their favour,-- the current of the gapo, which was going in the same direction with themselves. herein they were greatly favoured, for the flow of the flood corresponded very nearly with the course of the igarape; and, as they advanced, they might have fancied themselves drifting down the channel of some gently flowing stream. the current, however, was just perceptible; and though it carried them along, it could not be counted on for any great speed. with it and their own exertions they were enabled to make about a mile an hour; and although this rate might seem intolerably slow, they were not discontented, since they believed themselves to be going in the right direction. had they been castaways in mid-ocean, the case would have been different. such tardy travelling would have been hopeless; but it was otherwise in the forest sea that surrounded them. on one side or the other they could not be more than fifty miles from real dry land, and perhaps much less. by going right, they might reasonably hope to reach it, though detained upon the way. it was of the utmost importance, however, that the direction should be known and followed. a route transverse to it might take them a thousand miles, either way, through a flooded forest,--westward almost to the foot of the andes,--eastward to the mouth of the amazon! the experienced tapuyo, knowing all this, was extremely cautious in choosing the course they were now pursuing. he did not exactly keep in the line indicated by the flow of the flood. although the _echente_ was still going on, he knew that its current could not be at right angles to that of the river, but rather obliqued to it; and in swimming onward he made allowance for this oblique, the igarape fortunately trending at a similar inclination. several hours were spent in slowly wending along their watery way, the swimmers occasionally taking a rest, stretched along the surface of the water, supported by hanging llianas or the drooping branches of the trees. at noon, however, a longer halt was proposed by the guide, to which his followers gladly gave consent. all were influenced by a double desire,--to refresh themselves not only by a good rest, but by making a meal on the cold roast macaws, several of which were strapped upon the shoulders of the tapuyo. a tree with broad, spreading branches offered a convenient place, and, climbing into it, they took their seats to await the distribution of the dinner, which was committed to the care of the ex-steward, mozey. chapter thirty seven. about humming-birds. previous to ascending their dining-tree, the swimmers had been more than six hours in the water, and, as nearly as they could guess, had made about that number of miles. they congratulated themselves on having met with no hostile inhabitants of the gapo, for the jararaca and jacare, with the perils encountered while in the presence of these two dangerous reptiles, were fresh enough in their remembrance to inspire them with continual fear. all along the way, the indian had been constantly upon the alert. nothing had occurred to cause them alarm, though many strange sounds had been heard, and strange creatures had been seen. most of these, however, were of a character to cheer rather than affright them. the sounds were mostly musical,--the voices of birds,-- while the creatures seen were the birds themselves, many of beautiful forms and bright plumage, perched upon the tree-tops, or winging their way overhead. conspicuous among them were the tiny winged creatures called humming-birds, with which the gapo abounded. during their swim they had seen several distinct species of these lovely little sprites, flashing like meteors over the surface of the water, or darting about through the tree-tops like sparks of glistening light. they appeared to be the gnomes and elves of the place. while eating dinner, our adventurers were favoured with an excellent opportunity of observing the habits of these graceful and almost microscopic creatures. a tree stood near, whose top was surmounted by a parasite,--a species of bignonia,--in full blossom, that with its array of sweet-scented flowers completely covered the tree, almost concealing the green foliage underneath. over this flowery spot hundreds of humming-birds were hovering, now darting from point to point, anon poised upon swiftly whirring wings in front of an open flower, their tiny beak inserted into the corolla, therefrom to extract the savoury honey. there were several species of them, though none of them of large size, and all looking more like insects than birds. but for the swiftness of their motions, they might have passed for a swarm of wild bees (_meliponae_) disporting themselves among the flowers. ralph and rosa were delighted with the spectacle, though it was not new to them, for the warmer valleys of the andes, through which they had passed in approaching the headwaters of the amazon, were the favourite _habitat_ of the humming-birds, and there a greater number of species exist than in amazonia itself. what was new to them, however, and to the rest of the party as well, was some information imparted by the tapuyo while they sat conversing after dinner. he said that there were two kinds of these birds, which, although alike in size, beauty, bright plumage, and many other respects, were altogether distinct in their habits and ways of life. by two kinds he did not mean two species, for there were many, but two sets of species, or groups, as the indian would have called them, had he been a student of ornithology. one set, he said,--and the several species then before their eyes belonged to it,--lived upon the juice of the flowers, and this was their only food. these frequented such open _campos_ as those on the southern side of the solimoes, and along the rivers running into it from that direction. they were also common in plantations, and other places where clearings had been made, or where the forest was thin and scattering, because there only could they find a sufficiency of flowers. it was only at times that they made excursions into the great water-forest, when some of the sipo plants were in blossom, just as the one before them was at that time. the species they saw did not belong to the gapo. they had only strayed there upon a roving excursion, and would soon return to the mainland,-- the treeless regions. the kinds that frequented the great forest never went out of it, and cared nothing about flowers. if seen hovering around a tree in blossom, it was only because they were in pursuit of insects, which had been attracted thither in search of the sweet juices. upon these the forest humming-birds regularly preyed, making their exclusive diet upon flies, which they caught as much among the foliage as the flowers, darting upon the insects whenever they perched upon the leaves, and snapping them up either from the upper or under side. they built their nests upon the tips of the palm-leaves, choosing the side that was inward towards the tree, from which they suspended them. they were purse-shaped, and composed of fibres closely woven together with a thick lining of a fine, soft silk-cotton, taken from the fruit of a tree called _samauma_. they did not come much into the sun, like the other kinds, but kept more in the shade, and might be often met whirring about in the aisles of the forest. sometimes they would poise themselves in the air, right in front of a person passing through among the tree-trunks, and, after remaining till the intruder's face would be within a few feet of them, would fly on in advance of him, and again come to a pause in the same way, repeating the manoeuvre several times in succession. all these things, averred the observant indian, made the humming-birds that kept constantly to the forest very different from those that only visited it upon occasions, and therefore, in his opinion, they were of two distinct kinds. and his opinion was the correct one, founded on observations already made by the ornithologist, and which have resulted in the classification of the humming-birds into two great groups, the _trochilinae_ and _phaethorninae_. chapter thirty eight. a cul-de-sac. notwithstanding the pleasant theme that formed the subject of their after-dinner discourse, it was not long continued. both those who took part in it and those who listened were too anxious about their situation to enjoy even the most interesting conversation. as soon, therefore, as they felt sufficiently recruited by the rest, they resumed their aquatic journey. for several hours they continued to advance at the same slow rate, without encountering any incident worthy of record. the igarape still trended in a straight line, with only here and there a slight turning to one side or the other, preserving, however, the same general direction, which was northward. this they had discovered on the night before, not by observing the polar star, which is at no time visible at the equator, nor until you have travelled several degrees to the north of it. even when this well-known star should be seen from the low latitudes of the torrid zone, it is usually obscured by the hazy film extending along the horizon. sirius and other northern, constellations had guided them. as the sun had been shining throughout the whole of that day as well as the preceding one, you may suppose there could be no difficulty in discovering the quarter, within a point or two of the compass, at any hour of the day. this might be true to any one travelling in a high latitude, northern or southern, or at certain seasons of the year, anywhere outside the tropics. even within the tropics it might be done by skilful observation, if the observer knew the exact time of the year. trevannion knew the time. he knew, moreover, that it was close upon the vernal equinox, when the sun was crossing the equatorial line, near to which they were wandering. for this reason, in the meridian hours the great orb was right over their heads, and no one--not even a skilled astronomer--could have told north from south, or cast from west. supposing that the igarape should not be trending in the same direction, but imperceptibly departing from it? in that case, during the mid-hours of the day they could have had no guidance from the sky, and must have suspended their journey till the sun should begin to sink towards the west, and once more make known the points of the compass. fortunately they needed not to make this delay. as already observed, the flow of the flood was the pilot to which they looked for keeping them in their course; and, as this still ran with a slight obliquity in the same direction as the igarape, the latter could not have departed from the right line upon which, they had been advancing. the current had been compared with the points of the compass that morning before setting out. it was a little to the east of north. northward, then, was the course of the swimmers. they had drawn further inference from the direction in which the flood was setting. it proved that they had strayed from the solimoes by its left or northern bank, and must now be somewhere among the mouths of the great river japura. it was no consolation to discover this, but the contrary. the old tapuyo only looked graver on arriving at the conviction that such was the case. he knew that in that direction, in the vast delta formed by the unnumbered branches of the japura, the gapo was of great width, extending far back from the banks of this remarkable river, and dry land in that direction might be at the greatest distance. there was no alternative but to keep on, and, by deviating from the course as little as possible, they might in due time reach the limits of the flood. actuated by this impulse and its attendant hopes, they continued their toilsome journey along "the path of the canoe." we have said that for several hours they encountered no incident worthy of note. it was not destined, however, for that day's sun to set before one should arise, whose record is not a matter of choice, but necessity, since it exerted such an influence on the proceedings of the travellers as to cause a complete change in their mode of progression. what they encountered was not exactly an incident, but an obstruction. in other words, their swim was suddenly brought to an end by the ending of the igarape! they had arrived at the termination of this curious canal, which all at once came to a _cul-de-sac_, the trees closing in on both sides, and presenting an impenetrable front, that forbade farther progress. the way was equally obstructed in every other direction; for on neither side of the igarape, throughout its whole length, had any opening been observed. at first they fancied that the water might open again beyond the obstruction, but munday, after penetrating a short distance among the tree-trunks, returned to declare his conviction that the igarape was at an end. nor did it terminate by any gradual convergence of the two lines of trees. on the contrary, they came together in an abrupt circular sweep,--one of colossal size, that rose high above its fellows and spread far out, standing in the centre, like some titanic guardian of the forest, and seeming to say to the igarape, "hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther!" it was of no use remaining longer in the water for that day. even had the obstruction not arisen, it was time to have suspended their exertions. the sun was sinking towards the tree-tops, and by the time they could get themselves snugly stowed away, and something ready for supper, it would be night. leaving other cares for the morrow, and the morrow to take care of itself, they at once proceeded to select their sleeping-place for the night. the colossal tree that had come so unpleasantly across their track seemed to offer the very quarters they were in search of; and, without more ado, they accepted the hospitality of its wide-spreading branches. chapter thirty nine. the brazil-nuts. the tree upon which they had made their roost was one of a species of which they had observed many during the day. it was the true brazil-nut (_bertholletia excelsa_), own cousin to the sapucaya; for both are of the same family,--the _lecythis_,--of which there are many distinct members. like the sapucaya, it is a denizen of the low lands and flooded forests, growing to a stupendous height. it produces large, showy flowers, which are succeeded by huge capsule-like pericarps, each enclosing a score or more of brazil-nuts. but though the flowers are followed by the fruits, these do not all come together; and, like the orange and other tropical trees, bud, blossom, and fruit may all be observed upon the same branch, in various stages of development. it need not be said that the nuts of the _bertholletia_ form one of the commercial staples of amazonia. they are too well-known to need further description; for there are few dwelling-houses in either europe or america where they have not been submitted to the squeeze of the nut-crackers. in the forest, where they are no man's property, they are collected by whoever chooses to take the trouble, but chiefly by the indians and half-breeds who dwell on the borders of the gapo. the time to gather the brazil-nuts is the _vasante_, or dry season, though there are certain tribes of savages that go nutting in their canoes during the season of the _echente_. but the real nut harvest is after the floods have subsided, and the trees once more stand upon dry land. then the whole _malocca_ of indians, or the inhabitants of a village, proceed in a body to the places where the fruits are to be found, scattered around the stems of the tall trees that have produced them. in gathering their crop the gleaners require to observe certain precautions, those who go under the trees covering their heads with a thick wooden cap, resembling a helmet, lest the dropping of the heavy capsules--big as a cannon-ball, and almost as heavy--might crack a skull! for this reason the monkeys of the amazon forest, though crazy for sapucaya and brazil-nuts, always give the _bertholletia_ a wide berth, never going under, but around it, in a circle whose circumference lies outside the tips of the branches. strange to say, these creatures have no fear of the sapucaya, although its pericarps are as large and heavy as those of the brazil-nuts. but the former do not fall to the ground, or when they do, it is only after the lid has sprung open, and the huge cup has scattered its contents, leaving it a light and empty shell. it is for this reason, as much as anything else, that the nuts of the sapucaya are scarce in the market, and command a higher price. having escaped spontaneously from their shell, they are at the mercy of all comers, birds, quadrupeds, and monkeys; whereas the brazil-nuts, protected by their thick woody pericarps, are not so easily accessible. even the monkeys cannot get at them, until some animal with teeth better adapted for chiselling performs for them the service of laying open the box, and giving them a chance at the treasures contained within. this is done by several species of rodents, among which the _cutia_ and _paca_ are conspicuous; and one of the most comical spectacles to be seen in a south american forest is that of a group of monkeys, watching from a distance the proceedings of a paca thus employed, and then springing forward to take forcible possession of the pericarp after it has been sufficiently opened. it was a bit of good fortune that our adventurers found lodgings upon the _bertholletia_. though more hospitality may usually be met with in an inn, it provided them with at least a portion of their supper,--the bread-stuff. they had still left a brace of the macaw squabs that had not been roasted; but munday, as before, soon produced sufficient fire to give them a scorching, and keen appetites supplied salt, pepper, and sauce. chapter forty. a travelling party of guaribas. supper over, our adventurers only awaited the sunset to signal them to their repose. they had already selected their beds, or what was to serve for such,--the spaces of horizontal network formed by the intertwining of luxuriant llianas. at the best, it was no better than sleeping upon a raked hurdle; but they had been already somewhat inured to an uneasy couch on the galatea, and they were every day becoming less sensitive to necessities and hardships. they were all tired with the severe exertions they had made; for although their journey had been but about six miles, it was enough to equal sixty made upon land. they felt as if they could go to sleep astride of a limb, or suspended from a branch. it was not decreed by fate that they should find rest before being made the witnesses of a spectacle so curious, that, had they been ever so much inclined for sleep, would have kept them awake against their will. a noise heard afar off in the forest attracted their attention. there was nothing in it to alarm them, though had they not heard it before, or something similar to it, their fears might have been excited to the utmost pitch of terror. what they heard was the lugubrious chant of a band of howling monkeys. of all the voices of nature that awake the echoes of the amazonian forest, there is perhaps none so awe-inspiring as this. it is a combination of sounds, that embrace the various tones of shrieking, screaming, chattering, growling, and howling, mingled with an occasional crash, and a rattle, such as might proceed from the throat of a dying maniac. and yet all this is often the product of a single _mycetes_, or howling monkey, whose hollow hyoidal bone enables him to-- send forth every species of sound, from the rolling of a bass drum to the sharp squeak of a penny-whistle. "_guaribas_!" quietly remarked the mundurucu, as the distant noise was first heard. "howling monkeys you mean?" interrogatively rejoined trevannion. "yes, patron, and the loudest howlers of the whole tribe. you'll hear them presently. they are coming this way." "they're not far off now, i should say, if one may judge by the loudness of their cries." "all of a mile yet, patron. it proves that the forest stretches more than a mile in that direction, else the guaribas could not be there. if there be open water between us and them, they won't come this way. if not, we'll have them here in ten minutes' time. i wish we could only travel among the tree-tops as they can. we shouldn't stay long in the gapo." "just as the mundurucu expected," continued the tapuyo, after a pause. "the guaribas are coming towards us. i can hear the swishing of the leaves as they pass among them. we'll soon see them." the howling of the guaribas had for some time ceased, but the rustling of leaves, with the occasional snapping of a twig, to which the indian had directed the attention of his companions, told that the troop was travelling through the tree-tops, otherwise observing a profound silence. soon they appeared in sight, suddenly presenting themselves upon a tall tree that stood by the side of the igarape, about a cable's length from that occupied by our adventurers. for some minutes the branches of the tree were seen oscillating up and down, as each black guariba sprang into it: and this continued until not less than a hundred had found lodgement upon the limbs. as the leader of the band, who was evidently chief of the tribe, caught sight of the igarape, he was seen to pause in an abrupt and ambiguous manner, at the same moment giving utterance to a cry, easily intelligible as a word of command. it had the effect of causing those immediately behind him to come to a halt, as also the others, as they sprang successively into the tree. there could be no question as to what had caused the halt. it was the igarape crossing the track which the guaribas were going. with them the only question was, how they were to get over it. at the point where the howlers had clustered together, the strait was narrower than elsewhere within sight. between the branches, extending horizontally from the opposite sides of the igarape, there was a clear space of about twenty feet; and to the spectators it appeared improbable that any animal without wings could leap from tree to tree. the monkeys, however, did not seem to be of this opinion, but were plainly contemplating the leap; and it was evident that some of them were only restrained from taking it by an authoritative command from their chief, which held them in check. for several minutes there was a profound silence among them, undisturbed until the stragglers had all arrived in the tree, and squatted on the branches. it was now observed that among these last were several mothers, each carrying a child upon her back, or embraced between her bare arms; the youngster with face upturned, clinging, not with teeth and toe-nail, but with hands and tail, to the neck of its maternal parent. to these the attention of the whole tribe appeared to be directed; and it was evident that they were the sole cause of the difficulty,--the _impedimenta_ that had interrupted the onward march of the troop. there had been confusion, accompanied by some chattering, after first coming up; but a sign from the leader had put an end to all noise, and then succeeded the silence already mentioned. during its continuance the guariba chief slowly ascended the tree, until he had attained a position elevated above all his followers. then squatting down, with his hams firmly planted upon a branch, his long tail carefully coiled around another, he commenced his harangue with as much ceremony as if he had been chairman of a guild-hall dinner. perhaps there was quite as much sense and eloquence in his speech; at all events, there was more noise: for during the ten minutes taken up by it--it had the advantage of brevity--no other sound could have been heard over the gapo within the circuit of a mile. his address being ended, the chief, by a series of detached speeches, seemed to invite a reply from his followers, coaxing their assent, or daring them to contradiction. there appeared to be no dissent, not one voice. the chattering that responded to the speech was delivered in a tone that spoke unanimous compliance with the proposal--whatever it was--which their chief had offered to their consideration. then ensued another interval of silence, much shorter than before, and again interrupted by the leader of the troop. this time, however, his words were few and to the purpose. they were pronounced in a tone of command, that called for prompt obedience, which was yielded instantaneously and without protest. one of the strongest of the guaribas ran out upon the limb overhanging the igarape, and, stopping at its extremity, braced himself for the leap. in another instant it was made, and the monkey was seen rushing up into the tree on the other side of the igarape. a comrade followed, placing his four hands in the same spot, his body in a similar attitude, and making the leap so exactly like the guariba that had preceded him, that it seemed the same monkey repeating the performance. then went another, and another, so close following, that the creatures appeared more like the links of some colossal but quick-moving chain, pulled by supernatural power across the igarape, than a series of individual and animated beings. chapter forty one. the monkey mother. our adventurers sat in silent wonder watching the movements of the monkeys. it was certainly a spectacle of the most interesting character to see these creatures making the passage of the igarape. perhaps the most singular thing was the similarity of their leaps,--all planting their feet upon the same spot of the branch from which the leader sprang, springing exactly in the same way, and alighting on the opposite side in apparently the same spot and attitude, proving that each and all must have been actuated by the same thought or instinct at the precise moment of passing from one tree to the other. another singular point was, that during its continuance the intervals between each two were almost as regular as the ticking of a clock. as soon as one launched itself out from the branch, another sprang into its place, and was ready to follow so quickly that the air was never for a moment without a monkey; and any one looking straight down the opening between the trees, without glancing to either side, might almost have fancied that it was a single guariba suspended in mid-air! all the males of the tribe had succeeded in making the leap in safety; and all the females, too,--those carrying their "piccaninnies" along with the rest,--except one. this was a mother with a very young child on her back,--in fact a mere infant,--perhaps not nine days old. notwithstanding its extreme youth, it appeared to comprehend the situation, as well as those of more mature age, clinging with its infantile fingers to the shaggy hide of its mother, while its tiny tail was twisted around the root of hers, in a loop that appeared tight as a sailor's knot. but the mother, enfeebled by some sickness,--for monkeys are subject to sickness as well as men,--appeared doubtful of her ability to accomplish the leap; and, after all the others had crossed, she stood upon the branch evidently only half determined about following them. at this crisis occurred a curious incident,--the first of a series. one of those that had crossed, a man-monkey, was seen to separate from the crowd, that had by this time ascended to the top of the tree. returning along the limb to which they had just leaped, he placed himself opposite to the hesitating female and began to chatter, intending to encourage her, as his gestures showed. the mother of the infant made reply; but although the sounds were unintelligible to the human spectators, they might be translated as saying, "it's not a bit of use, my trying; i shall only get a ducking for my pains, and the infant too. it may be drowned." her reply was delivered in a tone of appeal; and, as if affected by it, the male monkey--evidently the father of the child--made no more remonstrance, but bounded back across the open water. it was but the work of six seconds for him to transfer the juvenile to his own shoulders; and in as many more both he and it were on the right side of the igarape. relieved of her charge and encouraged by the cries of those already across, the mother sprang out from the branch. the effort was too great for her strength. with her forefinger she caught the twigs on the opposite side and succeeded in clutching them; but before she could lap the branch with her tail,--a more trustworthy means of prehension,--she had sunk below its level, and, the twigs giving way, she plunged into the water. a universal scream came from the top of the tree, and a score or more of guaribas leaped down upon the limb from which the unfortunate had fallen. there was a scene of confusion,--just as there would have been had the catastrophe happened among human beings,--as when a boat upsets or some one breaks through the ice, and spectators stand speechless, or hurry to and fro, no one knowing exactly what to do,--what order to give, or whom to obey. very like was the scene of surprise, terror, and lamentation among the monkeys,--except that it did not last quite so long. in this respect animal instinct, as it is called, has the advantage of bewildered reason; and, while a crowd upon the sea-beach or the river-bank would have spent ten minutes before taking action to rescue the drowning individual, scarcely so many seconds were allowed to elapse before the guaribas had picked up and safely deposited her trembling person on the fork of a tree. the mode in which this had been accomplished was something to astonish the spectators, and yet it was performed in a very efficient manner. as soon as the screaming would permit, the voice of the guariba chieftain was heard, in a chattering so loud and serious in tone as to indicate command; and some half-score of the number, in obedience, glided out on the limb of the tree under which the female was in imminent danger of being drowned. a bucket could not have descended into a well, or a pulley-tackle come down from warehouse or mill, more promptly and speedily than did that string of monkeys, hooked neck and tail to one another, like the links of a long chain,--the lowest upon the swinging series being the husband of the half-drowned mother, who had hastily deposited his baby in one of the forkings of the tree. neither could the water-bucket have been filled, nor the wheat-sack hooked on, with half the speed and agility with which she was picked up and restored. once more shouldering her "chickabiddy," she took her place in the troop, which, without further delay, moved on amid the tree-tops, keeping in a direct line of march, as if bent upon a journey that was to terminate at some spot already known to them. for a long time their track could be traced by their continuous howling, which then was heard only at intervals, and at length receded to such a distance as to become inaudible. chapter forty two. the mundurucu discourses of monkeys. the sun was just setting as the guaribas disappeared; and from this circumstance it was conjectured that they were on their return to some favourite resting-place. trevannion supposed that they might be on their way to dry land; and, if so, the route they had taken might serve himself and party for a direction. he mentioned this to the mundurucu, who shook his head, not doubtfully, but as a simple negative. "you think it would be of no use our taking the direction in which they have gone?" said the miner interrogatively. "no, patron; not a bit of good in that. they are as like to be going from _terra firma_ as towards it. it's all the same to them whether they sleep over land, or water, so long as they have the trees to cling to. they are now trooping to some roost they have a fancy for,--perhaps some very big tree,--which they use at all times for their night-rendezvous, and where others of the same tribe will be likely to meet them. these have been off to some favourite feeding-ground, where the fruit may be more plenty than in the neighbourhood of their regular dwelling-place; or they may have been upon some ramble for amusement." "what! do monkeys make such excursions?" inquired young ralph. "o yes," replied the mundurucu. "i've often met them trooping about among the trees, where nuts and fruits were in plenty; and have watched them, for hours at a time, without seeing them pluck a single one;--only chattering and screeching and laughing and playing tricks upon each other, as if they had nothing else to do. neither have they when certain sorts of fruit are ripe, especially soft fruits, such as berries and the pulpy nuts of several kinds of palms, as the _pupunha_ and _assai_. it is a little different at other seasons, when they have to live on the brazil-nuts and sapucayas; then they have something to do to get at the kernels inside the thick shells, and at this they employ a good deal of their time." "do they sleep perched on the trees, or have they nests among the branches in which they can lie down at their ease?" "they have nests, but not for that. the females only use them when about to bring forth their young. as to sleeping at their ease, they can do that on the very slenderest of branches. it's no hardship to them, as it is to us. not a bit." "but do they not sometimes fall off in their sleep?" "how could they do that, young master, when they have their tails to hold on by? before going to sleep they take a turn or two of their long tail round a branch, not always the one their body is on, but more commonly a branch a little above it. for that matter they don't need any branch to rest upon. they can go to sleep, and often do, hanging by the tail,--for that is the position in which they are most at ease; just as you would be reclining in a hammock. i've seen them scores of times asleep that way. to prove that they feel most at home when hanging by the tail, they take to it whenever any alarm comes suddenly upon them; and they want to be in readiness for retreat, in case of its proving to be an enemy." "what singular creatures!" said ralph, half in soliloquy. "you speak truth, young master. they have many an odd way, that would lead one to believe that they had as much sense as some kinds of men. you have seen how they picked up the old one that fell into the water; but i've seen them do a still stranger thing than that. it is but the commonest of their contrivances, put in practice every time they want to pluck a nut, or some fruit that grows near the end of a branch too slender to carry their weight. if there's a stronger limb above, they go out upon it; and then, clinging together as you saw them do, they let themselves down till the last in the string can lay hold of the fruit. sometimes there is no branch right over the spot; but that don't hinder them from getting what they have coveted, if they can find a stout limb anyways near. then they make their string all the same; and, by setting it in motion, they swing back and forward, until the lowest of the party is tossed out within reach of the fruit. i've seen them try this, and find that their string was just a few inches too short, when another monkey would glide down upon the others, and add his length to complete it. then i've seen them make a bridge, young master." "make a bridge! are you in earnest? how could they?" "well, just in the same way as they get within reach of the nuts." "but for what purpose?" "to get across some bit of water, as a fast-running stream, where they would be drowned if they fell in." "but how do they accomplish it? to make a bridge requires a skilled engineer among men; are there such among monkeys?" "well, young master, i won't call it such skill; but it's very like it. when on their grand journeyings they come to a stream, or even an igarape like this, and find they can't leap from the trees on one side to those growing on the other, it is then necessary for them to make the bridge. they go up or down the bank till they find two tall trees opposite each other. they climb to a high branch on the one, and then, linking together, as you've seen them, they set their string in motion, and swing backward and forward, till one at the end can clutch a branch of the tree, on the opposite side. this done the bridge is made, and all the troop, the old ones that are too stiff to take a great leap, and the young ones that are too weak, run across upon the bodies of their stouter comrades. when all have passed over, the monkey at the other end of the string lets go his hold upon the branch; and if he should be flung into water it don't endanger him, as he instantly climbs up the bodies of those above him, the next doing the same, and the next also, until all have got safe into the trees." "be japers," exclaimed tipperary tom, "it's wonderful how the craythers can do it! but, misther munday, have yez iver seen them fall from a tree-top?" "no, never, but i've known one to leap from the top of a tree full a hundred feet in height." "shure it was kilt dead then?" "if it was it acted very oddly for a dead animal, as it had scarce touched the ground when it sprang back up another tree of equal height, and scampered to the top branches nearly as quick as it came down." "ah!" sighed trevannion, "if we had only the activity of these creatures, how soon we might escape from this unfortunate dilemma. who knows what is before us? let us pray before going to rest for the night. let us hope that he, in whose hands we are, may listen to our supplications, and sooner or later relieve us from our misery." and so saying, the ex-miner repeated a well-remembered prayer, in the response to which not only the young people, but the indian, the african, and the irishman fervently joined. chapter forty three. two slumberers ducked. it was somewhere among the mid-hours of the night, and all appeared to be as sound asleep as if reclining upon couches of eider-down. not a voice was heard among the branches of the brazil-nut,--not a sound of any kind, if we except the snore that proceeded from the spread nostrils of the negro, and that of a somewhat sharper tone from the nasal organ of the irishman. sometimes they snored together, and for several successive trumpetings this simultaneity would be kept up. gradually, however, one would get a little ahead, and then the two snorers would be heard separately, as if the two sleepers were responding to each other in a kind of dialogue carried on by their noses. all at once this nasal duet was interrupted by a rustling among the boughs upon which rested tipperary tom. the rustling was succeeded by a cry, quickly followed by a plunge. the cry and the plunge woke everybody upon the tree; and while several inquired the cause of the disturbance, a second shout, and a second plunge, instead of affording a clue to the cause of alarm, only rendered the matter more mysterious. there was a second volley of interrogatories, but among the inquiring voices two were missing,--those of mozey and the irishman. both, however, could now be heard below; not very articulate, but as if their owners were choking. at the same time there was a plashing and a plunging under the tree, as if the two were engaged in a struggle for life. "what is it? is it you, tom? is it you, mozey?" were the questions that came thick and fast from those still upon the tree. "och! ach!--i'm chokin'!--i'm--ach--drown--ach--drownin'!--help! help!" cried a voice, distinguishable as the irishman's, while mozey's was exerted in a similar declaration. all knew that tom could not swim a stroke. with the mozambique it was different. he might sustain himself above water long enough to render his rescue certain. with tom no time was to be lost, if he was to be saved from a watery grave; and, almost with his cry for help, richard trevannion and the mundurucu plunged in after him. for a time, trevannion himself and his two children could hear, underneath them, only a confused medley of sounds,--the splashing of water mingled with human voices, some speaking, or rather shouting, in accents of terror, others in encouragement. the night was dark; but had it been ever so clear, even had the full moon been shining above, her beams could not have penetrated through the spreading branches of the brazil-nut, melted and lined as they were with thorns and leafy llianas. it would seem an easy task for two such swimmers as the indian and paraense to rescue tipperary tom from his peril. but it was not quite so easy. they had got hold of him, one on each side, as soon as the darkness allowed them to discern him. but this was not till they had groped for some time; and then he was found in such a state of exhaustion that it required all the strength of both to keep his chin above the surface. mozey was fast becoming as helpless as tom, being more than half paralysed by the fright he had got from being precipitated into the water while still sound asleep. such a singular awaking was sufficient to have confused a cranium of higher intellectual development than that of the mozambique. after having discovered their half-drowned companions, neither richard nor the mundurucu knew exactly what to do with them. their first thought was to drag them towards the trunk of the tree, under which they had been immersed. this they succeeded in doing; but once alongside the stem, they found themselves in no better position for getting out of the water. there was not a branch within reach by which to raise themselves, and the bark was as smooth as glass, and slippery with slime. when first ascending into the great tree, they had made use of some hanging parasite, which now in the darkness they were unable to find. even the two swimmers began to despond. if not their own lives, those of their comrades might be lost in that gloomy aisle, whose pavement was the subtle, deceitful flood. at this crisis an idea occurred to the young paraense that promised to rescue them from their perilous position, and he called out, "the swimming-belts! fling down the swimming-belts!" his uncle and cousin, by this time having a clearer comprehension of what had occurred, at once obeyed the command. richard and the indian were not slow to avail themselves of this timely assistance; and in a trice the two half-drowned men were buoyed up beyond further danger. on getting back into the bertholletia, there was a general explanation. tipperary tom was the cause of the awkward incident. having gone to sleep without taking proper precautions, his limbs, relaxed by slumber, had lost their prehensile power, and, sliding through the llianas, he had fallen plump into the water below, a distance of more than a dozen feet. his cries, and the consequent plunge, had startled the negro so abruptly that he too had lost his equilibrium, and had soused down the instant after. the mundurucu was by no means satisfied with the occurrence. it had not only interrupted his repose, but given him a wet shirt in which to continue it. he was determined, however, that a similar incident should not, for that night, occur,--at least not with the same individuals,-- and before returning to his roost he bound both of them to theirs with _sipos_ strong enough to resist any start that might be caused by the most terrible of dreams. chapter forty four. open water. the next day was spent in explorations. these did not extend more than four hundred yards from their sleeping-place; but, short as was the distance, it cost more trouble to traverse it than if it had been twenty miles on land, across an open country. it was a thicket through which the explorers had to pass, but such a thicket as one acquainted only with the ordinary woods of northern countries can have no conception of. it was a matted tangle of trees and parasitical plants, many of the latter--such as the climbing jacitara palms, the huge cane-briers, and bromelias--thickly set with sharp spines, that rendered it dangerous to come in contact with them. even had there been firm footing, it would have been no easy task to make way through such a network; but, considering that it was necessary to traverse the wood by passing from tree to tree, all the time keeping in their tops, it will not be wondered at that a few hundred yards of such progress was accounted a day's journey. you must not suppose that all the party of our adventurers went even thus far. in fact, all of them remained in the brazil-nut, except the two who had acted as explorers on the former occasion,--richard and the mundurucu. it would have been worse than idle for any other to have accompanied them. it was near sunset when they returned with their report, which to trevannion and his party seemed anything but encouraging. the explorers had penetrated through the forest, finding it flooded in every direction. not an inch of dry land had they discovered; and the indian knew, from certain signs well understood by him, that none was near. the rapid drift of the current, which he had observed several times during the day, was one of these indications. it could not, he declared, be running in that way, if dry land were in the vicinity. so far, therefore, as reaching the shore was concerned, they might make up their minds for a long journey; and how this was to be performed was the question of the hour. one point the explorers had definitely determined. the igarape terminated at their sleeping-place. there was no sign of it beyond. instead, however, they had come upon an opening of a very different character. a vast expanse of water, without any trees, had been found, its nearest edge being the limit of their day's excursion. this open water did not extend quite to the horizon. around it, on all sides, trees could be seen, or rather the tops of trees; for it was evident that the thicket-like bordering was but the "lop and top" of a submerged forest. on returning to the "roost," munday urged their going towards the open water. "for what purpose?" inquired the patron, who failed to perceive any good reason for it. "we can't cross it, there being no sort of craft to carry us. we cannot make a raft out of these green branches, full of sap as they are. what's the use of our going that way? you say there's open water almost as far as you can see,--so much the worse, i should think." "no, patron," replied the indian, still addressing trevannion as respectfully as when acting as his hired _tapuyo_. "so much the better, if you give me leave to differ with you. our only hope is to find open water." "why, we have been all along coming from it. isn't there plenty of it behind us?" "true, patron; but it's not running in the right direction. if we launched upon it, the current would be against us. remember, master, 'tis the _echente_. we couldn't go that way. if we could, it would only bring us back to the river-channel, where, without some sort of a vessel, we should soon go to the bottom. now the open gapo we've seen to-day is landward, though the land may be a good way off. still, by crossing it, we shall be getting nearer to firm ground, and that's something." "by crossing it? but how?" "we must swim across it." "why, you've just said that it stretches almost to the edge of the horizon. it must be ten miles or more. do you mean to say we can swim so far?" "what's to hinder us, master? you have, the monkey-pots; they will keep you above water. if not enough for all, we can get more. plenty of the sapucaya-trees here." "but what would be the object of our crossing this expanse of water? you say there is no dry land on the other side; in that case, we'll be no better off than here." "there is land on the other side, though i think not near. but we must keep on towards it, else we shall never escape from the gapo. if we stay here, we must starve, or suffer greatly. we might search the forest for months, and not find another nesting-place of the araras, or good food of any kind. take my advice, patron. soon as comes the light of to-morrow, let us cross to the open water. then you can see for yourself what is best for us to do." as the perilous circumstances in which they were placed had altogether changed the relationship between trevannion and his _tapuyo_, the latter being now the real "patron," of course the ex-miner willingly gave way to him in everything; and on the morning of the next day the party of adventurers forsook the brazil-nut, and proceeded towards the open gapo. chapter forty five. the jacanas. it will be asked how they proceeded. to swim to the open water would have been next to impossible, even with the assistance of the floats. not only would the thick tree-trunks and drooping llianas have hindered them from making way in any direction; but there would have been nothing to guide them through the shadowy water, and they must soon lose themselves in a labyrinth of gloom. no sign of the sky could have availed them in the deep darkness below; and there were no landmarks to which to trust. the answer is, that they made their way along much as did the monkeys which had passed them the day before, only that their pace was a hundred times slower, and their exertions a thousand times more laborious. in fact, they travelled among the tree-tops, and followed the same track which their explorers had already taken, and which munday, on his return, had taken the precaution to "blaze" by breaking a number of twigs and branches. their progress was of the slowest kind,--slower than the crawl of a cripple; but by dint of perseverance, and the performance of many feats in climbing and clinging and balancing, and general gymnastics, they succeeded at length in reaching the edge of the forest, and gaining a view of the wide watery expanse. it was a relief to their eyes, so long strained to no purpose amidst the shadowy foliage that had enveloped them. "now, munday," asked trevannion, as soon as he had recovered breath, after such laborious exertion, "we are here on the edge of the open water. you talk of our being able to swim across it. tell us how." "just as we swam the igarape." "impossible, as you've admitted it can't be less than ten miles to the other side. the tree-tops yonder are scarce discernible." "we came nearly as far along the canoe-path." "true; but then we had a chance to rest every few minutes, and that gave us strength to go on. it will be different if we attempt to cross this great sea, where there is no resting-place of any kind. we should be a whole day on the water, perhaps more." "perhaps so, patron. but remember, if we do not try to get out of the gapo, we may be three, four, five, or six months among these tree-tops. we may get no food but a few nuts and fruits,--scarcely enough to keep us alive. we may lose strength, and be no longer able to stay among the branches; we may grow faint and fall, one by one, into the water, to go down to the bottom of the gapo or drop into the jaws of the jacares." the alternative thus brought in terrible detail vividly before them produced a strong impression; and trevannion offered no objection to any plan which the mundurucu should propose. he only requested a fuller account of the feasibility of that now suggested,--in other words, an explanation as to how they were to swim a stretch of ten miles without stopping to rest. munday made no mystery of the matter. he had no other plan than that already tried with success,--the swimming-belts; only that two additional sets would now be needed,--one for himself, the other for the young paraense. on the short passage from the sapucaya to the forest, and along the canoe-path, these bold swimmers had disdained the use of that apparatus; but in a pull of ten miles, even they must have recourse to such aid. no further progress was to be made on that day, as the fatigue of their arboreal journey required a long rest; and shortly after their arrival upon the edge of the forest, they set about arranging for the night, having chosen the best tree that could be found. unfortunately, their larder was lower than it had ever been, since the going down of the galatea. of the squab macaws there were no longer any left; and some sapucaya nuts gathered by the way, and brought along by munday, formed the substance of their scanty supper. as soon as it was eaten, the mundurucu, assisted by richard, busied himself in manufacturing the required swimming-belts; and long before the sun disappeared behind the forest spray, everything was ready for their embarkation, which was to take place at the earliest moment of its reappearance. as usual, there was conversation,--partly to kill time, and partly to keep off the shadows that surrounded, and ever threatened to reduce them to despair. trevannion took pains to keep it up, and make it as cheerful as the circumstances would permit, his object being less to satisfy himself than to provide gratification for his children. at times he even attempted to jest; but generally the conversation turned upon topics suggested by the scene, when the indian, otherwise taciturn, was expected to do the talking. the open water became the subject on this particular occasion. "it appears like a lake," remarked the ex-miner. "i can see a line of trees or tree-tops all around it, with no signs of a break or channel." "it is one," rejoined the _tapuyo_. "a real _lagoa_. water in it at all seasons,--both _echente_ and _vasante_,--only 'tis fallen now from the flood. there are no _campos_ in this part of the country; and if it wasn't a lagoa, there would be trees standing out of it. but i see a surer sign,--the _piosocas_." the speaker pointed to two dark objects at some distance off, that had not hitherto been observed by any of the party. on more careful scrutiny, they proved to be birds,--large, but of slender shape, and bearing some resemblance to a brace of cranes or curlews. they were of dark colour, rufous on the wings, with a green iridescence that glistened brightly under the beams of the setting sun. they were near enough to enable the spectators to distinguish several peculiarities in their structure; among others a singular leathery appendage at the base of the beak, stout, spinous processes or "spurs" on the wing shoulders, very long, slender legs, and _tarsi_ of immense length, radiating outward from their shank, like four pointed stare, spread horizontally on the surface of the water. what struck the spectators, not only with surprise, but appeared unaccountable, was the fact that these birds seen upon the water were not seated as if swimming or afloat; but standing erect upon their long tarsi and toes, which apparently spread upon the surface, as if upon ice! stranger still, while they were being watched, both were seen to forsake their statue-like attitude, and move first toward each other, and then apart again, running to and fro as if upon a solid fooling! what could it all mean? munday was asked for the explanation. were they walking upon the water? no. there was a water plant under their feet--a big lily, with a leaf several feet in diameter, that floated on the surface--sufficient to carry the weight of the biggest bird. that was what was supporting the piosocas. on scanning the surface more carefully, they could distinguish the big lily, and its leaf with a turned-up edge resembling the rim of a chinese gong, or a huge frying-pan. they became acquainted for the first time with that gigantic lily, which has been entitled "the royal victoria," and the discoverer of which was knighted for his flattery. "'tis the _furno de piosoca_," said munday, continuing his explanation. "it is called so, because, as you see, it's like the oven on which we bake our cassava; and because it is the favourite roost of the piosoca." by "piosoca" the indian meant the singular _jacana_ of the family _palamedeidae_, of which there are species both in africa and america. the birds had fortunately made their appearance at a crisis when the spectators required something to abstract their thoughts from the cares that encompassed them, and so much were they engrossed by the curious spectacle, that they did not perceive the _tapuyo_, as he let himself gently down into the water, and swam off under the drooping branches of the trees, pausing at a point opposite to where the piosocas were at play. from this point they could not have perceived him, as he had dived under water, and did not come up again until the slender shanks of a jacana, enveloped in the lily's soft leaf, were clutched by his sinewy fingers, and the bird with a shrill scream was seen fluttering on the water, while its terrified mate soared shrieking into the air. the party in the tree-tops were at first amazed. they saw a dark, round object close to the struggling jacana, that resembled the head of a human being, whose body was under water! it was not till it had come nearer, the bird still keeping it close company, that they identified the head, with its copper-coloured face, now turned towards them, as belonging to their guide and companion,--munday. a fire was soon blazing in the branches, and instead of going to sleep upon a supper of raw sapucayas, our adventurers sought repose after a hearty meal made upon roast jacana! chapter forty six. a companion left behind. by daybreak they were once more in the water, each provided with a complete set of swimming-shells. as the voyage was more extensive, and altogether more perilous, the greatest pains was taken to have the swimming apparatus as perfect as possible. any flaw, such as a weak place in the waist-belts or shoulder-straps, or the smallest crevice that would admit water into one of the shells, might be followed by serious consequences, perhaps even drowning. besides making the new belts, therefore, munday had mended the old ones, giving all the shells an additional coating of caoutchouc, and strengthening the sipos that attached them to one another. just as the sun's disk was seen above the tree-tops that skirted the _lagoa_ on the east, our adventurers embarked on their aquatic expedition. but it could not be said that they started in high spirits. they knew not what was to be the sequel of their singular undertaking. where their journey was to end, or whether its end might not be for some of their number--if not all of them--the bottom of the gapo. indeed, the indian, to whom they all looked for encouragement as well as guidance, was himself not very sanguine of success. he did not say so, but for all that trevannion, who had kept interrogating him at intervals while they were preparing to start, had become impressed with this belief. as the mundurucu persisted in counselling the expedition, he did not urge any further opposition, and under the auspices of a glorious tropical sunrise they committed themselves to the open waters of the lagoa. at the very start there occurred a somewhat ominous accident. as the coaita would have been a cumbersome companion for any of the swimmers to carry, it was decided that the creature should be left behind. unpleasant as it was to part with a pet so long in the company of the galatea's crew, there was no alternative but to abandon it. tipperary tom, notwithstanding his attachment toward it, or rather its attachment toward him, was but too willing to assent to the separation. he had a vivid recollection of his former entanglement, and the risk he had run of being either drowned in the gapo, or strangled by the coaita's tail; and with this remembrance still fresh before his fancy, he had taken the precaution at this new start to steal silently off from the trees, among the foremost of the swimmers. everybody in fact had got off, before the coaita was aware of their intention to abandon it, and to such a distance that by no leap could it alight upon anybody's shoulders. on perceiving that it was left behind, it set up a series of cries, painfully plaintive, but loud enough to have been heard almost to the limits of the lagoa. a similar desertion of the macaw was evidently intended, to which no one had given a thought, although it was rosa's pet. the ouistiti had been provided with a free passage upon the shoulders of the young paraense. but the huge parrot was not to be left behind in this free and easy fashion. it was not so helpless as the coaita. it possessed a pair of strong wings, which, when strongly and boldly spread, could carry it clear across the lagoa. conscious of this superior power, it did not stay long upon the trees, to mingle its chattering with the screams of the coaita. before the swimmers had made a hundred strokes, the macaw mounted into the air, flew for a while hoveringly above them, as if selecting its perch, and then dropped upon the negro's head, burying its claws in his tangled hair. chapter forty seven. the guide abandoned. as the swimmers proceeded, their hopes grew brighter. they saw that they were able to make good headway through the water; and in less than an hour they were a full mile distant from their point of departure. at this rate they should be on the other side of the lagoon before sunset, if their strength would only hold out. the voyage promised to be prosperous; and joy sat upon their countenances. shortly after there came a change. a cloud was seen stealing over the brow of the mundurucu, which was the cue for every other to exhibit a similar shadowing. trevannion kept scanning the countenance of the tapuyo to ascertain the cause of his disquietude. he made no enquiry; but he could tell by the behaviour of the indian that there, was trouble on his mind. at intervals he elevated his head above the water, and looked back over his shoulder, as if seeking behind him for the cause of his anxiety. as they swam on farther, munday's countenance lost nothing of its anxious cast, while his turnings and backward glances became more frequent. trevannion also looked back, though only to ascertain the meaning of the tapuyo's manoeuvres. he could see nothing to account for it,--nothing but the tree-tops from which they had parted, and these every moment becoming less conspicuous. though the patron did not perceive it, this was just what was causing the tapuyo's apprehensive looks. the sinking of the trees was the very thing that was producing his despondency. stimulated less by curiosity than alarm, trevannion could keep silent no longer. "why do you look back, munday?" he inquired. "is there any danger in that direction? have you a fear that we shall be followed? i can see nothing except the tree-tops, and them scarcely at this moment." "that's the danger. we shall soon lose sight of them altogether; and then--" "what then?" "then--i confess, patron, i am puzzled. i did not think of it before we took to the water." "o, i see what you mean. you've been hitherto guiding our course by the trees from which we parted. when they are no longer in view we shall have nothing to steer by?" "it is true. the great spirit only can guide us then!" the mundurucu evidently felt more than chagrin that he had expressed himself so confidently about their being able to cross the lagoon. he had only taken into consideration the circumstance of their being able to swim, without ever thinking of the chance of their losing the way. the trees sinking gradually to the horizon first admonished him; and as he continued to swim farther into the clear water, he became convinced that such mischance was not only possible, but too probable. with a sort of despairing effort he kept on with even more energy than before, as if trying how far he could follow a straight line without depending on any object to pilot him. after proceeding thus for two or three hundred yards, he once more raised his chin to his shoulder and looked back. the tree-tops were barely visible; but he was satisfied on perceiving that the one from which they had started rose up directly opposite to him, thus proving that in his trial stretch he had gone in a straight line, inspiring him with the hope of being able to continue it to the opposite side. with renewed confidence he kept on, after uttering a few phrases of cheer to the others. another stretch of about three hundred yards was passed through in silence, and without any incident to interrupt the progress of the swimmers. then all came to a pause, seeing their conductor, as before, suspend his stroke, and again make a rearward reconnoissance. this time he did not appear so well satisfied, until he had raised his head high over the surface, which he accomplished by standing erect, and beating the water with his palms downward, when his confidence was again refreshed, and he started forward once more. at the next stopping-place, instead of raising himself once into the standing poise, he did so several times in succession, each time sinking down again with an exclamation of disappointment. he could not see the trees, even at the utmost stretch of his neck. with a grunt that seemed to signify his assent to the abandoning of their guidance, he again laid himself along the water, and continued in the direction he had been already following; but not before assuring himself that he was on the right course, which fortunately he was still able to do by noting the relative positions of the others. at starting away from this, which he intended should be their last stopping-place, he delivered a series of admonitions intended for every swimmer. they were to keep their places, that is, their relative positions to him and one another, as nearly as might be; they were to swim gently and slowly, according to the example he should set them, so that they might not become fatigued and require to pause for rest; and, above all, they were not to bother him by putting questions, but were, in short, to proceed in perfect silence. he did not condescend to explain these strange injunctions further than by telling them that, if they were not followed, and to the letter, neither he nor they might ever climb into another tree-top! it is needless to say that, after such an intimation, his orders received implicit obedience; and those to whom he had given them swam onward after him as silently as so many fishes. the only sound heard was the monotonous sighing of the water, seething against the hollow sapucaya-shells, now and then varied by the scream of the _caracara_ eagle, as it poised itself for a second over their heads, in surprise at the singular cohort of aquatic creatures moving so mysteriously through the lagoons. chapter forty eight. round and round. for a full hour our adventurers preserved, not only their relative positions, but also the silence that had been enjoined upon them. none of them spoke, even when a dead guariba--that had been drowned, perhaps, by attempting a leap too great for its strength and agility--came drifting along among them. not one of them took any notice of it except the ouistiti upon the shoulders of richard trevannion. this diminutive quadrumanous specimen, on recognising the body of one of its big kinsmen, entered upon a series of chatterings and squeakings, trembling all the while as if suddenly awakened to the consciousness that it was itself in danger of terminating its existence in a similar manner. its cries were not heeded. munday's admonition had been delivered in a tone too serious to be disregarded; and the ouistiti was permitted to utter its plaint, without a single word being addressed to it, either of chiding or consolation. tranquillity was at length restored, for the little ape, seeing that no notice was taken of it, desisted from its noisy demonstrations, and once more the swimmers proceeded in silence. half an hour or so might have elapsed before this silence received a second interruption. it again came in the voice of the ouistiti; which, rearing itself on its tiny hind-legs, having the shoulders of the paraense for a support, craning its head outward over the water, commenced repeating its cries of alarm. in seeking for an explanation of this conduct, they contented themselves with watching the movements of the alarmist, and by turning their eyes towards the object which appeared to attract the ouistiti and cause it such evident alarm. each buoyed himself up to get a good view; and each, as he did so, saw scarce ten paces ahead of him the carcass of a guariba! it was drifting towards them in the same manner as the one they had already met; and before any of them thought of exchanging speech, it was bobbing about in their midst. the reflection that occurred to the swimmers was, that there had been a general drowning among the guaribas somewhere on the shores of the lagoon: perhaps a tribe had got into some isolated tree, where their retreat had been cut off by the inundation. had the tapuyo not been of the party, this theory might have satisfied all hands, and the journey would have been continued, instead of being suddenly interrupted by the tapuyo himself. he was not so easily deceived. on passing the first guariba, although he had said nothing, he had carefully noted the peculiarities of the carcass; and as soon as he swam within distinguishing distance of the second guariba, he saw that the pair were identical. in other words, our adventurers had for the second time encountered the same unfortunate ape. there could be but one conclusion. the carcass could not have changed its course, unless by the shifting of the wind, or the current of the water. but neither would have explained that second _rencontre_. it was only intelligible upon the supposition that the swimmers had been going round and round and returning on their own track! chapter forty nine. going by guess. although their guide was the first to discover it, he did not attempt to conceal the dilemma into which he had been instrumental in leading them. "'tis true, patron!" he said, addressing himself to trevannion, and no longer requiring compliance with his former regulations. "we have gone astray. that's the same monkey we met before; so you see we're back where we were a half-hour ago. _pa terra_! it's crooked luck, patron; but i suppose the great spirit wills it so!" trevannion, confounded, made scarcely any reply. "we mustn't remain here anyhow," pursued the indian. "we must try to get to the trees somewhere,--no matter where." "surely," said the ex-miner, "we can accomplish that?" "i hope so," was the reply of the tapuyo, given with no great confidence. trevannion reflected that they had been _swimming in a circle_. should this occur again,--and there was every possibility of such a thing,--the desired end might not be so easy of accomplishment. for some minutes speculation was suspended. the guide was engaged in action. like a water-spaniel in search of a winged wild-duck, he repeatedly reared himself above the surface, casting glances of interrogation to every quarter of the compass. like the same spaniel, when convinced that the wounded bird has escaped him, he at length desisted from these idle efforts; and, laying his body along the water, prepared to swim disappointedly to the shore. with something more than disappointment--something more than chagrin-- did munday commence retreating from the lagoon. as he called upon his companions to follow him, there was a tremor in his voice, and an irresolution in his stroke perceptible to the least observant of them; and the fact of his having shouldered the dead guariba, after first making inspection to see that it was fit for food, was proof of his entertaining some suspicion that their voyage might be a long one. no one questioned him; for notwithstanding the failure of his promise to guide them straight across the lagoon, they still relied upon him. on whom or what else could they rely? after proceeding a considerable distance, he came to a pause, once more stood up in the water, and, turning as upon a pivot, scanned the circle of the horizon. satisfied that there was not a tree-top within view, he swam onward as before. could he have ensured keeping a straight course, no great danger need have been apprehended. the lagoon might be ten miles wide; or, if twenty, it could not so materially affect the result. swim as slowly as they might, a score of hours would see them on its shore,--whether this was the spray of another submerged forest, or the true _terra firma_. there was no danger of their going to the bottom, for their swimming-belts secured them against that. there was no danger of their suffering from thirst,--the contingency most dreaded by the castaway at sea, and the strayed traveller in the desert,--of fresh water they had a surfeit. nor did hunger dismay them. since eating the jacana, they had set forth upon a breakfast of brazil-nuts,--a food which, from its oily nature, may be said to combine both animal and vegetable substance. moreover, they were now no longer unprovided against a future emergency: since their guide carried upon his shoulders the carcass of the guariba. their real danger lay in their deviating from a right line: for who could swim straight, with his eyes on a level with the surface of the water, and nothing to direct his course, neither tree, nor rock, nor star, nor signal of any kind? the tapuyo knew this. so did they all. even the children could tell that they were no longer guided, but going by guess-work. it was no longer a question of getting _across_ the lagoon, but _out_ of it. the unsteady movements of their guide, instead of allaying their fears, produced the contrary effect, and the disconsolate expression on his countenance was evidence that he was under much apprehension. for over an hour this uncertainty continued. the swimmers, one and all, were beginning to give way to serious alarm. to say nothing of reaching land, they might never more set eyes upon the submerged forest. they might swim round and round, as in the vortex of charybdis, until sheer exhaustion should reduce them utterly. in due time hunger must overtake them; and a lingering death by starvation might be their destiny. when faint from want of food and unable to defend themselves, they would be attacked by predatory creatures dwelling in the water, while birds of prey would assail them from the air. already could they fancy that the cry of the caracara sounded more spiteful than was its wont; and exultingly, as if the base bird foreboded for them a tragical ending. more than twenty times had the tapuyo repeated his inspection of the horizon, without seeing aught to cheer him. they had been many hours in the water, and supposed it to be about noon. they could only conjecture as to the time, for the sun was not visible. at an early hour in the morning--almost as they started--the sky had become overcast with a sheet of leaden grey, concealing the sun's disk from their sight. this circumstance had caused some discouragement; but for it they might long since have escaped from their dilemma, as the golden luminary, while low down, would have served them as a guide. strange to say, at that hour when it was no longer of any concern to them, the sky became suddenly clear, and the sun shone forth with burning brilliance. but his orb was now in the zenith, and of no service to point out the quarter of the compass. within the equatorial zone, north, south, east, and west were all alike to him at that season of the year and that hour of the day. if they could but have the direction of one of these points, all would have been well. but the sun gave no sign. for all that, the indian hailed his appearance with a grunt of satisfaction, while a change came over his countenance that could scarce be caused by the mere brightening of the sky. something more than cheerfulness declared itself in his dark features,--an expression of renewed hope. "if the sun keep on to show," said he, in answer to the questioning of trevannion, "it will be all right for us. now it's no good. in an hour from now he'll make some shadow. then we shall swim as straight as can be, never fear, patron! we shall get out of this scrape before night,-- never fear!" these cheering words were welcome, and produced universal joy where but the moment before all was gloom. "i think, patron," continued the tapuyo. "we may as well stop swimming for a while, till we see which way the sun goes. then we can make a fresh start. if we keep on now, we may be only making way in the wrong direction." the tired swimmers were only too ready to yield compliance to this bit of advice. the mundurucu made one more endeavour to catch sight of the tree-tops, and, being still unsuccessful, resigned himself to inactivity, and along with the rest lay motionless upon the water. chapter fifty. guided by a shadow. in this way about an hour was spent; though by no means in solemn silence. perfectly at ease, so far as physical comfort was concerned, upon their liquid couch the swimmers could converse, as if stretched upon a carpet of meadow-grass; and they passed their time in discussing the chances of their ultimate escape from that cruel situation, to which an unlucky accident had consigned them. they were not altogether relieved from apprehension as to their present predicament. if the sky should become again overcast, they would be worse off than ever, since there was the loss of time to be considered. all were constantly turning their eyes upwards, and scanning the firmament, to see if there were any signs of fresh clouds. munday looked towards the zenith with a different design. he was watching for the sun to decline. in due time his watchfulness was rewarded; not so much by observation of the sun itself, as by a contrivance which declared the course of the luminary, long before it could have been detected by the eye. having cautioned the others to keep still, so that there should be no disturbance in the water,--otherwise perfectly tranquil,--he held his knife in such a way that the blade stood up straight above the surface. taking care to keep it in the exact perpendicular, he watched with earnest eye, as a philosopher watches the effect of some chemical combination. in a short time he was gratified by observing a _shadow_. the blade, well balanced, cast an oblique reflection on the water; at first, slight, but gradually becoming more elongated, as the experiment proceeded. becoming at length convinced that he knew west from east, the tapuyo restored his knife to its place, and, calling to his companions to follow him, he struck off in the direction pointed out to him by the shadow of the steel. this would take the swimmers in an easterly direction; but it mattered not what direction so long as it carried them out of the lagoon. as they proceeded onward, the guide occasionally assured himself of keeping the same course, by repeating the experiment with his knife; but after a time he no longer needed to consult his queer sun-dial, having discovered a surer guide in the spray of the forest, which at length loomed up along the line of the horizon. it was close upon sunset when they swam in among the drooping branches, and once more, with dripping skins, climbed up into the tops of the trees. had it not been that they were glad to get to any port, they might have felt chagrin on discovering that chance had directed them to the very same roost where they had perched on the preceding night. the drowned guariba which munday had carried from the middle of the lagoon was roasted, and furnished their evening meal; and the epicure who would turn up his nose at such a viand has never tasted food under the shadow of an amazonian forest. chapter fifty one. around the edge. discouraged by their failure, our adventurers remained upon their perch till nearly noon of the next day, in listless lassitude. the exertions of the preceding day had produced a weariness that required more than a night's rest, for not only their bodies, but their spirits were under the influence of their long toil, until their state of mind bordered upon despondency. as the hours wore on, and their fatigue was gradually relieved by rest, their spirits rose in like proportion; and before the sun had reached its meridian, the instinctive desire of life sprang up within their bosoms, and once more they began to consider what steps should be taken to prolong it. should they make another attempt to cross the lagoon by swimming? what chance would there be of steering in the right course, any more than upon the day before? they were just as likely to go astray a second time, and perhaps with a less fortunate _finale_. if again lost amidst the waste of waters, they might not be able to get sight of the tree-tops, but swim on in circles or crooked turnings, until death, arising from sheer exhaustion, or want of food, should complete their misery. even the mundurucu no longer urged the course in which he had formerly expressed such confidence; and for some time he declined giving any advice whatever,--his silence and his gloomy looks showing that he felt humiliated by the failure of his plan. no one thought of reproaching him; for although their faith in his power was not quite so strong as it had hitherto been, there was yet confidence in his superior skill. had they been castaways from a ship, escaping in an open boat, or on some raft or spar, in the middle of the great ocean, their cook would doubtless have disputed his right to remain master. but in the midst of that strange inland sea, whose shores and islands consisted only of tree-tops, the mozambique acknowledged himself to be no more than a novice. trevannion himself took the lead in suggesting the next plan. it was not intended to give up the idea of crossing the lagoon. it was a general belief that on the other side there must be land; and therefore to reach it became the paramount thought of the party. to go around it, by keeping upon the trees, was clearly out of the question. even had these continued all the way with interlacing branches, still the journey would have been one that apes alone could perform. it would have occupied days, weeks, perhaps a month; and what certainty was there of finding food for such a length of time? still, if they could not travel upon the tree-tops, what was to hinder them from going _under_ them? why should they not use the forest to steer by,--swimming along the edge of the trees, and making use of them at intervals for rest, and for a sleeping-place during the night? the idea was excellent, and, coming from trevannion himself, was of course approved without one opposing voice. even the indian acknowledged that it was a sagacious design, and superior to his own. fortunately it required but slight preparation for trial, and as the sun shone down from the zenith they forsook their resting-place, and once more betook themselves to the water, with their swimming-belts carefully adjusted again about them. chapter fifty two. the massaranduba. they advanced at the rate of about a mile an hour. could they have kept on steadily, this would have given them ten or twelve miles a day, and two or three days might have brought them to the other side of the lagoon. it was necessary, however, that they should stop at intervals to obtain rest; and their progress was further impeded by the piosoca plants,--the huge water-lilies already described,--whose broad, circular leaves, lying along the surface like gigantic frying-pans, came directly in their course. here and there they had to traverse a tract of these lilies several acres in extent, where the rims of the rounded leaves almost touched each other; and the thick succulent stalks formed a tangle underneath, through which it was very difficult for a swimmer to make way. more than once they were compelled to go around these watery gardens for a distance of many hundreds of yards, but thus shortening the journey made in the right direction. on account of such impediments they had not gone more than three miles from their point of starting, when the mundurucu recommended a halt for the night, although it could not have been later than six o'clock, as could be told by the sun, still high up in the heavens. "i am hungry, patron," said the indian at last; "so are you all. we must have some supper, else how can we go on?" "supper!" echoed trevannion. "yes, sure enough, we are hungry. i knew that an hour ago. but upon what do you propose to sup? i see nothing but trees with plenty of leaves, but no fruit. we cannot live upon leaves like the sloth. we must be starving before we take to that." "we shall sup upon milk, master, if you don't object to our making a camping-place close by." "milk!" exclaimed tom. "what div yez say, misther munday? div yez mane milk? och! don't be after temptin' wan's stomach with a dilicacy that can't be obtained in this land av wather! shure now we're not only a hundred modes from the tail av a cow, but a thousand, may be, from that same." "you may be wrong there," interrupted the paraense. "there are cows in the gapo, as well as upon land. you have seen them yourself as we came down the river?" "troth, yis,--if yez mane the fish-cow," (the irishman alluded to the _vaca marina_, or manatee,--the _peixe-boi_ or fish-cow of the portuguese, several species of which inhabit the amazon waters). "but shure the great brute could not be milked, if we did cotch wan av them; an' if we did we should not take the throuble, when by sthrippin' the skin av her carcass we'd get somethin' far betther for our suppers, in the shape av a fat steak." "yonder is what the mundurucu means!" said the guide. "yonder stands the cow that can supply us with milk for our supper,--ay, and with bread too to go along with it; don't you see the _massaranduba_?" at first they could see nothing that particularly claimed attention. but by following the instructions of the guide, and raising their heads a little, they at length caught sight of a tree, standing at some distance from the forest edge, and so far overtopping the others as to appear like a giant among pygmies. it was in reality a vegetable giant,--the great massaranduba of the amazon,--one of the most remarkable trees to be found even in a forest where more strange species abound than in any other part of the world. to tom and some others of the party the words of the mundurucu were still a mystery. how was a tree to supply them with a supper of bread and milk? trevannion and richard required no further explanation. the former had heard of this singular tree; the latter had seen it,--nay, more, had drank of its milk, and eaten of its fruit. it was with great joy the young paraense now looked upon its soaring leafy top, as it not only reminded him of a spectacle he had often observed in the woods skirting the suburbs of his native city, but promised, as the tapuyo had declared, to relieve the pangs of hunger, that had become agonisingly keen. chapter fifty three. a vegetable cow. the tree which had thus determined them to discontinue their journey, and which was to furnish them with lodgings for the night, was the famous _palo de vaca_, or "cow-tree" of south america, known also as the _arbol de leche_, or "milk-tree." it has been described by humboldt under the name _galactodendron_, but later botanical writers, not contented with the very appropriate title given to it by the great student of nature, have styled it _brosium_. it belongs to the natural order of the _atrocarpads_, which, by what might appear a curious coincidence, includes also the celebrated breadfruit. what may seem stranger still, the equally famous upas-tree of java is a scion of the same stock, an _atrocarpad_! therefore, just as in one family there are good boys and bad boys, (it is to be hoped there are none of the latter in yours,) so in the family of the atrocarpads there are trees producing food and drink both wholesome to the body and delicious to the palate, while there are others in whose sap, flowers, and fruit are concealed the most virulent of poisons. the massaranduba is not the only species known as _palo de vaca_, or cow-tree. there are many others so called, whose sap is of a milky nature. some yield a milk that is pleasant to the taste and highly nutritious, of which the "hya-hya" (_tabernaemontana utibis_), another south american tree, is the most conspicuous. this last belongs to the order of the _apocyanae_, or dog-banes, while still another order, the _sapotacae_, includes among its genera several species of cow-tree. the massaranduba itself was formerly classed among the _sapotads_. it is one of the largest trees of the amazonian forest, frequently found two hundred feet in height, towering above the other trees, with a top resembling an immense vegetable dome. logs one hundred feet long, without a branch, have often been hewn out of its trunk, ready for the saw-mill. its timber is very hard and fine grained, and will stand the weather better than most other south american trees; but it cannot be procured in any great quantity, because, like many other trees of the amazon, it is of a solitary habit, only two or three, or at most half a dozen, growing within the circuit of a mile. it is easily distinguished from trees of other genera by its reddish, ragged bark, which is deeply furrowed, and from a decoction of which the indians prepare a dye of a dark red colour. the fruit, about the size of an apple, is full of a rich juicy pulp, exceedingly agreeable to the taste, and much relished. this is the bread which the mundurucu hoped to provide for the supper of his half-famished companions. but the most singular, as well as the most important, product of the massaranduba is its milky juice. this is obtained by making an incision in the bark, when the white sap flows forth in a copious stream, soon filling a calabash or other vessel held under it. on first escaping from the tree it is of the colour and about the consistency of rich cream, and, but for a slightly balsamic odour might be mistaken for the genuine produce of the dairy. after a short exposure to the air it curdles, a thready substance forming upon the surface, resembling cheese, and so called by the natives. when diluted with water, the coagulation does not so rapidly take place; and it is usually treated in this manner, besides being strained, before it is brought to the table. the natives use it by soaking their _farinha_ or maize-bread with the sap, and it is also used as cream in tea, chocolate, and coffee, many people preferring it on account of the balsamic flavour which it imparts to these beverages. the milk of the massaranduba is in great demand throughout all the district where the tree is found, both in the spanish and portuguese territories of tropical south america. in venezuela it is extensively used by the negroes, and it has been remarked that these people grow fatter during the season of the year when the _palo de vaca_ is plenty. certain it is that no ill effects have been known to result from a free use of it; and the vegetable cow cannot be regarded otherwise than as one of the most singular and interesting productions of beneficent nature. chapter fifty four. a milk supper. it was some time before they swam under the massaranduba's wide-spreading branches, as it did not stand on the edge of the forest, and for a short time after entering among the other trees it was out of sight. the instincts of the indian, however, directed him, and in due time it again came before their eyes, its rough reddish trunk rising out of the water like a vast ragged column. as might have been expected, its huge limbs were laden with parasites, trailing down to the surface of the water. by these they found no difficulty in making an ascent, and were soon safely installed; its huge coreaceous leaves of oblong form and pointed at the tops, many of them nearly a foot in length, forming a shade against the fervent rays of the sun, still several degrees above the horizon. as the indian had anticipated, the tree was in full bearing, and ere long a number of its apples were plucked, and refreshing the parched palates that would have pronounced them exquisite had they been even less delicious than they were. munday made no stay even to taste the fruit. he was determined on giving his companions the still rarer treat he had promised them, a supper of milk; and not until he had made some half-dozen notches with his knife, and placed under each a sapucaya-shell detached from the swimming-belts, did he cease his exertions. they had not long to wait. the vegetable cow proved a free milker, and in twenty minutes each of the party had a pericarp in hand full of delicious cream, which needed no sugar to make it palatable. they did not stay to inquire how many quarts their new cow could give. enough for them to know that there was sufficient to satisfy the appetites of all for that night. when, after supper, the conversation naturally turned to the peculiarities of this remarkable tree, many other facts were elicited in regard to its useful qualities. richard told them that in para it was well-known, its fruit and milk being sold in the streets by the negro market-women, and much relished by all classes of the inhabitants of that city; that its sap was used by the paraense joiners in the place of glue, to which it was equal, if not superior, guitars, violins, and broken dishes being put together with it in the most effective manner, its tenacity holding against both heat and dampness. another curious fact was, that the sap continues to run long after the tree has been felled: that even the logs lying in the yard of a saw-mill have been known to yield for weeks, even months, the supply required by the sawyers for creaming their coffee! and now our adventurers, admonished by the setting of the sun, were about stretching themselves along the branches, with the intention of going to sleep. but they were not to retire without an incident, though fortunately it was such as to add to the cheerfulness lately inspiring the spirits of all, even to the macaw and little monkey, both of whom had amply regaled themselves upon the succulent fruits of the massaranduba. the great ape, again left behind, had been altogether forgotten. no one of the party was thinking of it; or, if any one was, it was only with a very subdued regret. all knew that the coaita could take care of itself, and under all circumstances it would be safe enough. for all this, they would have been very glad still to have kept it in their company, had that been possible; and all of them were glad when a loud chattering at no great distance was recognised as the salutation of their old acquaintance, the coaita. directly after, the animal itself was seen springing from tree to tree, until by a last long leap it lodged itself on the branches of the massaranduba, and was soon after seated upon the shoulders of tipperary tom. while the swimmers were proceeding by slow stages, the ape had kept them company among the tops of the adjacent trees; and, but for its being delayed by having to make the circuit around the various little bays, it might have been astride the vegetable cow long before the swimmers themselves. coming late, it was not the less welcome, and before going to sleep it was furnished with a fruit supper, and received a series of caresses from tom, that in some measure consoled it for his double desertion. chapter fifty five. only a dead-wood. despite the coarse netting of the hammocks on which they were constrained to pass the night, our adventurers slept better than was their wont, from a certain feeling of security,--a confidence that god had not forgotten them. he who could give them food in the forest could also guide them out of the labyrinth into which their own negligence had led them. a prayer to him preceded their breakfast on the cream of the cow-tree, and with another they launched themselves upon their strings of shells, with renewed confidence, and proceeded along the curving selvage of the trees. as before, they found their progress impeded by the "ovens" of the piosoca; and despite their utmost exertions, at noon they had made scarce three miles from their starting-point, for the gigantic tree that had sheltered them was full in sight, and even at sunset they could not have been more than six miles from it. in the forest about them there appeared no resting-place for the night. the trees stood closely together, but without any interlacing of branches, or large horizontal limbs upon which they might seek repose. for a time it appeared as if they would have to spend the night upon the water. this was a grave consideration, and the guide knew it. with their bodies immersed during the midnight hours,--chill even within the tropics,--the consequences might be serious, perhaps fatal. one way or another a lodgement must be obtained among the tree-tops. it was obtained, but after much difficulty. the climbing to it was a severe struggle, and the seat was of the most uncomfortable kind. there was no supper, or comfort of any kind. with the earliest appearance of day they were all once more in the water, and slowly pursuing their weary way. now slower than ever, for in proportion to their constantly decreasing strength the obstruction from the piosocas appeared to increase. the lagoon, or at least its border, had become a labyrinth of lilies. while thus contending against adverse circumstances, an object came under their eyes that caused a temporary abstraction from their misery. something strange was lying along the water at the distance of about a quarter of a mile from them. it appeared to be some ten or twelve yards in length, and stood quite high above the surface. it was of a dark brown colour, and presented something the appearance of a bank of dried mud, with some pieces of stout stakes projecting upward. could it be this? was it a bank or spit of land? the hearts of the swimmers leaped as this thought, inspired by their wishes, came into every mind. if land, it could be only an islet, for there was water all around it,--that they could perceive. but if so, an islet, if no bigger than a barn-door, would still be land, and therefore welcome. they might stretch their limbs upon it, and obtain a good night's rest, which they had not done since the wreck of the galatea. besides an islet ever so small--if only a sand-bar or bank of mud--would be a sort of evidence that the real dry land was not far off. the dark form at first sight appeared to be close in to the trees, but munday, standing up in the water, pronounced it to be at some distance from them,--between fifty and a hundred yards. as it was evident that the trees themselves were up to their necks in water, it could hardly be an island. still there might be some elevated spot, a ridge or mound, that overtopped the inundation. buoyed up by this hope, the swimmers kept on towards it, every eye scanning intently its outlines in order to make out its real character. all at once the projections which they had taken for stakes disappeared from the supposed spot of mud. they had assumed the shape of large wading birds of dark plumage, which, having spread their long, triangular wings, were now hovering above the heads of the swimmers, by their cries proclaiming that they were more astonished at the latter than they could possibly be at them. it was not until they had arrived within a hundred yards of the object that its true character was declared. "_pa terra_!" munday cried, in a sonorous and somewhat sorrowful voice, as he sank despairingly upon his breast;--"no island,--no bank,--no land of any kind. _only a dead-wood_!" "a dead-wood!" repeated the patron, not comprehending what he meant, and fancying from the chagrined air of the indian that there might be mischief in the thing. "that's all, master. the carcass of an old _manguba_, that's been long since stripped of his limbs, and has been carried here upon the current of the gapo; don't you see his huge shoulders rising above the water?" richard proceeded to explain the indian's meaning. "the trunk of a dead tree, uncle. it's the silk-cotton-tree, or manguba, as munday calls it. i can tell that by its floating so lightly on the water. it appears to be anchored, though; or perhaps it is moored among the stalks of the piosocas." the explanation was interrupted by a shout from the indian, whose countenance had all at once assumed an expression of cheerfulness,-- almost joy. the others, as they turned their eyes upon him, were surprised at the sudden change, for but a moment before they had noticed his despairing look. "the mundurucu must be mad, patron," he shouted. "where is his head? gone down to the bottom of the gapo along with the galatea!" "what's the matter?" inquired tom, brightening up as he beheld the joyful aspect of the indian. "is it dhroy land that he sees? i hope it's that same." "what is it, munday?" asked trevannion. "why do you fancy yourself insane?" "only to think of it, patron, that i should have been sorry to find but the trunk of a tree. the trunk of a tree,--a grand manguba, big enough to make a _montaria_, an _igarite_,--a galatea, if you like,--a great canoe that will carry us all! cry _santos dios_! give thanks to the great spirit! we are saved!--we are saved!" the words of the tapuyo, wild as they might appear, were well understood. they were answered by a general shout of satisfaction,--for even the youngest of the party could comprehend that the great log lying near them might be made the means of carrying them clear of the dangers with which they had been so long encompassed. "true,--true," said trevannion. "it is the very thing for which we have been searching in vain,--some sort of timber that would carry its own weight in the water, and us beside. this dead manguba, as you call it, looks as if a ton would not sink it a quarter of an inch. it will certainly serve us for a raft. give thanks to god, children; his hand is in this. it fills me with hope that we are yet to survive the perils through which we are passing, and that i shall live to see old england once more." no flock of jacanas ever created such a commotion among the leaves of the victoria lily as was made at that moment. like frail leaves the thick stems were struck aside by the arms of the swimmers, strengthened by the prospect of a speedy delivery from what but the moment before seemed extremest peril; and almost in a moment they were alongside the great trunk of the manguba, in earnest endeavour to get upon it. chapter fifty six. the sterculiads. in their attempts at boarding they were as successful as they could have expected. the top of the gigantic log was full six feet above the surface of the water, and there were huge buttresses upon it--the shoulders spoken of by munday--that rose several feet higher. by dint of hard climbing, however, all were at length safely landed. after they had spent a few minutes in recovering breath, they began to look around them and examine their strange craft. it was, as the indian had alleged, the trunk of a silk-cotton-tree, the famed _bombax_ of the american tropical forests,--found, though, in many different species, from mexico to the mountains of brazil. it is known as belonging to the order of the _sterculiads_, which includes among its _genera_ a great number of vegetable giants, among others the _baobab_ of africa, with a stem ninety feet in circumference, though the trunk is out of proportion to the other parts of the tree. the singular hand-plant of mexico called _manita_ is a sterculiad, as are also the cotton-tree of india and the gum-tragacanth of sierra leone. the bombax-trees of tropical america are of several distinct species. they are usually called cotton or silk-cotton-trees, on account of the woolly or cottony stuff between the seeds and the outer capsules, which resemble those of the true cotton plant (_gossypium_). they are noted for their great size and imposing appearance, more than for any useful properties. several species of them, however, are not without a certain value. _bombax ceiba_, and _bombax monguba_, the monguba of the amazon, are used for canoes, a single trunk sufficing to make a craft that will carry twenty hogsheads of sugar along with its crew of tapuyos. the peculiar lightness of the wood renders it serviceable for this purpose; and there is one species, the _ochroma_ of the west indies, so light as to have been substituted for cork-wood in the bottling of wines. the silk or cotton obtained from the seed-pods, though apparently of an excellent quality, unfortunately cannot be well managed by the spinning-machine. it lacks adhesiveness, and does not form a thread that may be trusted. it is, however, extensively used for the stuffing of couches, cushions, and other articles of upholstery; and the amazonian indians employ it in feathering the arrows of their blow-guns, and for several other purposes. a peculiarity of the sterculiads is their having buttresses. some are seen with immense excrescences growing out from their trunks, in the form of thin, woody plates, covered with bark just like the trunk itself, between which are spaces that might be likened to stalls in a stable. often these partitions rise along the stem to a height of fifty feet. the cottonwood (_populus angulata_) and the deciduous cypress of the mississippi (_taxodium distichum_) partake of this singular habit; the smaller buttresses of the latter, known as "cypress knees," furnishing the "cypress hams," which, under their covering of lime-washed canvas, had been sold (so say the southerners) by the yankee speculator for the genuine haunch of the corn-fed hog! in spite of its commercial inutility, there are few trees of the south american forest more interesting than the manguba. it is a conspicuous tree, even in the midst of a forest abounding in types of the vegetable kingdom, strange and beautiful. upon the trunk of such a tree, long since divested of its leaves,--stripped even of its branches, its species distinguishable only to the eye of the aboriginal observer,--our adventurers found a lodgment. chapter fifty seven. chased by tocandeiras. their tenancy was of short continuance. never did lodger retreat from a shrewish landlady quicker than did trevannion and his party from the trunk of the silk-cotton-tree. that they so hastily forsook a secure resting-place, upon which but the moment before they had been so happy to plant their feet, will appear a mystery. strangest of all, that they were actually driven overboard by an insect not bigger than an ant! having gained a secure footing, as they supposed, upon the floating tree-trunk, our adventurers looked around them, the younger ones from curiosity, the others to get acquainted with the character of their new craft. trevannion was making calculations as to its capability; not as to whether it could carry them, for that was already decided, but whether it was possible to convert it into a manageable vessel, either with sails, if such could be extemporised, or with oars, which might be easily obtained. while thus engaged, he was suddenly startled by an exclamation of surprise and alarm from the indian. all that day he had been the victim of sudden surprises. "the _tocandeiras_!--the _tocandeiras_!" he cried, his eyes sparkling as he spoke; and, calling to the rest to follow, he retreated toward one end of the tree-trunk. with wondering eyes they looked back to discover the thing from which they were retreating. they could see nothing to cause such symptoms of terror as those exhibited by their guide and counsellor. it is true that upon the other end of the tree-trunk, in a valley-like groove between two great buttresses, the bark had suddenly assumed a singular appearance. it had turned to a fiery red hue, and had become apparently endowed with a tremulous motion. what could have occasioned this singular change in the colour of the log? "the tocandeiras!" again exclaimed munday, pointing directly to the object upon which all eyes were fixed. "tocandeiras?" asked trevannion. "do you mean those little red insects crawling along the log?" "that, and nothing else. do you know what they are, patron?" "i have not the slightest idea, only that they appear to be some species of ant." "that's just what they are,--ants and nothing else! those are the dreaded _fire-ants_. we've roused them out of their sleep. by our weight the manguba has gone down a little. the water has got into their nest. they are forced out, and are now spiteful as hungry jaguars. we must get beyond their reach, or in ten minutes' time there won't be an inch of skin on our bodies without a bite and a blister." "it is true, uncle," said richard. "munday is not exaggerating. if these ugly creatures crawl upon us, and they will if we do not get out of the way, they'll sting us pretty nigh to death. we must leave the log!" and now, on the way towards the spot occupied by the party, was a fiery stream composed of spiteful-looking creatures, whose very appearance bespoke stings and poison. there was no help for it but to abandon the log, and take to the water. fortunately each individual was still in possession of his string of sapucaya-shells; and, sliding down the side of the log, once more they found themselves among the grand gong-like leaves of the gigantic lily. chapter fifty eight. a log that wouldn't roll. it now became a question, what they were to do. abandon the log altogether, for a swarm of contemptible insects, not larger than lady-bugs, when, by the merest chance, they had found a raft, the very thing they stood in need of? such a course was not contemplated,--not for a moment. on gliding back into the gapo, they had no idea of swimming away farther than would secure their safety from the sting of the insects, as munday assured them that the fire-ants would not follow them into the water. but how regain possession of their prize? the ants were now seen swarming all over it, here and there collected in large hosts, seemingly holding council together, while broad bands appeared moving from one to the other, like columns of troops upon the march! there was scarce a spot upon the surface of the log, big enough for a man to set his foot upon, that was not reddened by the cohorts of this insect army! "how shall we dispossess them?" inquired trevannion. "shure," said tipperary tom, answering as if the appeal had been made to him, "can't we sit thim on fire, an' burn thim aft the log? cudn't we gather some dry laves out av the threes, an' make a blaze that 'ud soon consume ivery mother's son av thim?" "nonsense, tom. we should consume the log, as well as the ants, and then what would be the advantage to us?" "well, thin, iv yez think fire won't do, why can't we thry wather? lit us thry an' drownd thim off the log. munday sez they can't swim, an' iv they can't, shure they must go to the bottom." "how would you do it?" asked trevannion, catching at the idea suggested by the hibernian. "nothing asier. give the did three a rowl over on its back, an' thin the ants'll get undher the wather; an' won't they have to stay there? lit us all lay howlt on the log, an' see iv we can't give the swate craythers a duckin'." convinced that there was good sense in tom's counsel, swimming back towards the log, they stretched their arms upward, and commenced trying to turn it over. the attempt proved unsuccessful. partly from the enormous weight of the dead tree, saturated as one half of it was with water, and partly owing to the great buttresses acting as outriggers, they could only turn it about one tenth part of its circumference. it rolled back upon them, at first dipping a little deeper, but afterwards settling into its old bed. they were about to discontinue their efforts when a cry came from tom, as if some new source of terror had been discovered in the manguba. soon each and all found an explanation in their own sensations, which were as if they had been sharply stung or bitten by some venomous insect. while shouldering the log in vain endeavours to capsize it, some scores of the ants had been detached from its sides, and fallen upon the bodies of the swimmers. instead of showing gratitude for this temporary respite from drowning, the spiteful insects had at once imbedded their poisoned fangs in their preservers, as if conscious that they owed all their misfortunes to the intruders who had so rudely disturbed their rest. but when these stray ants that had been stinging them were disposed of, their attention was once more directed towards the manguba, with a still more determinate resolution to repossess what in their eyes was more valuable than a selected log of the finest honduras mahogany! chapter fifty nine. drowning the tocandeiras: five men in a fever. for a time the brains of our adventurers were busied in devising some plan for routing the tocandeiras from their floating citadel, of which they now retained sole possession. at last tipperary tom again became the suggester of a scheme for dispelling the multitudinous hosts. "if we can't spill thim aff the log," said he, "we can wather thim aff it." "not such a bad idea," said richard. "come on, let us surround the trunk, and attack them on all sides, and let all heave together." the dark mud colour that had characterised it when first seen, and during the time while they were approaching it, was now changed to a hue of fiery red, here in spots of patches, there in broad lists or streaks, running irregularly between the extremities. of course the red bands and blotches mottling its sombre surface were the tocandeiras, whose crowded battalions were distributed all over it. on closer scrutiny, it could be seen that they were in motion, passing to and fro, or in places circling around as if in search of the intruders who had disturbed them. at a word from trevannion, all the assailants commenced heaving up water with the palms of their hands, and the log became shrouded under a shower of sparkling drops that fell fast and thickly over it, dissipating into a cloud of vapour like the spray of a waterfall. under such a drenching the tocandeiras could not possibly retain their hold, however tenacious might be their sharp curving claws, and it was but natural that thousands of them should soon be swept from the manguba. their assailants saw it, and, rejoicing at the success of their scheme, gave utterance to triumphant shouts, just like boys destroying with hot water a nest of wasps or hornets. louder than all could be heard the voice of tipperary tom. it was he who had suggested the scheme, and the thought of having his character for sagacity thus raised caused his boisterous fit of self-congratulation. but the splashing suddenly ceased, and the six pairs of palms, instead of being turned upward and forward to bale water upon the log, were now exerted in the opposite direction, backward and downward, while the owners of them commenced swimming away from the spot; as they went off, making vigorous efforts to free themselves from the spiteful creatures again clinging to them. not one of them said a word about staying longer by the dead manguba; but, picking up little rosa on the way, they continued their retreat, nor paused again until they felt sure of having distanced the tocandeiras. as a matter of course they had retreated towards the tree-tops. after so many surprises, accompanied by almost continuous exertion, they stood in need of rest. having chosen one that could be easily climbed, they ascended to its branches, and there seated themselves as comfortably as circumstances would permit. on perceiving that the sun was already over the meridian, and satisfied, moreover, that the task of getting rid of their enemies was one that it might take time to accomplish, they determined to remain all night in their new situation. but there was a more powerful reason for suspending their journey at this point. they were suffering great pain from the stings of the tocandeiras, and, until that should be to some extent allayed, they could think of nothing else, unless indeed it might be a mode of avenging themselves. it was fortunate they had found a safe place of repose, and that munday, who suffered less than the rest, preserved sufficient composure to make their beds or hammocks of sipos, for, in less than twenty minutes after ascending the tree, every one of the party, munday and rosa excepted, found himself in a raging fever from the stings inflicted by the tocandeiras, since these bloodthirsty insects not only bite as other ants, but have the power of stinging like wasps, only that the pain produced by their sting is much greater,--more like that of the black scorpion. as the sun went down, a cool breeze began to play over the waters of the lagoa; and this--the fever having burnt itself out--restored them to their ordinary health, though with a feeling of languor that disinclined them to do anything for that night. stretched upon their rude aerial couches, they looked up at the stars, and listened to munday as he made answer to the interrogatories of trevannion giving an account of one of the singular customs of his tribe,--that known as the "festival of the tocandeiras." chapter sixty. the festival of the tocandeiras. when a youth of the mundurucu nation, or its kindred tribe, the mahue, has reached the age for assuming the dignities of manhood, he is expected to submit himself to an ordeal that well deserves to be called fiery. this more especially if the youth's ambition inclines him to become a warrior or otherwise distinguished in the tribe. the ordeal is voluntary; but without undergoing it, the young mundurucu must consent to an existence, if not disgraced, at least inglorious; and if not absolutely scorned by the girls of the malocca, he will have but slight chance of winning their smiles. it must be known to my young readers that a custom prevails among many tribes of north american indians of submitting their young men who aspire to become "braves" to a test of courage and endurance so severe at times as to be a torture quite incredible to those unacquainted with the indian character. you might fancy the south american a very trifling affair, compared with the torture of the mandans and other northern tribes, when you are told that it consists simply in the wearing of a pair of gloves, or mittens, for a certain length of time,-- so long that the wearer can make the round of the malocca, and finish up by an obeisance to the _tuchao_, or chief, who awaits him at the door of his hut. but these mittens once described to you, as they were described by munday to his companions on the tree, you will perchance change your mind; and regard the mundurucu ceremony as one of the most severe that was ever contrived to test the constancy and courage of any aspirant to distinction. when the young mundurucu declares his readiness to put on the gloves, a pair of them are prepared for him. they are manufactured out of the bark of a species of palm-tree, and are in fact only long hollow cylinders, closed at one end, and large enough to admit the hand and arm up to the elbow. before being drawn on they are half filled with ants of the most spiteful and venomous kinds; but chiefly with tocandeiras, from which the ceremony derives its name. thus accoutred, and accompanied by a crowd with horns, drums, and other musical instruments in use among the indians, the candidate for manhood's rights has to make the round of the village, presenting himself before every hut, and dancing a jig at every halt that is made. throughout all the performance he must affect signs of great joy, chanting a cheerful strain, loud enough to be heard above the beating of the drums, the blowing of the horns, and the fracas of his noisy followers. should he refuse to submit to this terrible ordeal, or during its continuance show signs of weakness or hesitation, he is a lost man. he will be forever after the butt and scorn of his tribe; and there is not a mundurucu girl who will consent to have him for a sweetheart. his parents and relatives will also be affected in the event of his proving a coward, and he will be regarded as a disgrace to the family. stimulated by these thoughts, he enters upon the trial, his friends urging him forward with cries of encouragement, his parents keeping by his side, and with anxious entreaties fortifying him against a failure. he has courageously thrust his hands into the fiery gauntlets, and with like courage he must keep them there, until the ceremony is completed. he suffers cruel torture. every moment increases his agony. his hands, wrists, and arms feel as if surrounded by fire. the insect poison enters his veins. his eyes are inflamed. the sweat pours from his skin,--his bosom palpitates,--his lips and cheeks grow pale; and yet he must not show the slightest acknowledgment of suffering. if he does, it will cover him with shame; and he will never be permitted to carry the mundurucu war-spear, nor impale upon its point the head of his slain enemy. he knows the awful fate that must result from failure; and, though staggering in his steps, he keeps courageously on. at length he stands in the presence of the tuchao, seated to receive him. before the chief the ceremony is repeated with increased excitement; the dance is redoubled in vigour,--the chant is louder than ever,--both continuing until his strength fails him through sheer exhaustion. his gloves are then removed, and he falls into the arms of his friends. he is now surrounded by the young girls of the tribe, who fling their arms around him, covering him with kisses and congratulations. his sufferings prevent him from appreciating their soft caresses, and breaking away from their embrace, he rushes down to the river, and flings his fevered body into the grateful current. there remaining until the cool water has to some extent alleviated his pain, he comes forth and retires to the malocca, to receive fresh congratulations from his fellow-savages. he has proved himself of the stuff of which warriors are made, and may now aspire to the hand of any mundurucu maiden, and to the glory of increasing the number of those hideous trophies that adorn the council-room of the tribe, and which have earned for these indians the distinctive surname of _decapitadores_ (beheaders). chapter sixty one. amazonian ants. succeeding this thrilling account of the tocandeira festival, ants continued for a time to form the staple subject of conversation, which was not confined to the particular species they had encountered upon the log, but related to many others that inhabit the forests and _compos_ of the amazon valley. scores of sorts were known to the mundurucu,--all differing from each other, not only in size, shape, colour, and what may be termed _personal_ characteristics, but also in their modes of life, habits, and dwelling-place; in short, in every particular except those essential traits which make them all members of the same family. the entomologist who would make a study of ant-life could find no better school to pursue it in than the grand valley of the amazon. in all parts of it he will find these insects in countless numbers, and in a vast variety of species,--separated from each other by all distinctions of classes founded on habits of life quite opposed to each other. some species inhabit the earth, never descending below its surface. others live _under_ it, in subterranean dwellings, scarce ever coming out into the light of day. others again live above the earth, making their home in the hollow trunks of trees; while still others lead a more aerial life, building their nests among the twigs and topmost branches. in their diet there is a still greater range. there are _carnivora_ and _herbivora_,--some that feed only on flesh, others that confine themselves to vegetable substances. there are, moreover, kinds that devour their meat before the life is out of it; while other carnivorous species, like the vulture among birds, prey only on such carrion as may chance to fall in their way, and in search of which their lives seem principally to be spent. then there are the vegetable feeders, which not only strip the leaves from plants and trees, but destroy every other sort of vegetable substance that they may fancy to seize upon. the clothes in a chest or wardrobe, the papers in a desk, and the books in a library, have all at times been consumed by their devastating hosts, when foraging for food, or for materials out of which to construct their singular dwellings. these dwellings are of as many different kinds as there are species of ants. some are of conical shape, as large as a soldier's tent. some resemble hillocks or great mounds, extending over the ground to a circumference of many yards. others represent oblong ridges, traversed by numerous underground galleries, while some species make their dwellings in deep horizontal tunnels, or excavations, often extending under the bed of broad rivers. many kinds lead an arboreal life, and their nests may be seen sticking like huge excrescences to the trunks of the forest-trees, and as often suspended from the branches. to give a detailed account of the different kinds of amazonian ants,--to describe only their appearance and ordinary habits,--would require, not a chapter, but a large volume. their domestic economy, the modes of constructing their domiciles, the manner of propagating their species, their social distinction into classes or castes, the odd relations that exists between the separate castes of a community, the division of labour, their devotion to what some writers, imbued with monarchical ideas, have been pleased to term their _queen_,--who in reality is an individual _elected_ for a special purpose, render these insects almost an anomaly in nature. it is not to be expected that the uneducated indian could give any scientific explanation of such matters. he only knew that there were many curious things in connection with the ants, and their indoor as well as out-door life, which he had himself observed,--and these particulars he communicated. he could tell strange tales of the _termites_, or white ants, which are not ants at all,--only so called from a general resemblance to the latter in many of their habits. he dwelt longest on the sort called _saubas_, or leaf-carrying ants, of which he knew a great number of species, each building its hill in a different manner from the others. of all the species of south american ants, perhaps none surprises the stranger so much as the sauba. on entering a tract of forest, or passing a patch of cultivated ground, the traveller will come to a place where the whole surface is strewn with pieces of green leaves, each about the size of a dime, and all in motion. on examining these leafy fragments more closely, he will discover that each is borne upon the shoulders of a little insect not nearly so big as its burden. proceeding onward he will come to a tree, where thousands of these insects are at work cutting the leaves into pieces of the proper size, and flinging them down to thousands of others, who seize upon and carry them off. on still closer scrutiny, he will observe that all this work is being carried on in systematic order,--that there are some of the insects differently shaped from the rest,--some performing the actual labour, while the others are acting as guards and overseers. were he to continue his observation, he would find that the leaves thus transported were not used as food, but only as thatch for covering the galleries and passages through which these countless multitudes make their way from one place to another. he would observe, moreover, so many singular habits and manoeuvres of the little crawling creatures, that he would depart from the spot filled with surprise, and unable to explain more than a tenth part of what he had seen. continuing his excursion, he would come upon ants differing from the saubas not only in species, but in the most essential characteristics of life. there would be the _ecitons_, or foraging ants, which instead of contenting themselves by feeding upon the luxurious vegetation of the tropics, would be met upon one of their predatory forays,--the object of their expedition being to destroy some colony of their own kind, if not of their own species. it may be that the foraging party belong to the species known as _eciton-rapax_,--the giant of its genus, in which many individuals measure a full half-inch in length. if so, they will be proceeding in single file through the forest, in search of the nests of a defenceless vegetable-feeding ant of the genus _formica_. if they have already found it, and are met on their homeward march towards their own encampment, each will be seen holding in its mouth a portion of the mangled remains of some victim of their rapacity. again, another species may be met travelling in broad columns, containing millions of individuals, either on the way to kill and plunder, or returning laden with the spoil. in either case they will attack any creature that chances in their way,--man himself as readily as the most defenceless animal. the indian who encounters them retreats upon his tracks, crying out, "_tauoca_!" to warn his companions behind, himself warned by the ant-thrushes whom he has espied hovering above the creeping columns, and twittering their exulting notes, as at intervals they swoop down to thin the moving legion. of all the kinds of ants known to the mundurucu, there was none that seemed to interest him more than that which had led to the conversation,--the tocandeira, or, as the brazilians term it, _formigade fogo_ (fire-ant). munday had worn the formidable mittens; and this circumstance had no doubt left an impression upon his mind that the tocandeira was the truest representative of spitefulness to be found in the insect world. perhaps he was not far astray. although an ant of ordinary size,--both in this and general appearance not differing greatly from the common red ant of england,--its bite and sting together are more dreaded than those of any other species. it crawls upon the limbs of the pedestrian who passes near its haunt, and, clutching his skin in its sharp pincer-like jaws, with a sudden twitch of the tail it inserts its venomous sting upon the instant, holding on after it has made the wound, and so tenaciously that it is often torn to pieces while being detached. it will even go out of its way to attack any one standing near. and at certain landing-places upon some of the amazonian rivers, the ground is so occupied with its hosts that treading there is attended with great danger. in fact, it is on record that settlements have been abandoned on account of the fire-ant suddenly making its appearance, and becoming the pest of the place. munday, in conclusion, declared that the tocandeiras were only found in the dry forests and sandy _campos_; that he had never before seen one of their swarms in the gapo, and that these in the dead-wood must have retreated thither in haste, to escape drowning when caught by the inundation, and that the log had been afterwards drifted away by the _echente_. whether this statement was true or not, the ants appeared to have made up their minds to stay there, and permit no intruders to deprive them of their new, strange domicile,--at all events until the _vasante_ might enable them once more to set foot upon dry land. chapter sixty two. the ants still excited. at break of day the party were all awake; and after refreshing themselves with a little _cheese_--which was only some coagulated milk of the massaranduba, preserved in sapucaya-shells--they once more turned their attention to the floating trunk. to their surprise, it was no longer where they had left it! there was a fog upon the water, but that was rapidly becoming dissipated; and as the sun peeped over the tree-tops, the lagoa was sufficiently free from mist for any dark object as large as a man's head, within a mile's distance, to be distinguished. the manguba had been left scarce a hundred yards from their sleeping-place. where was it now? "yonder!" said munday, "close in by the trees. by our splashing in the water, we started it from its moorings among the piosocas. there has been a little breeze through the night, that has brought it this way. it is now at anchor against yonder tree. i shouldn't wonder if the ants would try to escape from it, and take to the branches above them. the dead manguba is not their natural home; nor is the gapo their dwelling-place. the tocandeiras belong on land; and no one would expect to find them here. they must have had their home in the hollow of the log while it was lying on dry land. the _echente_ set it afloat while they were inside, and the current has carried them far away from their own country." so they now turned to ascertain whether munday's conjectures were true, that the ants had taken to the tree that stood over the dead-wood, which was at no great distance; and as the sun had now completely dispelled the fog, they could see it very distinctly. the tocandeiras were still upon it. their countless hosts were seen moving over its surface in all their red array, apparently as much excited as when putting to flight the swimmers who had intruded upon them. the log, although close to the stem of the standing tree, was not in connection with it. something held it several feet off; and as none of the drooping branches reached quite down, it was impossible for the insects to reach the tree, although they evidently desired to make this change, as if suddenly dissatisfied with their quarters on the drifting trunk, and wishing to change them for others less at the mercy of the winds and waves. as there was something curious in all this, something that could not fail to fix the attention of the observer, our adventurers remained silent, watching the movements of the insect multitude, in hopes that they might find some way of detaching themselves from the floating log, and leave in peaceable and undisputed possession the quarters they appeared so desirous of quitting to those who were equally desirous of entering upon them. chapter sixty three. the tamandua: the ant-thrush. trusting to the explanation given by the tapuyo, they did not think of inquiring further into the cause of the commotion among the ants. while scanning the tree closely, several of the party perceived a movement among its branches, and soon after the form of a singular creature that was causing it. it was a quadruped, about the size of a raccoon or cat, but of a shape peculiarly its own. its body was long and cylindrical, terminating posteriorly in a round, tapering tail, while its low, flat head, prolonged into a smooth, slender muzzle, also tapered nearly to a point. the eyes were so small as scarcely to be seen, and the mouth more resembled a round hole than the closing of a pair of jaws. it was covered with a dense silky fur, of a uniform length over the body, and slightly crisped, so as to give it a woolly aspect. this fur was straw-coloured, with a tinge of maroon and brown on the shoulders and along the back, while the tail presented a ringed appearance from an alternation of the two colours. "_tamandua_!" exclaimed munday, at sight of the strange quadruped. "the ant-eater. not the great one, which is called _tamandua assu_, and don't climb up the trees. that you see is the little one; he lives all his life among the branches,--sleeps there, either upon his breast, or suspended by his tail,--travels from one tree to another in search of honey, bees, wasps, grubs, but, above all, of such ants as make their nests either in holes, or stick to the twigs. ha!" he continued, "what could i have been thinking of? the tocandeiras wishing to climb up to the tree? not a bit of it. quite the contrary. it's the tamandua that's keeping them in motion! see the cunning beast preparing to make a descent among them!" nothing could be more certain than that this was the tamandua's intention; for almost on the instant it was seen to move among the branches, descending from one to the other, partly using its strong, hooked claws, and partly its tapering and highly prehensile tail. once upon the dead-wood, it lay flat down upon its breast and belly; and shooting out its long, thread-like tongue, coated with a sticky shining substance resembling saliva, it commenced licking up the tocandeiras that swarmed in thousands around it. it was to no purpose that the ants made an attack upon it. nature had provided it with an armour proof both against their bite and sting. rage around it as they might, the tocandeiras could do nothing to hinder it from licking them up from the log, and tucking them in hundreds into its capacious stomach. finally the tamandua had taken his fill,--breakfasted to his heart's content; then, erecting himself on his hind-legs after the manner of a squirrel or marmoset, he sprang back upon the branch from which he had descended. going a little higher up, he selected another and larger branch, placing himself so that his belly rested along its upper surface, with the legs hanging down on each side; and then, burying his proboscis in the long fur of his breast, and taking two or three turns of his tail around head, body, and legs, he fell fast asleep. the old saw, that there is "many a slip between the cup and the lip," is as true in the life of ant-eater as in that of a man; and when the tamandua awoke,--which it did some twenty minutes afterwards,--and looked down upon the dead-wood, it was astonished to discover that not a tocandeira was in sight. what had become of them? when left by the tamandua to their own devices there were myriads still surviving. the few thousands which the devourer licked up had made no perceptible diminution in their numbers; and on the retiring of their enemy, they were swarming as thickly and countlessly as ever. now not one was visible upon the log, the hue of which, from being of a flaming red, had returned to its original colour of sombre grey. a few were discovered upon the standing tree, crawling up its trunk and lower branches, with excited air and rapid movements, as if escaping from terrible disaster. these refugees did not amount to many hundreds; thinly scattered over the bark, they could have been counted. they were too few to tempt the hunger of the tamandua. it would not have been worth his while to project his slimy tongue for the sake of a single tocandeira; so he retained it--not behind his teeth, for he had none--but within the cylinder-shaped cavity of his mouth. what had become of the tocandeiras? it is possible that the tamandua mentally put this question to himself; for there is no animal, however humble its organisation, that has not been gifted by beneficent nature with a mind and powers of reasoning,--ay, with moral perceptions of at least the primary principles of right and wrong, as even the little ant-eater gives evidence. perhaps you have yourself witnessed the proof. you have seen one ant rob another of its crumb of bread, that by a laborious effort has been carried far. you have seen the companions of both gather around the spot, deprive the despoiler of its ill-gotten prize, restore the crumb to its lawful possessor, and punish the would-be pilferer. if you have not seen this, others have,--myself among the number. surely, it is reason; surely, it is moral perception. if not, what is it? the closet-naturalist calls it _instinct_,--a ready word to cloak that social cowardice which shrinks from acknowledging that besides man there are other beings upon the earth with talents worth saving. soon after the ant-eater had gone to sleep, a little bird about the size of a starling was seen flitting about. it was of the ordinary shape of the shrikes, or fly-catchers, and, like them, of sombre plumage,--a dull grey blended with bluish slate. as already said, it was flitting about among the tree-tops, now and then rising above them, and hovering for a while in the air; then lighting again upon a branch, and from this hopping to another, and another, all the time giving utterance to twittering but scarcely musical notes. "an ant-thrush," munday said. "it's hunting about for the very creatures that are swarming on that log. if it should spy them we'll have no more trouble with the tocandeiras. that friend will clear them out of our way. if it but gets its eye on that red crowd, it'll treat them very differently from what the beast has done. in twenty minutes there won't be a tocandeira to sting us. may the great spirit prove propitious, and turn its eyes upon the dead-wood!" for a time the bird kept up its flickering flight and twittering cry, while our adventurers watched it manoeuvres, keeping quiet, as a precaution against scaring it away. all at once the ant-thrush changed its tactics, and its louder note proclaimed a surprise. it had come close to the tree that contained the tamandua, and saw the quadruped taking its _siesta_ upon the branch. from the presence of the ant-eater it argued the proximity of their common prey. the swarm of fire-ants, reddening the log, formed too conspicuous an object to escape being seen. the ant-thrush soon saw them, and announced the discovery with a screech, which was a signal to scores of hungry companions. it was answered by what seemed a hundred echoes, and soon the air resounded with whistling wings, as the feathered ant-eaters came crowding to the feast. boy reader, you have bred pigeons, and fed them too. you have flung before them whole baskets of barley, and pecks of oats, until the pavement was thickly strewed. you have observed how quickly they could clear the ground of the grain. with the like rapidity was the log cleared of the tocandeiras. in ten minutes not a single insect could be seen upon it; and then the feathered ant-eaters, without giving the tamandua a hint that his premises had been despoiled, flew off into the forest in search of a fresh swarm. chapter sixty four. ant-eaters--biped and quadruped. the spectacle of the bird ant-eaters engaged in their work of destruction is one that may be seen almost every day in the amazonian region. the presence of an army of ants passing from place to place through the forest--themselves often bent upon a marauding and murderous expedition--may often be discovered long belong the insects themselves are in sight, by the twittering cries and excited actions of the ant-thrushes, that in large flocks are seen hovering above them. the traveller takes warning by the spectacle. experience has long ago taught him that to stray into the midst of a party of foraging ants is no slight matter. it would be like dancing an irish jig over a nest of hornets. he is sure of being attacked, bitten, and stung by the venomous insects; and on hearing the call of the ant-thrush, he beats an instant retreat. the quadruped licking up his insect prey is a sight of less frequent occurrence. of these four-footed ant-eaters there are many distinct kinds, differing very considerably in their habits of life. four species are known to naturalists; but it is probable that there are many more yet to be discovered and described. the indians who are best acquainted with the remote haunts of the great mountain wilderness of interior south america assert that there are others; and their testimony is generally derived from acute observation. of the four known species there is the great ant-eater (_myrmecophaga jubata_) called tamanoir, large as a mastiff dog, and a match for most dogs in strength, often even killing one by squeezing the breath out of his body between its thick, muscular fore-limbs. this is the _tamandua bandeira_, or "banner tamandua" of the natives, so called from the peculiar marking of its skin,--each side of the body being marked by a broad blackish band running obliquely from the shoulders, and suggesting the resemblance of an heraldic banner. it lives in the drier forests, making its haunt wherever the white ants (_termites_), those that construct the great hills, abound. of the habits of this species a more complete account has been given elsewhere. [see "the forest exiles," by the author of this story.] the second species of tamandua--that is, in size--is quite a different creature. it scarcely ever descends to the earth, but passes from branch to branch and tree to tree by means of its strong, curving claws, and more especially by the aid of a very long and highly prehensile tail. its food consists exclusively of ants, that construct huge earthy nests high up among the branches or against the trunks of the trees, where they present the appearance of grotesque excrescences. this tamandua often moves about during the day, in its slow progress much resembling the sloths, though its food is so very different from the animal of the cecropia-tree (_bicho de embauba_). this species dwells chiefly in the thick forests, and goes into the gapo at all seasons of the year, and it was one of this sort which the party had seen. but there are still two other kinds that make their home upon the trees,--both exceedingly curious little animals, and much more rarely seen than the large tamanduas. they are distinguished by the name of _tamandua-i_, which in the indian language means "little tamandua." one of them, the rarest of the family, is about the size of a half-grown kitten. instead of hair, it wears a fine wool of a greyish-yellow colour, soft and silky to the touch. the other is of the same size, but dingy brown in colour, and with hair of a coarser kind. these little ant-eaters both sleep through the day, curled up in the cavity of a tree, or in some fork of the branches, and only display their activity by night. thus it is that the ants have no chance of escaping from their numerous enemies. on the earth they are attacked and destroyed by the great ant-eater, in the trees by his brother with the four curving claws. by day one species preys upon them,--by night, another. go where they will, there is a foe to fall upon them. even when they seek security under the earth, there too are they pursued by enemies of their own tribe, the savage _ecitons_, which enter their subterranean dwellings, and kill them upon their own hearths, to be dragged forth piecemeal and devoured in the light of the sun! chapter sixty five. the chase of the tamandua. if the tamandua had been surprised by the disappearance of the tocandeiras, it was not less so to see approaching a creature more than ten times its own size. this creature was of a dark bronze colour, having a long, upright body, a pair of legs still longer, arms almost as long as the legs, and a roundish head with long black hair growing out of its crown, and hanging down over its shoulders. if the ant-eater had never before seen a human being,--which was probable enough,--it saw one now; for this creature was no other than old munday, who had taken a fancy to capture that tamandua. perhaps the little quadruped may have mistaken him for an ape, but it must have also thought him the grandest it had ever set eyes upon. swinging itself from branch to branch, using both claws and tail to effect its flight, it forsook the tree where it had slept, and took to another farther into the forest. but munday had anticipated this movement, and passed among the branches and over the matted llianas with the agility of an ape,--now climbing up from limb to limb, now letting himself down by some hanging sipo. he was soon joined in the pursuit by richard trevannion, who was an expert climber, and, if unable to overtake the ant-eater in a direct chase, could be of service in helping to drive it back to the tree it had just left, and which stood at the end of a projecting tongue of the forest. it is possible that munday might have been overmatched, with all his alertness; for the tamandua had reached the narrowest part of the peninsula before he could get there. once across the _isthmus_, which consisted of a single tree, it would have had the wide forest before it, and would soon have hidden itself amid the matted tangle of leaves and twigs. richard, however, was too cunning to let the ant-eater escape him. dropping into the water, he swam towards the isthmus with all his strength, and reached the tree before the tamandua. by this time munday had arrived from the opposite quarter, and was already climbing into the same tree. seeing itself intercepted on both sides, the tamandua began crawling up towards the topmost branches. but munday was too quick for it, and springing after, with the agility of a cat, he caught hold of it by one of the hind-legs. being an animal insignificant in size, and apparently in strength, the spectator supposed he would speedily have dragged it down. in this however they were mistaken, not taking account of the power in its fore-limbs and tail. notwithstanding the tapuyo exerted all his strength, he could not detach it from the tree; and even when assisted by his companion, was only able to get the fore-legs free. the tail, lapped several times around a limb, resisted all their efforts. but munday cut the clinging tail with his knife, leaving two or three of its rings around the branch. then, twisting the stump around his wrist, he swung the animal back against the trunk with a force that deprived it at once of strength and life. chapter sixty six. roast ant-eater. instead of returning to the tree, the indian and richard swam directly to the dead-wood, where they were quickly joined by the rest of the party. although the dead-wood was as hard as any other wood, and to sleep upon it would be like sleeping on a plank, still it would give them the feeling of security; so, as if by general consent, though nothing was said, they stretched themselves along the trunk, and were soon fast asleep. the old indian, tough as the sipos of his native forests, seemed as if he could live out the remainder of his life without another wink of sleep; and when the rest of his companions were buried in profound repose, he was engaged in an operation that required both energy and the most stoical patience. in a place where the bark was dry, he had picked out a small circular cavity, beside which he had placed some withered leaves and dead twigs collected from the tree that spread its branches above. kneeling over this cavity, he thrust down into it a straight stick, that had been cut from some species of hard wood, and trimmed clear of knots or other inequalities, twirling it between the palms of his hands so as to produce a rapid motion, now one way, now the other. in about ten minutes a smoke appeared, and soon after sparks were seen among the loose dust that had collected from the friction. presently the sparks, becoming thicker, united into a flame; and then, dropping the straight stick, he hastily covered the hole with the dry leaves and chips, and, blowing gently under them, was soon cheered by a blaze, over which a cook with even little skill might have prepared a tolerable dinner. this had been munday's object; and as soon as he saw his fire fairly under way, without dressing or trussing the game,--not even taking the hide off,--he laid the tamandua across the fire, and left it to cook in its skin. it was not the first time by scores that munday had make that repast, known among spanish-americans as _carne con cuero_. he now proceeded to prevent the spreading of the flames. the dead-wood around was dry as tinder. stripping off the cotton shirt that, through every vicissitude, still clung to his shoulders, he leant over the side of the floating log, and dipped it for several minutes under the water. when well soaked, he drew it up again, and taking it to the spot where the fire was crackling, he wrung the water out in a circle around the edge of his hearth. when the tamandua was done brown, he then awakened his companions, who were astonished to see the fire, with the bronzed body of the indian, nude to the waist, squatting in front of it,--to hear the crackling of sticks, the loud sputtering of the roast, and the hissing of the water circle that surrounded the hearth. but the savour that filled the air was very agreeable. they accepted his invitation to partake of the repast, which was found greatly to resemble roast goose in taste; and in an inconceivably short time only the bones of the ant-eater, and these clean picked, could be seen upon the ceiba. chapter sixty seven. the juaroua. postponing till the next day the task of making a canoe out of their log, the party soon betook themselves to rest again; but they had been slumbering only about an hour when a low whimpering noise made by the monkey awoke tipperary tom, close to whose ear the animal had squatted down. its master raised himself up, and, leaning upon his elbow, looked out over the gapo. there was nothing but open water, whose smooth surface was shining like burnished gold under the beams of the setting sun. he turned toward the trees. he saw nothing there,--not so much as a bird moving among the branches. raising his head a little higher, and peeping over the edge of the dead-wood, "it's thare is it, the somethin' that's scyarin' ye?" he said to his pet. "an' shure enough there is a somethin' yandher. there's a `purl' upon the wather, as if some crayther was below makin' a disturbance among the weeds. i wondther what it is!" at length the creature whose motion he had observed, whatever it was, came near enough for him to obtain a full view of it; and though it was neither a snake nor a crocodile, still it was of sufficiently formidable and novel appearance to cause him a feeling of fear. in shape it resembled a seal; but in dimensions it was altogether different, being much larger than seals usually are. it was full ten feet from snout to tail, and of a proportionate thickness of body. it had the head of a bull or cow, with a broad muzzle, and thick, overhanging lip, but with very small eyes; and instead of ears, there were two round cavities upon the crown of its head. it had a large, flat tail, not standing up like the tail of a fish, but spread in a horizontal direction, like that of a bird. its skin was smooth, and naked of hairs, with the exception of some straggling ones set thinly over it, and some tufts resembling bristles radiating around its mouth and nostrils. the skin itself was of a dull leaden hue, with some cream-coloured spots under the throat and along the belly. it had also a pair of flippers, more than a foot in length, standing out from the shoulders, with a teat in front of each, and looking like little paddles, with which the huge creature was propelling itself through the water, just as a fish uses its fins or a man his arms. the irishman did not stay to note half of these characteristics, but hastily woke munday, crying, "what is it? o what is it?" the indian, rousing himself, looked round for a moment dreamily, and then, as he caught sight of the strange object, replied, "good fortune! it is the _juaroua_." chapter sixty eight. a fish-cow at pasture. the irishman was no wiser for munday's answer, "the juaroua." "but what is it?" he again asked, curious to learn something of the creature. "is it a fish or a quadruped?" "a _peixe-boi_,--a _peixe-boi_!" hurriedly answered the tapuyo. "that's how the whites call it. now you know." "but i don't, though, not a bit betther than before. a pikes-boy! troth, it don't look much like a pike at all, at all. if it's a fish av any kind, i should say it was a sale. o, luk there, munday! arrah, see now! if it's the owld pike's boy, yandher's the young wan too. see, it has tuk howlt av the tit, an' 's sucking away like a calf! an' luk! the old wan has got howlt av it with her flipper, an' 's kapin' it up to the breast! save us! did hever i see such a thing!" the sight was indeed one to astonish the irishman, since it has from all time astonished the amazonian indians themselves, in spite of its frequency. they cannot understand so unusual a habit as that of a fish suckling its young; for they naturally think that the peixe-boi is a fish, instead of a cetacean, and they therefore continue to regard it with curious feelings, as a creature not to be classified in the ordinary way. "hush!" whispered the indian, with a sign to tom to keep quiet. "sit still! make no noise. there's a chance of our capturing the juaroua,--a good chance, now that i see the _juaroua-i_ [little one] along with it. don't wake the others yet. the juaroua can see like a vulture, and hear like an eagle, though it has such little eyes and ears. hush!" the peixe-boi had by this time got abreast of the dead-wood, and was swimming slowly past it. a little beyond there was a sort of bay, opening in among the trees, towards which it appeared to be directing its course, suckling the calf as it swam. "good," said munday, softly. "i guess what it's going after up there. don't you see something lying along the water?" "yes; but it's some sort av wather-grass." "that's just it." "an' what would it want wid the grass? yez don't mane to till me it ates grass?" "eats nothing else, and this is just the sort it feeds on. very like that's its pasturing place. so much the better if it is, because it will stay there till morning, and give me a chance to kill it." "but why can't yez kill it now?" said tom. "for want of a proper weapon. my knife is of no use. the juaroua is too cunning to let one come so near. if it come back in the morning, i will take care to be ready for it. from it we can get meat enough for a long voyage. see, it has begun to browse!" sure enough it had, just as the indian said, commenced pasturing upon the long blades of grass that spread horizontally over the surface; and just as a cow gathers the meadow sward into her huge mouth, at intervals protruding her tongue to secure it, so did the great water cow of the amazon spread her broad lips and extend her rough tongue to take in the floating herbage of the gapo. chapter sixty nine. the pashuba spear. munday was now prepared to set out on a little exploring excursion, as he said; so, enjoining upon tom, who was determined to awake the sleepers that they might share the sight of the feeding fish-cow, to keep them all strictly quiet until his return, he slipped softly into the water and swam noiselessly away. the enforced silence was tedious enough to the party, who were all eager to talk about the strange spectacle they saw, and it would surely have been soon broken, had not the indian returned with a new object for their curiosity. he had stolen off, taking with him only his knife. at his reappearance he had the knife still with him, and another weapon as well, which the knife had enabled him to procure. it was a staff of about twelve feet in length, straight as a rush, slightly tapering, and pointed at the end like a spear. in fact, it _was_ a spear, which he had been manufacturing during his hour of absence out of a split stem of the _pashuba_ palm. not far off he had found one of these trees, a water-loving species,--the _martea exorhuza_,--whose stems are supported upon slanting roots, that stand many feet above the surface of the soil. with the skill known only to an amazonian indian in the use of a knife-blade, he had split the pashuba, (hard as iron on the outside, but soft at the heart,) and out of one of the split pieces had he hastily fashioned his spear. its point only needed to be submitted to fire, and then steel itself would not serve better for a spear-head. fortunately the hearth was not yet cold. a few red cinders smouldered by the wet circle, and, thrusting his spear point among them, the indian waited for it to become hardened. when done to his satisfaction, he drew it out of the ashes, scraped it to a keen point with the blade of his knife, and then announced himself ready to attack the juaroua. the amphibious animal was yet there, its head visible above the bed of grass upon which it was still grazing. munday, while rejoiced at the circumstance, expressed himself also surprised at it. he had not been sanguine of finding it on his return with the spear, and, while fabricating the weapon, he had only been encouraged by the expectation that the peixe-boi, if gone away for the night, would return to its grazing ground in the morning. as it was now, it could not have afforded him a better opportunity for _striking_ it. it was reclining near the surface, its head several inches above it, and directly under a large tree, whose lower limbs, extending horizontally, almost dropped into the water. if he could but get unperceived upon one of those limbs, it would be an easy matter to drive the spear into its body as far as his strength would enable him. if any man could swim noiselessly through the water, climb silently into the tree, and steal without making sound along its limbs, that man was the mundurucu. in less time than you could count a thousand, he had successfully accomplished this, and was crouching upon a limb right over the cow. in an instant his spear was seen to descend as the spectators were expecting it to do; but to their astonishment, instead of striking the body of the peixe-boi, it pierced into the water several feet from the snout of the animal! what could it mean? surely the skilled harpooner of fish-cattle could not have made such a stray stroke. certainly he had not touched the cow! had he speared anything? "he's killed the calf!" cried tipperary tom. "luk yandher! don't yez see its carcass floatin' in the wather?" still the spectators could not understand it. why should the calf have been killed, which would scarce give them a supper, and the cow spared, that would have provisioned the whole crew for a month? why had the chance been thrown away? was it thrown away? they only thought so, while expecting the peixe-boi to escape. but they were quickly undeceived. they had not reckoned upon the strong maternal instincts of that amphibious mother,--instincts that annihilate all sense of danger, and prompt a reckless rushing upon death in the companionship or for the protection of the beloved offspring. it was too late to protect the tiny creature, but the mother recked not of this. danger deterred her not from approaching it again and again, each time receiving a fresh stab from that terrible stick, until, with a long-drawn sigh, she expired among the sedge. these animals are extremely tenacious of life, and a single, thrust from such a weapon as he wielded would only have put the peixe-boi to flight, never to be encountered again. the harpoon alone, with its barbed head and floats, can secure them for a second strike; and not being provided with this weapon, nor the means of making it, the old tapuyo knew that his only chance was to act as he had done. experience had made him a believer in the affection of the animal, and the result proved that he had not mistaken its strength. chapter seventy. curing the fish-cow. nothing was done for that night. all slept contentedly on the dead-wood, which next day became the scene of a series of curious operations. this did not differ very much from the spectacle that might be witnessed in the midst of the wide ocean, when whalemen have struck one of the great leviathans of the deep, and brought their ship alongside for the purpose of cutting it up. in like manner as the whale is "flensed," so was the fish-cow, munday performing the operation with his knife, by first skinning the creature, and then separating the flesh into broad strips or steaks, which were afterwards make into _charqui_, by being hung up in the sun. previous to this, however, many "griskins"--as tom called them--had been cut from the carcass, and, broiled over the fire kindled upon the log, had furnished both supper and breakfast to the party. no squeamishness was shown by any one. hunger forbade it; and, indeed, whether with sharp appetites or not, there was no reason why they should not relish one of the most coveted articles of animal food to be obtained in amazonia. the taste was that of pork; though there were parts of the flesh of a somewhat coarser grain, and inferior in flavour to the real dairy-fed pig. the day was occupied in making it ready for curing, which would take several days' exposure under the hot sun. before night, however, they had it separated into thin slices, and suspended upon a sort of clothes-line, which, by means of poles and sipos, munday had rigged upon the log. the lean parts alone were to be preserved, for the fat which lies between these, in thick layers of a greenish colour and fishy flavour, is considered rather strong for the stomach,--even of an indian not over nice about such matters. when a peixe-boi has been harpooned in the usual manner, this is not thrown away, or wasted. put into a proper boiling-pot, it yields a very good kind of oil,--ten or twelve gallons being obtained from an individual of the largest and fattest kind. in the present instance, the fat was disregarded and flung back into the flood, while the bones, as they were laid bare, were served in a similar fashion. the skin, however, varying from an inch in thickness over the back, to half an inch under the abdomen, and which munday had removed with considerable care, was stowed away in a hollow place upon the log. why it was kept, none of the others could guess. perhaps the indian meant it as something to fall back upon in the event of the charqui giving out. it was again night by the time the cow-skin was deposited in its place, and of course no journey could be attempted for that day. on the morrow they intended to commence the voyage which it was hoped would bring them to the other side of the lagoa, if not within sight of land. as they ate their second supper of _amphibious steaks_, they felt in better spirits than for many days. they were not troubled with hunger or thirst; they were not tortured by sitting astride the branches of a tree; and the knowledge that they had now a craft capable of carrying them--however slow might be the rate--inspired them with pleasant expectations. their conversation was more cheerful than usual, and during the after-supper hour it turned chiefly on the attributes and habits of the strange animal which munday had so cleverly dissected. most of the information about its habits was supplied by the indian himself, who had learned them by personal experience; though many points in its natural history were given by the patron, who drew his knowledge of it from books. trevannion told them that a similar creature--though believed to be of a different species--was found in the sea; but generally near to some coast where there was fresh water flowing in by the estuary of a river. one kind in the indian seas was known by the name of _dugong_, and another in the west indies as the _manati_ or _manatee_,--called by the french _lamantin_. the spaniards also know it by the name of _vaca marina_ (sea-cow), the identical name given by the dutch of the cape colony to the hippopotamus,--of course a very different animal. the manati is supposed to have been so named from its fins, or flippers, bearing some resemblance to the hands of a human being,--in spanish, _manos_,--entitling it to the appellation of the "handed" animal. but the learned humboldt has shown that this derivation would be contrary to the idiom of the spanish language, which would have made the word _manudo_ or _manon_, and not _manati_. it is therefore more likely that this name is the one by which it was known to the aborigines of the southern coast of cuba, where the creature was first seen by the discoverers of america. certain it is that the sea species of the west indies and the guianian coast is much larger than that found in the amazon and other south american rivers; the former being sometimes found full twenty feet in length, while the length of the fish-cow of south america rarely reaches ten. here munday took up the thread of the discourse, and informed the circle of listeners that there were several species of juaroua--this was the name he gave it--in the waters of the amazon. he knew of three kinds, that were distinct, not only in size, but in shape,--the difference being chiefly observable in the fashion of the fins and tail. there was also some difference in their colour,--one species being much lighter in hue than the others, with a pale cream-coloured belly; while the abdomen of the common kind is of a slaty lead, with some pinkish white spots scattered thinly over it. a peculiar characteristic of the peixe-boi is discovered in if lungs,-- no doubt having something to do with its amphibious existence. these, when taken out of the animal and inflated by blowing into them, swell up to the lightness and dimensions of an india-rubber swimming-belt; so that, as young richard observed while so inflating them, they could spare at least one set of the sapucaya-shells, if once more compelled to take to the water. munday gave a very good account of the mode practised in capturing the juaroua, not only by the indians of his own tribe, but by all others in the amazon valley. the hunter of the peixe-boi--or fisher, as we should rather call him--provides himself with a _montaria_ (a light canoe) and a harpoon. he rows to the spot where the creature may be expected to appear,--usually some solitary lagoon or quiet spot out of the current, where there is a species of grass forming its favourite food. at certain hours the animal comes thither to pasture. sometimes only a single individual frequents the place, but oftener a pair, with their calves,--never more than two of the latter. at times there may be seen a small herd of old ones. their enemy, seated in his canoe, awaits their approach in silence; and then, after they have become forgetful of all save their enjoyment of the succulent grass, he paddles up to them. he makes his advances with the greatest caution; for the fish-cow, unlike its namesake of the farm-yard, is a shy and suspicious animal. the plunge of the paddle, or a rude ripple of the water against the sides of the montaria, would frighten it from its food, and send it off into the open water, where it could not be approached. the occupant of the canoe is aware of this, and takes care not to make the slightest disturbance, till he has got within striking distance. he then rises gently into a half-crouching attitude, takes the measure of the distance between him and his victim, and throws his harpoon with unerring aim. a line attached to the shaft of the weapon secures the wounded animal from getting clear away. it may dive to the bottom, or rush madly along the surface, but can only go so far as that terrible tether will allow it, to be dragged back towards the montaria, where its struggles are usually terminated by two or three thrusts of a spear. the sport, or, more properly speaking, the trade, of harpooning this river cetacean, is followed by most of the amazonian indians. there is not much of it done during the season of the floods. then the animals, becoming dispersed over a large surface of inundated forest, are seen only on rare occasions; and a chase specially directed to discover them would not repay the trouble and loss of time. it is when the floods have fallen to their lowest, and the lagoas or permanent ponds of water have contracted to their ordinary limits, that the harpooning of the fish-cow becomes profitable. then it is followed as a regular pursuit, and occupies the indian for several weeks in the year. sometimes a lagoon is discovered in which many of these creatures have congregated,--their retreat to the main river having been cut off by the falling of the floods. on such occasions the tribe making the discovery reaps a plentiful harvest, and butchering becomes the order of the day. the malocca, or village, is for the time deserted; all hands--men, women, children, and curs--moving off to the lagoa, and making their encampment upon its edge. they bring with them boiling-pots, for trying out the oil, and jars to contain it, and carry it to the port of commerce; for, being of a superior quality, it tempts the portuguese trader to make long voyages up many remote tributaries where it is obtained. during these grand fisheries there is much feasting and rejoicing. the "jerked" flesh of the animal, its skin, and, above all, its valuable oil, are exchanged for knives, pigments, trinkets, and, worse still, for _cashaca_ (rum). the last is too freely indulged in; and the fishing rarely comes to a close without weapons being used in a manner to bring wounds, and often death. as the old mundurucu had been present at many a hunt of the fish-cow, he was able to give a graphic account of the scenes he had witnessed, to which his companions on the log listened with the greatest attention. so interested were they, that it was not till near midnight that they thought of retiring to rest. chapter seventy one. a sail of skin. by daybreak they were astir upon their new craft; and after breakfast they set about moving it away from its moorings. this was not so easily accomplished. the log was a log in every respect; and though once a splendid silk-cotton-tree, covered with gossamer pods, and standing in airy majesty over the surrounding forest, it now lay as heavy as lead among the weeds and water-lilies, as if unwilling to be stirred from the spot into which it had drifted. you may wonder how they were able to move it at all; supposing, as you must, that they were unprovided with either oars or sails. but they were not so badly off as that. the whole of the preceding day had not been spent in curing the fish-cow. munday's knife had done other service during the afternoon hours, and a pair of paddles had been the result. though of a rude kind, they were perfect enough for the purpose required of them; while at the same time they gave evidence of great ingenuity on the part of the contriver. they had handles of wood, with blades of _bone_, made from the fish-cow's shoulder-blades, which munday had carefully retained with the skin, while allowing the offal to sink. in his own tribe, and elsewhere on the amazon, he had seen these bones employed--and had himself employed them--as a substitute for the spade. many a cacao patch and field of mandioca had munday cleared with the shoulder-blade of a fish-cow; and upon odd occasions he had used one for a paddle. it needed only to shaft them; and this had been done by splicing a pole to each with the tough sipos. provided with these paddles, then,--one of them wielded by himself, the other by the sturdy mozambique,--the log was compelled to make way through the water. the progress was necessarily slow, on account of the tangle of long stalks and broad leaves of the lilies. but it promised to improve, when they should get beyond these into the open part of the lagoon. out there, moreover, they could see that there was a ripple upon the water; which proved that a breeze had sprung up, not perceptible inside the sheltering selvage of the trees, blowing in the right direction,--that is, from the trees, and towards the lagoa. you may suppose that the wind could not be of much use to them with such a craft,--not only without a rudder, but unprovided with sails. so thought they all except the old tapuyo. but the indian had not been navigating the gapo for more than forty years of his life, without learning how to construct a sail; and, if nothing else had turned up, he could have made a tolerable substitute for one out of many kinds of broad, tough leaves,--especially those of the _miriti_ palm. he had not revealed his plans to any one of the party. men of his race rarely declare their intentions until the moment of carrying them into execution. there is a feeling of proud superiority that hinders such condescension. besides, he had not yet recovered from the sting of humiliation that succeeded the failure of his swimming enterprise; and he was determined not to commit himself again, either by too soon declaring his designs, or too confidently predicting their successful execution. it was not, therefore, till a stout pole had been set up in a hollow dug out by his knife in the larger end of the log, two cross pieces firmly lashed to it by sipos, and the skin of the fish-cow spread out against these like a huge thick blanket of caoutchouc, and attached to them by the same cordage of creepers,--it was not till then that his companions became fully acquainted with his object in having cut poles, scooped the hollow, and retained the skin of the cow, as he had done to their previous bewilderment. it was all clear now; and they could not restrain themselves from giving a simultaneous cheer, as they saw the dull dead-wood, under the impulsion of the skin sail, commence a more rapid movement, until it seemed to "walk the water like a thing of life." chapter seventy two. becalmed. once out on the open lagoa, and fairly under sail, in what direction should they steer their new craft? they wanted to reach the other side of the lagoa, which the indian believed to extend in the right direction for finding _terra firma_. they had skirted the edge upon which they were for several miles, without finding either the sign of land or an opening by which they might penetrate through the forest, and it was but natural that they should wish to make trial the other side, in the hope of meeting with better fortune. mozey, who prided himself on being the best sailor aboard, was intrusted with the management of the sail, while trevannion himself acted as pilot. the indian busied himself in looking after the curing of the charqui, which, by the help of such a hot sun as was shining down upon them, would soon be safely beyond the chance of decay. the young people, seated together near the thick end of the log--which mozey had facetiously christened the quarter-deck of the craft--occupied themselves as they best might. the cloud that had shadowed them for days was quite dispelled. with such a raft, there was every expectation of getting out of the gapo. it might not be in a day, or even in a week. but time was of little consequence, so long as there was a prospect of ultimate release from the labyrinth of flooded forests. the charqui, if economised, would feed all hands for a fortnight, at least; and unless they should again get stranded among the tree-tops they could scarcely be all that time before reaching dry land. their progress was sadly slow. their craft has been described as "walking the water like a thing of life." but this is rather a poetical exaggeration. its motion was that of a true dead-wood, heavily weighted with the water that for weeks had been saturating its sides. it barely yielded to the sail; and had they been forced to depend upon the paddles, it would have been a hopeless affair. a mile an hour was the most they were able to make; and this only when the breeze was at its freshest. at other times, when it unfortunately lulled, the log lay upon the water with no more motion than they caused as they stepped over it. towards noon their progress became slower; and when at length the meridian hour arrived the ceiba stood still. the sail had lost the power of propelling it on. the breeze had died away, and there was now a dead calm. the shoulder-blades of the peixe-boi were now resorted to, but neither these, nor the best pair of oars that ever pulled a man-o'-war's boat, could have propelled that tree-trunk through the water faster than half a knot to the hour, and the improvised paddles were soon laid aside. there was one comfort in the delay. the hour of dinner had now arrived, and the crew were not unprepared for the midday meal; for in their hurry at setting out, and the solicitude arising from their uncertainty about their craft, they had breakfasted scantily. their dinner was to consist of but one dish, a cross between fish and flesh,--a cross between fresh and dried,--for the peixe-boi was still but half converted into charqui. the indian had carefully guarded the fire, the kindling of which had cost him so much trouble and ingenuity. a few sparks still smouldered where they had been nursed; and, with some decayed pieces of the ceiba itself, a big blaze was once more established. over this the choicest tit-bits were suspended until their browned surface proclaimed them "done to a turn." their keen appetites furnished both sauce and seasoning; and when the meal was over, all were ready to declare that they had never dined more sumptuously in their lives. hunger is the best appetiser; scarcity comes next. they sat after dinner conversing upon different themes, and doing the best they could to while away the time,--the only thing that at all discommoded them being the beams of the sun, which fell upon their crowns like sparks of fire showered from a burning sky. tom's idea was that the heat of the sun could be endured with greater ease in the water than upon the log; and, to satisfy himself, he once more girdled on the cincture of shells, and slipped over the side. his example was followed by the patron himself, his son and nephew. little rosa did not need to retreat overboard in this ignominious manner. she was in the shade, under a tiny _toldo_ of broad leaves of a _pothos_ plant, which, growing parasitically upon one of the trees, had been plucked the day before, and spread between two buttresses of the dead-wood. her cousin had constructed this miniature arbour, and proud did he appear to see his little sylph reclining under its shade. the tapuyo, accustomed to an amazonian sun, did not require to keep cool by submerging himself; and as for the negro, he would scarce have been discommoded by an atmosphere indicated by the highest figure on the thermometer. these two men, though born on opposite sides of the atlantic ocean, were alike types of a tropical existence, and equally disregarded the fervour of a tropic sun. suddenly the four, who had fallen a little astern, were seen making towards the log; and by the terror depicted on their countenances, as well as their quick, irregular strokes, it was evident something in the water had caused them serious alarm. what could it all mean? it was of no use to ask the swimmers themselves. they were as ignorant of what was alarming them as their companions upon the log; they only knew that something was biting them about the legs and feet; but what it was they had not the slightest idea. it might be an insect,--it might be a water-snake, or other amphibious reptile; but whatever it was, they could tell that its teeth were sharp as needles, and scored their flesh like fish-hooks. it was not till they had gained footing upon the log, and their legs were seen covered with lacerations, and streaming with fresh blood, that they ascertained the sort of enemy that had been attacking them. had the water been clear, they might have discovered it long before; but discoloured as it was, they could not see beneath the surface far enough to make out the character of their secret assailants. but the tapuyo well understood the signs, and, as soon as his eye rested upon them, his perplexity disappeared; and, with an exclamation that rather betokened relief, he pronounced the simple phrase, "only _piranhas_!" chapter seventy three. the piranhas. the companions of the tapuyo were no wiser for his words, until piranhas was explained to them to mean "biting fish," for such were the unseen enemies that assailed them. they belong to the great tribe of the _salmonidae_, of which there are many varieties in the different amazonian rivers, all very voracious, and ready to bite at anything that may be thrown into the water. they often attack bathers, putting them to flight; and a swimmer who should unfortunately be surrounded by them, when far from the shore or a boat, would have the greatest difficulty to escape the fearful late of being eaten up alive. most of the species are fish of small size, and it is their numbers that the swimmer has chiefly to dread. as it was, our adventurers were more scared than hurt. the commotion which they had made in the water, by their plunging and kicking, had kept the piranhas at a distance, and it was only an odd one that had been able to get a tooth into them. for any injury they had sustained, the mundurucu promised them not only a speedy revenge, but indemnification of a more consolatory kind. he knew that the piranhas, having tasted blood, would not willingly wander away, at least for a length of time. although he could not see the little fish through the turbid water, he was sure they were still in the neighbourhood of the log, no doubt in search of the prey that had so mysteriously escaped them. as the dead-wood scarcely stirred, or drifted only slightly, the piranhas could keep alongside, and see everything that occurred without being seen themselves. this the tapuyo concluded they were doing. he knew their reckless voracity,--how they will suddenly spring at anything thrown into the water, and swallow without staying to examine it. aware of this habit, he had no difficulty in determining what to do. there was plenty of bait in the shape of half-dried charqui, but not a fish-hook to be found. a pair of pins, however, supplied the deficiency, and a piece of string was just right for a line. this was fastened at one end to the pashuba spear, to the pin-hook at the other; and then, the latter being baited with a piece of peixe-boi, the fishing commenced. perhaps never with such rude tackle was there more successful angling. almost as soon as the bait sank under the water, it was seized by a piranha, which was instantly jerked out of its native element, and landed on the log. another and another and another, till a score of the creatures lay upon the top of the dead-wood, and tipperary tom gave them the finishing touch, as they were caught, with a cruel eagerness that might to some extent have been due to the smarting of his shins. how long the "catch" might have continued it is difficult to say. the little fish were hooked as fast as fresh bait could be adjusted, and it seemed as if the line of succession was never to end. it did end, however, in an altogether unexpected way, by one of the piranhas dropping back again into the water, and taking, not only the bait, but the hook and a portion of the line along with it, the string having given away at a weak part near the end of the rod. munday, who knew that the little fish were excellent to eat, would have continued to take them so long as they were willing to be taken, and for this purpose the dress of rosita was despoiled of two more pins, and a fresh piece of string made out of the skin of the cow-fish. when the new tackle was tried, however, he discovered to his disappointment that the piranhas would no longer bite; not so much as a nibble could be felt at the end of the string. they had had time for reflection, perhaps had held counsel among themselves, and come to the conclusion that the game they had been hitherto playing was "snapdragon" of a dangerous kind, and that it was high time to desist from it. the little incident, at first producing chagrin, was soon viewed rather with satisfaction. the wounds received were so slight as scarce to be regarded, and the terror of the thing was over as soon as it became known what tiny creatures had inflicted them. had it been snakes, alligators, or any animals of the reptile order, it might have been otherwise. but a school of handsome little fishes,--who could suppose that there had been any danger in their attack? there had been, nevertheless, as the tapuyo assured them,--backing up his assurance by the narrative of several narrow escapes he had himself had from being torn to pieces by their sharp triangular teeth, further confirming his statements by the account of an indian, one of his own tribe, who had been eaten piecemeal by piranhas. it was in the river tapajos, where this species of fish is found in great plenty. the man had been in pursuit of a peixe-boi, which he had harpooned near the middle of the river, after attaching his weapon by its cord to the bow of his montaria. the fish being a strong one, and not wounded in a vital part, had made a rush to get off, carrying the canoe along with it. the harpooner, standing badly balanced in his craft, lost his balance and fell overboard. while swimming to overtake the canoe, he was attacked by a swarm of piranhas ravenous for prey, made so perhaps by the blood of the peixe-boi left along the water. the indian was unable to reach the canoe; and notwithstanding the most desperate efforts to escape, he was ultimately compelled to yield to his myriad assailants. his friends on shore saw all, without being able to render the slightest assistance. they saw his helpless struggles, and heard his last despairing shriek, as he sank below the surface of the water. hastening to their canoes, they paddled, rapidly out to the spot where their comrade had disappeared. all they could discern was a skeleton lying along the sand at the bottom of the river, clean picked as if it had been prepared for an anatomical museum, while the school of piranhas was disporting itself alone, as if engaged in dancing some mazy minuet in honour of the catastrophe they had occasioned. chapter seventy four. a stowaway. the new-caught fishes looked too temptingly fresh to be long untasted; and although it was but an hour since our adventurers had eaten their dinner, one and all were inclined for an afternoon meal upon piranha. the mundurucu set the fire freshly astir, and half a dozen piranhas were soon browned in the blaze and distributed among the party, who one and all endorsed the tapuyo, by pronouncing them a delicacy. after the second dinner they were more gay than ever. the sun sinking westward indicated the quarters of the compass; and already a few puffs of wind promised them an evening breeze. they saw that it was still blowing in the same direction, and therefore favourable to the navigation of their craft, whose thick sail, spread broadly athwart ships, seemed eager to catch it. little dreamt they at that moment that, as it were, a volcano was slumbering under their feet; that separated from them by only a few inches of half-decayed wood was a creature of such monstrous size and hideous shape as to have impressed with a perpetual fear every indian upon the amazon, from para to peru, from the head waters of the purus to the sources of the japura! at that moment, when they were chatting gaily, even laughingly, in confidence of a speedy deliverance from the gloomy gapo,--at that very moment the great _mai d'agoa_, the "mother of the waters," was writhing restlessly beneath them, preparing to issue forth from the cavern that concealed her. the tapuyo was sitting near the fire, picking the bones of a piranha, which he had just taken from the spit, when all at once the half-burned embers were seen to sink out of sight, dropping down into the log, as cinders into the ash-pit of a dilapidated grate. "ugh!" exclaimed the indian, giving a slight start, but soon composing himself; "the dead-wood hollow at the heart! only a thin shell outside, which the fire has burnt through. i wondered why it floated so lightly,--wet as it was!" "wasn't it there the tocandeiras had their nest?" inquired trevannion. "no, patron. the hole they had chosen for their hive is different. it was a cavity in one of the branches. this is a hollow along the main trunk. its entrance will be found somewhere in the butt,--under the water, i should think, as the log lies now." just then no one was curious enough to crawl up to the thick end and see. what signified it whether the entrance to the hollow, which had been laid open by the falling in of the fire, was under water or above it, so long as the log itself kept afloat? there was no danger to be apprehended, and the circumstance would have been speedily dismissed from their minds, but for the behaviour of the coaita, which now attracted their attention. it had been all the time sitting upon the highest point which the dead-wood offered for a perch. not upon the rudely rigged mast, nor yet the yard that carried the sail; but on a spar that projected several feet beyond the thick end, still recognisable as the remains of a root. its air and attitude had undergone a sudden change. it stood at full length upon all fours, uttering a series of screams, with chatterings between, and shivering throughout its whole frame, as if some dread danger was in sight, and threatening it with instant destruction. it was immediately after the falling in of the fagots that this began; but there was nothing to show that it was connected with that. the place where the fire had been burning was far away from its perch; and it had not even turned its eyes in that direction. on the contrary, it was looking below; not directly below where it stood, but towards the butt-end of the ceiba, which could not be seen by those upon the log. whatever was frightening it should be there. there was something about the excited actions of the animal,--something so heart-rending in its cries,--that it was impossible to believe them inspired by any ordinary object of dread; and the spectators were convinced that some startling terror was under its eyes. tipperary tom was the first to attempt a solution of the mystery. the piteous appeals of his pet could not be resisted. scrambling along the log he reached the projecting point, and peeped over. almost in the same instant he recoiled with a shriek; and, calling on his patron saint, retreated to the place where he had left his companions. on his retreat munday set out to explore the place whence he had fled, and, on reaching it, craned his neck over the end of the dead-wood, and looked below. a single glance seemed to satisfy him; and, drawing back with as much fear as the man who had preceded him, he exclaimed in a terrified shriek, "_santos dios_! 'tis the spirit of the waters!" chapter seventy five. the spirit of the waters. "the _mai d'agoa_! the spirit of the waters!" exclaimed trevannion, while the rest stood speechless with astonishment, gazing alternately upon the indian and the irishman, who trembled with affright. "what do you mean? is it something to be feared?" munday gave an emphatic nod, but said no word, being partly awed into silence and partly lost in meditating some plan of escape from this new peril. "what did _you_ see, tom?" continued trevannion, addressing himself to the irishman, in hopes of receiving some explanation from that quarter. "be sant pathrick! yer honour, i can't tell yez what it was. it was something like a head with a round shinin' neck to it, just peepin' up out av the wather. i saw a pair av eyes,--i didn't stay for any more, for them eyes was enough to scare the sowl out av me. they were glittherin' like two burnin' coals! munday calls it the spirit av the wathers. it looks more like the spirit av darkness!" "the _mai d'agoa_, uncle," interposed the young paraense, speaking in a suppressed voice. "_the mother of the waters_! it's only an indian superstition, founded on the great water serpent,--the anaconda. no doubt it's one of these he and tom have seen swimming about under the butt-end of the log. if it be still there i shall have a look at it myself." the youth was proceeding towards the spot so hastily vacated by munday and tom, when the former, seizing him by the arm, arrested his progress. "for your life, young master, don't go there! stay where you are. it may not come forth, or may not crawl up to this place. i tell you it is the spirit of the waters!" "nonsense, munday; there's no such thing as a _spirit_ of the waters. if there were, it would be of no use our trying to hide from it. what you've seen is an anaconda. i know these water-boas well enough,--have seen them scores of times among the islands at the mouth of the amazon. i have no fear of them. their bite is not poisonous, and, unless this is a very large one, there's not much danger. let me have a look!" the indian, by this time half persuaded that he had made a mistake,--his confidence also restored by this courageous behaviour,--permitted richard to pass on to the end of the log. on reaching it he looked over; but recoiled with a cry, as did the others, while the ape uttered a shrill scream, sprang down from its perch, and scampered off to the opposite extremity of the dead-wood. "it _is_ an anaconda!" muttered the paraense, as he made his way "amidships," where the rest were awaiting him; "the largest i have ever seen. no wonder, munday, you should mistake it for the _mai d'agoa_. 'tis a fearful-looking creature, but i hope we shall be able to destroy it before it can do any of us an injury. but it is very large, and we have no arms! what's to be done, munday?" "be quiet,--make no noise!" entreated the indian, who was now himself again. "may be it will keep its place till i can get the spear through its neck, and then--too late! the sucuruju is coming upon the log!" and now, just rising through a forked projection of the roots, was seen the horrid creature, causing the most courageous to tremble as they beheld it. there was no mistaking it for anything else than the head of a serpent; but such a head as not even the far-travelled tapuyo had ever seen before. in size it equalled that of an otter, while the lurid light that gleamed from a pair of scintillating orbs, and still more the long, forked tongue, at intervals projected like a double jet of flame, gave it an altogether demoniac appearance. the water out of which it had just risen, still adhering to its scaly crown, caused it to shine with the brightness of burnished steel; and, as it loomed up between their eyes and the sun, it exhibited the coruscation of fire. under any circumstances it would have been fearful to look at; but as it slowly and silently glided forth, hanging out its forked red tongue, it was a sight to freeze the blood of the bravest. when it had raised its eyes fairly above the log, so that it could see what was upon it, it paused as if to reconnoitre. the frightened men, having retreated towards the opposite end of the dead-wood, stood as still as death, all fearing to make the slightest motion, lest they should tempt the monster on. they stood about twenty paces from the serpent, munday nearest, with the pashuba spear in hand ready raised, and standing as guard over the others. richard, armed with munday's knife, was immediately behind him. for more than a minute the hideous head remained motionless. there was no speech nor sound of any kind. even the coaita, screened by its friends, had for the time ceased to utter its alarm. only the slightest ripple on the water, as it struck against the sides of the ceiba, disturbed the tranquillity of the scene, and any one viewing the tableau might have supposed it set as for the taking of a photograph. but it was only the momentary calm that precedes the tempest. in an instant a commotion took place among the statue-like figures,--all retreating as they saw the serpent rise higher, and, after vibrating its head several times, lie flat along, evidently with the design of advancing towards them. in another instant the monster was advancing,-- not rapidly, but with a slow, regular motion, as if it felt sure of its victims, and did not see the necessity for haste in securing them. chapter seventy six. an unexpected escape. the great reptile had already displayed more than a third of its hideous body, that kept constantly thickening as it rose over the butt-end of the log; and still the tapuyo appeared irresolute. in a whisper, trevannion suggested their taking to the water. "no, patron; anything but that. it would just be what the sucuruju would like. in the water it would be at home, and we should not. we should there be entirely at his mercy." "but are we not now?" "not yet,--not yet,--stay!" from the fresh confidence with which he spoke, it was evident some plan had suggested itself. "hand me over that monkey!" he said; and when he took the ape in his arms, and advanced some paces along the log, they guessed for what the pet was destined,--to distract the attention of the anaconda, by securing for it a meal! under other circumstances, tom might have interfered to prevent the sacrifice. as it was, he could only regard it with a sigh, knowing it was necessary to his own salvation. as munday, acting in the capacity of a sort of high-priest, advanced along the log, the demon to whom the oblation was to be made, and which he still fancied might be the _spirit of the waters_, paused in its approach, and, raising its head, gave out a horrible hiss. in another instant the coaita was hurled through the air, and fell right before it. rapidly drawing back its head, and opening wide its serrated jaws, the serpent struck out with the design of seizing the offering. but the ape, with characteristic quickness, perceived the danger; and, before a tooth could be inserted into its skin, it sprang away, and, scampering up the mast, left munday face to face with the anaconda, that now advanced rapidly upon him who had endeavoured to make use of such a substitute. chagrined at the failure of his stratagem, and dismayed by the threatening danger, the tapuyo retreated backwards. in his confusion he trod upon the still smouldering fire, his scorched feet scattering the fagots as he danced through them, while the serpent, once more in motion, came resolutely on. his companions were now more frightened than ever, for they now saw that he was, like themselves, a prey to fear. for again had he become a believer in the spirit of the waters. as he stood poising his spear, it was with the air of a man not likely to use it with effect. the young paraense, with his knife, was more likely to prove a protector. but what could either do to arrest the progress of such a powerful monster as that, which, with only two thirds of its length displayed, extended full twenty feet along the log? some one of the party must become a victim, and who was to be the first? the young paraense seemed determined to take precedence, and, with the generous design of protecting his friends,--perhaps only little rosa was in his thoughts,--he had thrown himself in front of the others, even the spearman standing behind him. it appeared that his time was come. he had not confidence that it was not. what could he do with a knife-blade against such an enemy? he stood there but to do his duty, and die. and both would quickly have been accomplished,--the duty and the death,--but that the omnipotent hand that had preserved them through so many perils was still stretched over them, and in its own way extricated them from this new danger. to one unacquainted with the cause, it might have been a matter of surprise to see the reptile, hitherto determined upon making an attack, all at once turn away from its intended victims; and, without even showing its tail upon the log, retreat precipitately into the water, and swim off over the lagoa, as if the ceiba was something to be shunned beyond everything else that might be encountered in the gapo! chapter seventy seven. history of the anaconda. though it may be a mystery to the reader why it had retreated, it was none to our adventurers, who had seen it crawl over the scattered fagots; they had heard the hissing, sputtering sound, as the live coals came in contact with its wet skin; they had witnessed its dismay and flight at a phenomenon so unexpected. they were therefore well aware that it was the scorching hot cinders that had caused the sucuruju to forsake the dead-wood in such a sudden and apparently mysterious manner. it was some time before they were entirely relieved of their fears. notwithstanding its precipitate retreat, they could not tell but that the anaconda might change its mind and come back again. they could see it swimming for some time in a tortuous track, its head and part of its neck erect above the water; then it took a direct course, as if determined upon leaving the lagoa. it was, therefore, with no ordinary feeling of relief that they saw it finally disappearing from view in the far distance. the mystery of its presence upon the dead monguba was soon cleared up. the log was hollow inside, the heart-wood being entirely decayed and gone. in the cavity the serpent had perhaps sought a sleeping-place secure from intrusion during some protracted slumber that had succeeded the swallowing of a gigantic prey,--deer, paca, or capivain. here it had lain for days,--perhaps weeks; and the log, carried away by the rising of the floods, had done nothing to disturb its repose. its first intimation that there was any change in the situation of its sleeping-place was when the fire fell in through the burnt shell, and the hot cinders came in contact with its tail, causing it to come forth from its concealment, and make the observation that resulted in its attacking the intruders. the hollow that had contained the colony of tocandeiras was altogether a different affair. it was a cavity of a similar kind, but unconnected with that in the heart of the tree; and it was evident that the little insects and the great reptile, although dwelling in such close proximity,--under the same roof, it may be said,--were entirely unacquainted with each other. when the serpent was quite out of sight, our adventurers once more recovered their spirits, and conversed gayly about the strange incident. the breeze, having freshened, carried their raft with considerable rapidity through the water, in the right direction, and they began to scan the horizon before them in the hope of seeing, if not land, at least the tree-tops ahead. these, however, did not show themselves on that day, and before the sun went down the forest behind them sank out of sight. the night overtook them, surrounded by a smooth surface of open water, spotless and apparently as limitless as the great ocean itself. they did not "lay to," as on the night before. the breeze continued favourable throughout the night; and, as they were also favoured with a clear sky, and had the stars to pilot them, they kept under sail till the morning. before retiring to rest they had supped upon roast charqui and fish broiled over the coals; and, after supper, talk commenced, as usual, the chief topic being the anaconda. on this subject the tapuyo had much to say, for of all the animals that inhabit the water wilderness of the amazon there is none that inspires the indian with greater interest than the sucuruju. it is the theme of frequent discourse, and of scores of legends;--some real and true, while others have had their origin in the imagination of the ignorant aboriginal; some even having proceeded from the excited fancy of the colonists themselves, both spanish and portuguese, who could boast of a higher intelligence and better education. the fanciful say that there are anacondas in the waters of the amazon full thirty yards in length, and of a thickness equalling the dimensions of a horse! this has been stated repeatedly,--stated and believed in, not only by the ignorant indian, but by his instructors, the monks of the missions. the only fanciful part of the statement is what regards the size, which must be merely an exaggeration. what is real and true is of itself sufficiently surprising. it is true that in the south american rivers there are anacondas, or "water-boas," as they are sometimes called, over thirty feet in length and of proportionate thickness; that these monstrous creatures can swallow such quadrupeds as capivains, deer, and even large-sized animals of the horse and cattle kind; that they are not venomous, but kill their prey by _constriction_,--that is, by coiling themselves around it, and crushing it by a strong muscular pressure; and that, once gorged, they retire to some safe hiding-place,--of which there is no scarcity in the impenetrable forests of amazonia,--go to sleep, and remain for a time in a sort of torpid condition. hence they are much more rarely seen than those animals which require to be all the time on the alert for their daily food. of these great snakes of tropical america there are several species; and these again are to be classified, according to their habits, into two groups markedly distinct,--the "boas," properly so called, and the "water-boas," or anacondas. the former are terrestrial in their mode of living, and are to be found upon the dry road; the latter, though not strictly living in the water or under it, are never met with except where it is abundant; that is to say, on the banks of rivers and lagoons, or in the submerged forests of the gapo. they swim under water, or upon the surface, with equal facility; and they are also arboreal, their powers of constriction enabling them to make their way to the tops of the highest trees. it is these that are more properly called sucurujus,--a name belonging to the common language spoken upon the amazon, a mixture of portuguese with the ancient tongue of the supinampas, known as the _lingua geral_. no doubt, also, it is from some unusually large specimen of sucuruju, seen occasionally by the indian hunters and fishermen, that these simple people have been led into a belief in the existence of the wonderful _mai d'agoa_, or "mother of the waters." chapter seventy eight. a snake "yarn." cheered by the thought that the breeze was bearing them in the right direction, our adventurers sat up till a late hour. when they at length resolved upon going to sleep, it was arranged that two should sit up,-- one to mind the sail, the other to ply a paddle, and keep the craft steadily to her course, as well as could be done with such a rudder. the old sea-cook still had charge of the sheets and halyards, while tipperary, notwithstanding that he had already proved himself such an indifferent helmsman, was intrusted with the steering. after the many perils through which they had passed, and under the apprehension of the many more through which they might yet have to pass, tom's mismanagement,--the original cause of all their misfortunes,--if not forgotten, was not remembered against him with resentment. it had been only an error of judgment,--a fault of the head, and not of the heart. even the negro, whose race appears, almost by instinct, to inherit an antipathy to the countrymen of tom, and who, previous to the catastrophe, was not always on the best of terms with the irishman, no longer showed signs of spite: rather had the two become friends. their friendship sprung from the ties of a common misfortune, and any little difference that now displayed itself was in a rivalry as to which should make himself most useful to the floating community. on this particular night they sat together as white and black brothers; mozey attending to the sipo that served for a sheet to the sail, and tom steering the craft by a star that had been pointed out to him as that towards which he was to keep her head. both african and irishman were not a little vain of being thus left to themselves. up to that time both had been playing a very subordinate part; the indian taking upon himself almost the sole management of affairs, and treating them as nobodies. from the night on which they had made their unfortunate mistake by straying into the gapo, every movement had been made by his counsel and direction: moreover, both had suffered humiliation by his having saved their lives from drowning. although they were not ungrateful for that, they were nevertheless chagrined to think that they should be so looked upon. on this night, munday, worn out by his long-continued exertions, was urged by trevannion to desist, and recruit his energies by good repose. as there was no particular reason why he should remain awake, he had consented to do so; and, with his back against one of the buttresses, he reposed, silent as the sphinx. neither the man of mozambique, nor he of tipperary, was given to habits of silence; and they continued to converse long after the others had sunk into slumber. after what had that day occurred, it was natural that the theme should be _snakes_. "yez have got some in your counthry,--haven't yer, mozey?" inquired tom. "dar you'se 'bout right, masser tum. haven't we got um! snakes ob de biggest kind." "but none so big as the wun we saw the day?" "buf! you call dat a big snake. he not more den ten yard long. i've hab some on de coass of africa, down dere by mozabeek, dat measure more den a mile,--ticker round de body den dis ere log we sittin' on." "more than a mile long!" rejoined tipperary. "and thicker than this tree! yez don't mane to say ye iver saw wan ov that size yerself?" "well, i's not say it war a whole mile. it mout be less, an' it mout a been more dan a mile. ob one ting i's sartin shoo: it wa'n't less den three quarters ob a mile. youz may b'lieve um or not; jess as you pleeze 'bout dat, massa tipprary. all i'b got to say is, dat de snake i 'peak 'bout war long nuf to go clar roun' de kraal, and twice roun' too." "a kraal! what moight that be? i know what a _kreel_ is. miny's the wan i've carried on me back, full ov turf at that, in the bogs of tipperary. yez don't mane a kreel, div ye?" "kreel! no. i'm 'peakin' 'bout de place we niggers live in,--village, you white folk call 'um." "a village! that is a town av people,--men, weemen, and childher." "jess so. da be men, woman, and chillen in de kraal,--sartin to be plenty of boaf de last,--an' dar am dogs, and sheeps, and goats, and sometime big cattle. dat's zactly what we brack folks ob de african coass call de kraal. some am bigger dan oders; but de one i 'peak 'bout, dat war surrounded by de snake, war a kraal ob de mod'rate size. it had 'bout a hundred houses, and, ob coorse, it contain zackly hundred families, excludin' de piccaninnies." "a snake to extind round a hundherd houses! whin was that?" "when dis chile was a piccaninny hisself. if you like, massa tipprary, i tell you all 'bout it. ye see, dat de kraal i 'peak 'bout war my native place, wha dis chile fust saw de shinin' ob de sun. i 'pose i war 'bout ten year ole jess at dat time when de sacumstance 'curred ob which i go tell you. near de village dar war a big foress. it wa' filled with all sorts ob dangerous beasts. da wa' buffaloes and elephants, an' de rhinoceros, an' hipperpotamusses, an' dar war big monkeys ob de baboon 'pecies. these lass war partickler dangerous, 'pecially to de women ob de place, for if any ob de nigga gals strayed too fur into de foress, den de baboons carried dem up into de tops ob de highest trees, an' dere kep' dem prisoner fo' eber. but de wussest ting in dat wood war de snakes. da war ob all sorts an' sizes. dere war de cobera, berry benemous, dat killed you wif him bite, an' de spit snake dat fo' pizen beat de cobera all holler, as it kud kill ye by jess spittin' upon yer from among de branches ob a tree. an' da war de whip-snake, dat lashed folks to deaph wif him tail; an' de rock-boa dat twisted itself roun' you body an' crushed you to de jelly. but none ob dese kud hold a candle to de great big snake ob all,--de one i tell you 'bout. munday, he call dat we see, de spirit ob de waters. our big snake we nigga of mozabeek call de _debbil ob de woods_. nebba mind 'bout de name. he come one fine mornin', dis debbil come, while de people ob de kraal war all 'sleep, dat is 'fore anybody get up to go 'bout dar bisness. he surroun' the village _twice_." "you mane that he crawled twice round it?" "not a bit ob dat;--he may hab crawled twenty time roun' it: nobody know. de people all 'sleep when he come. what dis chile mean is, dat when de people get out ob dar beads, an' come to de door, de debbil ob de woods, he hab him body all roun' de place in two great coil, one on top ob de odder, like de cable 'board ship,--de two makin' a fence roun' do kraal, more'n ten feet high." "saint pathrick prasarve us!" "ah, masser tom, i tink i hear you say dat de san parfick you 'peak 'bout was a great snake-killer in yur country. i wish he had been in de island of mozabeek on dat same mornin'. pahps dis nigger might still hab a fadder an' a modder. he loss dem boaf on de occasion we now 'peak ob. you see de snake, after enclosin' de kraal twice roun' wif him body, left enuf ob de neck to reach all ober de place; den stretchin' out him mouf, dat war wide nuf to swaller a man 'ithout chewin' him, he went from house to house, pickin' out de people, till der want one lef', neider man, woman, nor chile. he eat up de chief ob de kraal jess de same as de commonest scum ob de village. as fo' de piccaninnies, he swallow dem eight or ten at a time, jess de same as we see de ant-eater do wif de ants. boaf de men an' de women an' de chillen try to 'scape out ob de place. 'twa'n't no manner ob use. when dey tried to climb ober de body ob de snake, de ole debbil gub hisself a shake, an' down dey slipped from him sides, as if him skin had been coated from de slush cask. ob course da wa' soon all destroyed." "but yerself, mozey; how did yez manage to 'scape?" "ah, how! dat wor de bess joke ob de whole. as i's been tellin' you, i war at de time only a piccaninny, 'bout ten years ob de age. i war considered 'bove de common for dat age, an' wa' employed in de house ob de chief which war called de palace. well, jess when i see dat great big mouf sarchin' from place to place an' swallerin' up ebberybody, i know it wan't no use to hide down dar among de houses. now dar war a big pole dat stood righ' in front ob de palace, wif a flag floatin' on de top. when de odder folk war runnin' about ebbery wha else, i climbed up de pole, an' when i got to de top, i drawed de flag roun' me, so as to hide de whole ob my body. when dat 'ere debbil ob de woods had finished off wif de oder people, and cleared out de kraal complete, he nebber thought 'bout lookin' up de pole, or 'spectin' whether tha wa' anybody wrop up in de flag at de top. dis chile kep' up dar till he see de snake 'tretch out him long body, an' go back to de big foress. den i slip down from de tree, an' make my way to de nearest place wha da war people. as boaf my fadder and modder had been eat up 'long wi' de ress, i atterwards left home an' tuk to de sea. dat's why dis nigger hab wandered all de way fom dat 'ere island ob mozabeek. buf! de snake we see here, de spirit ob de water, a'n't no more to de debbil ob de woods dan a tadpole am to de biggest alligator in all de waters ob de amazum." chapter seventy nine. saint patrick's performance. notwithstanding the serious air with which mozey told his very improbable story, tom did not appear to give implicit credence to it. he evidently suspected that the rogue had been cheating him; and, after several exclamations of wonder, but without betraying incredulity, he sat in silence, apparently cogitating some scheme for repaying him. it was not long before an opportunity offered, his companion unintentionally furnishing him with a cue. "i's hab heer, massa tum, dat dar am no snake in de country wha you come from. dat 'ere de troof?" "yis. nayther snake nor toad in owld oireland,--nayther could live for a single hour, if ye plants them thare. the green island wudn't contain thim bekase they're condimned to die the moment they sit fut on the sod." "but what condemn dem?" "saint pathrick, to be shure. trath, thare's a story about that. may be yez wud loike to be afther hearin' it, mozey?" "like um berry much, massy tum." "will, thin, i'll till it to yer. it isn't such a wondherful story as yours; but it had a betther indin', as yer'll see when ye've heerd it. instid av the snakes killin' all the people exciptin' wan, the riptiles got killed thimsilves, all but wan,--that was the father of ivry sirpint in the world. he's livin' yit, an' must now be about five thousand years uv age. so the praste sez. "a long toime ago, owld oireland was very badly infisted wid thim craythers. they wur so thick all over the swate island, that yez cudn't sit your fut down widout triddin' on wan av their tails; an' to kape out av their way the people had to build a great scaffoldin' that extinded all over the counthry, and slape on the threes, just as we've been doin' over the gyapo. "whiniver they wanted anythin' to ate, such as purtaties, an' the loike, they were compilled to git it up from the ground wid long forks; and whin they wur in need to dhrink, they had to dip it up in buckets, as if they were drawin' it out av a well. "av coorse this was moighty inconvanient, an' cudn't last long no how. the worst ov it was, that the snakes, instid ov gettin' thinned off, were ivery year growin' thicker, by razin ov their large families ov young wuns. will, it got so bad at last that ther' wusn't a spot av groun' bigger than the bunch ov your hand that warn't occupoyed by a snake, an' in some places they were two deep. the people up on the platform that i towld yez about, they cursed an' swore, an' raged, an' raved, an' at last prayed to be delivered from the inimy." here tom paused to note the effect of his speech on his sable listener. "but dey war delibbered,--wur dey?" "trath, wur they. if they hadn't, is it at all loikely that yer wud see me here? will, the people prayed. not as your countrymen prays, to a stick or a stone, or beloike to the sarpints themselves, that could do them no benefit; but to a lady, that was able to protect them. we, in owld oireland, call her the virgin mary. she was the mother av him that came down from the siventh heaven to save us poor sinners. but what's the use of my tryin' to explain all that to an ignorant haythen, loike you?" "no use, massa tum, no use," rejoined the african, in a tone of resignation. "never moind, mozey. the lady heerd their prayer, and that was an ind to it." "she killed da snakes!" "arrah now; did yez think the virgin mary--a raal lady as she was--ud be afther doin' such dhirty work as slaughter a whole island full of venomous sarpents? not a bit av that same. it's true they were desthroyed; but not by her own swate hands. she sinds a man to do the work for her. she sint sant pathrick." "o, i's heerd ye 'peak ob dat man, many's de time, massa tum. 'twur him dat kill de serpents, wur it?" "trath was it." "but how'd he do it? it muss hab take um a berry long time to destroy um all." "there ye are intirely asthray, nager. it only occupied him wan day, an' not all the day nayther, for he had done the work a thrifle ov a hour or so afther dinner-time." "gollys! how'd he do all dat?" "will! ye see, he invited all the snakes to a grand banquit. he had such a charmin' way wid him that they wun an' all agreed to come. the place was on the top of a high mountain,--called the hill of howth,--far hoigher than any in the andays we saw when crossin' thare. the faste he had provided for them was a colliction of toads, includin' every wun ov thim that inhabited the island. the toads he had invited too; an' the stupid craythers, not suspictin' anythin', come willingly to the place. "now yez must undherstand, nager, that the snakes are moighty fond of toads, and frogs too; but saint pathrick had no ill-will against the frogs, an' they wur exchused from comin'. as it was, the toads wur axed at an earlier hour than the snakes, an' got first to the top of the hill; an' while they were waitin' there to see what was to be done, the sarpints came glidin' up, and bein' tould that their dinner was spread before them, they fell to, an' swallowed up every toad upon the hill, which was every wun there was in all oireland." the narrator made a long pause, either to draw breath after such a declamation, or to give time for his companion to indulge his astonishment. "gora!" exclaimed the latter, impatient for further explanation. "how 'bout de snakes demselves? surely dey didn't swallow one anodder?" "trath! an' that's jest what they did do,--every mother's son of thim." "but dat 'ere doan' 'tan' to reezun, unless dey hab a fight one wif de odder? splain yourself, massa tum." "will, yez have guessed it exactly widout my sayin' a word. they _did_ have a foight, that went all roun' through the whole crowd, like a shindy in donnybrook fair. yez would loike to hear how it begun. will, i'll tell ye. there was two kinds av the riptile. wan they called `ribbon snakes,' an' the tother `orange snakes,' by razon av their colour, both in politics and religion. they had a king over both that lived moighty foine at their expinse. but he couldn't manage to keep thim continted with payin' him taxes, unless by sittin' the wan agaynst the tother. an' this he did to the full av his satisfacshin. now the bad blood that was betwane thim showed itself at that great gatherin' worse than iver it had done afore. thare wasn't toads enough to give them all a full male; and by way of dissart they thought they'd turn to an' ate wun another. av course that was just what sant pathrick wanted; for he wasn't plazed at their having two sorts of religion. so the ould praste hugged thim on in the quarrel, till it come to blows, an' inded in both kinds killin' an' atin' wun another till there was nothing lift av ayther exceptin' the tails." "golly! what becomed of de tails?" "o, thim? the people jumped down from the scaffolds and gathered thim up into a hape, and thin made a great bonfire av thim, and aftherwardt spred the ashes over the groun'; and that's what makes ould oireland the greenest gim av the oshin." "but, massa tum, you hab say dat one ob de snakes 'scape from the genr'l congregation?" "trath did i say it. wun did escape, an' 's livin' to make mischief in ould oireland to this very day." "which one was he?" "their king." "de king. how you call um, massa tipprary?" "the divvel." chapter eighty. lights ahead. the expression of incredulity had now floated from the countenance of the irishman to that of the african, who in turn suspected himself imposed upon. the leer in tom's eye plainly declared that he considered himself "quits" with his companion; and the two remained for some moments without further exchange of speech. when the conversation was resumed, it related to a theme altogether different. it was no longer on the subject of snakes, but stars. the pilot perceived that the one hitherto guiding him was going out of sight,--not by sinking below the horizon, but because the sky was becoming overcast by thick clouds. in ten minutes more there was not a star visible; and, so far as direction went, the helm might as well have been abandoned. tom, however, stuck to his paddle, for the purpose of steadying the craft; and the breeze, as before, carried them on in a direct course. in about an hour after, this gave token of forsaking them; and, at a still later period, the log lay becalmed upon the bosom of the lagoa. what, next? should they awake the others and communicate the unpleasant intelligence? tom was of opinion that they should, while the negro thought it would be of no use. "better let dem lie 'till," argued he, "and hab a good night ress. can do no good wake um up. de ole craff muss lay to all de same, till dar come anodder whif ob de wind!" while they were disputing the points, or rather after they had done disputing, and each held his tongue, a sound reached their ears that at once attracted the attention of both. it was rather a chorus of sounds, not uttered at intervals, but continued all the time they were listening. it bore some resemblance to a distant waterfall; but now and then, mingling with the hoarser roaring of the torrent, were voices as of birds, beasts, and reptiles. none of them were very distinct. they appeared to come from some point at a great distance off. still, they were loud enough to be distinguished, as sounds that could not proceed out of the now tranquil bosom of the lagoa. perhaps they might sooner have attracted the notice of the two men, but for the sighing of the breeze against the sail, and the rippling of the water as it rushed along the sides of the ceiba. when these sounds had ceased, the conversation that ensued produced the same effect; and it was only after the dispute came to a close that the disputants were made aware that something besides their own voices was disturbing the tranquillity of the night. "what is it, i wondher?" was the remark of tipperary tom. "can yez tell, mozey?" "it hab berry much de soun' ob a big forress!" "the sound av a forest? what div yez mane by that?" "wha' shud i mean, but de voices ob de animal dat lib in de forress. de birds an' de beast, an' de tree frogs, an' dem 'ere crickets dat chirps 'mong de trees. dat's what dis nigger mean." "i b'lieve ye're right, nager. it's just that same. it can't be the wather, for that's did calm; an' it can't purceed from the sky, for it don't come in that direction. in trath it's from the forest, as ye say." "in dat case, den, we muss be near de odder side ob de lagoa, as de indyun call um,--jess wha we want to go." "sowl, thin, that's good news! will we wake up the masther an' till him av it? what do yez think?" "dis nigga tink better not. let um all sleep till de broke ob day. dat can't be far off by dis time. i hab an idee dat i see de furs light ob mornin' jess showin' out yonner, at de bottom ob de sky. gora! what's yon? dar, dar! 'trait afore de head. by golly! dar's a fire out yonner, or someting dat hab de shine ob one. doan ye see it, massa tum?" "trath, yis; i do see somethin' shinin'. it a'n't them fire-flies, div yez think?" "no! 'ta'n't de fire-fly. dem ere flits about. yon ting am steady, an' keeps in de same place." "there's a raal fire yandher, or else it's the willy-wisp. see! be me troth thare's two av thim. div yez see two?" "dar _am_ two." "that can't be the willy-wisp. he's niver seen in couples,--at laste, niver in the bogs av oireland. what can it be?" "what can which be?" asked trevannion, who, at this moment awaking, heard the question put by tom to the negro. "och, look yandher! don't yez see a fire?" "certainly; i see something very like one,--or rather two of them." "yis, yis; there's two. mozey and meself have just discovered thim." "and what does mozey think they are?" "trath, he's perplixed the same as meself. we can't make hid or tail av thim. if there had been but wan, i'd a sayed it was a willy-wisp." "will-o'-the-wisp! no, it can scarce be that,--the two being together. ah! i hear sounds." "yes, masther, we've heerd thim long ago." "why didn't you awake us? we must have drifted nearly across the lagoa. those sounds, i should say, come out of the forest, and that, whatever it is, must be among the trees. munday! munday!" "hola!" answered the indian, as he started up from his squatting attitude: "what is it, patron? anything gone wrong?" "no: on the contrary, we appear to have got very near to the other side of the lagoa." "yes, yes!" interrupted the indian as soon as the forest noises fell upon his ear; "that humming you hear must come thence. _pa terra_! lights among the trees!" "yes, we have just discovered them. what can they be?" "fires," answered the indian. "you think it is not fire-flies?" "no; the _loengos_ do not show that way. they are real fires. there must be people there." "then there is land, and we have at last reached _terra firma_." "the lord be praised for that," reverently exclaimed the irishman. "our throubles will soon be over." "may be not, may be not," answered the mundurucu, in a voice that betrayed both doubt and apprehension. "why not, munday?" asked trevannion. "if it be fires we see, surely they are on the shore; and kindled by men. there should be some settlement where we can obtain assistance?" "ah, patron! nothing of all that need follow from their being fires; only that there must be men. the fires need only be on the shore, and as for the men who made them, instead of showing hospitality, just as like they make take a fancy to eat us." "eat us! you mean that they may be cannibals?" "just so, patron. likely as not. it's good luck," pursued the tapuyo, looking around, "the wind went down, else we might have been carried too close. i must swim towards yon lights, and see what they are, before we go any nearer. will you go with me, young master?" "o, certainly!" replied richard, to whom the question was addressed. "well, then," continued the tapuyo, speaking to the others, "you must not make any loud noise while we are gone. we are not so very distant from those fires,--a mile or thereabout; and the water carries the sound a long ways. if it be enemies, and they should hear us, there would be no chance of escaping from them. come, young master, there's not a minute to spare. it must be very near morning. if we discover danger, we shall have but little time to got out of its way in the darkness; and that would be our only hope. come! follow me!" as the indian ceased speaking, he slipped gently down into the water, and swam off to the two lights whose gleam appeared every moment more conspicuous. "don't be afraid, rosetta," said richard, as he parted from his cousin. "i warrant it'll turn out to be some plantation on the bank, with a house with lights shining through the windows, and white people inside, where we'll all be kindly received, and get a new craft to carry us down to para. good by for the present! we'll soon be back again with good news." so saying, he leaped into the water and swam off in the wake of the tapuyo. chapter eighty one. an aerial village. the swimmers had not made many hundred yards when they saw beyond doubt that the forest was not far off. it was even nearer than they had at first imagined, the darkness having deceived them; and perhaps the log may have drifted nearer while they were under the impression that they lay becalmed. at all events, they were now scarcely a quarter of a mile from the forest, which they knew stretched along the horizon as far as they could have seen had it been daylight. they could only just distinguish a dark belt or line rising above the surface of the water before them; but that this extended right and left to a far distance could be told from the sounds that came from it. there was the hum of tree-crickets and cicadas, the _gluck_ of toads and frogs, the screams of aquatic birds, the hooting of owls, and the strange plaintive calls of the goat-suckers, of which several species inhabit the gapo forests; the whip-poor-will and the "willy-come-go" all the night long giving utterance to their monotonous melody. harsher still were the cries proceeding from the throats of howling monkeys, with now and then the melancholy moaning of the _ai_, as it moved slowly through the branches of the _embauba_ (cecropia-tree). all these sounds, and a score of other kinds,--some produced by insects and reptiles of unknown species,--were blended in that great choir of nature which fills the tropical forest with its midnight music. the two swimmers, however, paid no attention to this fact; their whole thoughts being occupied by the lights, that, as they advanced, grew every moment more conspicuous. there was no longer any doubt about these being the blaze of fires. it was simply a question of where the fires were burning, and who had kindled them. the young paraense supposed them to be upon the shore of the lagoa. about this, however, his companion expressed a doubt. they did not seem to burn steadily, their discs appearing now larger and now less. sometimes one would go out altogether, then blaze up afresh, while another was as suddenly extinguished. the younger of the two swimmers expressed astonishment at this intermittence, which his companion easily explained. the fires, he said, were placed at some distance from the edge of the forest, among the trees, and it was by some tree-trunk now and then intervening that the illusion was caused. silently the swimmers approached, and in due time they glided in under the shadow of the thick foliage, and saw the fires more distinctly. to the astonishment of richard--for the tapuyo did not seem at all astonished--they did not appear to be on the ground, but up in the air! the paraense at first supposed them to have been kindled upon the top of some eminence; but, on scanning them more closely, he saw that this could not be the case. their gleaming red light fell upon water shining beneath, over which, it was clear, they were in some way suspended. as their eyes became accustomed to the glare, the swimmers could make out that the fires were upon a sort of scaffold raised several feet above the water, and supported by the trunks of the trees. other similar scaffolds could be seen, on which no fires had been kindled,-- from the fact, no doubt, that their occupants were not yet astir. by the blaze human figures were moving to and fro, and others were on the platforms near by, which were more dimly illuminated; some entering, some coming forth from "toldos," or sheds, that stood upon them. hammocks could be seen suspended from free to tree, some empty, and some still holding a sleeper. all this was seen at a single glance, while at the same time were heard voices, that had been hitherto drowned by the forest choir, but could now be distinguished as the voices of men, women, and children,--such as might be heard in some rural hamlet, whose inhabitants were about bestirring themselves for their daily avocations. the tapuyo, gliding close up to the paraense, whispered in his ear, "a malocca!" "an indian village!" richard rejoined. "we've reached _tierra firme_, then?" "not a bit of it, young master. if the dry land had been near, those fires wouldn't be burning among the tree-tops." "at all events, we are fortunate in falling in with this curious malocca, suspended between heaven and earth. are we not so?" "that depends on who they are that inhabit it. it may be that we've chanced upon a tribe of cannibals." "cannibals! do you think there are such in the gapo?" "there are savages in the gapo who would torture before killing,--you, more especially, whose skins are white, remember, with bitterness, what first drove them to make their home in the midst of the water-forests,-- the white slave-hunters. they have reason to remember it; for the cruel chase is still kept up. if this be a malocca of muras, the sooner we get away, the safer. they would show you whites no mercy, and less than mercy to me, a red man like themselves. we mundurucus are their deadliest enemies. now, you lie still, and listen. let me hear what they are saying. i know the mura tongue. if i can catch a word it will be sufficient. hush!" not long had they been listening, when the indian started, an expression of anxiety suddenly overspreading his features, as his companion could perceive by the faint light of the distant fires. "as i expected," said he, "they are muras. we must be gone, without a moment's loss of time. it will be as much as we can do to paddle the log out of sight before day breaks. if we don't succeed in doing so, we are all lost. once seen, their canoes would be too quick for us. back, back to the monguba!" chapter eighty two. a slow retreat: in the arcade. their report spread consternation among the crew. trevannion, incredulous of the existence of such bloodthirsty savages as munday represented the muras to be, was disposed to treat it as an exaggeration. the young paraense, who, when in his father's house, had met many of the up-river traders, and heard them conversing on this very theme, was able to endorse what the mundurucu said. it was well-known to the traders that there were tribes of wild indians inhabiting the gapo lands, who during the season of the inundation made their home among the tree-tops,--that some of these were cannibals, and all of them savages of a most ferocious type, with whom an encounter in their native wilds, by any party not strong enough to resist them, might prove both dangerous and deadly. there was no time to argue; and without further opposition the ex-miner himself sprang to one of the paddles, the tapuyo taking the other. they had no idea of going back across the lagoa. to have proceeded in that direction would have been to court discovery. with such slow progress as theirs, a mile would be about all they could make before daybreak; and, out on the open water, their craft would be distinguishable at three times that distance. the course counselled by the tapuyo was to keep at first parallel to the line of the trees; and then enter among these as soon as the dawn began. as the party retreated, not two, but ten fires were seen gleaming among the trees, filling the forest with their bright coruscation. the tapuyo explained that each new light denoted the uprising of a fresh family, until the whole malocca was astir. the fires were kindled to cook the breakfast of the indians. notwithstanding this domestic design, our adventurers looked back upon them with feelings of apprehension; for they were not without fears that, roasted over those very fires, they might furnish the savages with the material for a cannibal repast! to all appearance never did the ceiba go slower,--never lie so dull upon the water. despite the vigorous straining of strong arms, it scarcely seemed to move. the sail was of no service, as there was not a breath of air, but was rather an obstruction; and, seeing this, mozey let loose the halyards and gently lowered it. they had hardly made half a mile from the point of starting, when they saw the dawn just appearing above the tops of the trees. they were upon the equator itself, where between dawn and daylight there is but a short interval of time. knowing this, the craft was turned half round, and pulled towards a place of concealment. as they moved on to make it, they could see the sunlight stealing over the surface of the water, and the fires becoming paler at its approach. in ten minutes more, daylight would be upon them! it was now a struggle against time,--a trial of speed between the ceiba and the sun,--both slowly approaching a critical point in their course. trevannion and the tapuyo plied the paddles as men rowing for their lives and the lives of others dear to them. they almost felt as if the sun favoured them; for he not only seemed to suspend his rising, but to sink back in his course. perhaps it was only the shadow of the trees, under which they had now entered. at all events, they were in the midst of obscurity, propelling the dead-wood into the embouchure of an igarape, overshadowed with drooping trees, that, like a dark cavern, promised them a hiding-place. at the moment of entering, it was so dark they could not tell how far the opening extended. in this uncertainty they suspended the stroke of their paddles, and suffered the ceiba to come to a standstill. as yet they had no other light than that afforded by the fire-flies that flitted under about the trees. but these were of the large species, known as _cocuyos (elater noctilucus_), one of which, when held over the page of a printed book, enables a person to read; and as there were many of them wandering about, their united sparkle enabled our adventurers to make out that the creek was of very limited extent. gradually, as the sun rose higher, his light fell gently glimmering through the leaves, and showed that the arcade was a _cul de sac_, extending only about a hundred yards into the labyrinth of branches and parasitical plants. they had entered, so to speak, a court through which there was no thoroughfare; and there they must remain. they could only get out of it by taking to the tree-tops, or else by returning to the open lagoa. but they had had enough of travelling through the tree-tops, while to abandon the craft that had carried them so comfortably, and that might still avail them, was not to be thought of. as to returning to the open water, that would be like delivering themselves into the very jaws of the danger they were desirous to avoid; for, once seen by the savages, there would not be the slightest chance of escape. they were provided with canoes moored among the tree-trunks that formed the supports of their aerial habitations. clumsy structures enough; but, no matter how clumsy or slow, they were swifter than the dead-wood; and in the event of a chase the latter would be easily overhauled and captured. only one course offered any prospect of safety,--to remain all day in the arcade, trusting that none of the savages might have any business near the place. at night they could steal out again, and by an industrious use of their paddles put a safer distance between themselves and the dangerous denizens of the malocca. having determined on this, they drew their craft into the darkest corner, and, making it fast to a tree, prepared to pass the time in the pleasantest possible manner. there was not much pleasure sitting in that silent, sombre shadow; especially as they were in dread that its silence might be disturbed by the wild shout of a savage. they had taken every precaution to escape discovery. the little fire left burning upon the log had been extinguished by munday, immediately on seeing the two lights first described. they would fain have rekindled it, to cook a breakfast; but fearing that the smoke might be seen, they chose that morning to eat the charqui raw. after breakfast they could do nothing but keep their seats, and await, with such patience as they might command, the development of events. it was not all darkness around them. as the little creek penetrated the trees in a straight line, they commanded a view of a portion of the lagoa. their situation was very similar to that of a person inside a grotto or cavern on the sea-shore, which commands a view of the ocean stretching away from its mouth, the bright space gradually widening as it recedes in the distance. though themselves seated in the midst of obscurity, they could see brightness beyond the opening of the bay,--the sun shining with a golden gleam upon the water. on this their eyes were kept,--not in the hope of seeing anything there that might give them gratification, but rather desiring that nothing should be seen. notwithstanding the obscurity that surrounded them, they could not divest themselves of the idea that one passing the entrance of the creek could see them distinctly enough; and this kept them in constant apprehension. they had no need to keep watch in any other direction. behind them, and on each side, extended the unbroken wall of tree-tops, shaded with llianas, worked and woven together into a network that appeared impenetrable even to the wild animals of the forest. who would have looked for an enemy in human shape to come that way? up to noon no incident occurred to disturb the tranquillity of the place or in any way add to their apprehensions. now and then a bird appeared, winging its way over the bright band illumined by the sun, or poising itself for a moment and then plunging downward upon some prey it had detected in the water. all these appearances only increased their confidence; as the presence of the birds, undisturbed at their ordinary avocations, indicated the absence of human beings. the same conclusion was drawn from the behaviour of a brace of large fish-cows, at some distance outside, directly in front of the arcade. when first noticed, they were engaged in some sort of rude gambol, at which they continued for a full half-hour. after that, one of them swam off, while the other, laying itself along the water, appeared to go to sleep. it was a tantalising sight to the eyes of the old tapuyo; and it was just as much as he could do to restrain himself from swimming out and attacking the sleeper, either with his knife or the pashuba spear. the danger, however, would have been too great, not from a conflict with the cow, but of being seen by the sharp-eyed savages. in view of this, the mundurucu resisted the temptation, and consented, though not without reluctance, to let the peixe-boi continue its slumbers uninterrupted. chapter eighty three. following the float. unfortunately for our adventurers, as well as for the cow-fish itself, other eyes than those of the tapuyo had been watching the gambols of the two cetaceans, and had paid particular attention to the one now taking its siesta on the surface. neither munday nor his companions had any suspicion of this; for, excepting the peixe-boi itself, no living creature was in sight. having observed it for a considerable length of time, still reclining in its attitude of repose, they had almost ceased to think of it; when all at once it was seen to spring clear out of the water, and, after making two or three grotesque plunges, sink suddenly below the surface! the action was too violent and unnatural to be voluntary. the peixe-boi had evidently been assailed in its sleep by some enemy, from which it was but too eager to retreat. but what could this enemy be? the tapuyo knew of nothing _under_ the water that was likely to have made the attack. there are no sharks nor swordfish in the gapo, and an alligator would scarcely dare to meddle with a creature of such enormous dimensions. much less could an enemy have come from the air. there is no bird in south america, not even the great condor itself, that would think of swooping down upon a peixe-boi. some of the party said that they had seen something glancing towards the cow-fish at the moment it made the leap,--something that looked like a flash of lightning! what could that be? there was no cloud in the sky, no thunder. it could not have been lightning. "_pa terra_!" exclaimed the tapuyo, in evident alarm. "i know what it was. keep quiet or we are lost!" "what was it?" "a harpoon,--look yonder, patron! don't you see the water in motion where the juaroua went down?" "certainly i do. that's very natural. the waves are caused by the plunging of the animal." "the waves! not that; look again. you see a thin ripple. there's a cord making it. yonder's the float! and close behind that you will see something more. there, there he is!" sure enough, there was a rippling line caused by a cord drawn rapidly along the surface; at the end of this a small buoy of wood dragged rapidly after, and close behind a canoe, with an indian in it, the indian in a bent attitude, plying his paddle, and evidently in pursuit of the wounded cow-fish. the log was a "float," the line drawing it along was at its other end attached to a harpoon, and that harpoon had its barbs buried in the body of the peixe-boi! such a specimen of a human being, even for a savage, none of the spectators--the tapuyo perhaps excepted--had ever beheld. he was as naked as if he had never been outside the garden of eden; and this very nakedness displayed a form that, but for the absence of a hairy covering, more resembled that of a monkey than a man. a body extremely attenuated, yet pot-bellied, too; a pair of long, thin arms, with legs to match, the latter knotted at the knees, the former balled at the elbows; a huge head, seemingly larger from its mop of matted hair; a face with high cheeks and sunken eyes,--gave him an appearance more demoniac than human. no wonder that little rosa screamed as he came in sight, and that dismay exhibited itself on the features of several others of the party. "hush!" whispered munday. "silence all! not a word, or we shall be seen, and then not he, but perhaps a hundred of his tribe--hush!" fortunately the scream of rosita had been only slight; and the savage, in eager pursuit of the peixe-boi, had not heard it, for he continued the chase without pause. he had no difficulty in discovering the whereabouts of his game. the float guided him; for, no matter where the cow went, the tether was still attached to her, and the movement of the log along the surface betrayed to the eye of her pursuer every change of direction. two or three times, the savage, dropping his paddle, was enabled to lay hold of the line and commence hauling in; but the great strength of the juaroua, as yet unexhausted, proved too much for him, and he was compelled to let go or be pulled out of his craft. the latter was but a frail concern, of the smallest and rudest kind,-- consisting of a shell of bark, gathered up at both ends and tied by sipos, so as to give it somewhat the shape of an ordinary canoe. even when paddling with all his strength, its owner could make no great speed; but great speed was not required in the chase of a peixe-boi with a barbed spear sticking through its skin and rankling between its ribs. it only required patience, until the huge creature should become exhausted with its struggles and enfeebled by the loss of blood. then might the conquest be completed without either difficulty or danger. for twenty minutes or more the chase continued; the float being dragged hither and thither, until it had crossed the water in almost every direction. sometimes both log and canoe were in sight, sometimes only one of them, and sometimes neither,--at such times the cow-fish having passed far beyond the limits of clear water visible to the spectators. on the last of these occasions, several minutes had elapsed before the chase came again in sight. our adventurers were in hopes they would see no more of either fish, float, or follower. the interest they might otherwise have taken in such a curious spectacle was destroyed by the thought of the danger that would result in their being discovered. just as they had begun to congratulate themselves that they were to be spared this misfortune, the float once more came before their eyes, still being dragged along the surface, but with much less rapidity than when last seen. the manatee was coming into the arcade, the canoe following close after, with the hideous savage eagerly plying his paddle, while, with outstretched neck and wild, scintillating orbs, he peered inquiringly into the darkness before him! there was no chance to escape discovery. chapter eighty four. a cannibal captured. the fears of those standing upon the ceiba could not have been greater than that of the savage himself, as his canoe came bumping against the dead-wood, and he saw standing above him a crowd of human forms. a wild cry escaping from his lips expressed his terror and astonishment. then a second, in louder tone, was intended to give the alarm to his kindred, who might possibly hear it. with an indian, as with the wild animals, presence of mind is rather an instinct than an act of reason. instead of being disconcerted by what he saw, and losing time to recover himself, the mura at once plunged his paddle into the water, and commenced beating backward, assisted by the recoil of the canoe, which, on striking the dead-wood, had rebounded from it by the violence of the collision. in a moment he had sculled himself almost clear of the arcade; he was already within a few feet of its mouth, and would soon be back upon the open lagoa, when he would undoubtedly make for the malocca, and bring the whole tribe of cannibals upon them. none of the party thought of pursuing him. there was an attempt made to seize the canoe at the moment of its closing upon the log, but the craft had recoiled so suddenly after the collision, and been paddled so rapidly out of reach, that it all ended in tipperary tom getting soused in the water, and nearly drowned before he could be dragged out again. the attempt at seizure might have had a different result had munday been among those who made it. but he was not. he was nowhere to be seen upon the log, nor anywhere else! what had become of him? none of them could say. little rosa was the only one who could give any explanation of his absence. she thought she had seen him slip off at the back of the log, while the canoe was coming on in front. she was not sure, it was so dark upon that side; and she had been too much engaged in regarding the approach of the savage. had he made off to conceal himself among the tree-tops? had he gone to secure his own safety, and abandoned his friends to their fate? they could not think this. such a cowardly act would have been contrary to all they knew of the brave mundurucu, whose faithfulness had so many times been put to the severest test. no one could account for it. just at that critical moment when the canoe had reached the mouth of the arcade, a dark round thing, like a human head, rose up in the water some six feet before it, and then another dark thing, wonderfully like a human hand, shot up beside the head, followed by a long and sinewy arm. the hand was seen to strike upward and clutch the canoe close by the stem; and then the craft went down, one end under water, while the other flew up into the air; then there was a capsize,--the savage, with a shriek and a loud plash, falling out; and then there was a struggle,-- now under water, now above the surface,--accompanied by strange choking noises, as if two enormous alligators were engaged in a conflict of life and death. as the astonished spectators continued to gaze upon the scene,--still but imperfectly comprehended by them,--they saw that the combatants were coming nearer, as if the struggle was being carried on towards the end of the arcade, and was likely to terminate where they stood. and there it did end, immediately after, by the missing tapuyo making his appearance alongside the log, and dragging beside him the man who had made that involuntary "header" from the canoe. the latter no longer resisted. the knife-blade glittering between munday's teeth--a taste of whose quality the savage had already experienced--hindered him from offering any further resistance; and as they came up to the log, the two were swimming side by side peaceably, only that the action of one was evidently involuntary, while the other was directing it. it was more like the companionship of a policeman and a thief, than that of two swimmers who chanced to be going the same way. one arm of the mura was clutched by the mundurucu, as if the captive was partly supported while being dragged along. "reach out there, patron, and pull him up!" cried munday, as he conducted his captive alongside the log. "i don't want to kill the animal, though that might be the safest way in the end." "no, no, don't do that!" returned trevannion, who now, along with all the others, had arrived at a full comprehension of the affair. "we can keep him secure enough; and, if his shouts have not been heard, we need not fear having him along with us." as the patron spoke, he reached down, and, laying hold of the captive, drew him close to the side of the dead-wood. then, assisted by munday in the water and mozey upon the log, the mura was hoisted aboard. once upon the dead-wood, a more abject wretch than the captive mura could not have been found. he trembled from head to foot,--evidently believing that he was about to be killed, and perhaps eaten. he had only consented to be taken in the knowledge--which munday had in some way conveyed to him--that resistance could but end in instant death; and there are few, even amongst the most reckless of savages, who will not yield to this. as he stood dripping upon the dead-wood, a red stream, trickling down his wet skin from a knife-wound in the shoulder, explained how the tapuyo had made known to him the idleness of resistance. it was a first stab, and not dangerous; but it had given a foretaste of what was to follow, had the struggle been kept up. after receiving this hint, the mura had surrendered; and the after commotion was caused by his being towed through the water by a captor who was required to use all his strength and energy in supporting him. while the canoe-man was advancing up the arcade, the mundurucu, instead of waiting till he came near, had dropped quietly into the water, and swum in an outward direction, as if intending to meet the manatee-hunter, face to face. this he actually did,--met and passed him, but without being seen. the darkness favoured him, as did also the commotion already caused by the wounded cow-fish, which in its passage up the creek had left large waves upon the water. these, striking against the trunks of the trees, created a still further disturbance, amidst which the swimmer's dark face and long swarthy locks could not have been easily distinguished. supporting himself by a branch, he awaited the return of the savage,-- knowing that as soon as the latter set eyes upon the others he would instantly beat a retreat. all turned out just as the tapuyo had anticipated; and just as he had designed did he deal with the canoe-man. in all this, the only thing that appeared singular was the tapuyo's taking so much pains to go out near the entrance, instead of boldly laying hold of the canoe as it passed him on its way inwards, or indeed of waiting for it upon the log,--where any one of the others, had he been a strong swimmer and armed with a knife, might have effected the capture. munday, however, had good reasons for acting as he had done. while the canoe was approaching, who could tell that it would come close up? it had done so, even to striking the dead-wood with its bow; but munday could not rely upon such a chance as that. had the savage discovered their presence a little sooner, he would have turned and sculled off, before any swimmer could have come up with him. a similar reason was given for gliding stealthily past, and getting on the other side. had the mundurucu acted otherwise, he might have been perceived before he could seize the canoe, and so give time for the manatee-hunter to make off. as this last would have been a terrible contingency, rendering their discovery almost a certainty, the cunning old man knew how important it was that no mismanagement should occur in the carrying out of his design. "if that rascal's shout has been heard," said trevannion, "there will be but little chance of our escaping capture. from what you saw, i suppose there are hundreds of these hideous creatures. and we, without weapons, without the means either of attack or defence, what could we do? there would be nothing for it but to surrender ourselves as prisoners." the mundurucu was not able to offer a word of encouragement. to have attempted defence against a whole tribe of savages, armed, no doubt, with spears and poisoned arrows, would have been to rush madly on death. "it is fortunate," continued the ex-miner, "that you have not killed him." "why, patron?" demanded the tapuyo, apparently in some surprise. "it would have made them revengeful; and if we have the ill-luck to be taken, they would have been the more certain to destroy us." "no, no," answered the indian,--"not a bit more certain to do that. if, as you say, we have the bad luck to become their captives, we shall be killed all the same. their old revenge will be strong enough for that; and if not their revenge, they have an appetite that will insure our destruction. you understand, patron?" this conversation was carried on in a low tone, and only between trevannion and the tapuyo. "o heaven!" groaned the ex-miner, turning his eyes upon his children. "it would be a fearful fate for--for all of us." "the more reason for doing all we can to avoid falling into their hands." "but what can we do? nothing! if they discover our hiding-place before nightfall, then we shall surely be taken." "admit that, master; but if they do not--" "if they do not, you think there would be some hope of our getting away from them?" "a good hope,--a good hope." "on the raft?" "better than that, patron." "you have some plan?" "i've been thinking of one; but it's no use to speak of it, so long as we are in doubt this way. if we are left unmolested until night, then, patron, it will be time to declare it. could you but promise me that this screecher hasn't been heard, i think i could promise you that by midnight we should not only be beyond the reach of his bloodthirsty fellows, but in a fair way of getting out of our troubles altogether. ha! yonder's something must be looked to; i forgot that." "what?" "the _igarite_. how near it was to betraying us! its course must be stopped this instant." and he once more slipped down into the water and swam away. the canoe, out of which the mura had been so unceremoniously spilled, and which was now bottom upwards, was drifting outward. it was already within a few feet of the entrance, and in another minute would have been caught by the breeze stirring beyond the branches of the trees. once outside, it would soon have made way into the open lagoa, and would have formed a conspicuous mark for the eyes of the malocca. munday swam silently, but with all his strength, towards it. it must be reached before it could drift outside; and for some time there was apprehension in the minds of the spectators that this might not be done. the only one of them that would have been gratified by a failure was the captive mura. but the wretch showed no sign of his desire, knowing that there would be danger in his doing so. he was held fast in the strong arms of the negro; while tipperary tom stood near, ready to run him through with the spear in case of his making any attempt to escape. their apprehensions soon came to an end. the tapuyo overtook it before it had cleared the screening of tree-tops; and, laying hold of a piece of cord which was attached to its stem, took it in tow. in less than five minutes after, it might have been seen right side up, lying like a tender alongside the grand monguba. chapter eighty five. a day spent in shadow. all day long did our adventurers abide in silence, keeping close in their shadowy retreat. now and then only the mundurucu swam to the entrance of the arcade; and, screened by the trees, took a survey of the open water outside. he saw only a canoe, larger than that he had captured, with three men in it, out upon the lagoa, about two hundred yards from the edge, and opposite the malocca, which could not itself be seen, as it was some distance back among the trees; but, from the bearings he had taken on the night previous, the tapuyo knew where it lay. he watched the canoe so long as it remained in sight. the gestures of the savages who were in it showed that they were occupied in fishing, though what sort of fish they might be taking in the flooded lake munday could not guess. they stayed about an hour; and then, paddling their craft back among the trees, were seen no more. this gratified the tapuyo and those to whom he made his report. it was evidence that the harpooner had come out alone, and that, while striking the cow-fish, he had not been observed by any of his people. had that incident been witnessed, every canoe in possession of the tribe would have instantly repaired to the spot. since the killing of a juaroua is an event of rare occurrence in the season of the _vasante_, when it does transpire it causes the same joyful excitement in a malocca of amazonian indians as the capture of a great walrus would in a winter village of esquimaux. it was, therefore, quite clear to our adventurers, that no suspicion had been aroused as to the cause of the harpooner's absence from the malocca, and so they were enabled to endure their imprisonment with calmer confidence, and higher hopes of finally effecting their escape. how long would this state of things continue? how long might the mura be away before his absence should excite suspicion and lead to a search? "as to such a thing as this," said munday, pointing contemptuously to the shivering captive, "he'll no more be missed than would a coaita monkey that had strayed from its troop. if he's got a wife, which i don't suppose he has, she'll be only too glad to get rid of him. as for any one of them coming after him through affection, as you call it, there you're all out, patron. among muras there's no such feeling as that. if they'd seen him strike the juaroua it might have been different. then their stomachs would have brought them after him, like a flock of hungry vultures. but they haven't seen him; and unless chance guides some one this way we needn't be in any fear for to-day. as for the morrow, if they'll only stay clear till then, i think i can keep my promise, and we shall not only be beyond reach of muras, but out of this wretched lagoa altogether." "but you spoke of a plan, good munday; you have not yet told us what it is." "wait, master," he rejoined; "wait till midnight, till the lights go out in the mura village, and perhaps a little longer. then you shall know my plan by seeing it carried into execution." "but does it not require some preparations? if so, why not make them while it is daylight? it is now near night; and you may not have time." "just so, patron; but night is just the preparation i want,--that and this knife." here munday exhibited his shining blade, which caused the mura captive to tremble all over, thinking that his time was come. during all the day he had not seen them eat. they had no chance to kindle a fire for cooking purposes, apprehensive that the smoke, seen above the tree-tops, might betray them to the enemy. some of them, with stronger stomachs than the rest, had gnawed a little of the _charqui_ raw. most had eaten nothing, preferring to wait till they should have an opportunity of cooking it, which the mundurucu had promised them they should have before morning of the next day. their abstinence was altogether misunderstood by the mura. the wretch thought they were nursing their hunger to feed upon his flesh. could he have seen himself as he was in their eyes, he might have doubted the possibility of getting up such an appetite. they had taken due precautions to prevent his making his escape. tied hand and foot by the toughest sipos that could be procured, he was also further secured by being fastened to the monguba. a strong lliana, twisted into a rope, and with a turn round one of the buttress projections of the roots, held him, though this was superfluous, since any attempt to slide off into the water must have terminated by his going to the bottom, with neither hands nor feet free. they were determined, however, on making things doubly sure, as they knew that his escape would be the signal for their destruction. should he succeed in getting free, he would not need his canoe; he could get back to his village without that, for, as munday assured them, he could travel through the trees with the agility of an ape, or through the water with the power of a fish; and so could all his people, trained to the highest skill both in climbing and swimming, from the very nature of their existence. there was one point upon which trevannion had had doubts. that was, whether they were really in such danger from the proximity of this people as munday would have them believe. but the aspect of this savage, who could now be contemplated closely, and with perfect coolness, was fast solving these doubts; for no one could have looked in his face and noted the hideous expression there depicted without a feeling of fear, not to say horror. if his tribe were all like him,-- and the tapuyo declared that many of them were still uglier,--they must have formed a community which no sane man would have entered except upon compulsion. no wonder, then, that our adventurers took particular pains to keep their captive along with them, since a sure result of his escape would be that they would furnish a feast for the mura village. had he been left to himself, munday would have taken still surer precautions against his getting off; and it was only in obedience to the sternest commands of trevannion that he was withheld from acting up to the old adage, "dead men tell no tales." chapter eighty six. the cry of the jaguar. the night came on without any untoward incident; but no sooner was the sun fairly below the horizon than they became aware of a circumstance that caused them serious annoyance, if not absolute alarm. they saw the full round moon rising, and every indication of the most brilliant moonlight. the mundurucu, more than any of them, was chagrined at this, because of the importance of having a dark night for carrying out his scheme, whatever it was. in fact, he had declared that a dark night was indispensable, or, at all events, one very different from that which the twilight promised them. the original intention had been, as soon as night set in, to get the dead-wood once more into the open water, and then, if the wind should be in their favour, to bend the sail and glide off in any direction that would take them away from the malocca. if there should be no wind, they could use the paddles and creep round the edge of the lagoa, going as far as might be before another sun should expose them to view. it was doubtful whether they could row the dead-wood, before daybreak, beyond eyeshot of the savages; but if not, they could again seek concealment among the tree-tops, and wait for night to continue their retreat. this intention was likely to be defeated by the clear shining of a tropical moon. as she rose higher in the heavens, the lagoa became all white effulgence; and as there was not the slightest ripple upon the water, any dark object passing along its surface would have been seen almost as distinctly as by day. even the little canoe could not have been carried outside the edge of the trees without the danger of being seen from afar. that the entrance to the arcade and the tree-line outside could be seen from the malocca was a thing already determined, for the tapuyo had tested it during the day. through the foliage in front of the village he could see here and there some portions of the scaffoldings, with the _toldos_ erected upon them, while its position was also determined by the smoke rising from the different fires. as soon as night had come on, he and the young paraense had made a reconnoissance, and from the same place saw the reflection of the fires upon the water below, and the gleaming fires themselves. of course they who sat or stood around them could see them, should they attempt to go out with the monguba. this scheme, then, could only be resorted to should the moon be obscured, or "put out," as munday said, by clouds or fog. munday admitted that his plan _might_ be put in practice, without the interposition of either; but in this case it would be ten times more perilous, and liable to failure. in any case he did not intend to act until midnight. after that, any time would do before the hour of earliest daybreak. confiding in the craft of the old tapuyo, trevannion questioned him no further, but along with the rest waited as patiently as possible for the event. the water-forest was once more ringing with its nocturnal chorus. tree-toads and frogs were sending forth their metallic monotones; _cicadae_ and lizards were uttering their sharp _skirling_ notes, while birds of many kinds, night-hawks in the air, _strigidae_ among the trees, and water-fowl out upon the bosom of the lagoon, were all responding to one another. from afar came lugubrious vociferations from the throats of a troop of howling monkeys that had made their roost among the branches of some tall, overtopping tree; and once--what was something strange--was heard a cry different from all the rest, and on hearing which all the rest suddenly sank into silence. that was the cry of the jaguar tiger, the tyrant of the south american forest. munday recognised it on the instant, and so did the others; for they had heard it often before, while descending the solimoes. it would have been nothing strange to have heard it on the banks of the mighty river, or any of its tributaries. but in the gapo, it was not only strange, but significant, that scream of the jaguar. "surely," said trevannion on hearing it, "surely we must be in the neighbourhood of land." "how, patron?" replied the mundurucu, to whom the remark was particularly addressed. "because we hear the voice of the _jauarite_? sometimes the great tiger gets overtaken by the inundation, and then, like ourselves, has to take to the tree-tops. but, unlike us, he can swim whenever he pleases, and his instinct soon guides him to the land. besides, there are places in the gapo where the land is above water, tracts of high ground that during the _vasante_ become islands. in these the _jauarite_ delights to dwell. no fear of his starving there, since he has his victims enclosed, as it were, in a prison, and he can all the more conveniently lay his claws upon them. the cry of that _jauarite_ is no sure sign of dry land. the beast may be twenty miles from _terra firma_." while they were thus conversing, the cry of the jaguar once more resounded among the tree-tops, and again was succeeded by silence on the part of the other inhabitants of the forest. there was one exception, however; one kind of creatures not terrified into stillness by the voice of the great cat, whose own voices now heard in the interval of silence, attracted the attention of the listeners. they were the muras. sent forth from the malocca, their shouts came pealing across the water, and entered the shadowy aisle where our adventurers sat in concealment, with tones well calculated to cause fear; for nothing in the gapo gave forth a harsher or more lugubrious chant. munday, however, who had a thorough knowledge of the habits of his national enemies, interpreted their tones in a different sense, and drew good augury from them. he said that, instead of grief, they betokened joy. some bit of good luck had befallen them, such as the capture of a cow-fish, or a half-score of monkeys. the sounds signified feasting and frolic. there was nothing to denote that the sullen savage by their side was missed from among them. certainly he was not mourned in the malocca. the interpretation of the tapuyo fell pleasantly upon the ears of his auditors, and for a while they felt hopeful. but the gloom soon came back, at sight of that brilliant moon,--a sight that otherwise should have cheered them,--as she flooded the forest with her silvery light, till her rich rays, scintillating through the leafy llianas, fell like sparks upon the sombre surface of the water arcade. chapter eighty seven. the moon put out. midnight came, and still the moon shone too clear and bright. munday began to show uneasiness and anxiety. several times had he taken that short swim, like an otter from its earth or a beaver from its dome-shaped dwelling, each time returning to his companions upon the log, but with no sign of his having been gratified by the excursion. about the sixth trip since night had set in, he came swimming back to the dead-wood with a more pleased expression upon his countenance. "you've seen something that gratifies you?" said trevannion, interrogatively; "or heard it, perhaps?" "seen it," was the laconic reply. "what?" "a cloud." "a cloud! well?" "not much of a cloud, patron; no bigger than the spread skin of the cow-fish there; but it's in the east, and therefore in the direction of gran para. that means much." "what difference can it make in what direction it is?" "every difference! if from gran para 'tis up the great river. up the great river means rain,--perhaps thunder, lightning, a storm. a storm is just what we want." "o, now i see what you mean. well?" "i must go back to the mouth of the _igarape_, and take another look at the sky. have patience, patron, and pray for me to return with good news." so saying, the tapuyo once again slipped down into the water, and swam towards the entrance of the arcade. for a full half-hour was he absent; but long before his return the news he was to bring back had been told by signs that anticipated him. the moonbeams, hitherto seen striking here and there through the thinner screen of the foliage, had been growing dimmer and dimmer, until they were no longer discernible, and uniform darkness prevailed under the shadow of the trees. so dark had it become, that, when the swimmer returned to the ceiba, they were only warned of his approach by the slight plashing of his arms, and the next moment he was with them. "the time has come," said he, "for carrying out my scheme. i've not been mistaken in what i saw. the cloud, a little bit ago not bigger than the skin of the juaroua, will soon cover the whole sky. the rags upon its edge are already blinding the moon; and by the time we can get under the scaffolds of the malocca it will be dark enough for our purpose." "what! the scaffolds of the malocca! you intend going there?" "that is the intention, patron." "alone?" "no. i want one with me,--the young master." "but there is great danger, is there not?" suggested trevannion, "in going--" "in going there is," interrupted the tapuyo; "but more in not going. if we succeed, we shall be all safe, and there's an end of it. if we don't, we have to die, and that's the other end of it, whatever we may do." "but why not try our first plan? it's now dark enough outside. why can't we get off upon the raft?" "dark enough, as you say, patron. but you forget that it is now near morning. we couldn't paddle this log more than a mile before the sun would be shining upon us, and then--" "dear uncle," interposed the young paraense, "don't interfere with his plans. no doubt he knows what is best to be done. if i am to risk my life, it is nothing more than we're all doing now. let munday have his way. no fear but we shall return safe. do, dear uncle! let him have his way." as munday had already informed them, no preparation was needed,--only his knife and a dark night. both were now upon him, the knife in his waist-strap, and the dark night over his head. one other thing was necessary to the accomplishment of his purpose,--the captured canoe, which was already prepared, laying handy alongside the log. with a parting salute to all,--silent on the part of the tapuyo, but spoken by the young paraense, a hope of speedy return, an assurance of it whispered in the ear of rosita,--the canoe was shoved off, and soon glided out into the open lagoa. chapter eighty eight. an hour of suspense. scarce had the canoe with its living freight faded out of sight, when trevannion repented his rashness in permitting his nephew to risk his life in a scheme so ill understood as the tapuyo's. he had no suspicion of the indian's good faith. it was not that that caused him regret; only a certain compunction for having so easily consented to expose to a dread danger the life of his brother's son,--a life intrusted to his care, and for which he should be held answerable by that brother, should it be his fortune ever to see him again. but it was of no use to indulge in these regrets. they were now idle. the act which had caused them was beyond recall. the canoe must go on to its destination. what was that? trevannion could not even conjecture. he only knew that munday had started for the malocca; but his purpose in going there was as much a mystery as though he had pretended to have gone on a voyage to the moon. trevannion even felt angry with the tapuyo, now that he was out of reach, for having concealed the plan of his enterprise and the extent of the danger to be encountered. but there was now no alternative but to await the return of the tapuyo, or the time that would tell he was never more to return. it had been fixed by the indian himself, in a speech whispered into the ear of trevannion as he pushed off the canoe. it was this: "a word, patron! if we're not back before daylight, stay where you are till to-morrow night. then, if it be dark, do as we proposed for to-night. steal out and away. but don't fear of our failing. i only say that for the worst. the mundurucu has no fear. _pa terra_! in an hour's time we shall be back, bringing with us what we're in need of,--something that will carry us clear of our enemies and of the gapo." so the party remained seated on the log. each had his own conjecture about munday's plan, though all acknowledged it to be a puzzle. the surmise of tipperary tom was sufficiently original. "i wondher now," said he, "if the owld chap manes to set fire to their town! troth, it's loike enough that's what he's gone afther. masther dick sayed it was ericted upon scaffolds wid bames of wood an' huts upon them that looked loike the laves of threes or dry grass. shure them would blaze up loike tindher, an' create a moighty conflagrayshin." the opinion of tom's auditors did not altogether coincide with his. to set the malocca on fire, even if such a thing were possible, could do no good. the inhabitants would be in no danger from conflagration. they would only have to leap into the flood to save themselves from the fire; and, as they could all swim like water-rats, they would soon recover a footing among the trees. besides, they had their great rafts and canoes, that would enable them to go wherever they wished. they could soon erect other scaffolds, and construct other huts upon them. moreover, as munday and richard had informed them, the scaffolds of the malocca were placed a score of yards apart. the flames of one would not communicate with the other through the green foliage of that humid forest. to fire the whole village with any chance of success, it would be necessary to have an incendiary under each scaffold, all applying the torch together. it could not be for that purpose the tapuyo had gone forth. while engaged in the debate, they got so engrossed by it as to become neglectful of a duty enjoined upon them by the tapuyo, to keep a strict watch over the captive. it was tipperary tom and the mozambique, who had been charged with this guardianship. both, however, confident that it was impossible for the savage to untie himself, had only glanced now and then to see that he was there, his bronze-coloured body being scarcely visible in the obscurity. as it grew darker, it was at length impossible for them to distinguish the captive from the brown surface of the ceiba, except by stooping down over him, and this both neglected to do. little dreamt they of the sort of creature they were dealing with, who could have claimed rivalry with the most accomplished professors of the famous rope-tricks. as soon as he saw that the eyes of his sentinels were no longer upon him, he wriggled himself out of the sipos with as much ease as if he had been an eel, and, sliding gently from the log, swam off. it was a full half-hour after his departure before either of the sentinels thought of giving any attention to the state of their prisoner. when they did so, it was to find him gone, and the coils of tree-rope lying loosely upon the log. with simultaneous exclamations of alarm, they turned towards trevannion, and then all looked in the direction of the lagoa, thinking they might see a swimmer going out. instead of that they saw, through the dim light, what appeared to be a fleet of canoes, with men in them violently wielding their paddles, and directing their crafts right into the arcade! chapter eighty nine. scuttling the canoes. the mundurucu and his young companion, having paddled their craft out of the little creek, turned its head towards the mura village. though the fires were no longer blazing so brightly as at an earlier hour of the night, there was still a red glow seen here and there, that told the position of the scaffolds, and served as a beacon to direct their course. but they needed no such pilotage. the border of the forest was their guide, and along this they went, taking care to keep close in under its shadow. it was dark enough out upon the open water to prevent their being observed; but the mundurucu was accustomed to act with extreme circumspection, and more than ever since the mistake we recorded some time before. as the malocca was but a short distance from the forest border, the tree-line would bring them close to its water frontage. beyond that he could trust to the guidance of the surrounding fires. less than half an hour's use of the paddle--its blade dipped gently in the water--brought them within a hundred yards of the outskirts of the village. although the expedition was not to end here, it was not their design to take the canoe any farther. i say _their_ design, for by this time the young paraense had been made acquainted with his companion's purpose. the chief reason why munday had not disclosed it to trevannion was, that the patron, deeming it too dangerous, might have put a veto upon its execution. what this plan was, will be learnt by a relation of the mode in which it was carried out. tying the canoe to a tree in such a way that they could easily detach it again, the two slipped over the gunwale, and laid themselves silently along the water. each was provided with a swimming-belt; for the task they had undertaken might require them to remain a good while afloat; and, moreover, it would be necessary for them now and then to remain still, without making any noise by striking the water to sustain themselves, while, furthermore, they would need at times to have both arms free for a different purpose. thus accoutred, and munday armed with his knife, they swam under the scaffolds. they were careful not to cause the slightest commotion,--careful, too, to keep out of the narrow belts of light that fell slantingly from the fires above. these were becoming fewer, and fast fading, as the fires, one after another, went out. it appeared certain that the whole village was asleep. no human form was seen, no voice heard; no sign of human beings, save the scaffolding that had been constructed by them, and the half-score of boats in the water underneath, moored to the trunks of the supporting trees. it was to these vessels that the mundurucu was directing himself and his coadjutor. though his eyes were everywhere, his mind was fixed upon them. there were, in all, about half a score of them, six being _igarites_, or canoes rudely constructed of tree-bark, similar in shape and fashion to that they had just parted from, but three of them of larger size, each capable of containing about eight men. the others were large rafts or punts of rude fabrication, each big enough to support a toldo hut, with a whole family, and a number of friends to boot. only to the canoes did the tapuyo direct his attention. on swimming past the punts he did not even stay to regard them. to all the igarites, however, except one,--and it the largest,--he paid a visit; stopping a considerable time alongside each, but lying so low in the water that only his head could have been seen above the surface, and scarcely that through the treble shadow of the night, the scaffolds, and the tree-tops. it was only visible to his companion, whose face was all the while within three feet of his own, and whose hands were employed in assisting him in his subtle task. what was this task, so silent and mysterious? in each of the five canoes to which the swimmers had paid their silent visit, and just after their departure from it, could have been heard a gurgling sound, as of water gushing up through a hole in the bottom. it was heard, but only by him who had made the hole and the companion who had held the craft in its place while the knife-blade was accomplishing its purpose. to its sharp point the soft tree-bark had yielded, and in ten minutes' time the five canoes, one after another, were scuttled, and, if left to themselves, in a fair way of going to the bottom. but they were not left to themselves. they would have been, but for the negligence of tom and the sable mozambique. just as the scuttlers had concluded their part of the task, and were about to climb into the sixth canoe, that had been left seaworthy, a dark form that might have been taken for some demon of the flood was seen to rise out of the water, and stand dripping upon one of the rafts. it stood only for a second or two,--just long enough to draw breath,--and then, laying hold of a knotted lliana that formed a sort of stair, it climbed to the scaffolding above. dim as was the light, the mundurucu recognised the dripping climber as the captive he had left on the log. "_santos dios_!" he muttered, in a hoarse whisper, "'tis the mura. they've let him escape, and now we're discovered. quick, young master. into the igarite. all right; there are two paddles: you take one, i the other. there's not a moment to be lost. in ten minutes more we should have been safe; but now--see! they are filling fast. good! if he gives us but ten minutes before raising the alarm--ha! there it is. off! off!" while the tapuyo was speaking, still in a muttered undertone, a wild yell was heard upon the scaffolding above. it was a signal sent forth by the returned captive to warn his slumbering nation, not that their navy was being scattered in its very dock by an unknown enemy, for he had neither seen the scuttler nor suspected what had been going on, but simply to tell his tribe of the adventure that had befallen himself, and conduct them in all haste to the spot where he had parted from his detested but careless captors. he had seen the two of them go off in the igarite, impudently appropriating his own vessel before his face. where could they have gone, but to make a nocturnal investigation of the malocca? it was for this reason he had himself approached it so stealthily, not raising any note of alarm until he felt safe upon the scaffolding of his own habitation. then did he send forth that horrid haloo-loo. scarce had its echoes ceased to reverberate through the village, when it was answered by a hundred voices, all shouting in a similar strain, all giving a response to the tribe's cry of alarm. men could be heard springing from their hammocks, and dropping down upon the platforms, the timbers of which creaked under quick, resonant footsteps. in the dim light some were seen hastily snatching up their bows, and preparing to descend to their canoes, little suspecting that they would find them scuttled and already half swamped. as munday had said, there was not a moment to be lost; and, acting up to his words, he did not permit one to be lost. in the large igarite propelled by the two paddles, he and his assistant stole off among the trees, and were soon out upon the lagoa, pulling, as fast as their strength and skill would permit them, in the direction of the creek. chapter ninety. the log left behind. the escape of their captive had caused the keenest apprehensions to the people upon the raft, which were scarce intensified at the sight of the canoe entering the arcade. by the simplest reasoning they had leaped to the quick conclusion that the latter was but the sequence of the former. the mura had swum back to his malocca. they knew he could easily do it. he had _learned_ his kindred, and it was they who now manned the igarite that was making approach. it was only the first of a whole fleet. no doubt there was a score of others coming on behind, each containing its complement of cannibals. the manatee-hunter had got back to his village in time to tell of the two who had gone there in his own canoe. these, unaware of his escape, had, in all probability, been surprised and taken prisoners. shouts had been heard from the village just before the man was missed. it was this, in fact, that had caused them to think of their prisoner. on finding that he had given them the slip, they interpreted the shouts in two ways. they were either salutations of welcome to the returned captive, or cries of triumph over the death or capture of the tapuyo and his companion. more like the latter. so thought they upon the log; and the thought was strengthened by the appearance of the big canoe at the entrance of the arcade. its crew were mura savages, guided to their place of concealment by him who had stolen away. these conjectures, varied though they were, passed through their minds with the rapidity of thought itself; for scarce ten seconds had elapsed from the time of their sighting the canoe until it was close up to the ceiba. then to their great joy, they saw they had been reasoning wrongly. the two forms had been magnified into ten, partly through the deception of the dim light, and partly because they had been springing from side to side while paddling the canoe and steering it into the creek. as they drew near, the others could see that they were in a state of the wildest excitement, working with all their strength, and gazing anxiously behind them. "quick, uncle," cried richard, as the igarite struck against the dead-wood. "quick! all of you get aboard here." "_pa terra_!" added the tapuyo. "do as he tells you. by letting your prisoner get off you've spoiled my plans. there's no time to talk now. into the igarite! if the others are still afloat--then--then--haste, patron! everybody into the igarite!" as the indian gave these directions, he himself sprang on to the log; and tearing down the skin sail, he flung it into the canoe. after it he pitched several pieces of the charqui, and then descended himself. by this time all the others had taken their seats in the canoe, richard having caught little rosa in his arms as she sprang down. there was not a moment of delay. the two paddles belonging to the igarite were grasped, one by munday himself, the other by the negro, who was next best rower, while the two bladed with the bones of the cow-fish were in the hands of trevannion and his nephew. there were thus four available oars to the craft, that promised a fair degree of speed. with a last look at the log that had carried them safely, though slowly,--a look that, under other circumstances, might have been given with regret,--they parted from it, and in a score of seconds they had cleared the craft from the branches of the trees, and were out upon the bosom of the lagoa. "in what direction?" inquired trevannion, as for a moment their strokes were suspended. "stay a minute, patron," replied the tapuyo, as he stood up in the igarite and gazed over the water in the direction of the mura village. "before starting, it's as well to know whether they are able to follow us. if not, it's no use killing ourselves by hard work." "you think there's a chance they may not come after us?" "a chance,--yes. it would have been a certainty if you had not let that ape loose. we should now be as safe from pursuit as if a hundred leagues lay between us and them. as it is, i have my fears; there was not time for them to go down,--not all of them. the small ones may, but the big igarite,--it would be still afloat; they could bale out and caulk up again. after all, it won't carry the whole tribe, and there's something in that,--there's something in that." while the tapuyo thus talked he was standing with his head craned out beyond the edge of the igarite, scanning the water in the direction of the village. his final words were but the involuntary utterance of what was passing in his mind, and not addressed to his companions. richard alone knew the meaning, for as yet the others had received no explanation of what had passed under the scaffolds. there was no time to give a detailed account of that. it would be soon enough when the igarite was fairly on its way, and they became assured of their safety. no one pressed for an explanation. all, even trevannion himself, felt humiliated by the thought that they had neglected their duty, and the knowledge that but for that very neglect the danger that threatened them would have been now at an end. the dawn was already beginning to appear along the eastern horizon, and although it was far from daylight, there was no longer the deep darkness that but a short while before shrouded the water. out on the lagoa, at any point within the circumference of a mile, a large object, such as a canoe, could have been seen. there was none in sight. this looked well. perfect stillness reigned around the mura village. there was no human voice to be heard, where but the moment before there had been shouting and loud talking, both men and women taking part in what appeared a confused conversation. the fires, too, were out, or at all events no longer visible from the lagoa. munday remarked that the silence augured ill. "i fear they are too busy to be making a noise," said he. "their keeping quiet argues that they have the means, as well as the intention, to come after us. if they had not, you would hear their howls of disappointment. yes: we may be sure of it. they're emptying such of their canoes as may still be above water." "emptying their canoes! what mean you by that?" munday then explained the nature of his late expedition, now that its failure could no longer be charged upon himself. a few words sufficed to make the whole thing understood, the others admiring the bold ingenuity of the plan as strongly as they regretted having given cause for its being frustrated. though no pursuers had as yet appeared, that was no reason why they should stay an instant longer by the entrance to the arcade; so, once more handling the paddles, they put the great igarite to its best speed. chapter ninety one. the enemy in sight. there was no debating the question as to the course they should take. this was opposite to the direction in which lay the malocca. in other words, they struck out for the open water, almost in the same track by which they had come from the other bide while navigating the tree-trunk. trevannion had suggested keeping "in shore" and under the shadow of the tree-tops. "no use," said the tapuyo; "in ten minutes more there will be light over the water. we'll be seen all the same, and by following the line of the forest we should give our pursuers the advantage; they, by keeping straight across, would easily overtake us. the trees go round in a circle, don't you see?" "true," replied trevannion; "i did not think of that. it is to be hoped we shall not have pursuers." "if we have they will soon come up with us, for they have more paddles, and are better skilled in the use of them; if they come after us at all, they will be sure to overtake us." "then we shall be captured,--perhaps destroyed." this was spoken in a whisper in the ear of the tapuyo. "it don't follow,--one or the other. if it did, i shouldn't have much hope in handling this bit of a stick. we may be pursued, overtaken, and still get off in the end. they may not like close quarters any more than we. that, you see, depends on how many of their vessels are gone to the bottom, and how many are still afloat. if more than half that were scuttled have sunk, we may dread their arrows more than their oars. if more than half are above water, we shall be in more danger from their speed." notwithstanding the enigmatical character of the tapuyo's speeches, trevannion, as well as the others, was able to understand them. he simply meant that, if the enemy were left without a sufficient number of canoes to pursue them in large force, they would not think of boarding, but would keep at a distance, using their arrows in the attack. it was by no means a pleasant prospect; still, it was pleasanter than the thought of coming to close quarters with a crowd of cannibal savages, and being either hacked to pieces with their knives, clubbed to death with their _macanas_, or dragged overboard and drowned in the lagoa. "in five minutes more," continued the tapuyo, "we shall know the best or the worst. by that time it will be light enough to see in under the trees yonder. by that time, if they have a single igarite above water, she'll be baled out. by that time they should be after us. if we don't see them in five minutes, we need never look for them again." a minute--another--a third elapsed, and still no appearance of pursuers or pursuit. slower still seemed the fourth, though it too passed, and no movement on the water. every heart beat with hope that the time would transpire without any change. but, alas! it was not to be so. the black line was broken by the bow of a canoe, and in an instant after the craft itself was seen gliding out from under the shadow of the trees. the tapuyo's prediction was fulfilled. "the big igarite!" he exclaimed. "just what i had fears of; i doubted its going down in time. eight in it! well, that's nothing, if the others have sunk." "but stay a moment," returned richard; "see yonder! another coming out, farther down to the right!" "that's the cockle-shell we took from the harpooner. there are two in it, which is all it will hold. only ten, as yet. good! if that's their whole strength, we needn't fear their coming to close quarters. good!" "i can make out no more," said the young paraense, who had suspended paddling to get a better view of the pursuers. "i think there are no more." "just my thoughts," rejoined the tapuyo. "i had that idea all along. i was sure the small craft had gone down. you remember we heard a splashing before we got well off,--it was caused by the sinking of the igarites. our hope is that only the big one has kept afloat. as yet i see no others." "nor i," added richard. "no, there are but the two." "thank heaven for that!" exclaimed trevannion. "there will be but ten against us. though we are not equal in numbers, surely we should be a match for such puny savages as these. o that we only had arms!" as he said this, the ex-miner looked into the bottom of the canoe to see what there was available in the way of weapons. there was the pashuba spear, which munday had pitched in along with the strips of charqui; and there was another weapon equally effective in hands skilled in its use. it was a sort of barbed javelin or harpoon, the one with which the manatee-hunter had struck the juaroua. during the day, while doing nothing else, munday had amused himself by completing the conquest of the peixe-boi, which he found, by the line and float, had got entangled among the tree-tops. its carcass had been left where it was killed, for it was the weapon only which he coveted. in addition to these, there were the paddles,--those manufactured from the shoulder-blades of the cow-fish,--looking like weapons that it would be awkward to have come in contact with one's skull in a hostile encounter. last, and not least to be depended upon, there was the tapuyo's own knife, in the use of which he had already given proofs of his skill. in a hand-to-hand contest with ten savages, armed as these might be, there was not so much to be dreaded. but munday assured them that there would be no danger of a close fight. there were no more canoes in sight. twenty minutes had now elapsed since the two had shot out from the trees, and if there had been others they would long since have declared themselves. arrows or javelins were the only weapons they would have to dread; and with these they would most certainly be assailed. "they'll be sure to overtake us," said he; "there are six of them at the paddles, and it's easy to see that they're already gaining ground. that's no reason why we should wait till they come up. when the fight takes place, the farther we're away from their village the better for us; as who knows but they may fish up some of their swamped canoes, and come at us with a reserve force. to the paddles, then, and pull for our lives!" chapter ninety two. the chase. on swept the igarite containing the crew of our adventurers; on came its kindred craft, manned by savage men, with the little canoe close following, like a tender in the wake of a huge man-of-war. they were not long in doubt as to what would be the upshot of the chase. it had not continued half an hour before it became clear, to pursuers as well as pursued, that the distance between the two large igarites was gradually growing less. gradually, but not rapidly; for although there were six paddles plying along the sides of the pursuers and only four on the pursued, the rate of speed was not so very unequal. the eight full-grown savages--no doubt the picked men of their tribe-- were more than a fair complement for their craft, that lay with gunwales low down in the water. in size she was somewhat less than that which carried our adventurers; and this, along with the heavier freight, was against her. for all this, she was gaining ground sufficiently fast to make the lessening of the distance perceptible. the pursued kept perfect silence, for they had no spirit to be noisy. they could not help feeling apprehensive. they knew that the moment the enemy got within arrow's reach of them they would be in danger of death. well might such a thought account for their silence. not so with their savage pursuers. these could be in no danger unless by their own choice. they had the advantage, and could carry on war with perfect security to themselves. it would not be necessary for them to risk an encounter empty-handed so long as their arrows lasted; and they could have no fear of entering into the fight. daring where there was no danger, and noisy where there was no occasion, they pressed on in the pursuit, their wild yells sent pealing across the water to strike terror into the hearts of the enemy. our adventurers felt no craven fear, not a thought of surrender, not an idea of submitting to be taken captives. by the most solemn asseverations the tapuyo had assured them that it would be of no use, and they need expect no mercy from the muras. he had said so from the first; but now, after having taken one of their number captive and treated him with contempt, after scuttling their fleet of igarites, their natural instinct of cruelty would be intensified by a thirst for revenge, and no quarter need be looked for by any one who might fall into their hands. remembering the hideous creature who had escaped, seeing him again in his canoe as the pursuers came within distinguishing distance, seeing nine of his comrades quite as hideous as himself, and some of them in appearance far more formidable, the statement of the tapuyo did not fail to have an effect. the crew of the chased igarite gave up all thought of surrender, each declaring his determination to fight to the death. such was their mood when the savages arrived within bowshot. the first act of hostility was a flight of arrows, which fell short of the mark. seeing that the distance was too great for them to do any havoc, the six who had been propelling the igarite dropped their bows, and once more took to the paddles. the other two, however, with the spare man in the little canoe, were free to carry on their arrowy assault; and all three continued to twang their bows, sending shaft after shaft towards the chased igarite. only one of the three appeared to have much skill in his aim or strength in his arm. the arrows of the other two either fell short or wide of the object aimed at, while his came plump into the igarite. he had already sent three,--the first passing through the broad-spread ear of the negro,--no mean mark; the second scratching up the skin upon tom's cheek; while the third, fired aloft into the air, dropped down upon the skin of the peixe-boi that sheltered little rosa in the bottom of the boat, penetrating the thick, tough hide, and almost impaling the pretty creature underneath it. this dangerous marksman was identified. he was the hero of the harpoon,--the captive who had given them the slip; and certain it is that he took more pains with his aim, and put more strength into his pull, than any of his competitors. his fourth arrow was looked for with fearful apprehension. it came whistling across the water. it passed through the arm of his greatest enemy,--the man he most desired it to pierce,--the mundurucu. the tapuyo started up from his stooping attitude, at the same time dropping his paddle, not upon the water, but into the igarite. the arrow was only through the flesh. it did nothing to disable him, and he had surrendered the oar with an exclamation of anger more than pain. the shaft was still sticking in his left arm. with the right he pulled it out, drawing the feather through the wound, and then flung it away. in another instant he had taken up the harpoon, with the long cord still attached to it, and which he had already secured to the stern of the igarite. in still another he was seen standing near the stern, balancing the weapon for a throw. one more instant and the barbed javelin was heard passing with a crash through the ribs of the savage archer! "pull on! pull on!" cried he; and the three paddlers responded to the cry, while the pursuing savages, astounded by what they had seen, involuntarily suspended their stroke, and the harpooner, impaled upon the barbed weapon, was jerked into the water and towed off after the igarite, like one of his own floats in the wake of a cow-fish. a wild cry was sent forth from the canoe of the savages. nor was it unanswered from the igarite containing the crew of civilised men. the negro could not restrain his exultation; while tom, who had nothing else to do, sprang to his feet, tossed his arms into the air, and gave tongue to the true donnybrook challenge. for a time the pursuers did nothing. their paddles were in hands that appeared suddenly paralysed. astonishment held them stiff as statues. stirred at length by the instinct of revenge, they were about to pull on. some had plunged their oar-blades into the water, when once more the stroke was suspended. they perceived that they were near enough to the retreating foe. nearer, and their lives would be in danger. the dead body of their comrade had been hauled up to the stern of the great igarite. the harpoon had been recovered, and was once more in the hands of him who had hurled it with such fatal effect. dropping their bladed sticks, they again betook them to their bows. a shower of arrows came around the igarite, but none fell with fatal effect. the body of their best archer had gone to the bottom of the gapo. another flight fell short, and the savage bowmen saw the necessity of returning to their paddles. failing to do so, they would soon be distanced in the chase. this time they rowed nearer, disregarding the dangerous range of that ponderous projectile to which their comrade had succumbed. rage and revenge now rendered them reckless; and once more they seized upon their weapons. they were now less than twenty yards from the igarite. they were already adjusting the arrows to their bow-strings. a flight of nine going all together could not fail to bring down one or more of the enemy. for the first time our adventurers were filled with fear. the bravest could not have been otherwise. they had no defence,--nothing to shield them from the threatening shower. all might be pierced by the barbed shafts, already pointing towards the igarite. each believed that in another moment there might be an arrow through his heart. it was a moment of terrible suspense, but our adventurers saw the savages suddenly drop their bows, some after sending a careless shot, with a vacillating, pusillanimous aim, and others without shooting at all. they saw them all looking down into the bottom of their boat, as if there, and not elsewhere, was to be seen their most dangerous enemy. the hole cut by the knife had opened. the caulking, careless from the haste in which it had been done, had come away. the canoe containing the pursuers was swamped, in less than a score of seconds after the leak had been discovered. now there was but one large canoe upon the lagoa, and one small one,--the latter surrounded by eight dark human heads, each spurting and blowing, as if a small school of porpoises was at play upon the spot. our adventurers had nothing further to fear from pursuit by the savages, who would have enough to do to save their own lives; for the swim that was before them, ere they could recover footing upon the scaffolds of the malocca, would tax their powers to the utmost extent. how the castaways meant to dispose of themselves was known to the crew of the igarite before the latter had been paddled out of sight. one or two of them were observed clinging to the little canoe, and at length getting into it. these, weak swimmers, no doubt, were left in possession of the craft, while the others, knowing that it could not carry them all, were seen to turn round and swim off towards the malocca, like rats escaping from a scuttled ship. in twenty minutes' time, both they and the fishing-canoe were out of sight, and the great igarite that carried trevannion and his fortunes was alone upon the lagoa. chapter ninety three. conclusion. a volume might be filled with the various incidents and adventures that befell the ex-miner and his people before they arrived at gran para,-- for at gran para, did they at length arrive. but as these bore a certain resemblance to those already detailed, the reader is spared the relation of them. a word only as to how they got out of the gapo. provided with the indian igarite, which, though a rude kind of craft, was a great improvement upon the dead-wood,--provided also with four tolerable paddles, and the skin of the cow-fish for a sail,--they felt secure of being able to navigate the flooded forest in any direction where open water might be found. their first thought was to get out of the lagoa. so long as they remained within the boundaries of that piece of open water, so long would their solicitude be keen and continuous. the savages might again come in search of them. prompted by their cannibal instincts, or by revenge for the loss of one of their tribe, they would be almost certain to do so. the total destruction of their fleet might cause delay. but then there might be another malocca belonging to a kindred tribe,-- another fleet of igarites not far off; and this might be made available. with these probabilities in view, our adventurers gave their whole attention to getting clear of the lagoa. was it land-locked, or rather "tree-locked,"--hemmed in on all sides by the flooded forest? this was a question that no one could answer, though it was the one that was of first and greatest importance. after the termination of the chase, however, or as soon as they believed themselves out of sight, not only of their foiled foemen, but their friends at the malocca, they changed their course, steering the igarite almost at right angles to the line of pursuit. by guidance of the hand of god, they steered in the right direction. as soon as they came within sight of the trees, they perceived a wide water-way opening out of the lagoa, and running with a clear line to the horizon beyond. through this they directed the igarite, and, favoured by a breeze blowing right upon their stern, they rigged up their rude sail. with this to assist their paddling, they made good speed, and had soon left the lagoa many miles behind them. they saw no more of the muras. but though safe, as they supposed themselves, from pursuit, and no longer uneasy about the ape-like indians, they were still very far from being delivered. they were yet in the gapo,--that wilderness of water-forests,--yet exposed to its thousands of dangers. they found themselves in a labyrinth of what appeared to be lakes, with land around them, and islands scattered over their surface, communicating with each other by canals or straits, all bordered with a heavy forest. but they knew there was no land,--nothing but tree-tops laced together with llianas, and supporting heavy masses of parasitical plants. for days they wandered through its wild solitudes, here crossing a stretch of open water, there exploring some wide canal or narrow _igarape_, perhaps to find it terminating in a _cul-de-sac_, or _bolson_, as the spaniards term it, hemmed in on all sides by an impenetrable thicket of tree-tops, when there was no alternative but to paddle back again. sometimes these false thoroughfares would lure them on for miles, and several hours--on one occasion a whole day--would be spent in fruitless navigation. it was a true wilderness through which they were wandering, but fortunately for them it had a character different from that of a desert. so far from this, it more resembled a grand garden, or orchard, laid for a time under inundation. many kinds of fruits were met with,--strange kinds that had never been seen by them before; and upon some of these they subsisted. the mundurucu alone knew them,--could tell which were to be eaten and which avoided. birds, too, came in their way, all eaten by the indians, as also various species of arboreal quadrupeds and quadrumana. the killing and capturing of these, with the gathering of nuts and fruits to supply their simple larder, afforded them frequent opportunities of amusement, that did much to beguile the tediousness of their trackless straying. otherwise it would have been insupportable; otherwise they would have starved. none of them afterwards was ever able to tell how long this gypsy life continued,--how long they were afloat in the forest. engrossed with the thought of getting out of it, they took no note of time, nor made registry of the number of suns that rose and set upon their tortuous wanderings. there were days in which they saw not the sun, hidden from their sight by the umbrageous canopy of gigantic trees, amidst the trunks of which, and under their deep shadows, they rowed the igarite. but if not known how long they roamed through this wilderness, much less can it be told how long they might have remained within its mazes, but for a heaven-sent vision that one morning broke upon their eyes as their canoe shot out into a stretch of open water. they saw a ship,--a ship sailing through the forest! true, it was not a grand ship of the ocean,--a seventy-four, a frigate, or a trader of a thousand tons; nevertheless it was a ship, in the general acceptation of the term, with hull, masts, spars, sails, and rigging. it was a two-masted schooner, a trader of the solimoes. the old tapuyo knew it at a glance, and hailed it with a cheer. he knew the character of the craft. in such he had spent some of the best years of his life, himself one of the crew. its presence was proof that they were once more upon their way, as the schooner was upon hers. "going down," said the tapuyo, "going down to gran para. i can tell by the way she is laden. look yonder. _sarsaparilla, vanilla, cascarilla, maulega de tortugos, sapucoy_, and _tonka_ beans,--all will be found under that toldo of palm-leaves. galliota ahoy! ahoy!" the schooner was within short hailing distance. "lay to, and take passengers aboard! we want to go to para. our craft isn't suited for such a long voyage." the galliota answered the hail, and in ten minutes after the crew of the igarite was transferred to her decks. the canoe was abandoned, while the schooner continued on to the city of gran para. she was not in the solimoes itself, but one of its parallel branches, though, in two days after having taken the castaways aboard, she sailed out into the main stream, and thence glided merrily downward. those aboard of her were not the less gay,--the crew on discovering that among the passengers that they had picked up were the son and brother of their patron; and the passengers, that the craft that was carrying them to gran para, as well as her cargo, was the property of trevannion. the young paraense found himself on board one of his father's traders, while the ex-miner was completing his amazonian voyage in a "bottom" belonging to his brother. the tender attention which they received from the _capatoz_ of the galliota restored their health and spirits, both sadly shattered in the gapo; and instead of the robber's garb and savage mien with which they emerged from that sombre abode, fit only for the abiding-place of beasts, birds, and reptiles, they soon recovered the cheerful looks and decent habiliments that befitted them for a return to civilisation. a few words will tell the rest of this story. the brothers, once more united,--each the owner of a son and daughter,-- returned to their native land. both widowers, they agreed to share the same roof,--that under which they had been born. the legal usurper could no longer keep them out of it. he was dead. he had left behind him an only son, not a gentleman like himself, but a spendthrift. it ended in the ill-gotten patrimony coming once more into the market and under the hammer, the two trevannions arriving just in time to arrest its descent upon the desk, and turn the "going, going" into "gone" in their own favour. though the estate became afterwards divided into two equal portions,--as nearly equal as the valuer could allot them,--and under separate owners, still was there no change in the name of the property; still was it the trevannion estate. the owner of each moiety was a trevannion, and the wife of each owner was a trevannion, without ever having changed her name. there is no puzzle in this. the young paraense had a sister,-- spoken of, but much neglected, in this eventful narrative, where not even her name has been made known. only has it been stated that she was one of "several sweet children." be it now known that she grew up to be a beautiful woman, fair-haired, like her mother, and that her name was florence. much as her brother richard, also fair-haired, came to love her dark semi-spanish cousin rosita, so did her other dark semi-spanish cousin, ralph, come to love her; and as both she and rosita reciprocated these cousinly loves, it ended in a mutual bestowing of sisters, or a sort of cross-hands and change-partners game of cousins,--whichever way you like to have it. at all events, the trevannion estates remained, and still remain, in the keeping of trevannions. were you to take a trip to the "land's end," and visit them,--supposing yourself to be endorsed with an introduction from me,--you would find in the house of young ralph, firstly, his father, old ralph, gracefully enacting the _role_ of grandfather; secondly, the fair florence, surrounded by several olive-shoots of the trevannion stock; and, lastly,--nay, it is most likely you will meet him first, for he will take your hat from you in the hall,--an individual with a crop of carroty hair, fast changing to the colour of turnips. you will know him as tipperary tom. "truth will yez." cross half a dozen fields, climb over a stile, under the shadow of gigantic trees,--oaks and elms; pass along a plank foot-bridge spanning a crystal stream full of carp and trout; go through a wicket-gate into a splendid park, and then follow a gravelled walk that leads up to the walls of a mansion. you can only do this coming from the other house, for the path thus indicated is not a right of way. enter the dwelling to which it has guided you. inside you will encounter, first, a well-dressed darkey, who bids you welcome with all the airs of an m.c. this respectable ethiopian, venerable in look-- partly on account of his age, partly from the blanching of his black hair--is an old acquaintance, by name mozey. he summons his master to your side. you cannot mistake that handsome gentleman, though he is years older than when you last saw him. the same open countenance, the same well-knit, vigorous frame, which, even as a boy, were the characteristics of the young paraense. no more can you have forgotten that elegant lady who stands by his side, and who, following the fashion of her spanish-american race, frankly and without affectation comes forth to greet you. no longer the little rosa, the _protegee_ of richard, but now his wife, with other little rosas and richards, promising soon to be as big as herself, and as handsome as her husband. the tableau is almost complete as a still older richard appears in the background, regarding with a satisfied air his children and grandchildren, while saluting their guest with a graceful gesture of welcome. almost complete, but not quite. a figure is absent from the canvas, hitherto prominent in the picture. why is it not still seen in the foreground? has death claimed the tapuyo for his own? not a bit of it. still vigorous, still life-like as ever, he may be seen any day upon the amazon, upon the deck of a galliota, no longer in the humble capacity of a tapuyo, but acting as _capatoz_,--as patron. his old patron had not been ungrateful; and the gift of a schooner was the reward bestowed upon the guide who had so gallantly conducted our adventurers through the dangers of the gapo, and shared their perils while they were "afloat in the forest." the end.